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➳ Talk So Sweet (Doin' Bad Things)

↳ The Last of Us | Explicit | Manny Alvarez/Reader | 10.1k | Complete

Summary: It was common knowledge that you and Manny did not get on. But, after a run goes awry, you're the one patching him, and if disliked you that much, how come he's told his dad all about you?

--Or-- A slow descent into falling in love with the person you hate the most.

A lot of people knew that you and Manny did not gel well. It didn’t take a lot to work out between the icy glares, the cold shoulders and, sometimes, going as far as pretending the other didn’t exist.

Which ideally wasn’t the best for the rest of your little group. You hadn’t been part of the Firefly’s when they fell but you had known of Marlene, whisperings about her initiative and what would happen if she set foot in Seattle or even came across the WLF. Yet when the ex-Firefly’s arrived, you had taken them under your wing and in return, you became one with their group, though you figured that sharing a room with Leah had something to do with it.

Which brings you to now, sat in the corner of the mess hall with a greasy rag, absently wiping it over your pistol while Nora and Manny are at each other’s throats for what must be the third time this week.

“—You’re not going to tell Isaac shit,” Nora spits at him, spoon clenched tightly in her fist as she glares daggers at Manny.

Manny leans over the table, leering at her, “Sure, that his senior medic is shirking her duties to what? Bunk off with the armourer?”

Ohh, of course. It would be you that Manny has a problem with. If this was Abby or Mel, you can guarantee he wouldn’t have an issue with it. But you? That man has had it out for you the moment you spoke to him. Besides, you’d had this job cleared for days, a simple supply run and one that would be beneficial to the med-bay too. It’s just Manny being typical Manny that he needs Nora’s help now of all times.

“But it’s fine when you do it to get a piece of skirt, right? Besides, I’m not shirking off any duties.” Nora swings back easily, leaning back on the bench. “Never thought you of all people would be one to tattle to Isaac. Like even has time for you if it’s not Scar related.”

Manny’s jaw ticks and you can feel the anger rolling off him in waves, most of it directed straight at you.

“Nora, it’s fine. I can ask Owen to come with me,” you try, attempting to placate both of them, but Nora holds up a hand to stop you.

“No, no. You did get it cleared, right?”

“Yes.”

“Good,” she turns back to Manny with a sickly sweet smile, “so take Mel with you.”

Manny jumps up from the table, jolting it so the cutlery rattles and he swears in Spanish. You glance up as he shoves his hands in his pockets and storms out of the mess hall.

“He really has it out for you, huh?” Nora asks with a shake of her head.

“Yup, something like that. I’ll meet you down the armoury in ten.”

You wait for Nora down in the armoury, leaning against the wall with the guns already signed out, while Olive, another armourer who trained under you, talks your ear off about the guy she’s seeing. Eric, you think his name is.

And then in comes Manny, closely followed by a hesitant looking Mel. She gives you a half smile as Manny struts over towards Olive. He doesn’t even glance in your direction, not when Olive asks you about Manny’s usual, nor when you slip back behind the desk to collect his shotgun and extra ammo. He clenches his jaw, white-knuckling the shotgun and nods his head to Olive in thanks.

Mel, ever the peacekeeper, apologises when Manny’s out of earshot, taking her pistol and rifle with a grateful thanks to you both and hurries after him with Bear in tow, barking excitedly at her heels.

“You should’ve given him an empty box of ammo,” Olive says quietly to you, eyes on the two of them heading towards a truck.

You snort, “Because that would go down so well when he gets back.”

“He can be so awful sometimes.”

“Dude probably just needs to get laid,” you shrug and then spot Nora making her way towards you and bid Olive a hasty goodbye.

It was late. Later than you usually stayed down in the armoury. But with Danny, Owen and Manny coming back later than predicted from their run, all three looking pissed, you silently took their weapons from them, cleaning them down and letting the three of them cool off in their own way. Owen had tried to help; lingering back and making small talk but you had taken the box of ammo from his hands and sent him on his way towards Abby knowing she’d appreciate his presence more.

You swung the keys to armoury on the keyring around your finger, waiting for whoever was in the shooting range to finish up and leave. But the minutes ticked by, the shots still fired and your eyes were heavy with tiredness.

Six more shots sounded and you gripped the keys tight in your hand, quietly going inside and let out a sigh at the sight of Manny in the end stall. Ear protection forgone and muttering to himself in Spanish as he reloads the pistol. You winced as he emptied it one by one into the target without hesitation.

“Manny.”

He either ignores you or doesn’t hear you as the gun clicks empty and he mutters again, throwing in another twelve rounds into the pistol and firing them off one by one, you count them as you hear the cartridges clink to the floor.

“¡Déjame en paz!”

You lean against the door, exasperated as he fumbles and picks up the ammo shells on the floor.

“Manny. I need to lock up,” you tell him firmly. The last thing you want is to get into an argument with him now. Both of you obviously exhausted, words would sting a little more and no holds would be barred for the slew of curses that could leave you.

“Need me to fucking translate for you?”

The frustration rolls off the two of you in waves and you chew on your lip, strutting over and collecting up the pistol and the handful of unused ammo. As you pull back, Manny’s hand wraps around your wrist and your eyes find the smear of dried blood on his knuckles, over his sleeves and up onto his neck. Your lips parting in surprise when you see the slice over his cheek, the split in his lip and the purple undertones of a bruise blossoming on his jaw.

“The fuck happened to you?” you ask before you can stop yourself.

“Nothing,” he snaps, turning away from you.

“Bullshit, Manny, look at your face! You should’ve gone to the med—”

“No. I don’t need to go to the med-bay. It’s just a small cut, it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

He hasn’t let go of your wrist and the longer you stare at him, the more he starts to wilt under your hard gaze. He turns back to you, meeting your eyes and his grip loosens around your wrist. He lets out another sigh, and runs his other hands through his already rumpled hair. “I’m not going to the med-bay because Mel and Nora will just ask questions. I’ve had worse, now stop fussing over me.”

You wretch your wrist out of his grasp. “Suit yourself. But you’re in my shooting range.”

His throat bobs, jaw ticking as he glares at you with unspoken curses. But Manny turns away without so much as a jab, clearing up the mess of ammo spilling onto the bench. He’s silent, and when he speaks you almost miss it.

“Scars.”

You stop, turning on your heel, keys clenched tightly in your fist. “What about ‘em?”

Manny continues to hastily put away the ammo, fingers scurrying over the stray bullets, jaw set as he stares at the box. “They jumped us just past the park. We didn’t see them until they had the upper and then you can put together what happened after.”

“The park? Isn’t that supposed to be–”

“Exactly,” he nods, eyes flicking to you, dark under the fluorescent lighting. “Which is another reason I can’t go to the med bay. It was Isaac’s idea. If anyone else finds out they’ll be an uproar.”

“Of course it was Isaac,” you mutter under your breath and you clip the keyring onto your belt loop, stepping forwards towards him. “I have a med-kit down here that Nora restocked the other day. I’m not a doctor but I know how to treat a cut.”

Manny seems torn, an internal back and forth going on in his head and in the end he shakes his head with a swear in Spanish. “Fine. But make it quick.”

“Wouldn’t want to drag this out, Alvarez,” you sigh and fetch the small first aid kit. Your hand reaches out tentatively, cupping his cheek to turn his head towards you to get a better look at the cut. With an alcohol soaked cloth, you dab at it and Manny hisses at the initial sting.

“Did you kill them?”

“Course. I’m not Isaac’s top Scar killer for nothing.”

You thin your lips and say nothing as you clean up the mess of dried blood on his skin, feeling his quickening pulse as you wipe his neck, thinking nothing more than it being the adrenaline. You take a half step back and assess him quickly for any other injuries, turning him by his shoulders and noticing the wince as he turns to his left. His jacket, half open, does nothing to hide the creeping stain of blood that’s blossoming on his grey shirt.

“What happened there?”

He looks down, following where you’re looking and has the decency to shrug.

“Knife wound maybe?”

You roll your eyes at his unhelpful replies and pull his shirt where the wound is, scrunching it up just below his ribs. If he would just let you help him without being a pain in the ass then this would go over a lot smoother.

“I have some gauze…”

He says nothing but holds his shirt up as you gather the gauze and medical tape, your hands skating over his warm body as you take your time to make sure he’s not in any pain.

“If that doesn’t heal overnight, go to Mel or Nora, you might need stitches.”

“It’s not a stab would,” he says, smoothing over the gauze. “You’re just stubborn.”

“I’m stubborn?” you ask, clicking the kit shut and wiping your hands on your cargos.

“Si.”

You almost smile at him but you remember where you are and who you’re with and the urge to get out overwhelms you so you pick up his discarded gun and med-kit then hurry out of the shooting range.

“Turn the light off when you’re done.”

After that night in the shooting range, Manny starts to avoid you. To begin with, you hadn’t even noticed it, not with how the two of you skirt around each other, always trying to dodge the other if you can and with Manny spending a lot of mealtimes with his dad, and you down in the workshop, it didn’t even cross your mind.

It was Owen that noticed it first, the second week in while you were sat in the usual corner of the mess hall, Mel on his left and Leah sandwiched between you.

“You ever see much of Manny nowadays? He’s not joined us as much since we came back from that run the other week.”

Your head snapped up and you followed Owen’s gaze to the other side of the hall where Manny was sat with his dad, turned towards and gesturing with his hands as he spoke. You kept your mouth shut, let the other three speculate as you turned it over in your head.

But the more you dwell on it, the more it ate you up. You had been with him last that day, patching him up and he had retaliated with what? Avoiding you? Did he really dislike you that much that he would start ignoring his friends?

So what you do instead is grab one of the breakfast burritos in the early morning, when barely anyone is around and head to the gym, seeking out Abby. Because if anyone understands him, it’s her.

To your surprise, she’s not there and you chew your lip as you remember the few spots she has tucked away that she goes to that’s not her room. Finally, you check the library, and on first glance it looks empty. If it weren’t for the collection of ottomans pushed together, you would call it a morning and leave it.

But you know Abby better than that and beeline for ottoman’s where sure enough she’s sat hunched over, reading one of the old battered books on the shelf.

“Morning,” you greet her quietly, waving the burrito in her direction. “I thought I’d find you in the gym this morning.”

She shrugs with one shoulder and marks her page, dog earring the corner and takes the burrito. “Eh, I could do with a rest and Manny asked for the room last night. These ottomans do nothing for your neck.”

You try not to think about Manny asking for the room to be alone with someone else. You really do, but lately your mind is on him a lot more than usual – probably just something to do with that he’s been avoiding you.

“Does he seem like he’s avoiding you?”

Abby chews thoughtfully and then shakes her head. “No, he seems the same to me. But Owen did mention it too the other day. He has asked for the room a lot more than usual though.”

“It was Owen that made me notice it,” you admit, and sit cross legged on the ottoman next to her. “I saw him when he came back from that run with Owen. He spent some time in the shooting range, taking it out on one of the targets.”

The corner’s of Abby’s lips turn up into a small smile, “Yeah, he did mention that. We haven’t talked a whole lot about it if I’m honest. Owen hasn’t even let up about what the hell happened out there.”

You don’t bother to let on about patching him up. Both of you keeping it to yourselves but she does ease your mind and you manage not to think about him. You move on to other things, asking her about her workouts are going, being careful to pry too much into the details.

You leave Abby, heading back down to the mess hall to grab something for yourself before a long day down in the armoury. The amount of people going out on runs today was insane compared to usual, you figure that Isaac must be planning something soon with the amount of intel he’s gathering.

Just as you find a table for yourself, your eye catches on the shaky wave of José and your expression softens. Manny might be intolerable, but his dad is a sweetheart and always makes an effort with you. You slip into the chair next to him and you can’t help but worry your lip at how bad his hands seem today.

“How have you been? I haven’t seen much of you recently, I think you’ve been hiding from me,” he asks you, a warm smile on his face and you can’t help but smile back at him.

“Not hiding from you,” you say softly, “just… busy, you know? You seem well, though, how are you hands?”

“Oh, you know, some days are better than others. I’ve been meaning to thank you, by the way. For patching Manny up the other week.”

You splutter around your bite of food and blink at José, “huh?” you say, rather stupidly. Manny told his dad about you, but not Abby.

José smiles at you and pats your hand. “He told me about the run in he had and said that you were the one to find him down in the shooting range.”

“Oh… yeah I did but–”

“I know he’s not the best with words and can be a stubborn mule sometimes. But thank you, I appreciate you looking out for him.”

“It was nothing, mister Alvarez,” you say sincerely. “He just looked in a bad way and it was getting late. If I’m honest I just wanted to lock up.”

He smiles warmly at you again and grasps the top of your hand. “I know my son, and for what it’s worth I’m sorry he can be such a brat around you.”

You thin your mouth into what you hope passes for a smile, unsure of what to say because Manny can be so much more than a brat to you.

“Dad, have you—”

Manny cuts himself off as soon as he sees you and easily ignores you as he passes to sit on the other side of his dad. José gives you a good-natured eye-roll and turns to his son, saying something in quiet Spanish. Manny glances at you, replies back to his dad and turns his body to him. You feel like you’re intruding as Manny takes José’s hands in his own, turning them over and gently massaging his palms.

“I should go,” you say quietly to José and scrunch the foil from your burrito into a ball.

“Don’t be a stranger. You should come sit with me more often.”

You look between him and Manny, who’s not paying you any attention and nod slowly, “Promise, sir.”

And you meant it. But the whole way down to the armoury, José’s words about that night in the shooting range bounce around in your mind.

Being out in the field was a nice reprieve from being in the armoury. It gave the time to work on your aim and what modifications were working and which one weren’t. Today just happened to be the day that Manny, of all the people, was assigned partner on the run. You had tried to swap with Leah, even Abby but both of them were on higher priority jobs than you.

Just your luck.

When you got a glance at him in the mess hall that morning. He didn’t look particularly thrilled at the idea either and when he caught your eye, he bowed his head to talk with his dad. You had loaded your pistol forcefully and shoved it into your holster, not even giving Manny a second glance while he collected his own weapons later. You signed out a truck and started the ignition, letting it idle while you waited.

“You’ll waste the gas if you keep doing that,” Manny snipes, climbing in beside you and shutting his door with more force than strictly necessary.

You ignore him, rolling your eyes and the wheels spin as you overdo it on the pull away. Good, let him know he’s already pissed you off. You stop briefly at the gates and then put your foot to the floor on the Seattle roads. Neither of you say a word to each other on the way to the old garment factory, both of you too stubborn to acknowledge the other. Manny is stiff as a board when you glance over, head turned to stare out the window.

Getting in was easy. Both of you agreeing, without so many words, that stealth was the better option here. It had only just been scouted out earlier in the week – supplies that you could use but also a number of infected roaming the narrow hallways. This had to be a silent in and out job.

You took down two runners right away, approaching them from behind and forcing your knife into their throat, cutting at the muscle and sinew, letting them fall with a thud to the floor as Manny took out another. His method wasn’t as practised as yours, getting its attention and then jumping it. Even in stealth, he’s attracted to the violence and threat of getting caught.

Both of you keep your steps light and your flashlights pointing down as you make your way through the hallways, avoiding the factory floor as much as possible. Manny covers you as you pick the lock, crouching down, ear straining to hear the telltale click.

It’s when you open the door that everything seems to go wrong. The door swings open, knocking into an old, beat up filing cabinet that echoes around the room. Both you and Manny freeze. The second thing you notice is the ear-splitting screech of a clicker that looms out of the darkness.

Manny grabs your arm, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he pulls you out of your stunned silence. “Run, fucking run!” he calls to you and you become aware of your feet, dragging them to a sprint down a different corridor.

You turn, unloading a clip from your rifle into the nearest oncoming onslaught of infected. Runners fall like dominoes, and a clicker halts, head drooping as you shoot the fungus clean off, giving you both a few seconds to make distance.

The rifle clicks, out of ammo and you turn, sprinting with all you have down the rest of the corridor towards the bolted door. Manny is just two steps ahead, and rams his shoulder against the lock, forcing it open and grunting as he squeezes through the small gap. You see his hands on the door, fingers tense as he tries to hold it open but it’s too heavy and it shuts on you, slamming into place.

You reach for your handgun, popping two bullets into the stalker that’s crept up on you and you watch as it convulses on the floor before throwing yourself against the door, hand pushing on the handle. But it doesn’t budge.

“No, no,” you mutter, shouldering it again and clinging onto the handle. “Manny? Manny!”

“The mechanism is busted,” his voice sounds from the other side, just as panic stricken. “I’m trying.”

“Manny, open the door. Open the fucking door right now!”

Fear seizes you. Your hands trembling as you check the clip in your hand gun and you let out a whimper as you count the measly seven bullets you have left. That’s hardly enough to take out the whole corridor. Maybe this is how it ends for you, at the hands of infected all because a fucking door won’t open.

“Fuck… fuck!” you mutter, blood rushing in your ears and tears spilling down your cheeks. This is not how it was supposed to go. Not here, not a run with Manny of all people. You flatten yourself against the door and grip your gun with both hands, though it does nothing to stop the sway of the pistol. You count each bullet, chest heaving as you face death head on.

One. A runner hit in the shoulder, dropping to the floor and using its hands to crawl towards you, gurgling and thrashing on the floor.

Two. The runner goes silent, one final yelp and it stills. The door up head bursts open with the noise only a shambler could make, lolloping to one side from the weight of the pustules.

Three and four – both miss. The bloodcurdling, throaty hisses from a clicker and whines from stalkers join the shambler as they barrel down the corridor straight for you.

Five. Hits one of the stalkers and it lets out a scream, crawling up into the vents out of your sight.

Six. Another miss and tears blur your vision, your heart hammering in your chest. There’s nothing that can help you now.

Seven. You close your eyes, not seeing where the bullet lands and slide down the door, trying to make yourself as small as possible.

Your back gives out, and you fall backwards into nothing. There’s the sound of a slam somewhere in the room and then something is grabbing you under your arms. You thrash, trying to fight it.

“No!” you sob, pushing yourself against the wall.

“It’s me, it’s Manny.”

You breath catches in your throat and you use your sleeve to wipe at your eyes, blinking through the tears. His eyes are wide, cheeks drained of any colour as he raises his hands, palms up.

“Manny?”

“It’s me. I’ve got you. I need you to breathe.”

You keep your eyes on his hands as he slowly and carefully brings them down to hold your shoulders. He gives you a pointed look and you follow his lead, a deep breath in and then out. He repeats this until you’ve got it under control.

Feud, rivalry, some unspoken third thing between you be damned. You breathing catches in your throat and he steps into your space, one arm wrapping around you, placing his palm on the small of your back and you let your head fall into the crook his neck.

He’s murmuring in Spanish, other hand cupping the nape of your neck and his body swaying gently. You fit against him like he’s been waiting for this moment.

You want to be embarrassed, and maybe sometime in the future you’ll start to avoid him. But if he had been seconds later, you would’ve died. Right now, all you want is to be held. And Manny does, without any complaint or any offhand comment. He wraps you in his arms and lets you cry.

“You’re okay,” he murmurs in English. “You’re safe. Fuck, I’m so sorry.”

Infected throw themselves against the sealed door, muffled screeches and bang echoing around the room but all you can feel right now is Manny. His solid frame, his voice soft as he repeats over and over how sorry he is. You inhale deeply, getting gunpowder and citrus from his jacket and open your eyes and stepping back from him.

His hands cover yours, his eyes searching your face as you take a few deep, controlled breaths on your own. You’re alive. You weren’t savagely ripped apart and you’ve had much worse than this. You pull one of your hands free from his to wipe over your face.

“Why are you sorry?” you ask him eventually, your voice croaky and rough from all the tears.

“Because if I had wasted another minute trying to open that fucking door you wouldn’t be standing right in front of me.”

“But I’m here,” you tell him and squeeze his hand. “I’m right here.”

The door bangs again, louder this time and you pull on Manny’s hand. “We need to get to the supply cupboard,” you say, as if the past five minutes didn’t happen.

He looks at you wildly and shakes his head. “Are you insane? Fuck the supply cupboard!”

“We came here for a supply run.”

Manny’s not listening to you, he pushes aside one of the cabinets covering the exit and peers down the short hallway. “We’re getting out of here.”

“Manny–”

“No.”

He grabs your hand again, leading the way down the hallway. You have no idea where you even are, it’s too easy to get turned around in a place like this.

“We’ll go out one of the fire exits, should be easier to find the truck,” he says, walking slightly ahead of you. You nod numbly and follow him. You mind is buzzing with what just happened, between the infected almost getting to you to Manny holding you like you were something precious.

The sunlight attacks your eyes as soon as you step outside and you use your hand to shield your eyes while Manny barricades the door. You sweep the overgrown parking lot and don’t notice anything out of the ordinary then Manny taps your shoulder, pointing down the side of the building. You nod, and the two of you scurry through the weeds and fallen debris until you see the truck and your heart eases at the sight of it.

“Keys?” you hear him ask and you fumble the ring on your belt loop, unclipping it and handing it to him, silently getting into the passenger side.

Just like the drive there, neither of you say a word to each other, except the roles seem to have been reversed, and now it’s your turn to stare out the window. You know that you should be keeping an eye out but there’s still a tremor to your hands that you can’t quite shake and you want nothing more than to be back at the stadium, curled up in your bed. You just hope that luck is on your side and Leah doesn’t ask questions or, even better, she’s staying with Jordan for the night.

Fortunately for you, she’s not there when you get back. You’d dropped off your weapons, feigning a smile and a humourless laugh as Steve tries to joke with you, making a quick getaway with the excuse of needing a shower. But the walk up to your room, the seemingly endless flights of stairs to your level feels never-ending. You’ve never been so glad for the silence that greets you when your door swings open.

In a daze, you drop your pack off in the small kitchenette and grab your wash bag. You don’t remember the walk to the showers, or the hot water pelting down on your back. Getting back to your room is a blur, but when you crawl under the comforter and your head hits the pillow, you’re out like a light.

The knocking does not stop, and it worms it’s way into your dream – an incessant rap against wood that sounds like a timer, counting down the amount of ammo you had left in your pistol as the memory plays over and over in your unconsciousness. You wake with a start, sitting up and squeezing your eyes shut, hoping that whoever is on the other side of the door just gets the hint already.

When they don’t stop, you groan and swing your legs over the side of the bed and pad barefoot over the worn carpet. You grab the key, forcing it into the lock and the door swings open.

Abby, maybe, you expected. Nora, even Mel. But you certainly did not expect Manny to be on the other side of the door. Especially not holding a foil-wrapped dish and with his hair sticking up in disarray as though he’s ran his hand through it one too many times.

“Manny?” you ask, blinking at him to make sure that you’re definitely not seeing things.

“I noticed you weren’t at dinner,” he shrugs, looking way out of his depth and avoiding your eyes. “Least I could do is bring you some after today.”

“Oh, um, sure,” you say, opening the door wider to let him in. “Come in, I guess.”

Manny hesitates only for a second and then sidesteps past you without another word. He fills the tiny room with his presence alone. You know that it’s not the first time he’s been in here – not when you share with one of your friend group, but he’s not even glancing in the direction of her things. Instead he’s staring at the wall behind you, reading over the posters and prints tacked up haphazardly on the wall.

You take a seat on your bed, legs hanging off the side as your back hits the wall and Manny steps forward, looming over you, holding out the dish.

“It’s chilli. Muy picante.”

Your lips twitch as you take it – steam rising as soon as you lift the foil life and your stomach groans, you don’t remember if you even ate breakfast, today has been nothing but a rush then a blur for you.

You notice that Manny moves around the small kitchenette in a familiar way, it’s just a little jarring to see in your room. But you give the faintest of smiles in thanks when he hands you the spoon. What surprises you even more is that he unlaces his boots and sits the other side of your bed, being sure to keep some distance between you.

You take your first bite of chilli, thinking that the silence between you would be uncomfortable and awkward. But it’s not, though it might have something to do with Manny not speaking, it’s easy. It’s different than being around Owen or Jordan, even Nick.

He lets you eat in silence but something gnaws at you and you feel the need to break the quiet.

“I don’t… these things don’t usually affect me so bad. I’ve killed infected before and been in worse situations,” you tell him, your spoon clinking against the dish.

“I didn’t say you couldn’t handle yourself.”

“I know. I just, I feel like I overreacted.”

“Overreacted? You were seconds away from being ripped apart from infected. The door wasn’t supposed to get jammed, I don’t know what happened but I wouldn’t live with myself if you died on a run like that because of me.”

“Is that why you brought me food? Because you felt bad?” you bite out, pushing the dish onto your nightstand, suddenly no longer feeling hungry.

“No… no. It’s– it doesn’t matter. ” he snaps abruptly, running a hand through his hair and you let out a long breath through your nose.

“How’s your dad getting on?” you ask instead, figuring that the best thing to do right now is change the subject. It works, taking Manny by surprise that his frown wilts away, replaced by a softer expression only reserved for Jose.

“Bien, though his hands are still seizing up a lot,” he pauses for a moment and then adds, “he asked about you earlier.”

You give him a quizzical look, tilting your head and narrowing your eyes. Manny shrugs, not quite meeting your gaze. “He knew we were out on a run today. Guess he just wondered how we got on when he didn’t see you in the mess hall.”

Though his words sound honest enough, you can tell that Manny’s hiding something from you. So you wait him out and he shifts, crossing and uncrossing his ankles before he finally caves. “I told him –just him – that it didn’t go well.”

“Why? You barely say two words to me any other time so why are you now going to your dad about me?”

“Papá, he cares about you.”

“Right, right. But you? You can’t fucking stand me.”

Manny stiffens, even with the distance between you you can feel how he tenses up. Given the circumstance, you probably should back down, put it one side and curl back up in your comforter. Except, no. You’ve not wronged him, yet he continues to treat you like some nobody.

“Why is that?” you ask, “What have I ever done to you to make you dislike me so much when the others are so fucking friendly towards me and treat me like an actual human being.”

He clears his throat, and for a second you think he’s going to answer. But the silence just lingers, heavy in the air. You shake your head and get up, taking the dish towards the small kitchenette that Manny had to fit so well into. You run the tap, too many thoughts running through your head and a too heavy silence over the room.

Then he’s behind you, reaching past you to turn the tap off, so close that he’s almost pressing against your back.

“I don’t hate you.”

He says it too quietly and he sounds too honest for you to doubt him. You turn in the little gap between you and lean back against the sink.

“Then why—”

“Mierda,” he curses, voice strained and brows pinched together. “Because you’re so fucking radiant. You’re lighting up every damn room you’re in and I don’t want to snuff out that light with my past. And today? Fuck, today I could’ve lost you and it would have been my fault.”

“Your past? Manny, you think my past isn’t as fucked up? But I’ll be damned if it stops me from living.”

You meet his stare, eyes black in the low lighting of your room and so close to you. Just looking at you, his eyes flicking over each inch of your face, your neck and your shoulders.

“What are you doing?”

“Admiring you. Up close for the first time.”

You don’t know which one of you moves first, but your hands curl into his jacket and his lips are so fucking soft and they’re on yours and you want to drown in this feeling. His hands cup your jaw, tongue running over the seam of your lips desperately seeking more and more of you.

You let him in. Opening your mouth and hands moving up to twist in the curls at the nape of his neck that has him panting into your mouth. This shouldn’t feel as good as it does, but there’s a small nagging part of you that feels like you’re making up for wasted time.

You pull back, catching the sight of his wet lips and drooping eyes. He leans in, chasing you for another taste and you move your head to the side, his lips catching your cheek.

“Manny,” you murmur, breath fanning into his ear.

“Si, el sol?”

“You couldn’t have done this earlier?”

He chuckles, hands sliding under your shirt to grip your hips and you tilt back to look at him.

“Maybe. But my dad taught me that good things are worth waiting for.”

You pull him in for another kiss and this don’t time, you don’t pull away.

That’s how it goes with you and Manny. Like you two could play this game forever, the dancing back and forth, the hate with no heat behind it – it makes sense to you, unravelling since the first kiss you shared. It was always inevitable.

You share stolen moments – when Leah stays out overnight with Jordan, when Abby’s too focused in the gym, straining and overworking herself. Other times are when Manny sneaks into the armoury, pocket full of tin foil wrapped food, perched on the edge of your workbench while you finish up.

Somehow, god only knows how, you manage to keep it quiet. None of your friends seem to catch on. Mainly because Manny still goes out of his way to not be around you or you around him.

But as the days turn into weeks, you feel like Manny starts to know you, really know you. Little things that you didn’t even know about yourself and letting him in to see the deepest parts of you. He eventually tells you about the real reason José kept asking about you, that he could see right through his son, seeing it for what it was.

Manny, in a surprising turn of events, opened up to you. Outside of his bravado and arrogance, he could be incredibly sweet, spending every night he could with you, if not in your room, he would spend hours down in the armoury with you or up on the roof, out of sight from the patrolling watchmen.

“Abby’s asking questions.”

You adjust the focus on your binoculars and follow the movements of the Scar you’ve been tracking for the last couple of minutes. You’re laying on your front under the canopy of some ferns, damp dirt clinging to your clothes as you and Manny are on lookout. He lays next you, one hand on the small of your back, the other scribbling over a map in red marker.

“I’m surprised it took her this long,’ you reply, lowering the binoculars. “We’ve been together for what? Just over a month now?”

Saying it out loud still sends butterflies straight to your gut. Together. You and Manny weren’t just fucking around, he wanted to actually be with you. Though you two of you kept it under wraps, Manny couldn’t keep something like this from his dad. Who knew that José already had an inkling about how Manny really felt about you.

“You might not be keeping track, but my dad sure is,” he says with a huff of laughter right by your ear. “It wouldn’t be a bad thing, if Abby knew.”

Your mouth drops open in surprise and you turn your head to look at him, “Won’t she tell Owen?”

Manny shakes his head, pressing his forehead to your shoulder. “Honestly, she has so much on her mind right now I don’t think she’d even bat an eye to it.”

The radio clipped to Manny’s vest crackles and he yanks it off and you take the moment to look at him – damp from ever-rainy Seattle, unruly curls sticking to his forehead and the wiry beard that’s starting to get just a little too long. He catches you looking and smirks as answers the radio.

“Alright,” he says and tosses the radio into the grass. “We’ll watch them, take note of their paths and then I’ll write up the report once we’re done.”

“Ain’t you a gentleman.”

“Only the best for my girl.”

His girl. That gets a smile out of you and you raise the binoculars back to your eyes to hide your expression, biting down on your lip.

“You hiding from me, baby?” he asks, and you can just hear the smug smirk in his tone.

When you say nothing, feeling the heat creep higher into your cheeks, Manny plucks the binoculars from you, and takes your chin to turn your head towards him, pressing his lips to yours. You chase his lips with your own and Manny moves to roll you onto your back hidden with the greenery, letting out a soft gasp as your back hits the dirt.

“Manny!” you exclaim in a hushed tone, grinning at him.

“Shh, cariño, you want them to hear us?” he whispers against your lips, trailing a hot path of open-mouthed kisses down your neck. He props himself up on his forearm, hovering over you and the other hand caresses over your shoulder, to your jacket zipper.

Another gasp leaves you as you feel his warm palm on your stomach, pushing your shirt up and lowering his head to run his tongue on your heated skin.

“Here?” you whisper to him, pushing a piece of damp curl of hair from his face. “You’re doing this here?”

“Why not? Not like anything interesting is going on over there,” he replies, deft fingers already working at the button of your pants. “Besides, my girl looks cute when she’s all flustered.”

You tug on his hair, urgently wanting to feel his lips on yours again. He grins and pulls back with heat in eyes and then delicately kisses, you slow and languid, the complete opposite of what you were aiming for. It keeps you distracted enough to not notice his wandering hand, and you sigh when his fingers dip below the waistband of your underwear, trailing along your wet seam.

“Your hands, Manny,” you groan, “God, I’m obsessed with what your hands can do.”

“Just my hands, huh?” he teases you, dragging his middle finger down through your folds, gathering your arousal. He keeps his movements slow, deliberate, watching your every move. “And there was me thinking you liked me.”

He drags his finger, torturously slow, up to your clit and rubs cruel, teasing circles that leave you breathless. His smile widens, and leans down to whisper in your ear. “You do like more than just my fingers, right cariño?”

You nod, squirming beneath him as he moves his fingers in a tantalising pattern. “Say it,” he murmurs.

“Yes,” you gasp, “Course I fucking do.”

Manny smirks, seemingly satisfied with your answer. He pulls his finger back, over your wetness and then slowly pushes the digit inside of you, feeling how your tightness envelopes him.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he groans, stroking your walls and pulling all the way out and back in, stretching you open.

“Uh-huh,” you whimper, opening your legs wider and arching your back as he curls his finger in just the right way that has you wanting more.

“God, I wish I could taste you,” he murmurs, pressing you hard against the grass and attaching his lips to your neck. He pulls his finger out, dragging it through your wet folds, teasing and playing with you. Then a second digit joins and your eyes flutter, mouth hanging open as he fucks you open with his fingers.

“Manny,” you moan as your eyes flutter at the sensation. He knows just how to touch you, what makes you shiver and cry out his name. You curl your fingers into the front of his jacket, the other hand cupping his hard length through his pants and he lets out a raspy groan, hips rocking into your palm.

“This is about you, baby,” he tells you, though his voice is rough and breathy. “Let me do this for you.”

You realise very quickly that you’re helpless in his hands. His teeth nipping at your neck, sure to leave marks, his eye on you. Every step of the way he keeps fixated on you. His fingers move rhythmically, finding a brutal pace that has you crying out for more.

It’s his thumb that does you in. Pulling his hand back slightly to get the angle, thumb moving in tight circles on your clit, all the while praising you in whispered Spanish.

Pressure, hot, tight, coiling pressure builds in your stomach, a feeling that you want to chase and chase as it gets hotter, burning through you and Manny catches on quickly to what’s about to happen as his fingers move faster, with more urgency and his thumb rubs deliciously on your clit – finally letting your bathe in that high as it hits you.

Manny works you through, his dark eyes sparkling in wonder as you come on his fingers, hips rolling to chase the feeling for as long as you can.

“You’re so gorgeous,” he grunts out as you pant and keen, riding out the aftershocks of your orgasm. “Look at you.”

He’s beaming down at you, and you smile, eyes half lidded and breaths coming in heavy. He leans down, softly kissing you while pulling his fingers out of you and buttoning up your pants.

“Alvarez,” the radio thrown in the grass crackles and Manny starts, reaching for it to turn down the crackling static. “Alvarez, this is Boyle, come in.”

“Yeah, I’m here, give me a fucking second,” he mutters, using his clean hand to find the radio. “What?”

“Scars sighted coming your way. Both of you, get out of there while you can. Regroup at the old FEDRA checkpoint.”

“Copy that.”

He tucks the radio back into his belt and gives you an apologetic kiss to your cheek, “Guess the afterglow was kinda ruined, huh?” he jokes, getting to his feet and wiping his hand on his pants, leaving a glistening trail over his thigh.

He helps you up as you stare at the patch, and you would kiss him again. If only it weren’t for the whistle of a Scar and the whizz of an arrow that barely misses your left arm.

Getting called up to the FOB was never high up on your to-do list, and lucky for you it was only a rare occurrence that Isaac personally asked for you. You could count the amount of times you’d walked through the door to the once high-rise apartment block, echoes of screams and the smell of rot invading your senses. At least this time you were given some warning, quickly scribbling out a note and passing by Manny’s room, slotting the piece of paper underneath.

Right now, up high in the room that Isaac had relented and given you for the few days, all of that was drowned out – window cracked open to air out the room and a thick layer of dust coating the counter-tops. The only high point was that you weren’t here for long. The FOB was intense, a certain hum in the air of impending doom, so when you got back to your room – three days in, feeling like you couldn’t breathe you almost missed the crumpled slip of paper under your door.

Wiping your hands on an old rag for what must be the hundredth time you picked it up, oil stained fingerprints instantly smearing the paper as you unfold it, turning it right way up.

Hideout at sundown.

Firstly, when the fuck did Manny get called up to the FOB? And Secondly, how haven’t you managed to spot him yet?

You read over the note again, following the loop of his messy handwriting and shove it deep into your pocket. You’ve never been to his hideout before, but he’d told you enough to work out the route to get there – if you weren’t spotted first.

Time ticked by, even slower than usual until the sun started to set. You slipped out of the apartment window, being careful to not let it close all the way and sneaking around to the back of the FOB building. The path was overgrown, but that only meant that you were going in the right direction. You hop, almost losing your balance as the stairs give out under you. Three doors in front of you, and your best guess is the one directly ahead.

Inside, the whole place is aglow with the setting sun and the if the manga on the counter is anything to go by, you’re definitely in the right place. The space he’s created for himself is untidy, just how you pictured it but not messy. Stacks of old comics and card games litter the battered coffee table, mismatched blankets strewn over the couch and empty bottles sit nestled by the door. It’s almost too much pre-outbreak to you, the casual-ness of it all.

“Manny?” you call out softly, running your hand along the old dresser on the side. “You here?”

“Right here, cariño,” he replies, coming out of what must be a bedroom, given that his hair is all mussed and clothes rumpled. He takes your hand, lips against your knuckles. “You find the place okay?”

“Yeah, you breathe, letting out a long exhale, your eyes on him as he kisses up your wrist. “What are you doing here, at the FOB?”

“Isaac called us up. Jordan, Abby and me. We’re being sent out on a recon scout tomorrow morning.”

“A recon scout?”

“He wants us to get into a scar camp, take what intel we can, and report back. He thinks they are plotting some big attack on us soon.”

“The guns,” you say softly, “he’s tasked me with upgrading them with silencers and better capacity in the clips.”

Manny nods, expression sombre and then he swoops in, finally pressing his lips to yours, hands settling on your hips to bring you flush against him. The kiss is consuming, his tongue mapping out your mouth, memorising you in wake of tomorrow.

“This way,” he murmurs, walking you backwards into the room he came from, hands easily flipping the hem of your shirt up, making you shiver as he caresses over your bare hips. “I missed you.”

“Such a sap,” you chide, kicking the door closed with your heel.

“Maybe. Maybe I just can’t get enough of you.”

You paw at his shirt, pulling it over his head and run your hands over his defined chest. His answer to this is to pull off your own shirt, unhooking your bra and throwing it carelessly to the side while he gets a good look at you. His mouth finds your breast, taking the hardened nipple into his mouth and lavishing it with attention.

You let out a string of soft, breathy noises, cupping the back of his head to keep him close and the other hand unbuckling his belt, pulling the coarse canvas away and letting it join the growing pile of clothes.

“Been thinking about you ever since you left me that note,” he murmurs, string of saliva between his lips and your nipple before paying attention to the other, the more sensitive of the two.

A gasp leaves you, head tilting back and you grasp the hair at the nape of his neck, keeping him in place as he lavishes attention on your nipple. His hand skates down your leg, gripping it and moving it to hook around his hip.

You can’t help but grind yourself against him and he pulls away from your breast to grin at you and then sink his teeth into the heated skin of your neck, hands grabbing whatever they can of you and holding you as close as possible.

He maneuvers you down onto the bed, pulling off your shirt as you lay back and while you unbutton your pants he pauses for a moment, lips slick and hair mussed just watching you.

“Fuck me, I’m so lucky,” he murmurs and he unbuckles his belt, shucking off his cargos, revealing the impressive bulge of him tented against his boxers, a dark spot of precum seeping into the fabric.

The sight of him sends a wave of desire through you and you reach out for him, scratching your nails over his hip and he leans down, claiming your lips with your own once more. You both get caught up in the kiss, both wanting this after days being apart and the impending question mark that hangs over tomorrow.

He moves you so you’re now on top of him, guiding your knees to either side of his hips and letting you rock down against him. The pull of his clothed cock against your heat is a delicious friction that you can’t seem to get enough of.

“That’s it,” he grunts, squeezing your hips and trailing his fingers down to the waistband of your panties. You quickly get with the picture, moving away from Manny to take them off, throwing them to join your pile of clothes.

“Like what you see?” you ask, fully naked in front of him.

“Very much so.”

Manny lifts his hips and you pull off his boxers, hard length springing free, precum smearing over his stomach. You bite your lip and climb back over him, taking his length in your hand.

“Mierda,” he sighs, lifting his hips to fuck your fist. You grin at him, gathering the precum at his tip and coating it over the rest of his cock. “You gonna ride me, baby?”

“Mhm, that’s the plan.” you whisper and Manny moans, rasping and low, in the back of his throat.

Manny breathes heavily through his nose, his hands can’t seem to stop touching you. Running over your thighs, your hips and your waist, thumbing circles on your skin that have you shivering with arousal.

You swing your leg over his hip, back in the same position you were originally in. Manny’s hand drops from your waist to touch himself, jaw slack and eyes stuck on you. He’s beautiful like this, so openly devoted to you and waiting for your next move.

He lines himself up with you, breathing hard and you duck your head down to kiss him sweetly as you ever so slowly sink down onto his cock. Normally, you’d want to drag this out and he’d get you to least two orgasms before fucking you.

But you’re pent up and oh so fucking wet and you can’t help yourself. It’s not like Manny seems to mind, guiding your hips down onto him, teeth biting into his bottom lip and his long eyelashes fluttering as you fully seat yourself onto his cock.

“Take me so well, baby-girl,” he mutters, because Manny does not know when to stop, running his mouth with praise and sweet nothings.

God, you feel so full when you take him like this. Heat creeping up your spine as you give an experimental rock of your hips.

“Fuck, Manny,” you moan, finding purchase with your hands on his shoulder. He starts to thrust up into you, changing the pace to something desperate.

“Again. Say my name again.”

“Manny.”

He leans up, cupping the back of your neck and kissing you fervently, tongue diving into your mouth, mapping out every inch of you, committing it to memory. It makes you roll your hips slower and he pulls back, dark eyes meeting yours.

“Tan hermosa,” he mumbles to himself. “Tan buena para mi.”

He pulls out, brows pinched in concentration and grabs your hips, throwing you down onto the bed, switching your position. He puts one of your ankles over his shoulder and fucks into you faster, hips snapping brutally against your own, filling the room with the lewd slap of skin on skin.

The new angle does something for you. Every thrust of his cock hitting you perfectly, making your eyes roll back and your whimpers become high and raspy in your throat.

“Oh my– fuck!” you cry out, feeling your orgasm approaching, the familiar pooling in your stomach. “Fuck, keep going.”

“Yeah, you’re close aren’t you?” he moans, lips against your ankle as he thrusts his hips harder, driving into you with a renewed intensity. “Yeah, you’re fucking close.”

You let yourself go, pleasure tingling through your veins as you spasm around his cock. A whine leaves your throat, eyes screwed up as he fucks you through it, unrelenting pace and lips on your leg, murmuring how good you are.

“Yeah, that’s it, baby, so fucking pretty when you come.”

He slows, dropping your ankle from his shoulder and he swiftly pulls out once more. You whimper at the loss, reaching out for him and he links your fingers with one hand while the other strokes himself rapidly, hand flying over his cock.

Manny throws his head back, hand faltering and you feel him climax, splattering onto your thighs and you let out a breath, watching him reverently.

“You’re so fucking good for me,” he murmurs, guiding you to lay next to him, eyes heavy and a dopey smile plastered on his face. He rests his head on your shoulder, lips soft against your skin.

You huff, leaning over him to grab an old shirt of his and as you move to wipe it over him, he takes it from you, hands on yours.

“Let me,” he says and wipes at your inner thighs, over your stomach and then himself. He tosses it into the corner of the room and presses a faint kiss to your forehead. “Did I tell you that I missed you?”

“You might’ve mentioned it,” you whisper, smiling at him and settling down, hand playing with his curls, his hand on your thigh and bringing the threadbare blanket up to cover you both.

You found when you first spent the night with him that Manny’s a cuddler in his sleep. It was cute, finding yourself wrapped around each other, both of you getting as close as you can even unconsciously. This morning was no different – limbs tangled together, an arm slung around your waist, legs entwined with your own and his head in the crook of your neck, soft breaths against your shoulder.

You move your hand over his back, fingertips dancing up over divots in his muscles and you lace your fingers in his hair, letting the curls free in the pale morning light. Sunlight streams in through the gap in the blinds, soft yellow rays catching on the dust and coating the bed in warm haze. You smile against his hair, closing your eyes at how content you feel.

Manny stirs, the watch on his wrist beeping incessantly. The sound too loud and too jarring in the fresh morning peace. He fumbles, hands moving away from you as he struggles to turn it off then he slumps back down onto you, warm hands wrapping back around your waist, pressing against you.

His lips are soft as they place absent kisses along your shoulder, over the dip in your collarbones and to the sensitive juncture of your neck.

“Morning, querida,” he murmurs, voice thick and raspy with sleep. A sound that you’re more than used too but doesn’t stop the swoop in your stomach.

“Hi,” you grin at him, tilting your head to meet his lips in a soft, lazy kiss. His eyes flutter and he grins into your mouth.

“God, I wish I didn’t have to go out on this recon run. Not now when I know what you sound like.”

You chuckle quietly, his thumb resting on your cheek as he looks at you reverently, like you held the sun for him.

“I can be here when you get back. I’m supposed to be heading back to the stadium later tonight.”

Manny groans and leans in, lips pressing to yours as his eyes close and sighs, breath fanning against your cheek.

“You’ll wait for me?”

“Always.”

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