Summary: every december you try to forget what happened in christmas 1976, when your parents didn’t show up to pick you up from boarding school and you had to spend the holidays at the harrington’s. steve and you were too young back then to understand the curse that ran through your veins, but eight years later, temptation knocks on your door, and you find yourself fucking the one guy you would’ve never fucked. (contains smut)
A confession leads to heartbreak by @wroteclassicaly
Steve Harrington x female!reader angst/smut
Summary: A confession leads to unexpected heartbreak.
(My personal favourite) The edges of your soul (I haven't seen yet) by @andvys
Grumpy!Steve Harrington x Sunshine!Fem!reader angst/fluff/eventual smut (Ongoing series!)
Summary: Everything he once knew, is gone, dead and buried, burned to the ground and turned into ash. All he has known is loss, death and pain, he despised this world, until it brought you to him -- the sunshine he had long forgotten. Light he will follow till the very end.
Thigh riding by @stevesgother
Steve Harrington x reader smut
Summary: thigh riding and making out with Steve (friends to lovers)
Winning Streak by @petalborn
Steve Harrington x Fem!reader smut/angst/fluff
Summary: jerky frat boy!steve places a bet with his brothers about his likelihood of being able to hook up with the bizarre girl that hangs around on campus.
Top Gun:
Bob Floyld:
(My personal favourite) The Plan by @geminiwritten
Bob Floyd x reader fluff/smut!!
Summary: the squad are all pretty sure that bob has a thing for you, but you're not convinced, so you hatch a plan to tease him within an inch of his life until he snaps.
I'm not sorry by @drabbles-mc
Bob Floyd x Fem!reader smut!!
Summary: there’s definitely sexual tension between you two, but neither of you have acted on it, until now…
Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw:
Personal Space by @warnersister
Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x Mitchell!reader fluff!
Summary: you love your personal space. Unfortunately, Bradley also loves your personal space. (2 parts)
(My personal favourite) Between friends by @sometimesanalice
Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x Fem!reader smut
Summary: Bradley and you don’t talk about that Spring Break. But a single question asked during a night out at the Hard Deck might just change things between the two of you forever.
Like I Can by @sometimesanalice
Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x Fem!reader fluff/slight angst/eventual smut
Summary: After yet another bad date and tired of swiping on apps, the Dagger Squad steps in to help you out by setting you up on a series of blind dates. Much to Rooster’s dismay.
(3 parts)
Give me your hand by @sometimesanalice
Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x Fem!reader fluff/pining/smut!
Summary: You and Bradley have been dating for a couple months now. You want him and he wants you. And it’s getting harder and harder to keep your hands off of him. So what is holding you back?
(2 parts)
(My personal favourite) Old habits die hard by @roosterforme
Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x Fem!reader fluff/angst/eventual smut
Summary: Fuckboy!College!Bradley falls for the most unexpected girl. But she's the one who can see past his scars and the doors he keeps closed.
(multiple part series/universe)
(My personal favourite) Yours truly by @roosterforme
Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x Fem!reader fluff/angst/eventual smut
Summary: After Bradley breaks things off with his girlfriend just days before the start of a deployment, he expects a few lonely months of nobody writing to him or waiting for his return. But the fateful arrival of a package from a class of fourth graders learning about aviation changes everything. Suddenly he has a group of inquisitive pen pals that he's more than happy to converse with, and their pretty teacher is someone he finds he wants to get to know better, too.
(multiple part series/universe)
(My personal favourite omg i love this series sm) Is It Working For You? by @roosterforme
Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x Fem!reader fluff/angst/eventual smut
Summary: Rooster has had his eye on you all week at work, and now you’re at the Hard Deck looking too good to be true.
(multiple part series/universe)
(My personal favourite) The Deployment Diaries by @roosterforme
Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x Fem!reader fluff/angst/eventual smut
Summary: It is time for Bradley to leave on deployment. Being separated from each other is not something either of you want. Part of the Is It Working For You? Universe.
(multiple part series/universe)
(My personal favourite) A love you don't find everyday by @roosterforme
Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x Fem!reader fluff/angst/eventual smut
Summary: Sometimes plans change, and you don't always agree on everything, but you and Bradley have what you need to make it work. Part of the Is It Working For You? Universe
(multiple part series/universe)
(My personal favourite) Always Ever Only You by @roosterforme
Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x Fem!reader angst/fluff/eventual smut
Summary: As newlyweds, you and Bradley know what you want. But sometimes wanting something isn't enough when those things suddenly seem unattainable. But you do have each other, and you fight to try to remember that.
Part of the Is It Working For You? Universe
(My personal favourite) Aim for the sky by @roosterforme
Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x Fem!reader fluff/angst/smut
Summary: You seem to fall in love with your husband a little bit more every day. He's never shy about letting you know that you are the center of his attention. With a baby on the way, you and Bradley enter a new era together, and you're all too happy to share him with the Nugget. Parenthood is an even more exciting prospect with an enthusiastic partner, and if you manage to get your heart's desire, you know you would do everything you can to keep it. Part of the Is It Working For You? universe with Roo and BG
Marvel:
Bob Reynolds:
Something soft by @pink-petal-horns
Bob Reynolds x Fem!reader fluff!
Summary: Bob hasn’t gone out for a while so you take Bob to a Cat cafe!
Second nature by @bruisedboys
Bob Reynolds x Fem!reader fluff!
Summary: Bob tells you he’s never been kissed. you decide to change that. (post thunderbolts, spoiler free!)
(My personal favourite) The greatest light is the greatest shade by @em1i2a3
Bob Reynolds x Fem!reader fluff/smut!!
Summary: You return back to the compound a week early from an initial two week-long mission, only to find Bob asleep in your bed.
Cat sitting by @theundercoversquid
Bob Reynolds x reader fluff!
Summary: You're Bucky's cat sitter, and well, maybe Alpine isn't the only one you need to look after...
(My personal favourite) The Complete Knock by @sunsburns
Bob Reynolds x Fem!reader angsty yet fluffy!
Summary: you’re only here to try and understand why bucky’s suddenly gone off the rails and joined a new team, leaving you, sam and joaquín in radio silence. the last thing you expected was to find comfort in a stranger. a kind stranger named bob.
(multiple parts, ongoing (?))
(my personal favourite) Project: Get Over Bob by @hyoer
Bob Reynolds x reader angst (so far)!
Summary: Bob likes someone that’s not you and now it's up to you to begin Project Get Over Bob.
(multiple parts and ongoing)
Let Go by @sunskisser
Bob Reynolds x reader fluff/slight angst
Summary: Bob always avoided you, and you had no idea why — till the night you help him out of a nightmare.
Risk by @starrbishops
Bob Reynolds x reader fluff/slight angst
Summary: You and Bob have feelings for each other. Which would be great, considering you're best friends; the problem is neither of you thinks the other likes you back.
(my personal favourite) Baby I'm Yours
Bob Reynolds x reader smut
Summary: You have sex with Bob for the first time. (sequel to Risk but can be read standalone) (Bob's eyes glow when he cums)
Phone Sex (reblogged since user deleted account) originally written by @undyingdecay
Bob Reynolds x reader smut!
Summary: phone sex.
Bucky Barnes:
Heart By Heart by @winter-soldier-buck
Bucky Barnes x SingleMom!Fem!reader angst/fluff
Summary: Following what he experienced in the void, Bucky can’t shake you from his thoughts, prompting him to reach out after years apart and be met by an unexpected revelation.
(multiple part series and ongoing)
Vulnerable by @mggluvrsblog
Bucky Barnes x Fem!Wife!reader x Daughter angst/fluff
Summary: Bucky’s feelings are overwhelming and he starts crying over your newborn/young baby.
Kiss his scars by @mggluvrsblog
Bucky Barnes x reader angst/slight fluff
Summary: comforting Bucky when he needs a bit of TLC
Nothing between us by @pleasantlycrazyworld
Bucky Barnes x reader smut!
Summary: Bucky losing his mind when you stop him and take the condom off mid-sex.
Joaquin Torres:
(My personal favourite) The Romeo and Juliet Protocol @swordgrace
Joaqiun Torres x Fem!reader fluff/smut
Summary: 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: by anonymous — amidst the avengers feud, you and joaquin are going steady in your relationship. you decide to sneak him into the watchtower while the team is away on a mission.
Lazy makeouts by @bruisedboys
Joaquin Torres x reader smutty!
Blurb: Lazy makeouts with Joaquin
You've got mail by @love-chx
Joaquin Torres x reader angst/smut!
Summary: when joaquin gets a letter from an old friend from bootcamp, some unsuspecting feelings start to arise in you—feelings that you didn’t think you had for your dear roommate. you try to brush it off, to return to some semblance of normalcy in your shared home. but when joaquin sends you pictures from his catch up with his dear old friend, something hot and possessive stirs inside of you. and this time, you can’t ignore it.
OuterBanks:
JJ Maybank:
Risk by @featherandferns
JJ Maybank x fem!kook!reader fluffy/smut!
Summary: after a hurricane, a Labrador shows up at JJ's house. After some posters go up around the country, JJ begrudgingly returns the dog to you on Figure Eight. Little did he know that his life was about to change forever.
Good morning sunshine by @lovelyjj
JJ Maybank x reader fluff!
Summary: blurb request here!! something where reader is napping somewhere in the chateau while the rest of the pogues are just in the main area talking and whatnot. reader wakes up kind of grumpy and grouchy, bc she was woken up, and just goes to jj and just hugs him just because, and everyone's just gushing ab how cute they are, etc? i love ur writing <33
Shower Sex by @drewsephrry
JJ Maybank x reader smut!
Summary: 18+, shower sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), mention of fight
The Last Of Us:
Manny Alvarez:
Relax by @chaoticcreative14
Manny Alvarez x Fem!reader smut/fluff!!
Summary: You’ve had a really shitty day and your boyfriend Manny helps you relax.
(My personal favourite) Oh Baby by @backtothefanfiction
Manny Alvarez x Fem!reader fluff/smut/angst!
Summary: You thought you and Manny were careful people. It was only supposed to be a friends with benefits situation. Now it's something more.
(multiple part series and ongoing (?))
In the end, I chose you by @chaoticsolsworld
Manny Alvarez x Fem!reader angst!
Summary: Canon-divergent one-shot where reader turns on Abby’s crew during the cabin scene and saves Joel + Ellie. She spares Manny too (because love hurts, but not like that), and they’re taken to Jackson for interrogation. Tension, regret, redemption, and a slow-build happy ending. Joel lives. Love survives.
(multiple parts)
(My personal favourite OMGGG) The Ache Inside the Hate by @joequiinn
Manny Alvarez x Fem!reader smut/angst
Summary: When a blizzard hits and the group gets separated, you and Manny are stuck waiting out the storm together.
Outer Range:
Rhett Abbott:
(my personal favourite) Touch Me Like Nobody Else Does by @ierofrnkk
Rhett Abbott x Fem!reader smut!
Summary: After sex, Rhett needs a little bit more care than usual.
(My personal favourite) Baby, It's cold outside by @mynameismckenziemae
Rhett Abbott x Fem!reader smut!
Summary: warming each other up after a snowball fight.
(My personal favourite) State Of Grace by @pagesfromthevoid
Rhett Abbott x Teacher!reader fluff/eventual smut
Summary: Your students want to be part of a fundraiser and chose the rodeo - which means you run into Rhett. (i hope i summarised that well because i have no idea how to summarise this masterpiece)
(My personal favourite) Dandelion Wine by @ierofrnkk
Rhett Abbot x Fem!reader fluff/angst/more fluff
Summary: The beginning of forever. Rhett places first in the Amelia County rodeo, and you take him home to patch him up.
(multiple part series)
No Exit:
Ash Garver:
(My personal favourite) No Exit by @chaoticcreative14
Ash Garver x Fem!reader slight angst/eventual smut
Summary: You have just gotten a new job as a bartender at your city’s most popular club ‘No Exit’. A coworker’s illness causes you to be placed in the VIP section of the club where you meet none other than the club’s owner, Ash. As you spend more time there, you start to realize that the club, and its owner, are much more than what they first appeared to be.
(multiple parts and ongoing)
Twisters:
Scott Miller:
To be known by @luvvyouforever
Scott Miller (twisters) x reader fluff/angst
Summary: Scott can't grapple with the fact that you've ended your tornado chasing fling with him.
Star Wars:
Cassian Andor:
(My personal favourite ILOVETHISSOMUCH) The Sun On Both Sides by @no-droids
Cassian Andor x Fem!reader smut!
Summary: Cassian Andor is your very close companion. He says best friend, you say pain in your ass—neither one of you are entirely wrong. But then one night you smoke some unfamiliar spice with him, and everything you once thought you knew goes sideways.
Red Dead Redemption 2:
Arthur Morgan:
(My personal favourite) The Old Soul Of America by @nevadancitizen
Arthur Morgan x GN!reader fluff/angst/smut(?)
Summary: After a deal goes wrong, you wake up in an abandoned building with an outlaw-looking man pointing a gun at you. To your surprise (and disbelief), you're in 1899. Much like the rest of your life, you didn't sign up for this. But, like the rest of your life, you'll learn how to deal with it. Maybe you'll even learn how to survive -- maybe even thrive -- in this new... predicament you've found yourself in.
(multiple part series and ongoing)
The Boys:
Billy Butcher:
Insatiable by @your-highnessmarvel
Billy Butcher x reader smut!Summary: going to a party with Billy
I'll probably make a part 2 or i'll add more fics to this!
If you’d like your @ to be removed so you’re not notified constantly pls lmk
Summary: She will do anything in order to get out... Even if it means doing the more unsavory jobs.
WC: 3.2k
>> CHAPTER 4
>> READ ON AO3
CW: Allusions to SA but not explicitly described
The next few days became a game of cat and mouse with Don and his daughter. It seemed that she found a job based on how often she came and went from the house. However, she never said anything about where she was working and was short with her answers. Even when he asked if she had said anything to Ben, she was dismissive. Speaking of, Ben hadn't been back since the fight they had. He said something about needing some space before he “blows his shit clean off.” Don was thankful that his injury was getting better despite the tussle. He could walk more freely around the house, but still missed sleeping in his own bed upstairs.
In his lonesome, the ex drill sergeant thought deeply about how his fist felt hitting his own daughter's face. It made him cringe and teeth gnash. There wasn't any reason for slugging her across the face the way he did. He was drunk, yes, upset with the state of the world, yes, angry with her choices, yes, but it was still no excuse to hit her. “Am I that bad of a father?” He says to himself, pondering his past actions even before that night.
Upstairs, she is examining herself in the mirror with the lingerie Kevin had provided. He said she could keep them for ‘private candid shots’. Her phone buzzes with notifications on Only Fans of men begging to see more and showering her with compliments. She has to turn the notifications off as they are stressing her out by how often they are. It had only been around 3 days since she started her page, and she miraculously hit it off. On that same note, she had gotten a call from the grocery store telling her she had been hired.
Kevin: Heeeeyyyyy babyyyyy. U gonna show up 2nite? Xander wants 2 shoot another set 🤪😜
Me: Idk, Kevin. I just got that other job offer and I think it's unfair you keep half of what I've earned. Maybe this isn't for me.
Kevin: Nahhh it's all good. I'm technically ur manager so I get 2 keep sum. We r a team, baby ;) It's cool if u got another job tho. I respect the hustle 💯 💰💰 we can work something out 2nite.
She growls to herself, running a hand through her hair and locking her screen. Her eyes fell on her backpack she had taken to Kevin's luxurious mansion. It had around 1,000 dollars in it just as an offer to keep her around. “Maybe I should give it back and tell him to shove it where his mouth is.” She huffs, taking the lingerie off and throwing some normal clothes on.
The few times she had gone to Kevin's place, she felt extremely uncomfortable. Sure, she knew how to throw a mean right hook and fight one person off, but there were 5 other men there. She was under the assumption it would just be her, Kevin and his friend Xander. Apparently, he had told his buddies that a pretty girl he had met would be shooting sets and they could get a private show.
Me: Are your other friends going to be there? I didn't feel comfortable with so many people around.
Kevin: typing…
Maybe he had a shred of decency? Maybe he would tell her he understands and that he will tell them not to come-
Kevin: U will get used 2 it. They r paying customers and the tips I charge r all 4 u. I am just trying 2 help u out babes. 😮💨🥲 I promise I won't do anything weird haha. I can't say my friends won't try 2 feel u up 😜 I'm jk. Besides their is gonna b free food 2nite and Xander wants 2 do a bathing suit shoot. I will come get u if u want if gas is the issue.
Of course he didn't understand. Her brain screamed at her to keep the lingerie, cash, perfume and block his number. This was getting out of hand, even if the cash was quick and the job easy. Tears of frustration sting her eyes and her fingers end up tangled in her hair again. She didn't know what to do because Kevin knew where she lived and he was the type to take things way too far.
Me: No. It's not that. Forget it. I will see you tonight.
Kevin: Atta guuuurl!! Knew u would come around. See ur sexy ass l8r babe.
Sighing deeply, she grabs her back pack and purse, headed down the stairs. “I'm going to work..” she announces.
Don looks up from his seat over at the stairwell and stands up with some difficulty. He has a somber expression as he limps over to her. “Been meaning to ask, where'd you get a job? I'm uh, glad you found something.”
“The local grocery store.” She twists the strap of her backpack. “I start today. It's $12 an hour…” Her body braces, preparing to be screamed at to do better.
The balding man nods, sighing and sticking his hands in his pockets. “$300.”
She blinks for a moment, adjusting the strap of her bag and tilting her head.
“$700 isn't realistic for that kind of job. I'm cutting $400 off and going easier. Plus, since you're still in contact with good friends, you deserve to have a little something for when you go to a movie or grab a bite to eat.” His eyes don't meet hers and his hand rubs the back of his neck.
While she wanted to trust his word and hope he would keep it that way, she knows that this is a guilt tactic. Her lips part to ask if he means it, but she sighs softly instead. “Okay.”
“Okay? I'm trying to be nice to you. I feel bad for what I did-” Don's already getting irritated and doesn't seem to get the point.
“That's… That's not exactly a way to make up, dad. If you wanted to make it up to me, you'd go to therapy and get a hold on your anger issues.” Her defenses are coming back up and she steps to the entryway. “Maybe try to get to know me instead of-”
Don sighs loudly, lips pursed “I do know you. How could I not? You're my kid.”
“Do you even know what my favorite color is?” She turns around to face him.
“Of course I know. It's pink because all girls like pink.”
She shakes her head and turns away, opening the door to the garage.
“Fine. I tried to make it up to you and make it easier, but if you wanna keep making it difficult then have it your fuckin’ way.” Don's eye twitches and his voice becomes more gruff. “You've always been a pain in my ass! All you do is run away, waste my hard earned money, and cry!! Grow a fucking spine!! I expect full payment by-”
The door slams as she can't listen to anymore from him. That tight feeling in her throat is burning as she fights back tears. She knew it was too good to be true and wasn't actually sorry. Looks like she would have to keep her day job and secret job. She had to get the tears out now and fake a smile for her first day.
It certainly is a job. Almost 8 hours of stocking, cleaning, and getting to know the store. She's exhausted by the time she's done with her shift, and has her head pressed against the steering wheel of her car. Does she have to go for that shoot tonight? How often did Kevin expect her to make content? She pulls her phone out, shooting him a text asking to postpone the session.
Kevin: Huh??? Uhhh no? I have a few people who wanna see how the shoots work and the model 😉
A whine escapes her and she dials Kevin, really not wanting to show up tonight. “Hey, look, I'm really sorry Kevin. I'm tired and my feet hurt. Can't you cut me some slack? Let me rest today?”
Kevin chuckles over the line and tuts, “_____, What is it that people say? Beauty is pain? I thought you would have lived by that motto with how gorgeous you are. Just come over right now and take a nap on the couch!”
She's quiet for a moment and looks out at the field in front of her. Did she really want to go back to where her dad would yell at her? “Fine. But please don't be weird.”
“Alrighty! See you over here, then.” Kevin hangs up and turns to the crowd of men he has. “Well, boys.” He claps his hands together and rubs them. “My girl is coming over.”
“I don't think she ever agreed to be your girlfriend, Kevin.” Xander frowns and goes back to messing with his camera equipment.
“What are you talking about? We haven’t even hard launched yet, bro. She totally digs me.” Kevin coughs, an awkward sensation settling in his chest.
“Sure, bro.”
It's an hour later when she gets to Kevin's mansion. He had foolishly given her a copy of his keys to let herself in. Did he trust just anyone like that? He was more stupid than she initially thought. Her shoulders relax at the sight of the aforementioned couch. Just as she's about to crash down on it, Kevin walks in with a big grin on his face.
“Heyyy! I was wondering when you were gonna show up. You ready to shoot?”
“I thought you said I could take a nap.” She sets her bag down, brows upturned.
“About that.” He places his hands on his hips. “I'm gonna need you like, now. I promise you can take a nap after! Totally. Absolutely. Just-” He walks over to her, placing his hands on her shoulders and ushering her to the nearest bathroom. “Put on some make up to go along with the bathing suit I have laid out for you. Make your hair look nice and be ready. Need my best girl to be as pretty as can be.” He finishes with a smile.
Of course he needed her now. When has anything gone right for her in the course of 2 weeks? She is doing this for the money and to get the hell out of that house. “Alright.” She sighs, entering the bathroom and closing the door behind herself. Naturally, the bikini could hardly be considered an article of clothing. She gingerly picks it up, scrunching her nose as she notices it's not just a bikini, but a microkini. “Wonderful and I didn't shave.”
She gets her make up and hair done as best and quickly as she can. The microkini leaves little to the imagination and only makes her bush stand out more. Sure, she groomed herself often but she wasn't expecting to be wearing something like this. Grabbing the short silk robe provided, she puts it on and ties the belt tightly. The blush on her cheeks only enhances the natural blood flow beneath the make up. “Just get it over with. It's for the money.” She tells herself, feeling a bit jittery. Her bare feet pad down the luxurious marble halls to the foyer, “Kevin?” Her voice bounces off the walls.
“Over here!!” He replies from a further away room. It sounded like his voice projected from the right where she just came from.
She follows the sound, making sure to put a bit of a pep in her step. The cold flooring and air had helped her wake up a bit, but she was still very much emotionally exhausted. Her heart almost stops as she finally reaches her destination: a swimming pool room full of men. Her stomach begins to twist in knots and hands tremble. There were at least 30 men and all of their hungry, lustful gazes were on her.
“There you are.” Kevin wraps an arm around her waist, leading her over to the set that Xander had set up.
“What is this?” She takes a step back after reaching the corner, and wraps her arms around herself. “There are more people here than last time.” She was becoming more reluctant to remove her robe, even if it reached her mid thigh.
“She's really cute, Kevin.” One of the men snicker.
“You sure you're not up for sharing?” another man oogles her
“Maybe you should make premium content. You know, on PornHub.”
“Show us that body, baby!”
The collection of men's amorous jeers made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. An uneasy feeling squirms in the pit of her stomach, causing her to feel nauseated. “I can't do this.” She whispers, taking another step back.
“This should be easy, yeah? It's like high school class presentations. Come on-” Kevin feigns a grab for her arm but instead grabs the belt and yanks it free of the loops. “You want to make money, don't you?” He takes a step forward, his hands crawling under the robe and pushing it from her shoulders.
The silky fabric crumpled to the floor, pooling around her feet. She's left standing in that forsaken microkini for all to gawk at. She did want to make money. She did want to get out of that house. A tear of embarrassment rolls down her cheek as she nods.
“Good girl.” He practically purrs, tracing his fingers along her skin. Kevin's blue eyes are dark and a prominent bulge throbs beneath his pants. “We're gonna be doing some uh, premium content today. It'll be a surprise. You'll like it, I promise.”
Lewd shot, after lewd shot, after lewd shot. It seemed like this would never end. She was spread eagle, on all fours, ass up, laying in the shallow pool, coming out of the deeper pool, and so on. Exhaustion rang deep in her bones from the unwarranted gazes and disgusting comments. Yes, she knew she didn't shave and had pubic hair. Yes, her nipples were practically hanging out because it's a microkini. Yes, she is pretty. She's completely drenched by the time Xander calls it quits.
“Alright. Premium content time!” Kevin claps his hands and peels his shirt off. He was very well built and had a nice physique. It didn't make up for the lack of brains he had. “Jorge, grab my phone and film it on there. It'll be a Deep special.”
“What are you doing?” Her eyes widen as he gets closer to her while stroking himself. She stares directly at his cock and swallows hard. “No.” She states firmly, shaking her head. “I'm not doing that. It was just photos and that was it!”
“I did say premium content, my little mermaid.” Kevin grabs her arm and gives a look to his friends as a signal to help him if she tries anything. “On your knees.” He orders.
It's for the money. No more abusive household. Independence. She lowers herself to her knees, looking up at Kevin with uncertainty. She had only seen a blow job a few times in a porno, and given her mostly innocent status, she knows she will disappoint. But she isn't about to say she has no experience at all. She drops her jaw and gingerly places her hands on his thighs, wanting to be over with this.
The nap she was promised did not happen. Instead, she's running outside to her car with the said microkini on and in tears. Once she reaches the grey Impala, she falls to her knees and wretches hard. Rain begins to pour down on her quivering, tense body as she continues to puke everything up. She had sucked 3 other guys, “premium subscribers”, off. And the free food? None of it was for her. Kevin didn't want her to ruin her figure.
She didn't even bother changing into her clothes as she was so desperate to get out. Once she thinks she's done throwing up, she tosses her bag and purse into her car and hastily climbs in. “Come on. Come on.” Her hand shakes as she turns the key in the ignition. Finally, she hears the engine roar to life and peels out of the lavish driveway. Her teeth chatter and knuckles are white as she drives recklessly down the free way. It would take at least an hour to get back home and it was past her curfew.
Wait, she recognizes this road. It's near Ben's house! But… Maybe she should find a hotel for the night. There would be a lot of explaining to do in the morning as to why she wasn't home. “HOLY SHIT!!” She slams on her breaks, nearly hitting a deer and swerving to the side of the road. That was one way to pull herself from her thoughts. “What the fuck? Oh no, no, no!!” She hears a loud pop and fizzle of one of her tires. It had hit a sharp piece of debris. To add to her woes, her tank was empty and she didn't think to check it earlier. The icing on the cake was that it was still storming badly.
She screams loudly, banging her fists on the dashboard and wailing like a child. Her forehead rests on the steering wheel and she allows herself to sob loudly. “What the fuck am I supposed to do!?” She looks in the back at her clothes. These wouldn't provide that much warmth for the night and she wasn't about to call her dad. She didn't even have Ben's number-
Her sobs stifle, reduced to sniffles and pathetic whines. Judging on how far the road was, she figured her best bet was to walk to Ben's house. Where else did she have to go? Quickly, she grabs her clothes from the backseat and puts them on. Of course, one of the sick fucks from Kevin's place took her bra and panties. “God damn it.” She forgot her shoes there in her haste to get the hell out. This night couldn't possibly get worse, could it?
Much to her utter dismay: it did.
On the trek to Ben's, lightning had nearly struck her. It was a one in a million chance but with how her day went, it seemed fitting. On top of that, the rain wasn't letting up, her phone was running on fumes, she's pretty sure there's a cut on the bottom of her foot from slicing it on a broken beer bottle, it was dark out, and she was soaked to the bone. Her teeth chatter violently as she holds herself, limping along the side of the road. She's too tired and in too much pain to cry as she is just focused on getting to her destination.
The rain continues its relentless onslaught. Her lips are a shy tint of blue and arms wrapped tightly around herself. She lost track of time and hope was beginning to die until she recognized a mailbox address. Light begins to come back to her eyes and she finds a burst of renewed energy as she runs down the driveway. Her feet throb horribly as she bounds toward the house. She's so focused on seeing Ben that she doesn't notice another car parked in the driveway. “Ben!! Ben!!” She yells, a smile blooming on her face. Rain starts to pour harder than possible and the wind whips in her face as she stands at his door, pounding on it.
Finally, it opens. “B-” The excitement in her voice is cut as a woman with a short brunette bob stands in the doorway.
Summary: The aftermath of that fight isn't pretty and leaves tension between the three. Anxiety is eating at her to get the hell out of there no matter the cost.
WC: 2.7k
>> CHAPTER 3
>> READ ON AO3
CW: Abuse and anxiety
The two men finally slam into a tree near the old fire pit at the edge of the woods. It knocks the air out of them both, but doesn't stop what had been started. Ben gets up with more ease, slugging Don across the face again before receiving a hit himself. The bastard still had some fight left in him even after letting himself go a bit.
“I remember-” Don pants, grabbing Ben by the collar of his shirt tightly, “When you tried to take Susie from me. Tried to make ‘er yours.” He reels his head back, slamming it into Ben's. Both men fell backwards from impact and left them scrambling to throw another punch in.
Ben uses Don's weak leg as a vantage, kicking it out from beneath him as he tries to stand. “I never wanted Susie!” He pants, his previous high wearing off and replaced by adrenaline. “You were just butt fucking hurt that she wanted me!! Look where treating her like shit got you, fuckin’ no where but a god damn divorce!” Another loud thwack of Ben's fist connecting to Don's face.
“You ain't a fucking prize, either! You don't even have a woman because you're too afraid to settle down! Might make you look like a pussy!” Don's punch breaks Ben's nose. “That's the last thing you wanna be is some weak, sniveling pussy just like your old man used to call ya!! Maybe he was right! All the times you pissed yourself out on the field and cried like a little bitch!” He spits blood onto Ben's battered face and roars in drunken rage as he intercepts a charge from the latter.
“I don't hit my own daughter!” Ben growls, managing to get Don into a choke hold and feeling repressed malice continue to build. He wasn't about to admit that all Don was saying was getting to him. Sure, he had been a scared younger man in his earlier serving days, but war toughened him up. Seeing fellow comrades die eventually mellowed him to numbness. If he was stoic and drank enough, memories would blur and he would find a woman to warm his bed for the night.
Don wheezes under Ben's grasp, glassy eyes bewildered. His hazy brain managed to put two together. “_____. It's her. You couldn't have Susie so you're going after _____!”
Blood begins to stain Don's pants where his injury was still healing. It hadn't been a proper 2 weeks like the doctor had told him. In a moment of clarity, Ben releases the injured vet and steps back, chest heaving and eyes still full of hatred. “No.” He spits blood onto the ground and wipes his mouth. “Why the fuck would I do that? Don't drag her into this anymore.”
Unable to stand properly, Don uses a tree for balance. He is still too drunk to feel the pain and soreness that would come the next day. “It's all her fault. All her fault, all her fault, all her f-” the tossing around finally catches up with him as he vomits on himself. It takes a good minute before he is able to speak again. “Useless fuckin’ girl.” He growls, chunky drool dripping from his bloodied lip. A loud belch rips from Don before he starts to throw up again.
It comes to the point where Ben knocks him out and carries him up the hill with some difficulty. “Stupid bastard.” He groans, haphazardly tossing him onto the couch. When he turns around, he sees her staring at him with a worried gaze. “It's nothing, kid. Go back to your room-”
“But I saw everything.” She looks down at her toes, feeling rather small. “Both of you are hurt and if I don't take care of dad, he will kick me out.”
“I'll take care of your Dad. Go to your room, _____.” Ben raises his voice a little louder, anger still wearing off.
“Ben-” Her voice quivers slightly.
“NOW.” His green eyes flare with warning. He wasn't going to tell her again.
She gives him one last look before quietly heading upstairs and softly shutting her door. Useless. This was all her fault. She was the reason why her parents split. Stupid. Naive. “I just wanted to help you, Ben.” She whispers to the door, tears running down her cheeks for the third time that night. Once the light clicks off, she is back in bed and crying softly to herself. Perhaps this was a sign not to think about Ben like that any further. It would be for the best.
Sure enough, Ben had fixed himself and Don up. In the morning, sheepish apologies were given and eye contact avoided entirely. Before she came down for breakfast, Ben had quietly left for the guest room. Don had even felt guilty enough to apologize to his daughter, and offer to make breakfast for her like it was the least he could do. Naturally, she politely declined and really didn't want to give him or Ben any time of day. He understood very much why she wouldn't want to talk and continued to silently ruminate about the strike to her face.
She's in her room, looking at her outfit she chose to go into town. A cute blouse with form fitting jeans, pink laced socks, and her hair styled into a high ponytail with bangs framing her face. Might as well try to apply to some places in person. She desperately needed to get out of the house and away from the cantankerous veterans. Grabbing her purse and phone, she heads down the stairs to grab her keys. “I'm gonna go into town. Apply for some jobs.” She announces, hands twisting the strap of her purse.
Don looks up from his spot in his chair and nods. “Curfew is 10 PM… And ____?” His voice softens a little. “Good luck.”
She returns the nod, offering a small smile and walking to the garage. Looking over her shoulder, she notices the guest room door is shut. Ben must still be sleeping or something. It didn't matter what he was doing at the moment as memories of last night were a fresh wound. Sighing, she heads out through the garage to her car: a 2006 grey Chevrolet Impala. Before she went to college, she begged to take her car with her. Unfortunately, she had way too much for the Impala to hold so she had to leave it behind. Some dust did settle on the dash as the sun shines through the windshield. “Finally, I can breathe for a while.” She turns the key to the ignition after buckling herself in and begins to pull out of the garage.
Ben's truck was gone from the parking spot it had left on the grass. Wonder how long he had been gone for. Neither she nor Don heard him leave, let alone start his truck. Not seeing it there made her a little sad, but she forced herself not to focus on it. She reaches for the radio and turns it on to a classic rock station. “Ugggh!” It was one of Ben's favorites so she turns it off, preferring to drive in silence instead.
The local town wasn't big but it wasn't exactly small either. Here, almost everyone knew everything and anyone so no gossip was left unheard. She had hoped that the fight from last night would stay unheard as it wasn't anyone's business. There was a 99% chance that no one would hear anything, unless her dad decides to open his mouth. She knows Ben won't say a word as he isn't one to indulge in slander. “Shit’s for bored housewives who don’t have fuck all to do and their own clits to twiddle.” He had said this once before about telling tales and made her laugh. The thought made her snort to herself as she parked her car, Ben always had something interesting to say about anything if he was asked.
As soon as she got out of her car, she threw a hand over her eyes to shield them from the sun. Damn thing was way too bright today and not to mention hotter than hell. It was a beautiful day out, not a cloud to be seen in the sky and the breeze giving little relief from the heat. “Better start looking.” She mutters to herself, locking the car and heading toward the town center. People scuttled about, but there wasn’t much traffic as it was a weekday. Her eyes scan nearby windows of various shops to see if there’s ‘HELP WANTED’ signs posted. Five minutes in, and there is no such luck which causes anxiety to build up little by little. The thought of disappointing her dad further didn’t help with the growing unease within her chest. She takes a deep breath, attempting to calm herself down as the dread was approaching faster. A bead of sweat rolls down her face and her ears start ringing, unable to focus on the task at hand. Her vision blurs, and begins to spin as she breathes hard. All the worst case scenarios overwhelm her.
“Hey, whoa, you good?” A man's voice breaks the anxiety attack that had her in a chokehold.
Flustered, her cheeks are pink and deep embarrassment replaces the tightness in her chest. “Uh, yeah.” She catches her breath, swallowing to soothe her dry throat. “‘M good.”
“You don't look good. I mean you're practically about to pass out.” He raises a thick eyebrow and examines her. She's cute. Young. “I'm Kevin, by the way.” He flashes a smile, holding his hand out.
What an odd way to introduce oneself. She awkwardly takes his hand and shakes it, but he is looking at her like he expects her to know him. “Well, uh, it was nice to meet you. I should get going. Thanks for helping, I guess.”
He didn't really help at all. The only thing he did was dissuade her panic attack.
“Are you gonna tell me your name? Cute face like yours must have an equally cute name.” Kevin winks, following her.
“____.” She answers shortly, not really caring to continue the conversation. Something about Kevin gave her major d-bag vibes, like some of the dude bros she had run into at college.
“Oh that is cute. Super cute. You got a boyfriend?”
Here he goes…
“Kelvin.” She stops for a moment, holding her hand up to create a distance between them.
“Kevin.” He corrects her.
“Sorry. Whatever. Look, I appreciate the compliments and I guess your unexpected intervening of my panic attack, but I'm just looking for a job right now.” She sighs and turns on her heel to walk away. His presence was making her feel worse and she could absolutely tell he was trouble.
Kevin scoffs, rolling his eyes before trailing her. “Job? What are you? Some broke college student? You could be making a ton on Only Fans!” He catches up, standing in front of her and flashing another dazzling smile. “Face like that and body bodacious, you'd be raking in the cash baby.” A wink to finish his cringy sentence. Oh, so not only was he a dude bro but a scuzz bag, too. “I know a guy who can take your pics. I can feature you on my podcast- Deep thoughts with The Deep. It's what they call me. It's mostly for the bros, but I can fit a babe like you in there.”
There wasn't any way of getting out of this. She really didn't want to have to put up with him anymore than she had to. “If I give you my number and consider it, will you leave me alone?” She closes her eyes, exhaling loudly.
“Gimme that phone, girly!” Kevin takes her phone, grinning like he just hit the lottery. “I promise you, I wouldn't lie about this kinda thing. You're gonna ruin so many relationships and be a 12 year olds wet dream.” He hands her phone back and wiggles his brows. “Text me later, lemme know if you made up your mind. See ya, babes.”
She's left standing in the center of town holding her phone with a dumbfounded expression. “What the fuck…” she mutters to herself and looks down at the screen with Kevin's number. The stupid son of a bitch put a shark emoji by his name. “Ugh.” She rolls her eyes in disgust and takes the emoji away. Part of her was considering his offer to model and start an OF. It would rake in fast money and… And she could move out. Her eyes meet a ‘HELP WANTED’ sign on the local grocery store before she looks back at her phone. While there was nothing wrong with OF, she knows her dad would be livid. He would call it a “cheap get out” and of course he would call her a whore. Why did she care so much? She was 23 and an adult! Her dad didn't rule her life and she would much rather take advice from Ben-
Her heart races for a moment. What if Ben saw the content she might possibly produce? There have been a few times where he left his phone sitting out with a tab open on porn. He was a man and wasn't actively looking for a wife, so he had to fulfill his needs elsewhere. Her thighs clench slightly at the thought. Would he think differently of her? Would he be disgusted? Maybe she wanted him to see her in lewd poses and situations. Show him what a woman she could be. No. She shuts down those thoughts immediately and marches into the grocery store. Thinking about Ben that way couldn't happen again.
The sun is setting by the time she gets back home. She had run into a few friends and was treated to dinner as a welcome back, though she took it as more of a “sorry you had to drop out”. Ben's truck is still gone and the door to the guest room shut. She places her keys on the entryway table and looks in the living room. Don is snoring loudly with a game of baseball on. At least he wasn't awake to yell at her or god knows what else. She quietly ascends the stairs to her room and throws herself on her bed, and ruminates on the events of the day. The grocery store owner seemed eager to hire her, but still had to follow protocol with standard hiring processes. Meanwhile, there was that handsome, yet extremely dumb guy named Kevin who offered something far different.
She checks her phone, seeing about 5 texts from the aforementioned Kevin-
Kevin: Sup’ baby? U thinking about what I said earlier? I'm telling u
ur gonna b a absolute 💣 🐚
Kevin: It's cool. No biggie. Just w8 and u will see 👀 lol
Kevin: K. Come on. U gonna take me up on that offer or nahhhhh?? Haha I'm just playinggggg…. Unless?
Kevin: Fr bro. Come on.
Kevin: Bro I don't have all day. It's either a yes or a no. I'm still keeping ur number if not. Can't let a hottie get awayyyy haha
She wishes she would have just ignored him. There was always the option of blocking his number and moving on. The problem was, Kevin knew she would lurk around town and more than likely look for her. Guys like him were disgustingly persistent and desperate. She knows she's pretty, but she wouldn't want to waste her energy on some idiot like him. When her phone buzzes again, she growls and unlocks her screen, ready to send a rejection. Her eyes widen slightly at the photo Kevin sent: cold hard cash, jewelry, perfumes, and expensive lingerie sets.
Kevin: All this and more if u want it.
It has only been a day. There was no way the store owner would get back to her so fast and her anxiety was eating at her on the inside. She had to get her dad that money, save up, and get the hell out of this abusive household.
Andrew "Pope" Cody x Foc (Lizzie)
[Ao3], Masterlist, Series Masterlist, First Chapter, Prev
Warnings/Tags: Exes to lovers, Cody Family, Canon typical violence, Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Freudian issues, Codependency, Angst, past parental death, drugs, smoking, angst, fluff, kid fic, Fix it, HEA
Summary: While the Cody family figures out what to do after the church job, reality of Lizzie staying hits Andrew.
Word Count: 1.3K
The brothers sat at the booth in The Drop, pre-opening, as they discussed next steps from the church job. Andrew was over this shit; Baz was treating all of them as if they didn't know the basic shit about jobs.
Craig pulled up a chair to the booth and dropped down into it. He turned to Baz. "Hey," he said with a nod. "Did you know Lizzie's back?"
"Lizzie?" Baz asked, surprised, sitting back in shock. He looked to Andrew like he thought he would add something, considering the conversation he'd just had about dating Amy. But Andrew had nothing to add; he had no clue what to say. But as Baz looked away from him, he knew whatever had happened when Lizzie had left had apparently convinced Baz she'd never come back.
But she was, she was here, and fuck if it wasn't confusing.
"Yeah, she hung out at Smurf's with us a few days ago," Craig continued, as if this was four years ago and the most normal conversation. Andrew froze. Smurf had seen her? Fuck. Andrew knew she would keep her word and go see J. "But I think she's got a guy," Craig said with a shrug.
"A guy?" Andrew couldn't help it. This was new information she had left out when they saw each other. She had a guy? She was fucking some loser back from wherever she had been. Andrew couldn't help the anger in his chest. Who was he? The idea of anyone seeing her like that made his hands clench.
"Heard her on the phone, using pet names and shit," Craig said.
"Yeah, me too," Deran agreed with a nod. "She gets a call every day at the same time."
"He's a controlling type?" Baz asked, giving a small smirk to Andrew. "I guess her tastes are the same."
"I didn't control her," Andrew snapped back. Baz knew that was bullshit. To Baz, Lizzie was a little girl who needed to be reigned in. Someone who needed to follow but didn't understand that's what she needed. But that was far from the case. As if anyone could control Lizzie. He would never want to control her; that was for fucking sure. But clearly, the new guy was succeeding, and it made Andrew's jaw clench.
"She's gonna work here," Deran continued, sitting back down at the table in his original seat.
"What?" Pope said, sitting straighter. What the fuck did he mean? After everything that she had been through? "What the fuck, Deran?" he growled, his whole body tensed. "After that shit, you fucking put her back in a bar?"
"What?" Deran snapped back. "She needed a job, Pope, figured might as well get a good bartender."
Andrew swore he was starting to see red. His breathing was getting heavier. His body felt like lava. Until the door opened, making all the men turn as Lizzie, her fucking self, stepped in. She looked distracted, rummaged through her purse, then paused and looked up to find everyone staring at her.
Andrew froze, the feeling sinking back as he looked at her now. She was there; she looked the same as she had always looked. Something about her was so distinct, like the air around her was different than anyone he had ever met.
Beautiful.
Andrew had always thought that when he saw her. Every minute of every day.
She looked awkwardly at all of them, finally her eyes making contact with him for a heartbeat before she turned away, like she hadn't seen him at all. Like he didn't exist.
"Sorry," she said awkwardly, "I'm early."
Andrew didn't like the way that Baz was focused on her, though. Didn't like the way Baz looked at her, like he gave a shit she was there. "Lizzie," came out of Baz's mouth, and Andrew didn't like her name on his lips either.
She looked at him, giving him an annoyed expression before turning straight to Deran. "I'll get started. Didn't mean to interrupt," giving Deran and Craig a smile before she moved towards the office. Andrew watched and waited; she returned soon after to start prepping the bar.
Andrew didn't know what to do. Lizzie was there, ignoring everyone, like they were some scummy customers in the bar who tipped poorly. His mind was working too fast. What could he say to her to get her to look at him?
"Shit," Andrew heard Baz say under his breath. He took a swig of his drink before he stood up. "Fuck," Baz said, shaking his head.
Andrew didn't know what to do. He could help, anything to be closer to her for a bit longer. Even if she wouldn't look at him. He glanced her way before he moved around the bar, beginning to take down the chairs.
"Lizzie, can we talk?" he heard Baz ask. Andrew turned to find that Baz had moved to the bar to talk to her. Baz leaned on the bartop, right in front of her as she worked.
Lizzie scoffed, shaking her head. "You can talk," Andrew couldn't help but smirk. She hadn't lost the anger inside her, apparently. Andrew didn't know why, but it felt like a good thing. Like one thing hadn't changed in the years apart.
"Please," Baz said, seemingly leaning even closer. "We've missed you."
Lizzie rolled her eyes and shook her head in annoyance. She continued to ignore him as she worked. Andrew got most of the tables set up before he saw Baz digging into his pocket, pulling out his wallet, and digging into it. He held up what looked to be a couple hundred, holding it out to her.
Lizzie gave him a look that only ever meant get the fuck out of her face. Baz was lucky her fist didn't go flying. Andrew couldn't help but joy at the thought.
"I don't need it, Baz, not from you," she snapped, turning away from him. "Andrew might forgive you for being Smurf's bitch, but I can't." That stung. Andrew looked up, hoping to catch her eye, but she was still ignoring him entirely. "I'm sorry to hear about Cath, though."
"Thanks."
"But, wasted no time fucking Lucy," the judgement in her voice was clear as she raised her eyebrow at the older man. Baz had the decency to look offended. "Oh, shut up before you say anything stupid," Lizzie snapped. "They said you were in Mexico; it doesn't take a fucking genius."
"Ok," Baz snapped back at her, all the sweetness from before gone and his annoyance rising. "I'm back with Lucy."
"Does Smurf know?"
Baz shook his head with a fake laugh. "Fuck Smurf, who cares what she thinks?"
"I sure don't," Lizzie gave a raised eyebrow towards Baz, shaking her head. He said something else that Andrew didn't hear, but it made her try to hide a smile as she shook her head and moved away from him.
He just wanted her to look at him, to see him. Look at him again like she did before. Andrew finished putting all the chairs down and froze; he could feel the eyes on the back of his head. He turned to see Lizzie there, watching him with an expression he couldn't read. He used to read her so well, as if she were part of him. It seemed that the ability was gone, like she was a distant entity even when she was there in front of him.
She looked away, not saying anything else as she continued to work, ignoring him. Andrew could feel his panic rising. She was rejecting him. Lizzie was somehow here and not here. He couldn't touch her or talk to her; now she wouldn't even look at him.
The room felt claustrophobic. He needed to go. He needed to leave before she would see that he was panicking. Before she gained the ability to read him again and he was left in the dark about her.
synopsis: when freshly divorced frank takes his kids to soccer for the first time, he immediately makes friends with one of the mothers, you. when you come and pick your daughter up from a playdate later, it stretches into something much greater than both of you could've imagined.
pairing: divorced!frank langdon x single mother!reader
cw: 18+ mdni, smut, angst. discussions of divorce, mentions of frank's drug addiction and guilt, discussions of abandonment, infidelity and single parenthood. unprotected p in v, fingers in mouth.
wordcount: 4.5k
taglist: @pittsick @inside--her--fantasy @voidsuites @lvve-talks @iloverodentmen @carpenfaist @nyxmoretti @kill3ill @meetmeatyourworst @coochiemama3000 @scariffs @thryn-the-destroyer @multi-fandom-bi-bitch (to be added)
the car was new. well, not new but unfamiliar. it was a station wagon, reminiscent of what your dad had driven around in the ‘80s, you didn’t even know they still made those. the puppy’s new too, sprinting out of the open car door before the engine had even turned off, all floppy ears and wagging tail. so was the man chasing her, with muttered curse words and failed grabs with veiny arms. the stubble, you noted, was definitely new and you swallowed, hard.
the only familiar part of the chaotic scene was the two kids, penny and tanner, dashing out of the car and onto the soccer pitch, joining nora, your daughter in a flurry of giggles.
the weary man had wrangled the overexcited puppy onto the leash and although the animal was still nipping at his ankles, he was too busy scanning the crowd of parents. following his eyeline, you recognised the judgemental looks and whispers behind hands, you knew what it felt like to be the social pariah. however, when his gaze falls on you, you make a point to look neutral, no indication of welcoming. shamefully, you’d worked hard to climb the ranks to a somewhat average position, break away from the single mother stereotype.
for better or worse, the man chooses to stand next to you, puppy jumping up wildly.
‘just ignore him.’ he says with a quick shake of his head, ‘apparently it’s just a phase.’
the puppy tilts it’s head as if to say this will definitely not be a phase.
you nod politely but he merely takes it as signal to continue.
‘it was supposed to be a surprise, you see?’ he clicks his tongue, ‘tanner was so insistent he’d take care of the poor animal.’
with a shake of your head, you reply wryly. ‘kids always say stuff like that, trick is not to give in.’
‘i’ll… remember that for next time.’ he laughs with a smirk, looking down at the puppy, who was now pushing it’s fluffy head against his shoes, begging for cuddles.
you look down too, and your jaded heart melts at the adorable sight and with a nod from the man, you’re crouching down to pet him and the puppy immediately bumps his face into your hand, licking your fingers excitedly.
it’s only when you stand back up, feeling weirdly warmed by the whole interaction that he introduces himself.
‘i’m frank, by the way.’ he presses his hand to his chest, ‘frank langdon.’
you’re at a loss for words, trying to keep your expression polite whilst your brain fires at a million miles per minute. abby had talked at length about her husband, his time as a doctor, his time in rehab, his lack of time for his kids. by the end, you’d envisioned some sort of monster who was jacked up on pills and only appeared in the depths of nighttime.
that is nothing like the fairly normal man stood beside you. he’s dressed a plain shirt that hugs his upper body, showing faint muscles and regular jeans that aren’t too baggy and aren’t too tight. his dark brown hair is flopping in his face slightly, obscuring his piercing blue eyes. his jawline is set but you’re drawn to the stubble covering it once again and the way his sturdy fingers stroke it as if it still needed some getting used to.
your eyes betrayed you, widening impossibly as you made the connection. he’d never brought the kids to soccer practice before, he was no longer clean shaven and he had a demented puppy with him. abby had finally divorced him.
thankfully, frank hadn’t seemed to take notice of your blatant shock so when you finally answered him, it was as casual as you could muster.
‘oh! well it’s good to finally meet you.’ your smile is strained, not quite meeting your eyes as you try to quell your surprise. ‘i’ve heard so much about you!’
he seemed a little embarrassed by this, looking away slightly. ‘yeah… um… can’t’ve been good.’
you wave your hands rapidly, ‘no, no. trust me, all the moms here complain about their husbands, it’s standard.’
it’s a lie of course, and a bad one at that. there’s complaining about your husband not doing the dishes and there’s complaining about your husband almost losing his job for stealing painkillers.
despite this, it seems to appease frank and he looks back at you with a soft expression. it’s real, almost too real and as you hold his warm gaze, you feel your heart rate slowly increase and the sound of a plastic ball being bounced across the grass and screaming children start to fade into the background.
the moment is interrupted by three children running up to you.
‘mom! mom! mommy! mom!’ came the repeated cry, you’d barely had time to swivel your head to look at nora.
you take a deep regulating breath, ‘yes, sweetheart?’
‘can i stay at tanner and penny’s new house? pleaseeee?’ she whined, making her eyes wide with a grin stretching across half her little face.
‘well…’ you glance at frank’s kids, who were riling their new puppy up to no end and then to frank who was doing his best to keep it all under control.
at your non reply, your daughter doubled down. ‘please, please, please, please, please, please.’
‘okay, okay!’ you hold your hands up in defeat, ‘i just have to ask their dad first.’
nora erupted into cheers and immediately dove into the throng of child and puppy at your feet.
turning to frank with an apologetic face, you ask the question. ‘in case you hadn’t heard, nora wants to have a playdate at your house today.’
you’re half expecting him to say no, come up with some excuse about how there’s no space or he’s hardly unpacked but instead he brightens.
‘oh sure! they’d love that. here…’ he fumbles around in his jean pocket to pull out his phone and you notice the friendship bracelets adorning his wrist, a children’s creation that makes your heart swell. ‘i’ll give you my number in case anything happens.’
you smile slightly, it’s the most considerate a dad has ever been around here. ‘great, thanks.’ you say as you type his digits into your phone. ‘does 6 sound good? i’ll give her dinner at home.’
‘6 is perfect.’ frank replies with a warm smile, and once again his gaze is lingering just a beat too long.
you blink and look away first, ‘okay, nora. come say bye to your mom!’ you call.
‘bye!’ she squeals into your legs, little arms wrapped around them in a hug.
‘bye, honey. have fun.’ you whisper into her hair, pressing a kiss to her scalp before handing her her backpack.
‘be good!’ comes your final cry as she tears off with penny and tanner towards frank’s car.
as you trudged back to your own beat up sedan, you couldn’t help but stare at his contact open on your phone. even as you drove home, blasting music, you found yourself wishing that he’d call or even text. not that you wanted anything bad to happen to nora, far from it, you just wanted to hear his smooth voice again, read his words.
this was wrong, you thought as the key turned in the lock and you came home to an empty house. you weren’t exactly abby’s friend but you were friendly, she was friendly and everyone knew what went down over the last couple of years between her and frank.
and yet, you hadn’t been with someone since you’d given birth to nora, no time to balance a job, a kid and a man. nor did you have time for hookups either, lost track of how long it had been since you’d even had sex.
you were just pent up, you concluded, you saw an attractive man out in the wild and didn’t know how to act. there was no way you could possibly be interested in your friend’s freshly ex husband.
sitting down to watch tv to pass the endless hours, every channel was showing some sort of romance. whether it was cheesy romantic comedies or cringe reality dating shows, it didn’t matter. you were being haunted by your own conflicting feelings.
5:30 couldn’t come fast enough and you practically jumped in the car, surprised you didn’t get a speeding ticket as you pulled up outside frank’s address, your heart had skipped a beat when he’d texted it to you hours earlier.
although you’d convinced yourself you couldn’t possibly be attracted to him, you did reapply your lipstick and check your mascara before getting out of the car. the house was modest, small in a series of ramshackle houses on a street just outside pittsburgh. he clearly wasn’t short of money, so the divorce must not have come as a surprise.
even as you stood on his creaky wooden porch, you could hear the cacophony of chaos from behind the door. as you knocked, you heard shrill barking and the door opened just as golden fur dove at you only to be grabbed by the scruff of it’s neck and yanked back.
‘sorry, sorry.’ frank mutters quickly as he shooed the poor creature away, ‘like i said, still a lot of training to go.’
you blink, bewildered. ‘no it’s fine, really.’ you smile politely, suddenly at a loss for words just from the sight of him.
‘it’s um- nora!’ he shouts upstairs, ‘your mom’s here!’
there’s the sound of giggles and definitely no footsteps on the stairs.
frank pulls a face and runs his fingers through his hair, ‘they might be a while, do you want to come in?’ he gestures behind him.
before you can even think, you’re stepping past the threshold.
‘sure, thanks.’ you smile.
the interior is a mess, the furniture is simple, recent store items but it’s all draped in piles of laundry and children’s toys. everything has puppy height bites in it and you can barely see the living room rug, filled with torn up teddies.
‘i apologise for the mess, my job doesn’t give me a whole lot of time for housekeeping.’ he shrugs, it’s an excuse but a genuine one. even so, nora didn’t make half as much mess as this.
‘i understand, you’re a doctor right?’ comes your warm reply.
he brightens, corner of his lips quirking up. ‘yeah. emergency medicine.’
‘brave.’ you say wryly.
‘you said it not me.’ he joked as he opened the fridge door. ‘drink?’
you slide onto the dining table bench, flicking a transformers toy aside and adjust your outfit, which you admit was not your typical picking up your daughter get up but you couldn’t help yourself.
‘well if you’re-’ you regret the words as soon as they came out of your mouth.
his expressions hardens slightly, but it’s not directed at you, rather the portrayal of a million guilty memories.
his response is blunt, ‘i don’t.’
‘right- of course-’ you say quickly, swallowing down your embarrassment. ‘me neither.’
frank doesn’t say any more and you don’t want to push so you’re now stuck in this agonising silence, sipping respective glasses of water.
‘so-’ you both start at the same time, before he laughs and shakes his head.
‘you go.’ he nods, earnest.
you press your lips together, ‘it’s a nice house.’ you sidestep, not wanting to say what was actually on your mind when he was being so hospitable.
frank looked around, as if seeing it himself for the first time. ‘yeah… my parents helped me out a bit.’
‘that’s good.’ you reply, awkward and a little too fast and he eyes you slightly.
with a sly smirk, he puts you on the spot. ‘why? what’s your house like then?’
almost choking on your water, ‘it’s not that much different if you must know. just a lot…’ your eyes twinkle with mischief as you add the last word, ‘cleaner.’
the laugh erupts from frank, a broad smile stretching across his face as he watches you with mock surprise.
‘oh yeah? well i suppose you’ve got half the kids and…’ he tilts his head to the side, ‘what do you do? for work i mean.’
‘right. i’m a consultant, it’s boring, trust me.’ you shrug.
‘so half the kids and half the hours then.’ frank jokes and you feel your cheeks grow hot.
‘alright, alright.’ you shake your head, staring down into your glass.
‘hey.’ he murmured quietly, ‘i was joking.’
‘i know.’ you retort but as you look up, you can see the way his piercing eyes had softened.
his gaze was lingering again, that beat too long that made your breath quicken. you didn’t want to look away until your phone screen lit up and it jolted you out of the moment.
‘shit is that the time already? it’s almost…’
frank was already standing, opening the fridge. ‘dinnertime?’
you move to follow immediately, ‘you don’t have to. i can take her home and feed her, honestly.’
he didn’t miss a beat, ‘stay. i want you to.’
his tone was gentle but authoritative, the words simple but they struck a chord anyway, your heart swelling as you leaned against the kitchen counter.
‘god i can’t see why abby divorced you.’ you mutter under your breath, your tone is joking but his head snaps up regardless, he heard you.
frank freezes, and you can see his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he processes what you just said. you can’t apologise, it’s too late, the words hanging in the air
‘i messed up, bad.’ comes his stoic reply, though his voice was wavering. ‘i worked really hard to atone for what i did, but it wasn’t enough for her.’
‘i know i-’ you cut in, swallowing.
he shakes his head, ‘and that’s okay. i’m just grateful she lets me see my kids.’
you sigh, following his sorrowful gaze upstairs, ‘frank i-’
he turns to look at you then, eyes hard but again, he’s not mad at you but rather himself. ‘i let a lot of people down, abby included and i’m not asking for forgiveness from anyone, i just want to prove that i can get better, be better.’
it was the most honest thing you’d heard about the whole situation and it made your heart ache. you couldn’t hate abby for how she felt, far from it but there was something in frank’s expression that meant you couldn’t help but feel sorry for him too, whether he wanted it or not.
‘do you want a hug?’ comes your quiet sympathy.
he doesn’t say anything so you step closer, arms enveloping him warmly. frank is broad, not outwardly muscular with bulging arms but his chest is rock solid, sinewy arms working their way around your waist. the hug stretches from seconds into minutes, neither of you want to pull away and his chin starts to rest atop your head.
eventually, you step apart but his arms move to slide on top of yours, each of your hands gripping the others elbows. frank licks his lips and you think it’s going to happen, that he’ll lean in and-
‘can you get the plates out of the cupboard, please? on the left above the microwave.’ he whispers, tone almost too casual and you nod, pulling away.
you don’t notice how he watches you, ass bending over slightly to reach up and grab a stack of porcelain.
as you start to lay the table, frank calls. ‘don’t worry about that, the kids can eat outside, it’s nice out. penny and tanner are always begging me to let them.’
your brow furrows, ‘you sure?’
he’s already piling fries on each plate, ‘yeah, i’m sure.’
doing your best to suppress your smile, you nod in agreement.
‘kids!’ frank bellows, ‘dinner!’
they all come barrelling down the stairs, crowding the kitchen like feral creatures, the puppy attempting to climb the counters to get to the chicken nuggets.
‘come on, go eat outside please.’ he shooed them away.
penny and tanner’s faces lit up before scrambling to open the backdoor and tumble into the fenced in grass, puppy running laps. nora hung back, holding her plate but looking at you expectantly.
‘go on, honey. it’s okay, frank and i are having dinner too.’ comes your gentle confirmation and she brightens once more.
‘sweet!’ she cheers before dashing out after them and plopping herself down with her plate.
‘now…’ frank slides the door shut and the kitchen falls quiet again, a soft domestic quiet that you could certainly get used to. ‘where were we?’
you don’t miss the flirty undertones in his words, so your reply is equally salacious, ‘i believe we were about to have dinner… together.’
he smirks and sits down opposite you, fork stabbing a forlorn fry. ‘so, what’s your story?’
you tilt your head to the side, ‘oh i don’t have one.’ comes your quick, polite response.
‘sure you don’t.’ frank retorts, staring at you so intently that you can’t avert your gaze.
shrugging, you exhale. ‘i picked the wrong guy to be the father of my child.’
frank doesn’t push, but he doesn’t say anything either, just continuing to study you.
‘he didn’t- he wasn’t… abusive like that.’ you shake your head quickly, focusing on cutting a chicken nugget into tinier and tinier bites. ‘he wasn’t ready, even though he told me it was what he wanted.’
‘so he ran? took off?’ frank prompted, though his words were barely audible.
your neck snapped up then, ‘oh yeah, he was long gone before she was even born. ran off with the girl he’d been cheating on me with for the last nine months.’ your tone is wry, joking even but there’s an undercurrent of hurt that still lingers.
he deflated slightly but his hand enclosed your own across the table.
‘i’m sorry.’ was all frank said but something inside you split open.
‘it’s fine, he doesn’t deserve to know her anyway.’ you suck your teeth, gazing out the window at nora laughing with penny and tanner, that laugh where she snorts so loud it only makes her laugh harder and your eyes fill with tears all of a sudden. ‘although… sometimes i wonder if she knows what she doesn’t have, whether she misses having a father despite everything. i do my best to provide for her but- it’ll never be the same.’
he falls quiet, watching you watching her for what feels like an eternity. the tears are flowing now, irregular and small but there, so when frank finally does speak, the first thing he does is wipe a wobbling tear from your cheek with a calloused thumb.
‘the fact that you think that tells me you’re better than two parents combined.’ he whispers sincerely, brow furrowing as he looks you over gently.
‘you mean that?’ you whimper, it’s almost childish how your bottom lip starts to wobble.
he seemed amused by that, ‘wouldn’t say it if i didn’t.’
swallowing down your tears, your answer is soft, broken. ‘thank you.’
maybe it was your heightened emotional state, or the childhood food in front of you both, but you found yourself leaning in. frank didn’t pull away and when your lips finally met, all your heartfelt confessions faded into the background. it was hard to get closer with the table in the way, but it didn’t matter, the kisses were rapid, barely time to breathe between lips crashing into each other.
when you do break away, you giggle in embarrassment as frank’s whole face reddens, right to the tips of his ears.
‘i’m sorry.’ frank grins as he repeats those two words, meaning so different from just a few moments ago.
‘no you’re not.’ you retort with narrowed eyes and a chuckle.
‘no i’m not.’ he concedes, grin only widening.
his hand is still in yours, and now he turns it, so your palm is facing upwards. your fingers interlock with his own and you both just watch it, the connection forming between you.
‘it’s been so long since i-’ you start, wide eyes finding his sure ones.
‘i don’t care.’ frank shrugs, tone breathy and light.
you press your lips together and slide out of your chair. ‘fuck it.’
frank follows you as you open the backdoor, curiosity written all over his expression.
‘nora!’ you shout across the yard and her head swivels, ‘do you want to sleep over?’
she jumps up immediately, ‘yes please!’
none of the kids notice frank’s muscular arm snaking around your waist but you do. the unfamiliar warmth of his chest pressed against your back and his chin fitting perfectly into the crook of your shoulder.
so?’ you whisper in his ear with raised eyebrows.
frank shut the backdoor with ease, one handed so he didn’t have to be separated from you.
sprinting up the stairs like children, you didn’t even make it to his bed before he was all over you. pressed up against the door, frank’s kisses were passionate and fast, hands roaming all over you. your hands slid down to his ass, resting there and your tongue prodded his bottom lip, encouraging him to go slow and savour this as his tongue slid over yours.
as the kisses grow longer, stretching into minutes since you’d come up for air, your hands snake round from his ass to the zipper on his jeans, tugging it down and feeling the bulge hiding behind, spring forward.
frank groans into your mouth, before pulling away to break for breathless panting.
‘fuck.’ his face screws up as he tries to calm his body that’s thrumming with desire.
without warning, he grips your hips and turns you around so your stomach is pressed against the door, back arched and he laughs deliciously.
‘please… oh god.’ you whimper, grateful you wore your shortest and tightest skirt for the occasion.
frank wastes no time in pulling it down over your ass till it falls to your ankles. you can hear the sound of his belt unbuckling and denim kicked across the floor. he plants his hands on either side of your head against the door frame and torturously starts to rub his clothed bulge against your clothed pussy.
‘frank…’ you plead shakily, already aching with need.
‘yeah? you want this?’ he growls, right in your ear and your whole body shivers.
‘so bad. so- so bad.’ you reply with a sharp moan as he presses right against you.
his fingers dip into your panty line, and the skin there comes up in goosebumps instantaneously, just from the briefest of touches. he slowly pulls them down to reveal your hungry pussy.
‘holy…’ he breathes, running his finger along one of your folds teasingly, making you clench.
‘frank!’ you gasp, as cold breeze hits your hole.
‘okay… okay…’ he mutters, pulling down his own underwear.
you feel his throbbing erection brush up against your cunt, but he doesn’t enter, not yet. the teasing is killing you and it’s hardly been that long.
a large hand taps your inner thigh, ‘further apart, come on.’
you comply immediately, shuffling your legs out as far as they can go without you toppling over and that’s when his sensitive tip breaches you.
it’s slow at first, barely inside before he’s pulling it out again, only to re-enter with an extra inch. your breath catches in your throat as he continues this game of in, out, in, out.
‘for fuck’s sake!’ you groan, forehead slamming against the word.
‘easy, i don’t want to hurt you.’ he mutters, kissing at your neck.
‘i’ve pushed a whole child out of there, just fuck me already.’ you whine and frank’s startled by your forwardness.
happy to oblige, he starts slamming into you like a mad man, balls slapping against your ass. frank’s hands are digging into your hips like he’s kneading dough, and you relish the thought of the bruises there in the morning.
‘oh yes- yes- god-’ you moan, eyes rolling into the back of your head.
‘we gotta be- ngh.. quiet.’ frank grunts as his dick slides in and out of your soaked hole.
you can barely hear him over the sloppy sounds your pussy is making, it’s obscene the way the spongy walls grip every vein of his girth, even when the tip brushes that sweet spot inside you that makes you see stars.
‘fuck- please- please!’ you gasp and cry, trying to grind into his dick but you're sandwiched between him and the door so it’s near impossible to move, apart from your shaking legs.
‘i said-’ frank panted, ‘quiet.’
as he speaks, his fingers slide into your open mouth and you almost finish on the spot. the combination of his digits inside your drooling mouth, pressing against your teeth and tongue and his cock plunging in and out of your pussy is too much, too overwhelming in the best way.
‘ugh- close-’ you garble and frank doesn’t even pause, increasing his pace.
your orgasm comes just seconds later, crashing over you like a tidal wave. everything is blurry, except his hand in your face and his length buried somewhere deep in your cunt. you’re certain your juices are soaking the carpeted floor, spraying out and lining his dick like a sheath. garbled moans and sordid cries, it’s just as you’re coming down from your high that frank reaches his pinnacle.
perhaps it was the sight of you, shaking and writhing that made his load squirt directly into your pussy, or perhaps it was the feeling of you drooling over his fingers and coating his dick in your cum. regardless, frank was now shuddering just as intensely as you, forced to lean his whole body weight on you just so he could stay upright. his moans are filthy, whispered directly into your ear along with broken variations of your name.
eventually, frank removes his cock from inside you and it falls flaccid between his legs. swallowing, you right yourself and dust yourself off, licking your lips.
‘go pee.’ he urges, pushing his floppy brown hair out of his face in a way that is utterly endearing. ‘i’ll give you one of my shirts to sleep in.
he stayed true to his word. even though you contemplated what on earth you were doing as you sat on the toilet, the moment you slipped on his shirt, everything felt right. sliding into the warmed sheets beside him, frank’s arm fell over yours and you dozed off almost immediately, feeling a sense of safety you hadn’t realised you’d missed with all those years alone in bed.
the next morning, nora’s too sleep deprived to realise you stayed over too, and penny and tanner are also too exhausted to notice their dad looks a lot more chipper this morning, not scolding the puppy as much, rather sneaking a lot more glances at you as you sip coffee in his shirt.
you could bathe in the domesticity of it all, the kids amicably chatting mixed with puppy chowing down on food as background noise to you and frank washing up together, talking about everything and nothing and kissing between each dried dish.
nora falls asleep on the drive home almost immediately, so she doesn’t clock you’re in the same clothes as last night. your phone pings with a text message from frank and for the first time in an age, you feel more than satisfied, you feel complete.
MINORS DNI - probably best for this to be an 18+ fic. (but I'm not your mom, so read at your risk)
"...looking for the opportunities that make you pick up an edge a little bit, this whimsy, this anger and sense of being disappointed, and this sense of needing to go before you're ready…"
-Patrick Ball Deadline
It was never easy to lose a peds patient. Especially not with that patient.
You’d spent hours—days—in their room coloring, making cards for the doctors and nurses, playing with the therapy dogs.
Everyone was certain they’d pull through.
Kids were tough.
This kid was especially tough.
You’d literally chased him down the halls just yesterday.
Which only made it even more devastating.
You quickly wiped your eyes as Frank hopped onto the brick wall next to you..
You hadn’t waited for him at your office.
You almost hadn’t waited for him outside.
You sighed as he gently kissed your cheek.
“He didn’t have anyone,” you muttered, staring at your hands.
A Spider-Man bandaid was wrapped tightly around your finger where you’d nervously picked at the dry skin around the nail.
“He had you,” Frank replied, staring straight ahead.
You huffed out a dry laugh.
“It wasn’t enough.”
“It was.”
You leaned forward, burying your head in your hands.
“I just want to get away from here.”
Frank nodded, already reaching for your bag.
“Are we going…”
You knew what he was asking.
You’d spent more time in the last month at his apartment than yours. You never intended to stay longer than a few hours at a time.
You weren’t sure when Frank had added a second toothbrush to the cup.
Or started stocking the fridge with coffee creamer.
“I guess mine.”
You waited as he opened the door of his SUV for you. You didn’t have it in you to tease him.
He quickly jogged to the other side.
You didn’t look over as his hand came to rest over yours.
“Are you sure?”
No.
“I need to show up so they don’t try leasing my room out.”
You couldn’t afford the hit to your already questionable credit score.
“Okay.”
The ride home was silent.
And then it wasn’t.
You could hear the bass blaring before Frank had even turned at the light.
Cars you didn’t recognize lined the parking lot.
People clung to your front porch like they intended to start paying rent.
You sighed, hanging your head.
Before you asked, Frank was already turning down the road that led to the back of your apartment.
He’d learned when you’d rather enter your room through the window.
The light was on in your room. You could make out shadows through the blinds.
“Dammit,” you muttered.
You closed your eyes tightly as tears threatened to escape.
“Want me to walk you up?” Frank asked.
“I…”
You definitely did.
You also definitely didn’t.
You opened your eyes and turned to look at him.
He was already looking at you.
“Having you walk me to my window isn’t going to stop the fact that there are people probably fucking in my bed.”
You wanted to snap.
To yell.
To storm into your room and toss them out.
But you couldn’t.
“Come on,” Frank decided.
He squeezed your hand before shifting the car in reverse.
You sucked in a breath.
“Where are we going?”
You were fairly certain you already knew.
—
Not for the first time, you wondered if Frank’s rent included utilities. You hoped standing in the shower for as long as you’d been in there wouldn’t jack up the bill.
“Babe…”
You wondered when Frank started calling you that. Not until recently.
The bathroom door slowly creaked open.
“I’m just dropping off a t-shirt for you,” Frank explained as he shuffled inside.
You could tell from the foggy glass that he was doing his best not to watch you.
“Thank you,” you replied softly. “I’ll be out in a few seconds.”
Maybe you could skip buying coffee for a few weeks.
“Take your time.”
By the time you got out, you weren’t entirely sure you felt better. Just more tired.
Frank looked up from where he was laying on the bed. He smiled softly and held out his arms.
You didn’t hesitate to fall into them.
“You smell good,” he muttered. He pressed his lips to the side of your head, breathing you in.
“You have good shampoo,” you replied.
It was actually your favorite scent.
You sighed as he pulled you closer to him.
A chirp interrupted your thoughts as Cheeto jumped onto the bed.
He crawled over to you before insisting that you could in fact create space for him between you and Frank.
You smiled softly, reaching over to smooth out the fur on his head.
“You really shouldn’t let him sleep in here,” you said.
Frank shrugged.
“The medicine seems to be working.”
The tissue box on his bedside table would strongly disagree.
You glanced at Cheeto purring, Frank’s arm resting on your abdomen, the steam still billowing out of the shower. You could hear the soft wind chimes on his porch blowing through the breeze.
“Why are you crying?”
You blinked hard.
“Your allergies are contagious,” you tried.
Frank reached over to brush his thumb over your cheek.
It only made you cry harder.
Frank quickly pulled you into him.
“Hey…”
He whispered it so softly it almost disappeared into the wind chimes.
His hand rested on the back of your head as you cried into his chest.
Your tears slowly turned into sniffles. You blinked heavily. At some point he’d grabbed a tissue for you. You’d gripped it so tightly, the paper had torn.
You stared blankly at the pattern on Frank’s blankets.
“I don’t know what to do,” you muttered. “But I can’t do this anymore.”
“I know.”
Frank’s fingers combed through your hair as he kissed the top of your head.
You tilted your head to look up at him.
“What do I do?”
Frank shrugged.
“I can’t answer that for you,” he said quietly.
Right.
“But I can give you options.”
You paused.
You’d heard through the grapevine at work that Santos and Whitaker needed a third. Or that one of the ICU nurses had a room available.
“I don’t know if I can afford many other options.”
Actually you knew you couldn’t.
“I heard Cheeto could use a roommate.”
Your head snapped up.
“Frank…”
“He keeps going on and on about how his current roommate keeps hogging all the tissues,” Frank continued.
“Frank, we haven’t even established what this is.”
It was a weak argument.
“You have a toothbrush here,” he countered.
That might have been weaker.
“Don’t you need to talk to Abby first?” you tried again. “Or your kids?”
The last thing you would ever want to do is get in the way of them.
“Already did,” Frank said simply. “They’re down.”
“How long have you been thinking about this?"
Frank looked at you.
You suddenly didn’t know what to say.
“You don’t have to decide anything tonight,” Frank promised.
You nodded, still unsure of your words.
Suddenly, Cheeto meowed, his paw reaching up to swat you on the face.
You tried not to smile as he continued to paw at your face.
“He makes a compelling argument,” you finally said.
Frank grinned.
“He’s an excellent salesman.”
He leaned in, pressing his lips to yours.
It was quick. Simple.
You decided it wasn’t enough.
You quickly pulled him back in.
His lips were warm and soft. His breath brushed your skin as he deepened the kiss.
A soft whine escaped you as you tangled your fingers through his hair.
His forehead rested against yours. For a moment, neither of you said anything.
Cheeto meowed in protest, pulling a breathy laugh from both of you. He stretched lazily before settling in between the crooks of your legs.
He slowly blinked at you—which you knew was supposed to be affection, but coming from him? You were fairly certain he was regretting his life choices.
Frank's gaze never wavered from yours. You felt your cheeks begin to warm.
“That was…”
"Yeah.”
"Does that make us…”
"I think so.”
"Cool.”
You both giggled.
“So…”
It seemed neither of you knew what to say.
Maybe you didn't need to.
“Meow."
“He's always gotta have the last word," Frank muttered.
You snorted.
“Very on brand for him.”
Frank's eyes searched yours.
“I want to kiss you again," he whispered.
You grinned.
“Then do it."
So he did.
—
You woke up well rested. Which was weird. Normally you woke up more tired than when you went to bed.
For a moment you didn't know what was different. And then Frank shifted behind you.
Oh yeah.
“Hey," he whispered, pulling your back to his chest.
He peppered soft kisses to your bare shoulder and then the back of your neck.
"Hi,” you whispered back.
You turned to face him. You reached up, your fingers brushing against the stubble along his jaw. You continued, tracing along the dimple in his chin, his cheek bone.
Frank watched you, his eyes crossing as he tried to follow your fingers.
“So I didn't dream it?" you breathed, brushing your thumb against his lip.
He let out breath before pressing his lips to yours.
You smiled into the kiss as he pulled you closer, your legs tangling with his.
When you pulled back, your eyes searched his.
“What are you thinking about?" Frank asked, pressing his forehead to yours.
“I'm not thinking about anything."
That wasn't true.
And he knew that.
But you also didn't know how to ask.
You sighed, turning onto your back.
You fixed your gaze on the ceiling.
“I need you to convince me of something."
He propped himself up on his elbow to look at you better.
“That sounds ominous."
Your lip twitched as his fingers traced patterns into your skin.
“I think I need to call out.”
Frank stilled.
His eyes met yours.
"Are you sure?"
Definitely not.
You'd never missed a day of work. Even when you were sick, your boss usually had to insist you go back home.
“No," you admitted. “But I think I need to."
You couldn't even express why.
Losing a patient had become an unfortunate part of your job. Your living situation had become an unfortunate part of your life.
But yesterday sucked.
In the worst way.
And then it didn't.
In the best way.
"Yesterday was…”
You paused as Frank threaded his fingers with yours.
Your hands rested between you.
"A lot?”
"I don't think anyone would blame you,” Frank said. "Everyone knows how attached you got to Ryleigh.”
You felt something twist deep in your chest.
He smiled softly.
“That's not convincing enough is it?"
You shook your head.
“A patient dying isn't new," you muttered. “We're not supposed to get attached."
Frank sighed, squeezing your hand.
“Then what makes this time different?"
“I don't know.”
Frank gently brushed the hair from your face.
“I think you do. Otherwise you wouldn't be asking me."
Your eyes fluttered shut as he kissed your forehead.
“I think this is what makes it different," you finally said, lifting your conjoined hands.
“You gave me the space to finally feel it."
Frank's thumb brushed against your knuckles.
Silence settled between you. Your eyes stayed fixed on your joined hands.
The rise and fall with each breath.
The way Frank traced the grooves of your fingers.
The way he lingered at your fingertips.
Frank glanced down at you.
"Hmm?” he hummed.
You propped yourself up onto your elbows, bringing your body closer to his. You reached up to cradle his jaw.
You pressed your lips to his.
"Frank..."
He pulled back just enough to look at you.
"Thank you,” you whispered before kissing him again.
He immediately deepened the kiss, sliding his arm beneath you to pull you closer.
A soft whimper fell from your mouth as Frank pulled back.
“No…” you whined, chasing after him.
You managed to sneak one more kiss, making him chuckle.
“Don't worry," he reassured. “We have the entire day."
You raised an eyebrow.
“Don't you work today too?" you questioned.
Frank grinned widely, knocking the breath from your lungs.
“And miss a day like this?"
Cheeto meowed loudly from his cat tower across the room.
“See?" Frank said. “Even Cheeto agrees."
You laughed.
“Cheeto is traumatized," you countered.
He'd gotten pretty upset over last night’s…activities.
Frank laughed.
The two of you watched as Cheeto jumped down from his perch. He meowed indignantly, only stopping once he'd gotten settled back on the bed.
"He'll get used to it,” Frank decided, kissing your cheek.
You watched Cheeto stare at the two of you.
“Maybe it makes him miss his balls?"
—
You stared at the porch to your apartment.
“Hey…”
You looked over at Frank. He smiled softly, brushing the hair out of your face.
"We don't have to do this today,” he promised.
You frowned.
"Except I do.”
Your roommates were blowing up your phone to get your stuff out. And then they started threatening to sell it.
You didn't care about your bed or your dresser.
But your books? Your clothes?
The Pokemon card from your first patient.
The last picture you took with your mom.
Frank couldn't replace those.
But that didn't mean you were ready to let Frank into this part of your life.
He'd been great about respecting your boundaries of not going inside.
Now you had no choice.
“Like ripping off a bandaid," you muttered.
You went to open the passenger door of Frank's car only to feel his large hand firmly pushing you back.
"I'm going to break this disgusting habit eventually,” he teased.
You raised an eyebrow.
“Even in your dad's truck?" you whined.
“Especially in my dad's truck!"
He sounded as if you'd actually offended him.
“It's high up!" he continued. “What if you fall?!"
A giggle slipped out of your mouth.
“You'd be there in time to catch me," you decided.
“In a heartbeat," Frank promised.
You blinked. It'd been a moment since Frank made your heart short-circuit. That didn't mean you couldn't tease him further.
You leaned in, a small smirk tugging on your lips as he closed his eyes and pursed his lips.
In his moment of weakness, you pushed the door open.
You cackled as you jumped down.
“Absolutely not!" Frank exclaimed, jumping out of his seat.
You smiled innocently as he stomped over.
“What?" you asked sweetly.
Suddenly you were airborne.
You squealed as Frank picked you up, forcing you back into the truck.
“Let's try this again."
He waited a moment, whistling and looking up.
Then he opened the door for you.
“M’Lady."
He grinned, sweeping his arm out.
“You're crazy, Franklin Langdon," you decided, letting him help you down.
"Crazy for you.”
Frank pressed his lips to yours.
You smiled into the kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck.
For a moment, he let you deepen the kiss, even taking it a step further by pressing your back into the door of the truck.
"Quit screwing your boyfriend and get your shit!”
You winced as the screen door to your apartment slammed shut.
Frank's jaw tightened.
Then he looked at you.
The tension disappeared.
“C’mon."
“Okay," you sighed, sliding your hands down his chest.
The dread weighed heavy on you. Even when Frank's hand slipped into yours.
You sighed when you got to the front door. How had you never noticed how bad the smell was? The porch reeked of marijuana, cigarette butts, and urine.
“Brace yourself," you muttered as you pushed the door open.
Frank squeezed your hand.
You both paused as soon as you stepped in.
It was the exact opposite of Frank's apartment.
Trash overflowed from both of the bins. A pile of cans sat in the sink. The fridge still hung crooked from the night your roommate's boyfriend kicked the door open.There was no jacket chair.
You couldn't look at Frank. Your face burned with shame.
"I…”
Frank squeezed your hand.
"Your room is that way, right?” he asked.
You let out a breath.
"Yeah,” you nodded.
You quickly guided him into the back.
“Watch out," you warned, stepping over the dirty litter box in the hallway.
"I thought you didn't have cats,” Frank asked.
"I don't,” you muttered. You glanced at him.
"Please don't ask.”
How would you explain it was used whenever the water bill couldn't be paid?
And the water bill never got paid if you weren't there to pay it.
Your room felt miles away.
You only felt like you could breathe normally when you pushed the door open.
"Oh.”
You knew the look on Frank's face.
Whiplash.
Your room was clean. Almost clinically.
The floor was vacuumed.
Books stacked neatly on your dresser.
The Pokemon card still tucked into one of your favorites.
Your bed would have been neatly made.
Frank turned to look at you.
“Where do we start?"
Packing your life away was surprisingly easy. Everything that mattered was still in boxes. You hadn't realized how little you'd unpacked since moving in almost five years ago.
“Slut."
You and Frank froze.
“That's unnecessary, Tawnee," you muttered.
You slowly turned to face your roommate.
“You're leaving us high and dry for your fuck buddy," Tawnee spat, stepping into the room.
“I'm leaving you high and dry for myself," you countered.
You set the box down on the bed.
"And let's be real with each other.”
You squared your shoulders before stepping closer to Frank.
"You've been leaving me high and dry since you let Kyle move in."
Tawnee’s face hardened.
"When was the last time you paid for anything, Tawnee?”
"I buy groceries.”
You nod.
"Yeah,” you agreed. "With my food stamps.”
The slap happened before you or Frank could react.
"You bitch!”
Frank immediately stepped between you as you clutched at your cheek.
Tears pricked the corner of your eyes.
He turned to face you.
You'd never seen his eyes so dark.
“Are you…"
You quickly nodded.
His face softened.
"That's the last box, right?”
You nodded again.
He turned to face your roommate.
Her eyes widened, her mouth fell open.
“Then we're good?"
He raised eyebrows.
Tawnee slowly nodded.
He turned back to you, grabbing the last box.
He smiled softly.
“Window or door?"
You looked at Tawnee and then at Frank.
"Eh?”
You shrugged.
"Door it is.”
Before you knew it, you were back in the truck, your hand still clutching your cheek.
"Let me look,” Frank asked.
He reached over to the glove box, pulling out a first aid kit.
You slowly removed your hand.
"It's not the worst hit I've taken.”
Perk of the job.
Frank didn't say anything as he carefully looked at your cheek. He stuck the tip of his tongue out, his eyes narrowed.
He was thorough.
Gentle.
Efficient.
You could see why his patient satisfaction scores were so high.
It was clearly his looks.
You winced as his fingers brushed over the bruise.
"Sorry,” he muttered.
He pulled his hand back.
“What's the differential?" you asked, using your best Dr. Robby voice.
Frank tilted his head.
“Hmm. Could be a periorbital hematoma," he decided.
You raised an eyebrow.
“A what?"
You weren't a doctor.
“Black eye," he answered simply.
“What!"
You quickly pulled down the visor mirror.
Sure enough, big nasty bruise and swelling that nearly had your eye closed.
“I couldn't even tell," you muttered, poking the bruise.
Frank quickly opened the first aid kit and popped the instant ice pack.
"Here.”
He carefully pressed the ice to your cheek.
“That should help with the swelling."
At Frank's insistence, you kept the ice on your cheek the entire ride home.
Then he insisted on buying pizza.
“I don't need sympathy pizza," you tried.
“It's celebratory pizza," he insisted.
He already add the app pulled up.
“Builds character."
“Builds pounds," you argued.
Frank narrowed his eyes at you.
“So we'll get a salad too. Balances everything out."
That's not how nutrition worked.
“Like how Benadryl balances out your allergies?"
On cue, Cheeto jumped onto the kitchen island with a chirp.
“No, no."
You carefully pick him up and place him back on his designated kitchen stool.
“This is where you sit. Not where we eat food."
Cheeto meowed loudly as he stepped back onto the island.
You sighed loudly before pointing at Frank.
“This is your doing," you accused.
Frank smirked as he ruffled Cheeto’s head.
“He likes to be where the people are.”
"That's why he has his own stool!”
Frank's face scrunched up before sneezing loudly.
For a moment, nobody moved. Even Cheeto stayed still.
synopsis: for years, you and frank have hidden behind the safety of friendship only. letting stolen glances and almost confessions take the place of the truth.
warnings: hurt/w comfort, pretty angsty if you’re asking me, slow burn, arguing, usage of cuss words.
a/n: i love angst.. anyways, this was inspired by bags - clairo if you haven’t noticed from the synopsis and title yet, please repost and like, thank you and lovelotss!
wc: 2.7k
there were a hundred reasons why you shouldn’t have fallen for frank.
the first was that everyone else already had.
patients adored him. nurses laughed a little harder when he walked by. med students followed him around like ducklings.
even on the worst shifts, when the er smelled like antiseptic and stale coffee and exhaustion, frank somehow managed to make everyone breathe easier.
you were no different, and that was the problem, you only learned him in small pieces.
you learned that he would always rub the bridge of his nose right before opening difficult charts.
how he’d steal a few pieces of your chips without asking, only to replace them with a granola bar from the vending machine.
how he’d absentmindedly reach for your wrist whenever the department became too crowded, holding you with just enough pressure to guide you through the sea of gurneys before letting go like he’d never touched you at all.
it meant nothing, and you told yourself that every single time, because you always knew frank was like that with everyone.
“you’re staring.” someone said and you blinked.
jack didn’t even bother looking up from his computer.
“i’m reading.” “you’ve been reading the same sentence for three minutes.”
“…” “he’s talking to the new resident.” jack muttered.
even with your mind screaming at you not to look, you did anyway.
frank stood across the station, smiling at someone who was laughing so hard she nearly dropped her clipboard.
he leaned against the counter with his head tilted, eyes soft, and he looked happy. something unpleasant settled in your chest.
“stop doing that,” jack muttered as he finished up his chart.
“doing what?”
“breaking your own heart.” he finally said as he stood up, ready to take another case.
you swallowed, you heart aching as you felt a lump forming in your throat.
people assumed the two of you were together, they always had and it made sense. you spent every shift together, you knew each other’s coffee orders, you’d memorized each other’s handwriting.
he texted you when he’d get home after pulling doubles.
you’d remind him to eat, and maybe it looked like love from the outside, maybe that’s why no one ever asked, maybe that’s why neither of you ever said anything.
⋆˚꩜｡
“movie tonight?”
frank asked the question so casually that your heart betrayed you all over again. “sure.” you said, “my place?” he asked as he wrote on his chart, “okay.” you agreed.
“you pick.” he said with a smile “that’s dangerous.” you replied back
“i trust you.” he muttered, and you almost laughed, because trusting someone and loving someone were apparently two completely different things.
halfway through the movie, frank fell asleep, his head rested against your shoulder, his breathing slowed.
the apartment was quiet except for the television neither of you had been watching. and yet, you stared straight ahead.
if you moved, he’d wake up, if you stayed still you’d remember this forever. so you stayed, your shoulder went numb but you didn’t care.
you wondered if this counted as loving someone, getting hurt by things they never intended.
“why don’t you ever date anyone?”
samira asked during a lull in the shift.
you shrugged. “i dunno, i guess im too busy.”you said and she looked unconvinced.
“that’s a lie.” she scoffed, “it’s not?” you retorted. “is it langdon?”
you laughed too quickly. “what?” “is it him?”
across the department, frank looked up and your eyes met for exactly one second.
he smiled, the same smile he gave everyone. and yet, you smiled back anyway. “no.”
samira sighed. “you’re an awful liar.” she chuckled. “shut up, what about abbot, huh?” you said playfully as you accentuated jack’s last name.
her eyes widened, “oh my god- don’t say it out loud!” she shouted, whispering and you simple laughed as she slapped her hand on your arm playfully.
⋆˚꩜｡
there was a party after one particularly brutal week.
everyone drank, laughed, and pretended they weren’t carrying the weight of every patient they couldn’t save.
frank found you standing on the balcony, scrolling on your phone. “too loud?” he said, startling you a bit. “a little.” he nodded and stood beside you.
shoulders almost touching. close enough to feel warm, not close enough to be held.
“you okay?” “yeah.” another lie, he looked at you for a long time. long enough that you thought— “good.” then he looked away.
there were always moments that almost became something, the ways his fingers lingering around yours after handing over a chart.
late-night drives home where the silence felt too comfortable to ruin, the way he’d say your name like it meant more than everyone else’s.
and you called yourself pathetic for it, but you collected those moments, held them carefully, turned them over in your mind whenever you couldn’t sleep.
they were all you had.
you heard about her from robby “langdon’s seeing someone.” you smiled before your brain had time to react.
“is he?” ”yeah.” “…that’s nice.” “i think so.” the rest of the conversation disappeared into static.
that night, frank texted you.
coffee tomorrow? you stared at the message until the screen dimmed.
you typed. deleted. typed again.
can’t. family stuff.
a lie. another one. he replied almost immediately.
okay. next time.
there wasn’t a next time, since you kept finding excuses. different shifts. busy weekends. headaches. anything.
because loving him had always hurt, but watching him love someone else would’ve destroyed you.
weeks later, he caught you leaving after your shift.
“did i do something?” your hand froze on the locker. “…what?”
“you’ve been avoiding me.” you chuckled awkwardly and said,“i haven’t.” “you have.” he sounded…hurt. you hated that.
“frank—” you started, “just tell me.” you looked at him. really looked, tired eyes, messy hair, concern written all over his face.
you wanted to tell him everything, that you loved him, that every almost had become unbearable, that you were tired of wondering if maybe he’d reached for your hand because he wanted to or because it was convenient.
instead you smiled, small— the kind that didn’t crack.
“you didn’t do anything.” you paused, not knowing what else to say “i’m just tired.”
he nodded slowly, like he knew you were lying, like he was too kind to make you admit it. “get some rest.” “i will.”
he waited. maybe expecting you to say something else, but you didn’t. he walked away first.
months later, life looked exactly the same, except now there was a distance neither of you knew how to cross.
sometimes you’d catch him looking at you. sometimes he’d catch you first.
neither of you smiled anymore. just looked away. there were still moments though, always moments. they simply belonged to no one now. and maybe that was the cruelest part.
not that you loved him, not that he might never love you back.
but that somewhere between silence and timing and fear, there had been something waiting to happen. and the two of you had let it become another thing neither of you would ever say out loud.
it wasn’t intentional at first, distance never is. it started with little things. you’d switch shifts with no hesitation if someone asked. you took your breaks five minutes later than usual.
leave through the ambulance entrance instead of the staff exit. none of it was obvious and none of it should’ve mattered.
“heading home?” “just remembered i have somewhere to be.” you didn’t.
he’d nod every time, accepting every excuse with a smile that grew smaller each week. it would’ve been easier if he’d gotten angry.
instead, he shrugged it off. that was always the problem.
“you two fight?” robby asked while stocking the trauma room. you glanced up. “what?” “you and langdon.” “no.”
“then why’s he walking around looking like someone kicked his dog?” you laughed despite how you felt. “that’s dramatic.”
“i’m serious.” robby lowered his voice.“he asked me if i’d said something to you.” “…” “i told him no.”
you swallowed. “good.” “you wanna tell me what’s going on?” “nothing.”
robby sighed. “everyone in this ED is terrible at feelings.”
three weeks passed before the universe trapped you together. power outage.
half the hospital running on backup generators, the elevators shut down, patients everywhere, everyone scrambling.
you were reorganizing medications when frank appeared beside you, holding two flashlights.
“here.” he handed you one, your fingers brushed yet he pulled away too quickly.
“…thanks.” you expected him to leave, but he didn’t. for a few seconds, the only sound was the humming generator somewhere below your feet.
“i miss you.” the words were so quiet you almost thought you’d imagined them.
you looked at him. he wasn’t smiling. his eyes stayed on the floor.
“we see each other every day,” you managed. “that’s not what i mean.”
your chest tightened. “frank…” “did i do something?” again. the same question.
only this time there wasn’t anywhere to hide. you wanted to answer. instead a trauma alert echoed through the hall.
every doctor around you started moving. frank looked toward the doors. then back at you. “later?”
your mouth was already saying yes before your brain could stop it. “…later.”
later never came. a six-car collision flooded the emergency department. two surgeries. one code blue. a family that needed someone to tell them their son wasn’t coming home.
by the time the shift ended, the sun was rising. frank had already left.
samira found you crying in the supply closet. not sobbing. just reorganizing stuff in the storage room.
she didn’t ask why, she simply sat beside you after a minute she offered you half a granola bar, you took it.
“he loves you.” your head snapped up.
“…don’t.” “i’m serious.” “don’t do that.”
“i’ve watched him look for you every single shift.” “he doesn’t—” “he does.”
your laugh sounded more like a broken breath. “if he loved me…” you couldn’t finish that sentence, because if he loved you… he would’ve said something, wouldn’t he?
sam looked at you for a long time “maybe he’s just as scared.” that night you couldn’t sleep. instead, you opened your phone.
your conversation with frank stretched back years. pictures of terrible vending machine dinners. memes sent at three in the morning. complaints about impossible attendings. birthday messages. inside jokes no one else would understand. thousands of words.
none of the ones you actually wanted. your thumb hovered over the keyboard.
i miss you too. you typed it. read it. deleted it. and locked your phone.
frank stood outside your apartment for almost ten minutes.
he’d bought your favorite takeout after remembering you hadn’t eaten lunch. it was getting cold. he almost knocked. almost. instead he left the bag outside your door with a sticky note.
eat something. no name. he didn’t need one.
you knew his handwriting better than your own. you opened the door just as he stepped into the elevator. for one impossible second, your eyes met across the hallway.
you wanted to call his name. you wanted to tell him to stay. the elevator doors slid shut before you made a sound. by the time you found your voice… he was already gone.
the next day was painful, body aching, hands hurting, and the hospital lights were making your head spin.
the patient was twenty-two, gunshot wound, BP dropping, and everyone moved on instinct.
“i need another unit of o-neg!” “coming!” “where’s anesthesia?” “two minutes out!”
frank’s voice cut through the room “compressions.” you hesitated. “we still have a pulse.” “barely.” “frank—”
“compressions.” “you’re going to lose what pressure he has left.” he looked at you. “do it.” “no.”
the room went still. not completely. monitors still screamed. people still moved. but everyone heard it.
you had never said no to frank. not like that. he stepped closer.
“i’m running this trauma.” “and i’m telling you that’s the wrong call.”
his jaw tightened. “do your job, Dr.” something inside you snapped. “i am doing my job!”
silence. the kind that only exists for a heartbeat before chaos returns.
jack stepped between the two of you “enough. langdon, reassess. now.” frank didn’t move.
his eyes never left yours. for the first time since you’d met him… they were angry. real anger.
“fine.” he turned away. “prepare for thoracotomy.” the room came back to life. everyone moved again. no one looked at either of you.
the patient survived. barely. the adrenaline faded. the exhaustion settled in. you washed your hands three times before realizing there wasn’t any blood left on them.
the sink shut off. someone cleared their throat behind you. frank.
“what the hell was that?” you kept staring at your hands. “i disagreed.”
“you challenged me in front of everyone.” “because you were wrong.”
“you don’t get to undermine me—” “i don’t get to undermine you?” you laughed. it sounded ugly.
“that’s funny.” “what’s that supposed to mean?” “nothing.”
“don’t.”
his voice cracked. “don’t do that.” “do what?” “say ‘nothing’ when it obviously isn’t.” you finally looked at him.
months. months of swallowed words. months of pretending. months of walking past each other like strangers. they all rushed up your throat at once.
“why do you care?” he blinked. “…what?” he asked, “why do you care if i’m avoiding you?” you blurted out, “because we’re friends.” friends. there it was. the word that had haunted you for years.
you smiled. small. tired. “right.” he frowned. “don’t.” “don’t what?” you muttered, “look at me like that.” he said persistently, “like what?” “like you’ve already decided i’m leaving.”
you laughed again. “you already did.”“what are you talking about?” “you chose someone else.”
confusion flashed across his face. “…who?” you stared at him. “the resident.”
he was surprised, “…what resident? “the one everyone said you were dating.” he was quiet for exactly two seconds.
then— “…audrey?” you didn’t answer. frank let out one disbelieving breath.
“what?- no. no no. i don’t like her—”
“thats no what i see.”
“hey, no i swear. shes not— shes married.”
“…what?” “she’s married.”
your mouth opened. closed. opened again.
“robby told me—” “robby assumed.” “…”
“he assumed.” the room suddenly felt too small.
too warm. too bright. “i…” you couldn’t breathe. months. you’d wasted months.
frank rubbed a hand over his face. “i kept asking myself what i’d done.” your eyes filled before you could stop them.
“i thought…” “i know.” “no, you don’t.” his voice broke. “i do.” you shook your head. “no, frank. you don’t.”
“then tell me.” the tears came anyway. “ i loved you.” the words echoed through the walls.
“i loved you so much that I couldn’t stand watching you love somebody else.” frank stared.
“you idiot.” you laughed through the tears. “yeah, okay i deserved that.”
“what? no, no. i was- so do i” he stepped closer. “…frank.” “i’ve loved you since your second week here.”
your breath caught.
“you kept stealing my chips.” “i was flirting.” “i thought you were hungry.” “i was terrified.” he laughed once. a wet, shaky laugh.
“i kept waiting for you to notice.” “i thought the movies meant something.”
“they did.” “I thought you fell asleep on my shoulder because you were tired.” “i stayed awake for almost an hour.” you blinked.
“are you kidding me? my shoulders went numb.” “my neck did too.” despite everything, a laugh escaped you.
frank laughed too. it lasted all of three seconds before the weight of what had happened settled over both of you.
“we lost so much time,” you whispered. his smile disappeared. “i know.” another silence. this one heavier.
filled with every shift you’d spent apart. every unanswered text. every almost.
“i don’t want to keep wondering anymore,” you said quietly. “i don’t either.” “you’ll have to tell me when you’re scared.”
“i will.” “you’ll have to let me argue with you in trauma.” he snorted. “you were right.” frank muttered.
“i know.” you said proudly, “i’m never admitting that again.” you smiled for the first time in months. “i’ll take today.”
frank looked at you like he was memorizing your face. slowly, carefully, he reached for your hand.
“you know,” he murmured fiddling with your hand gently, “for two people who spend every day telling strangers the truth…”
“…we were pretty terrible at telling each other.” his thumb brushed across your knuckles. “yeah.”
outside the room, another trauma pager blared. the ED was calling them back. people were still getting hurt. lives still needed saving.
the world, stubborn as it was, refused to pause. frank squeezed your hand once before letting go. “after shift?” you smiled. “no almosts this time.”
he smiled back. “no almosts.” and for the first time since the two of you met— neither of you walked away first.
Andrew "Pope" Cody x Foc (Lizzie)
[Ao3], Masterlist, Series Masterlist, First Chapter, Prev
Warnings/Tags: Exes to lovers, Cody Family, Canon typical violence, Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Freudian issues, Codependency, Angst, past parental death, drugs, smoking, angst, fluff, kid fic, Fix it, HEA
Summary: Deran finds Lizzie and they talk about next steps
Word Count: 1,134
Lizzie drove around Oceanside, not sure what to do with herself. She ended up at the pier, and she cursed herself for being so fucking predictable. She parked the car and walked along the pier until she found a bench at the end. She sat for a bit, watching the waves as the tears fell.
She pulled out her phone, quickly dialing Cary's number, and waited for her to answer. They exchanged pleasantries before the phone was passed. Hearing the heavy breathing that young kids always seemed to have over the phone. It made Lizzie's heart clench.
"Hi, sweetheart," she said. She tried to keep her voice steady. "I miss you so much already."
"I miss you." Josie's voice was so damn small. "I'm colouring!"
"Yeah," the guilt sat inside her. How did she explain to this sweet little girl that her father was never coming back? That she had lied. That he didn't care and that it was just them forever. Lizzie covered her mouth to cover a sob. "That's so nice," she managed to get out.
Lizzie listened as Josie chatted away excitedly. She looked around, feeling eyes on her. She turned to find that Deran was approaching down the way, clearly making a beeline towards her. She wiped her eyes. "Josie, I have to go. I love you so much, ok?"
"I love you too!" Josie's sweet voice rang out before Lizzie hung up and quickly shoved the phone back in her pocket as Deran approached.
"Hi," he said, sitting down on the bench beside her. He looked out towards the waves. "I heard you saw Pope." Lizzie turned her head quickly, but Deran shrugged. "He messaged me, freaking out."
Lizzie couldn't help the scoff that escaped her. The fucking nerve. Freaking about what? That she still existed? Did it ruin some new reality he had made up where she didn't exist? She looked at Deran, shaking her head.
"He got out, and he didn't even try to come find me." Lizzie felt that horrible feeling in her stomach. He had removed her entirely from his life. "I don't know if I should stay longer. If I should even try and talk to him again." The stupid tears returned. "I don't know what to do. He didn't even call."
But she turned, giving a punch as hard as she could to Deran's arm. "You fucker, you didn't even call me?" The stupid ass didn't even flinch. But his expression became guilty as they looked each other in the eye. "You didn't even give Andrew my number, did you?" She sent a second punch to his arm.
"I was going to, but you didn't see him, Liz. He was-" like he was lost for words, shaking his head like he was trying to clear the memories away. "He was crazy, and then the idea of dragging you back into all this shit. I asked him, and he said it was better that we let you live your life."
Lizzie wanted to fucking scream. Everyone was acting like they were protecting her; everyone was out here deciding shit for her. What about what she wanted? "He didn't even try to find me, Deran. He didn't want to. How do I get over that?"
"I don't know," he replied earnestly, shaking his head. "But he was freaked out about the idea of you leaving already."
"Yeah, but this isn't home anymore." But as much as she wanted to leave and planned to, something didn't feel right. Like if she left now, something would be unfinished forever. "It feels wrong to leave so soon, and it sounds so stupid to say."
"No, it doesn't sound stupid," he replied, shaking his head.
Shit. If she was going to stay longer than she anticipated, she would have to find a way to make money, especially if she was staying at the damn motel. "I'm gonna need to find a job if I stay."
"Then let me help, work for me," he said it so simply, Lizzie looked at him, confused. "The Drop, it's a bar. my bar."
"Smurf let you have a bar?"
"It's complicated."
Lizzie let out a small laugh. That was the Cody family, basically their family motto. "It's always complicated." Lizzie sighed as she turned to watch the waves. If she was going to be here, she had to do what she had come to do in the first place, before she had found that Andrew was here. Before she was crushed under the weight of reality. "Where's Julia buried? I want to visit her before I see Smurf."
Deran nodded, pulling out his phone and texting her the address. "I should have given Pope your number anyway. I should have called about Julia."
Lizzie couldn't help the nod. "Yeah," she moved her hand up to stroke his hair like she had when he was a little boy. "Probably."
"Lizzie-"
"I should have known when he turned me away that it wasn't some noble thing for protection, but it was confirmation. I was comfortable. I was the sure thing he could rely on. not the person he loved."
Deran's arm wrapped around her, holding her to him in silence as he continued to watch the waves. Finally, when she realized she had to move forward, she had to see Julia. Deran let her pull away.
"You know you will have to see Smurf."
"I know," she nodded. "I just can't yet." Deran let her go as she made her way to the car.
She followed the direction of her GPS. She pulled up to a cemetery; the gate popped open for day access. Lizzie left her car there and walked through the cemetery, searching for the spot Deran said she had been found. She found the grave eventually. She found the tombstone as she sat down beside it.
Fuck she was so tired of crying. She was so fucking over it. But she couldn't stop it as she read the name on the headstone.
"Hi, I'm so sorry, Julia." She let her hand run over the marble. "I'm so sorry I wasn't here for you, that I was selfish and didn't demand you come with me." Her whole body shook, the cool stone on her fingertips. "I'm so sorry, and Andrew doesn't even care I'm here. He doesn't want me, and I knew it." She traced Julia's name, feeling the groove in the stone. "I knew it, I did, but to see it and to feel it are so different. I should have left when you told me to. When you told me he wouldn't be there for me. I should have listened."
She paused, her vision so blurry, her heart ached. She shook as she received no answer back.
chapter nine of pope’s girl 🖤 | series masterlist | also on AO3
summary: Pope has always known how to wait, but this time he’s learning how to ask. As the two of you try to find your way back to each other, old names start meaning something new, and Smurf realizes there are some places she can’t walk into anymore.
notes: This chapter is all yearning and smut is back, baby!! Thank you to my lovelies for continuing to support my writing 🖤
warnings: 18+ only, explicit smut, oral sex , fingering, piv sex, emotional/reunion sex, possessive/protective pope, Smurf being Smurf, canon-typical Cody violence, swearing, pet name “baby”, no use of Y/N, Pope is a yearner
Please do not translate, repost, redistribute, or adapt this story on any platform without my explicit permission. Reblogs are welcome and encouraged!
chapter 9 | andrew
A week passes before anything starts to feel familiar again.
Pope texts before he comes over now, not much and not in a way that crowds you. Just enough that you know where he is. Just enough that you don’t have to wonder if silence means he’s gone, waiting outside, or driving because sitting still has never been something he’s good at when there’s too much in his head.
Some nights, he doesn’t come by at all.
On those nights, your phone lights up once or twice.
home
you sleep yet
He doesn’t push when you answer late. He doesn’t ask why you didn’t answer sooner. If you say you’re tired, he tells you okay and leaves it there. That means more than pushing would have.
The nights he does stay, he keeps his boots by the door and his keys on the counter. He sleeps on his side of the bed until you make the first move. He doesn’t reach for you in the dark or pull you against him like the last few weeks didn’t happen. There are times you feel him wake beside you, feel the shift of the mattress and the restless way he settles again, but he waits until your fingers find his before he lets himself hold on.
You miss the old ease. You miss the weight of him behind you and his hand under your shirt, warm against your stomach, like he belonged there because you had both stopped pretending he didn’t. You miss all the little things that used to happen without asking.
You miss them, but you know why he waits.
On the seventh morning, you wake with gray light through the blinds and Pope beside you, already awake.
He’s always stayed long enough for you to wake up. Even before either of you called it anything real, he said goodbye before he left. He drove you to work when your shifts lined up. He waited while you locked the apartment door and walked you to his car like he didn’t trust the street between your door and his car. That part isn’t new.
What’s different is the way he lies there with space still between your bodies, one arm bent beneath the pillow and the other resting over his stomach, careful even in bed.
“Morning,” you say.
Pope turns his head on the pillow. “Morning.”
His voice is rough from sleep, and you look at him longer than you mean to. His hair is messy, stubble dark along his jaw, eyes tired but open on yours.
“You sleep?” you ask.
“Some.” His gaze moves over your face. “You?”
“Some.”
He nods once, like both answers make sense to him.
“Do you need to leave soon?” you ask.
Pope reaches for his phone on the nightstand, checks the screen, then sets it back down. “Not yet.”
You move closer before you can talk yourself out of it. Your knee touches his under the blanket, and his eyes drop to where the fabric shifts before coming back to your face. He doesn’t put his hand on you.
So you move the rest of the way, pressing your forehead near his shoulder. Pope exhales through his nose, and his mouth brushes your temple, barely there before he lets it stay.
“Missed this,” he says.
Your eyes close. “I missed it too.”
His hand moves then, slow enough that you can stop him if you want to. You don’t. He rests it at your waist over the blanket, palm warm and still, and the weight of it makes your chest tighten in a way that has nothing to do with fear.
“You working today?” Pope asks.
“Yeah. Later.”
His thumb stays still against the blanket. “Can I pick you up?”
You lift your head enough to look at him.
Pope knows how to wait. He’s done it outside your work, outside your door, in his car with his hands tight on the wheel. This is different. This time, he asks first.
“Yeah,” you say.
His eyes stay on yours.
“I’d like that,” you add.
Pope nods. “Okay.”
You settle back against him, and when his hand tightens slightly at your waist, you let him keep it there. His mouth rests against your hair, his body warm beside yours, and you both let the touch stay where it is.
The Pig is quiet when you come in, early enough that the chairs are still stacked near the back tables. Deran is behind the bar with the register drawer open, counting bills with a pen tucked behind his ear.
“You’re early,” he says.
You drop your bag under the counter. “That a problem?”
“No.” He adds another bill to the stack. “Just weird.”
“You want me to leave and come back late?”
Deran shuts the drawer and turns the key. “Don’t start doing charity work on my account.”
You tie your apron and start helping him open. Deran checks the taps while you restock the clean glasses and make sure the bottles behind the bar are where they should be. The two of you move around each other without needing to talk through any of it.
He waits until you’re replacing a bottle near the register before he says, “So he done being a pain in the ass?”
“Mostly.”
“Good.”
“That’s all?”
Deran folds the towel over his shoulder. “What do you want me to say? He was being a pain in the ass. Now he’s being less of one.”
“Very supportive.”
“I’m being nice.”
“This is nice?”
“For me, yeah.”
You put the bottle back in its place. “He’s trying.”
Deran’s expression turns more serious. “He better.”
“He is.”
He nods and leaves it there.
“Is Adrian back from Hawaii?” you ask.
“In a few days.”
“You talked to him?”
“Yeah.”
You turn toward him. “You did?”
Deran gives you a look. “Don’t make it weird.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
“You were.”
You let that go. “So what happens in a few days?”
“I’m picking him up.”
“From the airport?”
“Yeah.”
You keep your face still.
“Don’t,” he says.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were about to.”
“How long is he staying?” you ask.
“Don’t know yet.”
Deran reaches into his pocket and tosses a set of keys across the bar. You catch them before they hit the floor.
“What’s this?” you ask.
“Second set.”
“To the bar?”
“I need you to open in a few days.”
“What time?”
“Eight.”
You turn the keys over once before sliding them into your apron pocket. “I’ll open.”
Deran nods and reaches for the towel again.
“I’m glad you called him,” you say.
He looks toward the front windows. “Yeah.”
You don’t ask for more. Deran goes to unlock the front door while you finish checking the bottles behind the bar.
Your phone lights up a little after seven, while you’re wiping down the last few rings of condensation from the bar.
still okay if i pick you up?
You read it twice, even though there isn’t much to read. The words are plain, almost awkward, but Pope has never been careless about showing up for you. He used to wait outside because that was what he did, because he knew your shifts and your routes and the hours you hated walking home alone. Now he asks first.
You type back before you can make too much of it.
yeah
The reply comes a minute later.
be there soon
You slide your phone into your back pocket and finish closing with Deran, who doesn’t say anything about the smile you’re trying not to wear. He only takes the rag from your hand when you wipe the same part of the counter twice and tells you to go.
Pope’s car is outside when you step out of the bar, parked close to the curb with the engine running and the headlights low against the street. He’s behind the wheel, one hand resting at the top of it, his face turned toward the front doors before you reach the sidewalk. It’s close enough to the old routine that your chest tightens before you reach the curb.
He gets out before you reach the passenger side.
“Hi,” he says.
“Hi.”
Pope glances at your face, then at the bag on your shoulder. “Good shift?”
“Quiet. Deran complained about paperwork for half of it.”
“Sounds like him.”
“He also said you were being less of a pain in the ass.”
Pope’s mouth shifts, barely. “Sounds like him too.”
You almost smile, and this time you let yourself. Pope opens the passenger door for you and waits until you’re settled before he shuts it.
When he gets back in, the car smells faintly like him and the cigarettes he hasn’t smoked with you in it, the air warm from the heater running low. He pulls away from the curb with both hands on the wheel. The old version of this drive had his palm on your thigh before the first light, heavy and familiar, his thumb moving over your jeans while the two of you talked about nothing or didn’t talk at all.
Tonight, his hand stays where it is.
“You hungry?” Pope asks.
“Yeah, actually. I am.”
“There’s a place still open near your place. We can grab something before I drop you off.”
You turn your head toward him. “Do you want to come up?”
His hands tighten once on the wheel, then ease. He doesn’t answer too fast. “If that’s okay.”
“It is.”
Pope keeps his attention on the road, but something in his shoulders settles. “Then yeah.”
You let your hand rest on your own thigh. The car moves through the dark streets toward your apartment, his hand still on the wheel and yours resting near the place his used to be.
By the time you get back to the apartment, the food has gone soft in the takeout bags. Pope carries everything upstairs without asking, waits while you unlock the door, then steps in after you and shuts it with his shoulder while you kick off your shoes. He leaves his boots beside yours by the door, keys going on the small table in the hall before he follows you into the living room.
The apartment still feels half-empty from Chrissy’s boxes. Pope being there takes some of the edge off it.
He puts the bags on the coffee table and sits beside you, close but not crowding. The TV plays low across the room, some old movie neither of you is watching, and you eat from the containers on the table with your knees angled toward each other. The blanket is folded over the arm of the couch now, the cushion underneath cleaned as much as it’s ever going to be, and you try not to think about Craig bleeding there or Baz’s voice in your apartment.
Pope sets his food down before he speaks. “Had a job today.”
Your fork pauses over the carton. You don’t lift your head right away because if you do, he might stop.
“Me, Craig, J,” he says. “Went to see Pete. He’s got a garage out nearby. Knows Smurf. Does shit for her sometimes.”
You set the carton down. “What kind of shit?”
“Cars. Plates. Parts he doesn’t ask about.” Pope leans forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped loosely between them. “Smurf thinks somebody’s been taking from one of her storage places. She’s been losing it over that and Baz, Cath, Lena, all of it. Thinks maybe Baz is spiraling and grabbing whatever he can.”
“Do you think it was Baz?”
“No.” Pope shakes his head. “None of us knew about the storage place until a few days ago. Smurf hides shit, then gets pissed when nobody knows where she hid it.”
It isn’t the kind of thing he would’ve told you before. Maybe pieces, if someone else said too much first. Tonight, he tells you first.
“Where was Baz?” you ask.
Pope’s mouth tightens, but he doesn’t shut down. “Following something the PI gave him.”
Your stomach turns. “About Cath and Lena?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you think he’ll find them?”
“No.” His answer comes quickly, but not carelessly. He sits back against the couch, one hand dragging over his thigh before he lets it rest there. “Cath’s not that stupid. She got out because she planned it. Baz thinks wanting something bad enough means he gets to have it, but Cath knew him. She knew Smurf too.”
You look down before he can read too much relief on your face. You think of Cath’s hands on the wheel, Lena asleep in the back seat, and the warning not to ask anything you couldn’t lie about later. For the first time since they drove away, not knowing where they are doesn’t feel quite as close to panic.
“So he’s gone?” you ask.
“For now.” Pope looks toward the TV, though his attention isn’t on it. “Smurf let him go. Keeps him busy. Keeps him away from me.”
“Why are you telling me all this?” you ask.
Pope looks at you and takes his time with it. “Trying something different.”
You wait.
“Don’t need you knowing every part of it,” Pope says. “Some of it’s better if you don’t. But I can tell you where I am. Who I’m with. When I’m coming back.”
You nod, looking down at the carton in your hands. “Okay.”
Pope watches you. “That enough?”
“It’s a start.”
He takes that in with a small nod. “Okay.”
The TV keeps playing low across the room. You pick up your fork again, but you don’t eat. Pope stays angled toward you, waiting to see if you’ll ask for more.
“Pope,” you say.
He turns his head.
You don’t know what you meant to say after it. Maybe thank you. Maybe something else. His name comes out instead, soft enough that his eyes drop to his hands.
“Baz gave me that name,” he says.
You sit back. “What?”
“When we were kids.” He looks down at the space between his feet. “Thought it was funny. Everybody else started saying it, so it stuck.”
You think of Baz saying it. Craig. Deran. J. Men at the house. Men at jobs. Smurf when she isn’t using Andrew like a leash. You’ve said it too, over and over, never thinking about who put it on him first.
“You hate it?” you ask.
“Sometimes.” Pope’s jaw works before he keeps going. “Mostly depends who’s saying it.”
“When I say it?”
He looks at you then. “Don’t mind when you say it.”
“Why?”
Pope leans forward again, forearms on his knees, hands hanging loose between them. “People who don’t know me call me that. People who hear shit. People who need something done.”
You stay quiet.
His eyes move back to yours. “Don’t want you not knowing me.”
You place the carton on the coffee table and turn more fully toward him. “You ever think about asking me to call you Andrew?”
“Yeah.”
“How long?”
Pope looks down before he answers. “A while.”
He looks like he has more, so you wait. You don’t fill the quiet for him this time.
“A lot more lately,” he says.
Your chest aches at the way he says it. He wanted the name from you before he knew how to ask.
You say it carefully. “Andrew.”
His hand stills against his knee.
The name feels strange in your mouth, but not wrong. Softer than Pope, though not smaller. You’ve heard Smurf say it sweet enough to make your skin crawl, watched him answer even when he hated it.
This doesn’t feel like that.
Pope doesn’t look smaller when you say it. He looks like he heard you.
“That sounds different too,” he says.
“Bad different?”
“No.”
“Good different?”
His eyes stay on yours. “Good.”
You look down at your hand, then back at him. “It might take me a little while.”
“I know.”
“But I can try.”
Pope nods once. “Okay.”
You reach for his hand. He lets you take it, palm turning under yours, fingers closing around yours.
“Andrew,” you say again, quieter this time.
His grip tightens once.
The TV keeps playing, the food goes cold on the coffee table, and neither of you reaches for it again.
You get up first and start clearing the coffee table.
Pope follows after you, gathering the napkins and empty cartons while you carry the plates into the kitchen. He stays beside the counter while you rinse the forks, close enough that you know he’s there.
You shut off the tap and dry your hands on the towel. “Let’s go to bed.”
Pope looks at you. “You tired?”
“A little.”
He nods and follows you down the hall, turning off the lamp in the living room before he comes into the bedroom. You change in the bathroom with the door half-closed, then come back in an old shirt and sleep shorts while he stands by the dresser, folding his jeans over the chair instead of dropping them on the floor. It’s such a small thing, so like him, that it makes your chest hurt a little. Even here, even now, Pope keeps order where he can.
He gets into bed after you. You turn onto your side facing him, and he lies on his back at first, one arm bent over his stomach, eyes on the ceiling. He leaves a little room between you, enough that you can move first.
You move closer.
Pope turns his head toward you, and his hand shifts against the blanket but doesn’t reach. You slide your fingers over the sheet until they touch his. His palm opens right away, rough and warm beneath yours, but he waits until you curl your fingers around him before he holds on.
“Good night, Andrew,” you say.
Pope doesn’t answer right away, but his hand tightens around yours. Then he turns onto his side, facing you.
“Good night,” he says.
You close your eyes with his hand still in yours. He doesn’t pull you closer. You keep your hand in his, and he holds on until you fall asleep.
A few days later, Smurf comes into The Pig while Deran is still out.
It’s early enough that the bar hasn’t filled, but late enough that the lunch crowd has cleared and left rings on the counter you’ve wiped twice already. You’re restocking the little tray of cherries behind the bar when the front door opens and Smurf steps in wearing white slacks and sunglasses pushed into her hair, too clean for the bar.
She smiles when she finds you behind the counter.
“Hello, sweetheart.”
You set the cherry jar down and wipe your fingers on a towel. “Deran’s not in yet.”
“I know. I can still look in on the place.” Smurf walks farther in, taking in the tables, the bottles behind the bar, the stack of clean glasses near the sink. “Besides, I wanted to see how you were doing.”
“I’m working.”
“So you are.” Her smile widens, but nothing about her softens. “Andrew seems better.”
Your hand closes around the towel, but you keep your face even. “Does he?”
“He does. Little steadier.” Smurf reaches the bar and rests her purse on top of it. “Hard to get ahold of, though.”
“Maybe he had somewhere to be.”
“Maybe.” Smurf watches you with that patient, sweet look she uses when she’s waiting for someone to step wrong. “I stopped by the house yesterday.”
You keep the towel in your hand. “Oh?”
“Let myself in and everything.” Her smile doesn’t move. “He wasn’t there.”
The words sit wrong. She meant them to. You turn and take a clean glass from the rack, setting it near the sink. “You want something to drink?”
“No, baby. I’m fine.” She tilts her head. “You always do that.”
You look back at her. “Do what?”
“Make yourself busy when you don’t want to answer me.”
The door opens again before you have to decide whether to answer at all.
Pope comes in with his keys still in his hand. He stops near the entrance long enough to take in where Smurf is standing, where you are behind the bar, the purse set on the counter like she plans to stay. Then he starts toward you, shoulders set and attention fixed on his mother.
Smurf turns first. “There you are, baby.”
Pope comes to the bar and stands at the opening near the service side, close enough to you that you can feel him there without him touching you.
“Need something?” he asks.
“I came by the house yesterday,” Smurf says. “You weren’t there.”
“I was out.”
“I gathered that.”
Pope looks at her. “You let yourself in?”
“It’s my house.”
“It’s where I sleep.”
Smurf gives a small laugh, almost fond. “You’ve never cared before.”
“I care now.”
Her smile slips at the edge, but she keeps it. “Well. I just worry about you, baby.”
“Don’t.”
“That’s not really how mothers work.”
Pope goes still, his voice staying low. “What the hell would you know about that?”
Smurf’s eyes sharpen. “Andrew,” she says.
Pope doesn’t move closer. He doesn’t look away either.
Smurf puts the concern back on. “See? This is what I mean. He gets himself worked up, and then everybody has to—”
“Don’t put it on her,” Pope says.
Smurf stops.
Pope’s hand curls around the edge of the bar, fingers pressing into the wood before he lets them loosen. “You got something to say, say it to me.”
“I am talking to you.”
“No, you’re not.” His voice stays controlled. “You came here because Deran’s not here and you thought she’d be easier.”
Smurf looks at you, hurt surprise already waiting on her face. “Is that what he tells you?”
Pope steps into the opening at the bar, not touching you, not touching her. “Don’t.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You came here to.”
Smurf looks at him for a long time. Then she reaches for her purse, slow enough to make sure both of you know she’s leaving because she chose to. “I just came to check on the bar,” she says.
“Then check on the bar.”
Her mouth curves, but there’s no warmth left in it. “You look tired, Andrew.”
Pope doesn’t answer.
Smurf turns to you. “You take care now.”
You nod once. “You too.”
She walks out calmly. The door closes softly behind her.
Pope stays where he is, one hand still on the bar, attention on the door until her car pulls away from the curb outside.
Only then does he turn toward you. “You okay?”
“I’m okay.”
“She doesn’t need to come here and bother you.”
“I’m used to Smurf.”
Pope’s mouth tightens. “Doesn’t make it okay.”
You let the towel fall onto the counter and take a step closer to him. “You handled it.”
“Wanted to do something else.”
“I know.”
You reach for his hand where it rests on the bar. He lets you turn it over, lets your fingers slide into his palm.
“Deran’s gonna be pissed he missed her,” you say.
Pope looks at you. “No, he’s not.”
“He likes having something to complain about.”
“He’s got Craig.”
That pulls a small laugh out of you before you can stop it. Pope’s hand closes around yours, careful but sure.
Smurf’s car is gone. Pope stays beside you at the bar, his hand still around yours.
Chrissy comes by the apartment the next afternoon for the last of her things.
She lets herself in with the key she still hasn’t given back, calling your name from the hallway before she appears with her hair pulled up and an empty tote bag hanging from one shoulder. There isn’t much left for her to take anymore: a few books from the shelf near the kitchen, the sweater she kept forgetting in the hall closet, and a chipped mug she swears is hers even though you’re pretty sure you bought it at the thrift store down the street.
“I’m taking this,” Chrissy says, holding it up.
“You always do.”
“Then it’s basically mine.”
You’re sitting cross-legged on the floor near the coffee table, folding laundry into uneven piles. You started doing it to keep your hands busy and lost the system somewhere after the first load. Chrissy steps around the basket and lowers herself onto the couch, the tote bag dropping beside her.
“You look better,” she says.
You smooth the shirt over your knee. “Do I?”
“Yeah.” She leans back against the couch. “Less like you’re waiting for something bad to come through the door.”
“That bad?”
“You looked like shit.”
You throw a shirt her way before she tosses it back to you.
“Pope been coming around?” she asks.
“Some nights.”
“Good some nights?”
You nod, setting the shirt in the pile near your knee. “Good. Careful.”
“Careful’s probably not the worst thing.”
“No,” you say. “It’s not.”
Chrissy picks at a loose thread on her sleeve, then looks toward the blanket folded over the couch arm. She doesn’t say anything about it. You’re grateful for that.
You reach for another shirt from the basket. “Things with Andrew feel different this time.”
“Andrew?” Chrissy asks.
Your hands slow over the fabric. “Yeah.”
“That’s new.”
“Feels new.”
“Good new?”
You smooth the shirt over your knee. “I think so.”
Chrissy nods and lets that be enough. She moves around the apartment, picking up the last things she left behind without meaning to. You helped her pack most of it already, but this feels different. This feels final.
Your phone buzzes on the coffee table.
Chrissy looks at it before you reach for it. “Him?”
You pick it up and read the text.
can you come to the house?
Then another one.
beach house
Your thumb hovers over the screen.
everything okay?
The reply comes less than a minute later.
yeah
want to show you something
You read it twice, then type back.
be there soon
Chrissy is already reaching for her keys from the couch. “I’ll drive you.”
“You don’t have to.”
She grabs the tote bag with one hand and the mug with the other. “Fine. I’m nosy, and I want to know if he’s showing you something sweet or something weird he fixed.”
“It’s Pope.”
“Exactly.”
You laugh, and Chrissy looks pleased enough that you know she was aiming for it. She walks to the kitchen and sets the mug carefully into her tote instead of tossing it in with the books.
You text Pope that you’re leaving soon, then glance toward the hallway. Chrissy’s room is almost empty now, the door half-open, the last of her things gathered into one bag and one stolen mug. She follows your gaze and gives you a small shrug.
“I’ll still come by,” she says.
“I know.”
“And you’re still coming over for dinner. Simon bought too much food again.”
“Again?”
“He thinks two people eat like six.”
“You kinda do.”
“Rude.” She points the mug at you from inside the bag. “Accurate, but rude.”
You stand and push the laundry basket closer to the couch with your foot. Chrissy waits by the door while you grab your bag, and when you step into the hallway, she locks up behind both of you like she still lives there enough to know the deadbolt by heart.
On the way to her car, Chrissy bumps her shoulder lightly against yours. “Andrew, huh?”
You look down at the keys in your hand. “Yeah.”
Chrissy drives you to the beach house with the windows cracked and the radio low. She doesn’t ask too much on the way, and you’re grateful for that. She lets the quiet sit until the houses thin out and the ocean appears between buildings, gray-blue under the afternoon light.
When she pulls up outside the beach house, she leaves the engine running.
Pope’s car is in the driveway. The porch is empty. You look at the door, then down at your phone, even though there’s nothing new on the screen.
Chrissy follows your eyes. “I’m not coming in.”
“I didn’t ask.”
“I know. I’m saying it before you get polite and weird about it.”
You reach for the door handle. “Thank you for driving me.”
“Text me later.”
“I will.”
“I mean it.”
You turn back to her. “I know you do.”
Chrissy’s face softens, but she keeps one hand on the wheel and doesn’t make it a whole thing. “This is good, right?”
You look at the beach house again, at Pope’s car, at the door he asked you to come through.
“I hope so.”
Chrissy nods once. “Go find out.”
Chrissy waits at the curb until you reach the porch.
The front door opens before you knock. Pope stands inside with one hand on the edge of the door, his hair a little messy, his T-shirt pulled close across his shoulders, his eyes on you before you’ve finished climbing the last step.
You turn and lift your hand toward Chrissy. She gives you one small wave from behind the wheel, then pulls away once you’re inside. Pope closes the door behind you.
“Andrew,” you say.
His hand stays on the knob before he turns back to you. The name is still new enough that you feel it after it leaves your mouth. Not wrong. Just close.
He looks at you for another beat. “Hey.”
“You said you wanted to show me something,” you say.
“Kitchen.”
You follow him down the short hall and stop when you reach the counter.
The old deadbolt is sitting near the sink with the screws and scratched metal plate, the pieces laid out in a neat row because Pope would never leave them scattered. A toolbox is open on the floor by the back door, and there are faint marks near the frame where he must have worked the old piece loose.
You look from the counter to him. “What happened to the door?”
“Changed the locks.”
“Why?”
Pope wipes his hands on a rag and sets it beside the hardware. “Smurf had keys.”
You look toward the front hall, then back at the metal on the counter.
“She doesn’t anymore?” you ask.
“No.”
Pope reaches into his pocket and takes out a key on a plain silver ring.
He holds it out to you. “This one’s yours.”
You stare at it before taking it. The key is warm from his pocket, the teeth pressing lightly into your palm when your fingers close around it.
“Mine?”
“Yeah.”
“You sure?”
Pope leans back against the counter, arms loose at his sides. “Chrissy’s gone more now. I know that.”
Your grip tightens around the key.
“But that’s not why,” he says.
His gaze drops to the key in your hand. “Want you to have it. Not just when I bring you here. Not just when I’m here. If you want to be here.”
He isn’t trying to fill the space Chrissy left. He’s giving you access to a place Smurf can’t unlock anymore, and for Pope, that says more than almost anything else could.
You turn the key in your hand. “You sure you want me able to show up whenever I want?”
“Yeah.”
“You say that now.”
The corner of his mouth pulls a little. “Said what I said.”
You look down before your face gives too much away. “That’s dangerous.”
“What is?”
“Giving me a key.”
Pope’s eyes stay on you. “I know what I’m doing.”
You set your bag on the counter and slide the key into the inside pocket, careful with it. When you look back at him, he hasn’t moved.
You walk over to him and stop close enough that your knees almost touch his.
Pope’s hands stay where they are, resting against the counter behind him, but his gaze drops to your mouth and comes back up. He holds himself still, and it makes something low in your stomach pull tight.
“You’re doing that thing again,” you say.
“What thing?”
“Waiting for me.”
His jaw works once. “Trying to.”
You step between his knees and take his right hand from the edge of the counter. His fingers are rough around yours, his palm warm and still when you place it at your waist.
“You can touch me,” you say.
Pope’s hand closes slowly, just enough to make the shape of you real under his palm. His other hand comes up when you lean in, settling at your other side as your arms slide around his neck.
His forehead lowers to yours.
“I missed you,” he says.
“You’ve said that a lot.”
“It’s true.”
You kiss him before he can say anything else.
Pope answers slow at first, his mouth firm, his grip tight at your waist. You press closer, fingers tightening in his hair, and that’s when he starts to give. He opens for you. His body comes in harder. The kiss turns slower, hotter, until you can’t stand the space between you.
He walks you backward out of the kitchen, one hand at your waist and the other at the back of your neck, not rushing, not letting you get far enough away to cool off. Your shoulder brushes the hallway wall, and he shifts with you, keeping his body between you and the harder edge before kissing you again.
By the time you reach the bedroom, your shirt is already pulled loose from your jeans and his hands are under it, warm against your skin. You get his shirt off first. He lets you tug it over his head, lets you put both hands on his chest after, and the feel of him under your palms makes the wanting in you turn heavy and familiar. You missed this. Missed the heat of him, the solid weight of him, the way your body wakes up under his hands.
Pope watches you while your fingers move to his belt. His palms stay at your waist.
You undo the buckle, then the button, and drag the zipper down. His cock is already hard when your hand slides over him through his briefs, and the groan he gives against your mouth makes your legs press together.
He pulls back just enough to get your shirt over your head. Your bra follows, then your jeans, and Pope lowers with you as you step out of them, his mouth moving over your shoulder, your collarbone, the top of your breast. He takes his time even when his fingers dig in like he’s close to losing patience. Your underwear goes down your legs with the rest of your clothes, and when he touches between your thighs, you have to hold onto his shoulders.
It feels too good too fast.
He kisses you again while his fingers work over your clit, steady and sure, his other arm low around your back to keep you against him. You rock into his hand, chasing the pressure, and he follows the movement without making you ask. The first sound you make into his mouth pulls him closer. His fingers slow just enough to make it sharper, then circle again until your hips move on their own and your grip digs into his shoulders.
He lowers his mouth to your neck, then your chest, then keeps going, guiding you back until your legs meet the edge of the mattress. You sit when he guides you down, and he drops to his knees between yours. Your hand goes into his hair.
The first pass of his mouth has you gripping his hair harder, pleasure spreading hot through your stomach and down your legs. Pope holds your hips and keeps you where he wants you, his mouth working against your clit with the same focus he brings to everything that matters. You missed this too, missed the blunt devotion of him between your legs, the way he gives like it matters and still makes you take it.
His fingers press into you while his mouth stays on your clit, and the stretch makes your grip tighten in his hair.
“Andrew,” you say.
His fingers slow inside you. You look down at him, his mouth still close enough that the next touch pulls a sound from you.
Pope groans against you. “Fuck—”
The word is rough against your skin, almost lost before his mouth is on you again. He goes back to it harder, holding your hip firm when your body tries to move.
“Say it again,” he says.
“Andrew.”
His breath comes hot against you. “Again.”
“Andrew…”
“Fuck.” His voice comes out low, wrecked. “Don’t stop saying it.”
He presses in harder, and the pressure builds until your legs draw tight around his shoulders.
“Fuck—Andrew, I’m gonna come.”
He groans into you, fingers working deeper, mouth staying exactly where you need it.
“Come for me…”
You do, his name breaking in your mouth as pleasure takes you hard, your body tightening around his fingers.
He works you through it, slower after the first rush, his mouth still moving until your hand loosens in his hair and your legs shake against him.
When he rises over you, his face is flushed, his mouth slick from you, and there’s so much want in him that you reach for him before he can decide to hold back again. He pushes his briefs down and steps out of them, and then he’s over you on the bed, skin hot against yours, his cock pressing between your thighs while your hands move over his back.
“Baby…”
The word comes out rough against your mouth, like he didn’t mean to let it out.
Your fingers slide into his hair. “Say it again.”
Pope lifts his head enough to look at you, breathing hard, his hand braced beside your ribs.
His voice drops. “Baby.”
You kiss him for it, open and deep, pulling him down until his weight settles over you.
“Fuck,” he says against your mouth. “Missed you… missed this.”
His arm hooks under your thigh, lifting it higher along his hip, and when he pushes into you, the pressure makes your mouth open against his. He goes slow enough for you to feel every inch, slow enough that the ache of missing him and the feel of having him again tangle together until your eyes burn.
He pushes all the way in and stops there, forehead near yours, his body tight with the effort of not moving before you’re ready.
You move first.
Pope makes a low sound and starts to thrust, deep and controlled at first, but the control doesn’t last the way it did before. He’s fucking you now, not holding himself away from you anymore, his mouth brushing yours every time your hips lift to meet him. Every drag of his cock reminds you exactly what the last week made you wait for. It feels good enough to make you angry with how much you missed it, good enough that your nails press into his back and your hips lift to meet him again.
His rhythm falters, and you use the break to push at his shoulder. Pope follows you when you guide him onto his back. He lets you climb over him, lets you take his cock in your hand and sink down onto him with both of his hands hovering near your hips until you grab them and place them where you want them.
One at your waist.
One at your breast.
His fingers close carefully at first, then harder when your body moves over his.
“Fuck,” he says, low and strained. “You feel…”
He doesn’t finish. His head tips back against the pillow, jaw tight, chest rising hard under your palm.
You move over him slowly. “Say it.”
His eyes come back to yours.
“You feel so fucking good…”
You take him deeper, and his grip tightens at your waist.
“Andrew…”
“Keep saying it,” he says. “Fuck—keep saying it.”
You fuck him slowly at first, letting yourself feel the stretch, the heat, the sound caught in his throat every time you take him deeper. His thumb drags over your nipple while his other arm holds you steady, helping you find the rhythm that makes your thighs burn. It feels good. So good your thoughts scatter into the places his hands touch and the place where he fills you again and again.
Pope sits up without pulling out of you. The shift brings your chest against his, your arms sliding around his neck as he holds you close and starts thrusting up into you. You grip his shoulders as the angle changes, your knees tight on either side of his hips. His lips are at your throat, his palms spread over your back, and each drive of his hips pushes against the place still sensitive from his mouth.
You make a sound you can’t hold back. “Right there,” you say.
Pope’s grip tightens. “There?”
“Yes… fuck, right there—”
He moves harder while he kisses you again. The kiss is messy now, too much teeth and heat, both of you breathing hard through it as his fingers slide between you. The first touch to your clit makes you fold closer, forehead pressing to his shoulder.
“Come for me…” he says against your ear.
You try to answer, but the pleasure is already too close. Pope keeps moving, keeps touching you, holding you there when it gets too much. Your nails scrape over his shoulder, and then you come around him, hard enough that your legs pull him in and a sound tears out of you before you can stop it.
He holds you through it, one arm tight around your back while his fingers keep working until you’re shaking against him.
“Baby…” he says, strained now.
You lift your head. His face is close, wrecked with it, his mouth parted, eyes fixed on yours because he wants you there with him when it happens.
Pope’s hips drive up into you again, harder, less even now. “I’m gonna come.”
You kiss him, too far gone to hide what that does to you, how close he is, how close you still are because his fingers are still on your clit and his cock keeps hitting every sensitive place inside you.
“Come for me…” you say against his mouth.
Pope’s arms close around you, and the last of his control goes with a harsh sound that spills into your kiss. He comes deep inside you, hips pressing up as he holds you hard against him, and the feel of him letting go pulls you with him again. Your next orgasm comes slower, heavier, while he keeps you against his chest.
His arms stay around you, one hand spread between your shoulder blades and the other low on your back, holding you through the tremors until your body settles against his. Your face is tucked into the side of his neck, your skin damp against his, your thighs still around his hips while he softens inside you.
Pope turns his head and presses his mouth to your hair.
You close your eyes and let yourself stay there, with him still inside you, the new key tucked away in your bag and Smurf’s old lock left on the kitchen counter.
You lie beside him after, one leg still tangled with his under the sheet, your body warm and heavy in a way you haven’t let yourself think about too much this week.
Pope is on his side facing you, close enough that his knee brushes yours when either of you shifts. His hand rests between your shoulder blades, moving slowly over your skin. Your fingers drift against his chest while his breathing settles under your palm. He’s quiet, but he keeps looking at you.
“What?” you ask.
Pope shakes his head.
“You keep looking at me.”
His thumb moves once near your spine. “I know.”
“That’s all?”
He takes his time answering. You let him. The lamp beside the bed is still on, low and yellow, catching the edge of his cheekbone and the dark line of his jaw. He looks tired now that the hunger has gone softer, but he doesn’t look closed off.
“Didn’t know if I’d get this back,” he says. He doesn’t say it like he wants you to comfort him. He says it because it’s true.
You slide your hand up to his neck, thumb resting below his jaw. “You’re here.”
“Yeah.”
You lean in and kiss him. Pope kisses you back, slow and warm, his hand flattening against your back.
When you pull away, he doesn’t go far. His mouth brushes your temple, and the words come out quiet and rough.
“I love you.”
You stop moving against him.
Pope keeps his hand on your back. He can’t take it back now. The words don’t sound planned. They sound like they got out before he could stop them.
You lift your head.
“Don’t say it because I did,” he says.
Your throat tightens.
“Not saying it so you forget what happened,” Pope adds. “I know you won’t. Don’t want you to.” He looks away once, then back. “Just don’t wanna keep going like you don’t already have it.”
You touch his face, letting your thumb move over the rough line of his cheek. He turns into it just enough that you almost lose the words.
“I love you too, Andrew.”
His eyes close, and his hand tightens at your back. When he looks at you again, he can’t hide what it did to him.
You kiss him before he has to answer.
Pope meets you halfway, one hand sliding into your hair while the other keeps you close. The kiss is slow, his mouth warm against yours, and he doesn’t let go when it ends.
After, you turn onto your side with your back to his chest, and Pope follows only when you bring his arm over your waist. His palm settles against your stomach, warm through the sheet, and this time, you’re the one who put him there.
Pope’s mouth rests near your hair, his breathing evening out behind you, and you let your eyes close with his arm around you.
You fall asleep in the house he made harder for her to enter, with his hand on you and his love still warm against your skin.
lowdown ☆ you’re part of butcher’s crew, he’s the weapon they barely trust, and somewhere between missions, insults, blood, and bad decisions, soldier boy becomes the one person you should stay away from—and the one person who keeps coming back.
ride or die ☆ soldier boy x human!reader ( f )
miles ☆ 125k ride style ☆ enemies-ish to lovers ; slow slow burn
danger on the trail ☆ canon-typical violence, blood/injury, explicit sexual content, weapons, strong language, crude humor, sexual tension, eventual explicit content, toxic behavior, trauma/ptsd, references to captivity and torture, emotional repression, manipulation, misogyny/sexism, morally grey choices, vought-related abuse/corruption, and complicated relationship dynamics
posting schedule ☆ every other day taglist ☆ join here 𐚁 .ᐟ
☆ listen to the playlist ☆ what would temp v do to you? (poll) ☆
liv's log ☆ this has become my favorite thing to write for. and your comments make me giggle like a school girl. so thank you for being on that side. and if you're new here, enjoy the slow burn~ 🤠
☆ 𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔰
ꫂ᭪݁ 01 — mouth like that ꫂ᭪݁ 02 — commie toy
ꫂ᭪݁ 03 — save the clownfish ꫂ᭪݁ 04 — volume control
ꫂ᭪݁ 05 — again ꫂ᭪݁ 06 — no bell
ꫂ᭪݁ 07 — easy ꫂ᭪݁ 08 — bed rest
ꫂ᭪݁ 09 — war stories ꫂ᭪݁ 10 — same thing
ꫂ᭪݁ 11 — loose ꫂ᭪݁ 12 — preventative maintenance
ꫂ᭪݁ 13 — the leash ꫂ᭪݁ 14 — walls up
ꫂ᭪݁ 15 — fault line ꫂ᭪݁ 16 — mean right hook
ꫂ᭪݁ 17 — bad idea ꫂ᭪݁ 18 — field ready
ꫂ᭪݁ 19 — cold storage ꫂ᭪݁ 20 — still alive
ꫂ᭪݁ 21 — not sorry ꫂ᭪݁ 22 — still standing
ꫂ᭪݁ 23 — unlocked ꫂ᭪݁ 24 — catch and release
ꫂ᭪݁ 25 — poor judgment ꫂ᭪݁ 26 — five minutes
ꫂ᭪݁ 27 — missing pieces ꫂ᭪݁ 28 — under the surface
ꫂ᭪݁ 29 — strings attached ꫂ᭪݁ 30 — say the word
ꫂ᭪݁ 31 — watch your mouth ꫂ᭪݁ 32 — terms of engagement
ꫂ᭪݁ 33 — negative space ꫂ᭪݁ 34 — sharp again
ꫂ᭪݁ 35 — wrong turn ꫂ᭪݁ 36 — hard feelings
ꫂ᭪݁ 37 — bad tv ꫂ᭪݁ 38 — exposed
ꫂ᭪݁ 39 — stay ꫂ᭪݁ 40 — blood in the water
ꫂ᭪݁ 41 — family only ꫂ᭪݁ 42 — because you live
ꫂ᭪݁ 43 — white-hot ꫂ᭪݁ 44 — sioux fall
☆ 𝔡𝔯𝔞𝔟𝔟𝔩𝔢𝔰
ꫂ᭪݁ the first lie ☆ pre chapter one
ꫂ᭪݁ unfair advantages ☆ between chapters 22 and 24
lowdown ☆ after the tower, you’re left with the fallout and the road ahead.
ride or die ☆ soldier boy x reader ( f )
miles ☆ 2436 ride style ☆ fluff 😌
danger on the trail ☆ post-finale aftermath, injury, temp v use, emotional distress, toxic dynamics, the end of a fucking era!!! notes at the end 😭
𐚁 .ᐟ masterlist ☆ listen to the playlist ☆ support my work ᢉ𐭩
the radio barely works.
it keeps cutting in and out beneath the rain, old guitar and static slipping through the speakers in broken pieces. every few seconds, a man’s voice finds the melody, holds it for half a line, then disappears again.
you should turn it off. you hum instead, low under your breath, because the car feels too quiet without something filling it. because if you stop humming, you’ll hear the tower again. glass giving way. annie shouting. ryan screaming. soldier boy’s roars, rough and ruined.
your hands stay locked around the steering wheel.
your wrist's swollen where the cuff bit in. your throat burns when you swallow, skin bruised beneath your jaw in the shape of homelander’s fingers. there’s blood under one sleeve, not all of it yours, and temp v still crawls ugly through your veins, leaving your skin too cold and your heartbeat too fast.
the highway stretches ahead, dark and wet. somewhere behind you, soldier boy is unconscious across the backseat. you check the mirror again. he’s too big for the car. boots jammed awkwardly against the door, one arm hanging half-off the seat, shield shoved into the footwell because you couldn’t leave it behind even though dragging it nearly made you sob from pure exhaustion.
his face's turned toward the window, slack in a way that still looks wrong on him. soot and blood mark the side of his neck. his armor's cracked open at the chest. breathing, though. you keep checking. breathing. that has to be enough for now.
the road blurs. you blink hard until the lines sharpen again. “not yet,” you whisper.
your fingers tremble on the wheel, so you grip tighter. ten and two, absurdly proper for a woman driving a stolen car with a wanted supe unconscious in the backseat. the thought almost makes you laugh, bur the sound doesn’t make it out.
the radio catches another few notes. you hum along badly. behind you, leather creaks. soldier boy jerks upright. not at all like waking. one second he's deadweight, and the next he's moving, sharp and violent, dragging air into his lungs like he's come up from underwater with his hand already reaching for a weapon.
you scream. “jesus, what the fuck?” the car swerves across the lane. tires hit the rumble strip with a grinding roar. your heart kicks into your throat.
soldier boy grabs the back of the passenger seat, eyes wild in the dashboard glow, and that only makes the wheel slip harder in your hands. “where the fuck—”
“sit down!”
“keep the car on the road!”
“i was doing that before you resurrected in my fucking backseat!”
you yank the wheel back. the car lurches, corrects, then straightens beneath the rain. for three seconds, neither of you speaks. the wipers scrape across the windshield. the radio hisses.
then he says, “pull over.”
you laugh once, too sharp. “of course. sure. already barking orders.”
“stop the fucking car.” the way he says it is different the second time. not barked. not cruel. strained.
you glance at him in the mirror and see that his eyes have dropped to your throat. then your wrist. then your shaking hands. your grip tightens around the wheel until your knuckles hurt. “fine.”
you pull onto the shoulder, gravel spitting under the tires, and shove the car into park. cold rain hits you the second you open the door. it feels good for half a breath, then awful. you climb out anyway.
your legs nearly fold. you catch yourself against the car. soldier boy's already out on the other side, unsteady for maybe one second before pride straightens him. he looks around the empty road, the wet fields, the dark line of trees beyond the shoulder. then he looks at you.
“where are we?” he asks.
“somewhere in pennsylvania. maybe ohio by now.” your voice comes out rough from homelander’s hand.
his eyes stay on your throat. “what happened?”
“a lot.” you swallow, and it hurts. “everyone’s alive.”
he goes very still. the rain ticks against the roof of the car. somewhere far away, a truck passes on another road, low and lonely through the night.
“even maeve?” he asks.
your chest tightens. you nod. “i think. she was breathing when they found her.”
his jaw works once. “homelander?”
“alive.” that hits worse. of course it does.
his face closes, and for a second he looks back toward the road behind you like he might try to walk all the way to new york with broken armor and blood in his hair.
“ryan’s alive too,” you add. “butcher. annie. hughie. mm. frenchie. kimiko. me...” his eyes come back to you. you almost make a joke. you’re too tired. “i’m here.”
he steps closer. “you took it.”
“i did.”
his expression hardens. “after i told you not to.”
“after you cuffed me to a radiator and destroyed the vial in my face.”
“to keep you alive.”
“that wasn’t your choice.”
he flinches. small. almost nothing. but you see it, and some mean, hurt part of you is glad.
“you left me there,” the words come out quieter than you expect. worse because of it. “after i promised. after i told you. you made me watch you walk away.”
rain runs down his face. he doesn’t wipe it. “i know.”
“do you?”
his eyes meet yours. there's no joke waiting in them now. no dirty comment. no easy cruelty to hide behind. “yeah,” he says. “i do.”
that fixes nothing. still, your throat tightens.
you look away first, toward the highway. toward anywhere that is not his face.
for a while, the only sound is the rain. then he asks, “in the tower. did you—”
“not on you.” the answer's immediate.
his jaw tightens.
you take one step toward him, even though your body protests. “i could have. when you were charging, when everyone was still too close, when i thought the whole floor was going to come down. the word was right there.” your voice cracks. “i didn’t say it.”
he looks away.
“i promised you,” you say. “and i kept it.”
his hand flexes at his side. you almost wish he would argue. it would be easier than watching him stand there with the truth pressing into him from every side.
“i used it on them,” you continue. “after.”
his eyes return to you.
“they were going to take you back.”
his face empties so fast it makes your stomach turn. “freezer?”
“nobody said the word.” you fold your arms, then stop because your ribs ache. “they didn’t have to.”
for a second, he's not on the highway with you. he's somewhere colder. somewhere metal. somewhere locked. you hate them for it, suddenly and completely, even though part of you understands. even though you saw him light up that room. even though you know how close everyone came to dying. you still hate them.
“you were unconscious,” you say. “maeve was down. homelander was gone. butcher was bleeding all over the floor and still trying to stand. mm was calling for containment. frenchie had the gas...” your throat tightens again. “annie looked at me like she was sorry.”
his voice is flat when he asks, “what did you say?”
you remember it too clearly. your knees on broken glass beside him. your hand against his chest, checking for breath. butcher swearing from somewhere behind you. mm reaching for your shoulder. annie saying your name in warning. frenchie’s face pale above the mask canister. your own voice cutting through all of it.
“i told them to stay back,” you say.
he watches you. “and they did?”
“yes.”
“all of them?”
“yes.”
“butcher?”
“especially butcher.”
something dark and almost satisfied crosses his face before pain swallows it.
“you carried me out?”
“dragged you. carried you a little. cursed your entire bloodline.” you glance toward the car. “took the shield too. you’re welcome.”
he doesn’t answer. he's looking at your wrist again. the cuff mark's ugly. red and swollen, rubbed raw in places from where you fought the radiator, then the door, then the whole goddamn world to get to him.
his hand lifts. you stiffen before you can stop yourself.
slowly, he lets his hand fall. the absence hurts more than the reach. “i’m not going to grab you."
“good,” you answer. “because i might hit you with the car.”
“with your driving, i don't doubt it."
it slips out before either of you can stop it. a tiny, stupid sound leaves you. not a laugh. close enough to hurt.
his face shifts like that sound does something to him. then his hands come up to your face. slowly. giving you time. you should step back. you're still angry. your wrist throbs because of him. your throat hurts because of homelander. your veins feel poisoned because you had to take the vial alone after he took your choice and called it love. but his palms settle against your cheeks, big and careful, and you're too tired to pretend it doesn’t almost break you.
his thumbs rest beneath your cheekbones. “you shouldn’t have come."
your eyes burn. “you shouldn’t have left me.”
his face tightens. “i know.”
it isn't enough. but it's the closest he has come.
“i’m still mad,” you whisper.
“yeah.”
“i might be mad for a while.”
“figured.”
“and if you ever handcuff me to something again, i’m commanding you to shave your beard.”
his face goes so still that, despite everything, a laugh breaks out of you. his eyes narrow. “that a threat?”
“a promise.”
“you promised not to use it on me.”
“tempt me.”
the old rhythm flickers between you, bruised and weak but alive. you feel it and hate yourself a little for needing it.
his gaze drops to your mouth.
the rain keeps falling.
“where are we going?” he asks, voice lower now.
“sioux falls.”
his brows draw together. “why?”
“i have family there. an aunt. sort of. long story.” you breathe in carefully. “small house outside town. old garage. she minds her business if i tell her to. we can stay a few days. figure out where we go next.”
“where we go next?”
your throat tightens.
there it is. the small, stupid word with teeth.
“unless you have somewhere better to be.”
his hands tighten on your face for half a second. “no.”
his thumb drags once along your cheek, wiping rain or tears or both.
“you stole me,” he says.
your mouth trembles around a smile that doesn’t fully form. “rescued.”
“stole.”
“fine. i stole you.”
“from all of them.” his eyes stay on yours. “why?”
there're a dozen answers. because they were going to freeze him. because you were angry. because he was breathing. because after everything, after every ugly choice and every wrong word and every time one of you used teeth because tenderness felt too dangerous, you still couldn't leave him on that floor.
you say the smallest true thing. “because i wasn’t done with you.”
his face changes. not much. never much. but you know him now, and it is enough. then he kisses you. it isn't gentle at first. not careful enough to turn the night pretty. he kisses you like he's furious at the rain, at the tower, at the fall, at your bruises, at himself. his hands hold your face the whole time, and that's the part that ruins you. not the force. not the heat. the holding.
you grip the torn front of his suit. then he makes a sound against your mouth, low and wrecked, and you melt. stupidly. completely. he kisses you until the rain is cold on your back and the car engine ticks itself quiet beside you.
when he pulls away, his forehead stays pressed to yours. neither of you says anything. there's nothing clean enough to say.
then he looks down at you and his face hardens again. “you're shaking. get in the car. i’m driving.”
you pull back. “absolutely not.”
“you almost put us in a ditch.”
“because you scared me.”
“women shouldn’t be behind the wheel.”
you stare at him. rain drips from his hair. he looks half-dead, bruised, burned, impossible, and completely serious.
you slap his chest. he doesn’t move. your hand hurts. “ow,” you mutter.
his mouth twitches. “that was pathetic."
“i'm withdrawing.”
“explains the driving.”
you point at him. “do not make me regret stealing you.”
“too late.”
you hate that it makes you smile. small. exhausted. real. you drop the keys into his open hand before you can change your mind. “one misogynistic comment about my navigation and i leave you at the next gas station.”
“you’d come back.”
“unfortunately.”
he closes his fingers around the keys and walks around the car with only a slight limp. you notice. he knows you notice. neither of you says anything.
you slide into the passenger seat and immediately regret sitting because every bruise introduces itself at once. soldier boy gets behind the wheel, adjusts the seat with an annoyed grunt, and glares at the dashboard like the car's personally disappointed him.
“piece of shit,” he mutters.
“free piece of shit.”
he starts the engine. the radio wakes with a burst of static, then finds the old song again. faint guitar. a voice you still don’t recognize. rain under the tires as he pulls back onto the highway.
for a while, neither of you speaks. behind you, new york is sirens and broken glass and people who will turn the whole thing into headlines by morning.
terrorist attack.
supe disaster.
vought tragedy.
they won't call it what it was. they won't know about the radiator. the second vial. the word you didn't say. maeve’s arms around him as the sky went white. your knees on broken glass while everyone stepped back because you told them to. his hands on your face in the rain.
they won't know that the world ended and kept going anyway.
sioux falls is still too far. temp v still burns under your skin. homelander's alive. butcher's alive. everyone you left behind's alive and furious and probably already hunting for the stolen car.
but soldier boy's breathing beside you. you're breathing beside him. for tonight, that has to be enough.
the radio clears for a few seconds, and you start humming again, quieter now. soldier boy glances over as one hand leaves the wheel. he extends it toward you, palm open, waiting. you slip your hand into his.
the road stretches out ahead of you, dark and endless beneath the rain, and this time, neither of you lets go.
liv's log ☆ and here we are... the last chapter of mouth like that 🙂↕️
i don’t really know how to write this without getting a little emotional, because this genuinely feels like the end of an era for me. i’ve been writing for as long as i can remember. since i understood myself as someone with too many feelings and nowhere else to put them, i’ve been putting them into words. writing has always been mine in that way.
but this was different.
tumblr wasn’t new to me, and writing wasn’t new to me, but having this much love and support for something i created? that was new. seeing your comments, your asks, your reblogs, your tags, your theories, your yelling, your suffering—it made me feel giddy in a way i genuinely don’t think i can explain without sounding insane. some days, it felt like being high. some days, when real life was awful and heavy and exhausting, i would open tumblr and read what you guys had said, and it would make me happy. actually happy.
and i know i made you suffer. i know the angst was evil. i know there were moments where it probably felt like things were going to be bad forever. but the fact that so many of you stayed with this story anyway means more to me than i can say.
mouth like that was supposed to be one drabble. one silly, stupid little scenario that got stuck in my head and refused to leave me alone. somehow, that turned into this huge, messy, emotional, unhinged thing with over 150 people on the taglist, and i still don’t know how to wrap my head around that. i am so so grateful to every single one of you who read it, commented on it, reblogged it, screamed at me about it, recommended it, or quietly came back chapter after chapter.
i’m also grateful for the friends i made because of this story. that might be the most special part of all.
this isn’t goodbye to soldier boy. i’m never going to stop writing for him/jensen, because apparently i have a sickness and the only cure is putting that man in increasingly deranged situations. but mouth like that will always be special to me. it was my first project that really became something bigger than i expected. my first story that made me feel that kind of support. my first “holy shit, people are actually here for this” moment.
so, from the bottom of my very dramatic little heart: thank you! thank you for reading. thank you for caring. thank you for suffering with me. thank you for making this story feel alive.
i’m gonna stop crying now.
here’s to more soldier boy stories, more unhinged nonsense, and whatever emotional damage comes next 🩷
summary: andrew does pushups with you under him, until you want more.
warning: 18+, dryhumping, coming in pants
a/n: wrote the smut in this tipsy while being bored of the word cup game pls bare with any typos. i need this man to do pushups over me
Laying under Andrew as he does pushups, his strong, thick biceps on either side of your head. Feeling the sturdy weight of him press gently into you whenever he comes down, and pressing your stomach. His face, etched with concentration as his eyes bore into yours every time he does a pushup.
You’re content to just lay there under him, admire his face and his chest and his arms on either side of you, warmth pooling in your stomach. It hasn’t been long, only about ten minutes or so, but small rivulets of sweat are forming along his curls, at the nape of his neck.
Eventually, you decide you need him to suffer a little, need to make him stop and take you right here, instead of doing his stupid push-ups, which were sexy, yes, but you were growing needy watching him, slick pooling in your underwear.
The little furrow in his brow smoothes out when you give him a little peck on his lips as he leans down. Just a soft press of your lips against his.
He pants.
“You’re distracting me.”
You giggle.
“That was my intention.”
Then you put your arms on his chest, on those pecs and slowly rub circles with your thumbs, feeling the warmth and slightly sweaty skin.
He stills above you, arms locked on either side. A bead of sweat trails down the side of his head, down his neck.
“You’re so sweaty, honey,” you begin, trailing your hands up and up the planes of his chest, until they meet at the back of his neck. You pull him down slightly, and he lets you, surprisingly, curious for your next move.
You smirk before you lean up slightly, neck tilting up. Then you take your tongue out, and trail it up the side his throat, tasting the slight musk and tanginess.
His jaw clenches, lips pressing together.
Andrew wraps one beefy arm around your waist, the other holding him up. Then he turns you over with an ease that leaves you stunned.
“Oh my god,” you gasp, now on top of him. You reach out and place your hands on either side of his head, your knees on the ground, straddling him to keep your balance.
“Holy fucking shit. I cannot believe you just flipped us over like that.”
Andrew just stares at you, the corner of his mouth twitching as he fights back a smile.
“S’nothing,” he mumbles.
“No it’s not nothing,” you say as you run a hand through his curls. “You’re my strong boy.”
He blushes then, cheeks warming as he leans in again.
“Yeah? M’ good?
You nod, brushing your nose against his.
Then he presses your lips together, hard. You kiss, your tongue in his mouth, fighting for dominance.
Feeling his cock underneath you, hardening under his boxer shorts, your clit rubbing against him, hard, as you grind your hops against his, once.
“Fuck,” he grits out, grabbing your waist with both hands.
“Please Andrew, let me make you feel good.”
He nods, whimpering into your mouth.
“Keep goin’, pretty girl.”
And you do, rocking your hips back and forth, the friction of your clothes between you creating the perfect friction on your clit.
“Andrew, fuck! You feel- feel so good baby,”
He groans in reply, moaning into your mouth as he moves you back and forth, holding your waist.
You move faster, gripping the sides of his neck, mouth hovers above his.
“Andrew, fuck- m’gonna come,” you whine into his mouth.
He nods against you, egging you on. Not a man of many words, he just grips your waist tighter in his palms, rocking you against him faster.
“Just like that baby, m’gonna come too,” he groans.
As his tip slides against your clit under your shorts, pressing against you on the perfect way, the wave of pleasure breaks and you come - hard. Back arching, hips grinding, moaning his name.
Andrew just stares, all sweaty and lost in your body moving against him as you work through your peak.
“Fuck- fuck can feel you pulsing baby,” Andrew groans out lowly.
His hips jerk up once, then twice, jerkily, before he spills in his boxers, moaning against your mouth.
You both pant against each other, feeling your release in your underwear.
“Did so- so good for me, honey,” you praise against his lips, kissing him softly.
He only moans in reply, hips still slightly grinding up into you.
“Thank you,” he whimpers.
Yeah. There’s nowhere you’d rather be.
god bless the Thot in my notes app and the TikTok edit of Andrew including him doing pushups
Summary: It started with a drunken dare—one impulsive ring of the doorbell at Station 42 that should’ve been nothing more than a funny story the next morning. From the echoing halls of Fernwood Elementary, to the roaring engines and restless nights at the station, an unexpected wildfire ignited between you and Brett Richards.
But wildfires don’t stay contained. As boundaries blur and emotions deepen, you’re forced to confront what happens when a spark becomes a blaze—one that could warm you for a lifetime… or burn everything you thought you knew.
Chapter One: Gravity
Chapter Two: Fire Prevention
Chapter Three: Lucky Bones
Chapter Four: Innamorata
Chapter Five: DEFCON 5
Chapter Six: Strike
Chapter Seven: Abigail
Chapter Eight: Blaze
Warnings: all warnings will be listed before the chapters! alcohol, mentions of past unhealthy relationships, brett is a widow, smut, bondage & rope play, fire, fluff, will add more as the story continues
