#bad decision boot camp

[archerinventive]

A huge thank you to all who came out to the recent Planetaria Fundraiser held by BDBC.

The Ignition Crew and I had a blast, and it was so exciting getting to see so many fun people, and out-of-this-world outfits.

If you missed the show, not to worry. Well be performing again on Feb 10th, in Bothell, for the Prom Fundraiser.

So if you're looking for something hot to warm you up come check us out. 😜

Photos with: Elizabeth Klein & Ignition Crew

[wedgiesfromhell]

Jacob had made it barely three days into boot camp before the barracks wolves pounced.

Maybe it was the way he walked. Maybe it was his innocent, over-eager answers in orientation. Or maybe—just maybe—it was the telltale waistband of his tighty whities peeking up from his PT shorts every time he bent over to tie his boots.

Whatever the cause, the guys had picked their prey. And that morning, while the rest of the recruits were reporting for formation, Jacob was hoisted—literally.

They gave him the Hanging Wedgie.

It was a clean lift. Four guys, full effort. They hauled him by the waistband of his briefs up to the metal bunk frame, looping the elastic over one of the support beams. Jacob was left swinging in the air, suspended by his own cotton, toes dangling inches off the floor, legs twitching, briefs stretching with each slight sway.

He looked like some twisted parade decoration: arms flailing, chest rising and falling in panic, and his tighty whities so stretched they had gone from snug to sculpted.

The white cotton strained around the curve of his cheeks, deeply buried in the crack and climbing so far up his back it nearly touched his shoulder blades. The front of the briefs had ridden so high that the y-front was pinned tight against his sternum, turning every breath into a wince.

And then…

Drill Sergeant Brickhouse stormed in.

The door slammed open with the subtlety of a thunderclap. His boots pounded the floor in rhythm, and his sunglasses stayed on indoors—not because he needed them, but because authority doesn’t squint.

He took one look at the empty bunk, then at his clipboard.

“Private Jacob… AWOL from formation…”

Then his eyes raised—and froze.

Jacob, dangling. Wedgied. Face bright red. Cotton stretched to maximum.

There was silence. Then…

“Oh my god,” the sergeant said with a slow, astonished grin.

“You’re actually dangling from the ceiling by your tighty whities. Bro… you’re asking for it.”

He strode forward, arms folded, boots stopping inches from Jacob’s twitching feet.

“You chose these, huh?” he said, poking at the waistband.

“White briefs. Not compression. Not boxers. Not even black. Bright white tighty whities. What are you, ten? Of course you’re dangling from a ceiling, Private—these things are like grappling hooks for bullies.”

Jacob whimpered, still swaying, his briefs now a shiny, stretched-out torture device, visibly clinging to every inch of his swampy glutes. The cotton shimmered slightly in the barracks light, and even from a few feet away, the sergeant could see the stress lines etched into the fabric, forming veins of pulled thread that radiated out from every pressure point.

“You smell that?” the sergeant said, wrinkling his nose.

“That’s the smell of a poor laundry schedule, bad decisions, and straight-up regret.”

Then, with a smirk, he stepped behind Jacob.

“Let’s get you down, princess. And since you missed formation, you’re gonna earn your landing.”

The sergeant gripped Jacob’s ankles, spreading his stance like he was about to deadlift a sandbag.

YANK.

Jacob’s body dropped an inch. The cotton didn’t snap—it screamed, groaning under the sudden pull as the wedgie burrowed deeper, turning Jacob’s tighty whities into a high-tension harness of agony. His cheeks clenched. His toes curled up. A strained moan slipped out.

“No pain, no gain,” the sergeant muttered.

YANK.

Another inch. The briefs were now skinned to his body, the leg holes acting like pulleys, digging so deep into his thighs it looked like they were sewn into him. The waistband was stretched far beyond its intended size, the tag twisting violently, barely hanging on.

Jacob let out a long, high-pitched groan.

“There it is,” the sergeant said, nodding. “That’s the sound of discipline entering through the cheeks.”

Then came the final pull.

The sergeant adjusted his grip.

“This is for every minute you were late to my field.”

YANK.

The cotton finally gave up.

Rippppppp.

One seam. Then another. Then a final SNAP!—and Jacob crashed down in a heap, his shredded briefs fluttering like confetti as he landed flat on the cold tile floor.

He lay there, dazed, one leg twitching, half a waistband still looped around one ankle.

The sergeant stood over him, arms behind his back.

“Next time you’re late, Private,” he said, “you’ll wish it was just your underwear that got shredded

[twola]

Firewater - Chapter 8

PAIRING: low to mid honor Arthur Morgan x Fem!reader. explicit.

The heat of the summer marches on.

taglist: @v3lv3tf0x, @stottlemorgan, @mrsarthurmorgan7, @appalachiancowboy99, @pinescent-and-gingerbread, @blueskies664, @arthurstinmug, @ultraporcelainpig, @emerald-ranch @thedilfdiaries, @heron-feathers,@nalitali, @whiskeyskin

➵ AO3 Link ➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ Previous | ➵ Next

ARIZONA, JUNE-AUGUST 1897

It starts with a bruise on your hip and Arthur’s crooked grin.

“I didn’t mean to knock you into that boulder,” he says, not even trying to sound sorry.

You roll your eyes, tugging your skirt back down as you step into your boots. “You didn’t stop me, either.”

He shrugs, already tucking his shirt back in. “Didn’t hear you complainin’ when your legs were wrapped around my back.”

You swat him with your hat. He catches your wrist, grinning like sin, and kisses your palm before letting go.

The air still smells like sweat and mesquite.

-

The next time, you’re supposed to be gathering intel from a ranch hand who only talks when he’s drunk. You get him to spill with a bit of help from a bottle and some sweet words.

Then you and Arthur slip into a hayloft to wait out the patrols.

“You got straw in your hair,” he murmurs, mouth brushing your collarbone.

“You’re about to have it in your pants,” you shoot back, breath catching as his hands slide beneath your skirt.

Somewhere below, the ranch hand sings off-key about whiskey and women.

You bite your fist to keep quiet, and Arthur groans against your throat, like he’s trying not to lose his mind entirely.

-

You don’t make it back to camp that night.

Instead, you set up bedrolls under the stars. One is barely unrolled before Arthur has you straddling him, the moonlight turning his eyes silver.

“You always this handsy under the stars?” you ask, panting as you tug his suspenders loose.

“I like the view,” he grunts, eyes locked on yours. “Especially when you’re on top of it.”

You laugh—then gasp when he shifts his hips just right.

Neither of you sleeps much.

-

At some point, Charles gives you a long, slow look as you come back to camp at dawn with grass in your hair and dust on your knees. He doesn’t say anything.

You don’t, either.

But Arthur winks at him.

The bastard.

-

Then there’s the time you get caught in a flash storm, the rain hammering down as you take cover in the shadow of a sandstone bluff. You’re both soaked, chilled, and muddy—but you can’t stop laughing.

“Hell of a storm,” you say, peeling your shirt away from your skin.

Arthur grins, eyes trailing down your chest. “Don’t suppose I can help you warm up.”

You raise a brow. “You offering body heat or bad decisions?”

He leans in, water dripping from his hat brim. “Both.”

Your laugh turns into a gasp as he lifts you up against the rock wall, mud be damned.

The storm rages around you.

-

There’s a rhythm to it now.

Scout a homestead. Get hot and bothered. Tumble behind a rock or into a cave or beneath the shade of a lone desert tree.

Sometimes it’s frantic, all teeth and grabbing hands and trying not to get caught.

Other times it’s slow and filthy, a drawn-out tease while you’re supposed to be watching the road.

You call him a menace.

He calls you a hellion.

Neither of you stops.

-

You’re tending your rifle on a quiet afternoon when he comes up behind you, trailing a lazy hand down your back.

“You’re wearin’ my shirt,” he murmurs.

“I stole it,” you reply.

“It looks better on you.”

You glance over your shoulder. “You comin’ on to me, Morgan?”

He leans in, lips brushing your ear. “I’m thinkin’ about where I’d like to come on ya’.”

You punch his shoulder, hard enough to sting. He winces—then kisses your neck like it’s his damn job.

Ten minutes later, you’re both panting against a sun-heated boulder, half-dressed and breathless, the rifle forgotten in the dirt.

-

There’s a fight one day—over something dumb. Maybe he didn’t wake you for a scouting trip, or you snapped at him after a sleepless night. You storm off to the ridge, fuming.

He follows.

You argue in low, heated voices, close enough to kiss, close enough to swing. The desert wind howls around you.

Then, silence.

Then: his hand fisting in your shirt, yours grabbing his belt.

You don’t talk the rest of the afternoon.

You let your bodies say everything for you.

-

Dutch starts noticing.

“You two seem thick as thieves lately,” he says one night.

You smile over your drink. “Ain’t we all?”

Arthur, beside you, raises a brow. “I just like her company.”

Dutch chuckles. “That’s a word for it.”

-

A few days later, you’re on lookout duty together. The heat is miserable. 

Arthur is squinting through binoculars when you crawl into his lap, straddling him lazily.

“You’re supposed to be watchin’ for trouble,” he mutters, but his hands are already on your thighs.

“I am,” you murmur. “Just a different kind.”

He laughs—then groans when you grind against him slowly.

“You’re gonna get us shot one of these days.”

“Worth it,” you whisper, kissing him hard enough to steal the rest of his breath.

-

The worst of it is the time you can’t wait.

You’re supposed to be delivering a message to a contact closer to Tucson. You make it halfway before you drag him off the trail and into a thicket of dry brush, your mouth already on his.

“You’re outta your damn mind,” he mutters as you yank at his belt.

“You drivin’ me there,” you shoot back.

It’s fast. Dirty. God-awful uncomfortable.

And you both grin like idiots the whole way back to camp.

-

And then—after weeks of this—you’re sitting beside him on a ridge at dusk, legs dangling over the drop. Your body aches in the best ways. Your hair’s a mess. His shirt is rumpled from you wearing it again.

The desert stretches out golden before you, calm for once.

Arthur hands you a flask, still catching his breath from what just happened behind the rocks, acts that were probably illegal in ten states.

You take a sip, and then smile sideways at him.

“I want you to take me to dinner.”

He blinks. “What?”

You stretch, smug and satisfied. “Dinner. You know—tables, food, silverware we ain’t gonna sell off at a fence. A town where we don’t gotta lie about our names. Maybe even a bath before.”

He stares at you for a second, then huffs a laugh, brushing dust from your bare leg.

“I just railed you up against a sandstone rock,” he says, “and now you want me to take you courtin’?”

You grin. “Exactly.”

Arthur shakes his head, but there’s no hiding the way his mouth curves, soft and amused. “You’re outta your mind.”

[bountydroid]

Darlin' pt 2

pt 1 / pt3

Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x f!reader (right now there is nothing romantic, maybe in the future I am undecided.)

Description: Where the reader arguably makes the stupidest decision of her life, following a ghoul who obviously doesn't want her there.

TW: Talk of physical abuse and bad parenting

I stayed there on my knees in the mud for some time. Stunned at the events that just transpired. I had nowhere to go, my wrists were still bound, and I had no weapon. I was truly fucked. I slowly rose to my feet as I looked around. The ghoul took one of the men's guns and Slim's was far too heavy for me to carry. I stumbled my way to the grave to look down inside. Honcho wasn't moving, and if I crawled down in there to get his gun there was no way I was getting out again. I sighed. I thought back to the ghoul. He was my only chance, but he didn't want my help.

I sighed again as I looked down at the chicken before untying her and setting her free. "At least one of us can be free," I said smiling to her before she ran off. 

I stood there in the dark weighing my options when my eyes fell to the tracks in the mud. Maybe if I stick close to him, I'll be okay? At least until we reach a town. I would stay out of his way. Ideally, he wouldn't even know I was there. 

"You are insane," I said to myself before I started following the tracks in front of me, grabbing Slim's bag on my way past him.

After about a day I was exhausted. I had no idea if I was going in the right direction anymore, I was no tracker and I lost his prints a long time ago. I stopped and bent over, pressing my palms to my knees while trying to catch my breath when I heard a gun cock behind me.

"Now why would you be following me?" The ghoul said behind me. "You must be a special kind of stupid."

I couldn't help the exhausted laugh that bubbled in my throat as I slowly stood up. "I must be. If you killed me right now, it wouldn't make a difference. I'll die on my own anyway." I said still facing away from him, feeling defeated.

There was a long moment of silence before I finally looked behind me. There was no hint of emotion on the ghoul's face.

"Let me follow you until we reach a settlement. I'll stay out of your way. I won't ask you for anything. Please." I begged.

At this, he looked down at my still bound wrists and then back up at my sad face. He sighed as he holstered his gun. "Come here then girl," he said, waving me over. 

I tripped over my feet hurrying over to the man, raising my wrists as he took out his knife and cut me free. "Thank you, sir."

At this, it was his turn to laugh. "Sir? Well I'll be damned you are probably the only person left on this godforsaken planet with some manners."

I smiled up at him, I thought maybe he wasn't so scary after all.

"You will be completely silent. No complaining. If you annoy me, I will turn that pretty ass into jerky. Got it?" He said with a serious look on his face.

"Right. I can do that." I whispered looking down at my feet, feeling stupid. 

We walked until it was far too dark to continue. I silently collected firewood as he put his bag down on the ground. As I made my way to our makeshift camp I stood in front of him with my arms full of sticks.

"What?" He barked out, obviously annoyed. 

"Nothin'" I responded quickly before shuffling away from him embarrassed. 

I tried my best to arrange the wood before pulling the flint out of the bag I took off of Slim. A small fire started and I smiled. I was cold from all the mud plastered to the front of me and was relieved to feel the warmth of the fire. I looked over at the ghoul to see him leaning up against a tree with his hat covering his face. I hummed happily as I thought about the arrangement we came up with, although I couldn't help but want to talk to him, the walk has been incredibly boring. 

After a while of warming up by the fire, I got comfortable and drifted off to sleep.

-

I woke with a start. I looked around confused before I realized there was a boot in my side. I looked up at the ghoul hovering above me. "Get up darlin'." He said before walking away. "Time to move."

I quickly jumped up and grabbed my bag before running after him. This was the routine for days. I had honestly lost track of how long I had been following the ghoul. The silent marches from sun up to sun down were starting to get to me. I felt like I was going crazy.

"If my memory serves me well. I can be rid of you by tomorrow morning." He said with a sour tone.

"Okay," I responded quickly. I wanted to say as little as possible so he doesn't make true to his threat.

He looked back at me for a second as he continued to walk. "How did you get yourself into this mess anyway?"

I hesitated to answer, remembering he told me to stay silent. I looked up at him to see him scoff and turn away again. 

"I ran away from home. Was on my own for a while before I ran into those idiots. They found me while I was sleeping, I had no chance to escape until you killed them."

"Ran away from home?" He repeated back at me. "That was stupid."

"Well, I'd rather be eaten by a ghoul than continue to be beaten by my father," I responded curtly.

He laughed at this. "Getting feisty aren't we darlin'?"

"Sorry," I responded. "I shouldn't have said that."

"No, you shouldn't have." He said with a tone that I couldn't quite figure out. 

We walked in silence for what felt like forever, I tried to keep track of time by looking up at the sun but it was a cloudy, cold day. I couldn't help but start to shiver. My feet started to ache terribly, I wanted to ask for a break but I bit my tongue. No complaining had been one of his rules. I didn't want to push my luck with him. 

"Stop." He said abruptly, pulling me from my thoughts. 

"Wha-" I asked confused.

"Quiet." He interrupted as his hand slowly wrapped around his gun and turned towards me. 

Before I had a chance to react the barrel of his gun was next to my face and he shot a round off. 

I cried out as my ears rang painfully and I fell to the ground in shock. He said something to me, but I couldn't hear a thing. I held my head as I watched him walk behind me towards a man, dead on the ground. He rummaged through the dead man's pockets, pulling out a couple of caps before walking back towards me. 

"A fiend." I thought to myself.

Instead of saying anything he offered me his gloved hand. I hesitantly took it and let him pull me back to my feet. He mumbled something but I couldn't hear it. Not long after this, we made camp again.

-

The next day, I slowed down a lot, but we were very close to town. I was beyond exhausted and barely had any will to keep going. The distance was growing between us before he finally stopped and whipped around, visibly annoyed. 

"Walk faster. Remember what I said about annoying me darlin'." He barked at me. 

I stared at him quietly before saying. "Why not just leave me behind, then?"

"Don't tempt me." He grumbled as he roughly grabbed my arm and started dragging me along. 

A few minutes later we reached a small settlement. We got a couple of strange looks as he continued to drag me by my arm before finally letting go as soon as he set eyes on a "doctors" office. I just stood there. Unsure what to do now. I was in town, albeit a small one. There were only three buildings and a couple of food stalls. I could do whatever I wanted. I couldn't follow him anymore, that was for certain. I heard a commotion from inside the office, but it wasn't my problem anymore. I slowly wandered away eyeing up the food stands. Dog meat wasn't appetizing, but I hadn't had real food in days. I rummaged around Slim's pack before I found enough caps to buy myself a meal. 

I hummed happily as I finished my food, I hadn't realized how hungry I was.

"Well, aren't you a pretty thing?" A man slurred behind me. "How much for your time?"

"I am not a prostitute." I scoffed as I turned around to face him.

"Free then?" He smiled menacingly as he grabbed ahold of me. His grip was so tight that I could feel my arm bruising.

Without thinking I drove the empty skewer in my hand into the man's eye and ran. I heard yelling behind me, but I kept running mindlessly. Before I realized what I was doing, I ran right into the arms of the ghoul as he was exiting the doctor's office. 

"What in the hell?" He exclaimed, shocked by my actions before he looked up to see the man following me with blood running down his face. 

"That bitch belongs to you? She must be some kind of freak to be with a ghoul." He growled angrily.

I buried my face into the ghoul's chest, afraid to look at his face. I desperately hoped he would take mercy on me once again.

"Well, darlin' you do have some bite to ya." The ghoul laughed while eyeing up the man standing in front of him. 

"Give me the girl and get gone." The man spit out.

"Well, that just won't do." The ghoul responded while smirking, obviously amused. "Get behind me darlin'," he whispered quietly as he stared down the thug.

I quickly did as I was told before I heard some more shots ring off, before I knew it, the whole town turned into a shoot-off. I dropped to the ground and crawled into the doctor's office hiding behind the counter next to a very dead doctor.

"What the hell?" I mumbled to myself looking over at him, wondering what had transpired between him and the ghoul.

I stayed there until I heard a familiar voice yell out. "Anyone else wanna try me? That was fun, but I am itching for a REAL challenge." Only to get silence in return.

I peeked my head around the counter before finally getting up to my feet and shuffling to the doorway. Before I could stick my head out, the ghoul appeared in front of me. 

"Thank you," I said smiling shyly up at him.

He stared down at me for a moment before saying, "Come on then. I need to get going if I am going to catch that bounty and Filly ain't far."

"I am coming with you?" I questioned, trying to hide the relief on my face. 

"Well, you obviously can't be trusted on your own. Can ya darlin'?" He responded slyly.

"Oh thank you so much. You won't regret this!" I said to him as I grabbed ahold of his sleeve. 

He stared down at my fist before looking back up into my eyes. I could see the hesitation on his face. Little did I know, this was the most human contact he had had in a long time, and it stirred something deep within him. 

An odd friendship had formed between us, and neither of us knew how to feel about it.

tag list: @msrawog

[jadeshifting]

— ♰  ༻ THE WALKING DEAD DR

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

　　　.   　　˚　　 　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　　　 ˚　.˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　

JADE THE SPADE . don’t laugh. i didn’t come up with it. before, because of my green thumb. now, because i’m a fucking menace with a shovel in my hand, and really no greater aspirations than seeing tomorrow—which may seem bleak, but i assure you it’s a fine way to live.

after the world ends, what’s left for someone like you? someone like me? when it’s really, truly, good and over.

it’s safe to say that humans have finally joined the circle—eating and being eaten. are we even still at the top of the food chain? i don’t particularly care, actually.

the end of the world ripped through the glitter and gloss of girlish dreams like a pack of ravenous wolves. a bunny in a den of foxes—it’s a balancing act between sugar and steel. the world’s gone grim, but i cling to whatever i can, hands reeking of blood and sweat and painted with silver polish. innocence not lost, just sharpened; a lamb draped in wolfskin, still soft enough to see beauty in the decay but clever enough to keep it from swallowing me whole. i stitch my identity from scraps, a patchwork of lace and leather, refusing to let the apocalypse strip me of the one thing i refuse to lose—myself

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

　　　.   　　˚　　 　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　　　 ˚　.˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　 　　 　　　　

WHERE WERE YOU WHEN THE WORLD ENDED? (i know where i was)

★⋆. — the outbreak crashed my military academy camping trip like a bad joke with no punchline. one moment, it was knot tying and firestarting; the next, it was screaming, blood, and cadets turning into chew toys. survival instincts kicked in fast—me and a handful of others bolted while the rest of the group got torn apart like a horror movie cliché. i stuck to the shadows, scavenging supplies and dodging the undead like a ghost, my survival training doing overtime

★⋆. — when my small group’s numbers thinned thanks to panic and bad decisions, i was left solo. determined not to join the buffet or find my end along with the rest of the world, i continued alone, hopping fences, raiding cabins, and staying two steps ahead of death. by the time i stumbled into Rick Grimes and his happy-go-lucky group, i was half-feral, sharp as a switchblade, and carrying the weight of too many brushes with death to count

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

— life was a glittering future on the horizon, and a brain full of ambitions too big for my boots. now?

the crisp order of my days is long gone, swapped for the jagged rhythm of scavenger life. ambition? boiled down to staying one step ahead of death. the pristine fawn i once was has learned to grow antlers—equal parts hunted and hunter, wide-eyed but feral, forever caught between innocence and savagery

who would’ve thought the apocalypse would feel like my second act? strange, huh? the world ends, and suddenly i’m not just surviving—i’m thriving. no crisp uniforms or barking instructors, no stupid ranks to fight for. just me, my dog, and a chaotic, gnarly world that somehow fits me like a glove. there’s something about the rawness of it all that feels honest—more honest than anything i had before. i can call my own shots without anyone telling me i’m too loud, too sharp, or too much.

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and the little things? they’re different… better, now. a decent meal, a sunrise, Pistol wagging his tail after a long run—they’re brighter, louder, sharper than they ever were back when the world was still spinning right. sure, there are days that gut me, losses that burn so bad i swear i’ll never come back from them, but there’s this gnarly kind of beauty in the fight, in clawing my way through it all and coming out the other side. i was built for this world, and for the first time, it feels like it was built for me, too

　　　.   　　˚　　 　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　　　 ˚　.˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　 　　 　　　　

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

SKILLS KEEP YOU ALIVE (if you’re willing to use them)

♰  ༻ SHARPSHOOTING . i’ve got an eagle eye and a steady hand—i’ll peg a walker (or a squirrel) from fifty yards out, no sweat

TRAP-SETTING . whether it’s walkers, wildlife, or unwanted guests, my snares are creative and borderline evil

♰  ༻ PICKPOCKETING . need a weapon, food, or a little “borrowed” lighter? i’ve got you covered

FIRST AID . i’m not a doc, but i can stitch, splint, and bandage with whatever’s lying around—duct tape included

♰  ༻ BARTERING . my haggling game is ruthless; i can trade a paperclip for a can of peaches and make you feel like you got the better deal

INSTINCT (WOLFISH?) . i’ve got a sixth sense for danger, reading people and places like a book with a big red DANGER stamp on the cove

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

♰ “perfect traps, clean kills, no wasted movement. whoever did this is good. too good.”

HOW IS EVERY DAY THE EXACT SAME, ALWAYS DIFFERENTLY? (what day is it?)

♰  ༻ like a magpie with more orderly priorities, i scavenge all day, every day for food, trinkets, and anything remotely useful

diner dreams—i play short-order chef with whatever’s edible, whipping up “meals” that are 80% apocalypse creativity, 20% actual food (not sure what percentage edible, but it ain’t high)

♰  ༻ i braid my hair and clean my gear (even in the apocalypse, you can’t let yourself look like a total wreck. who do you think i am?)

keep my blades razor-sharp, practicing flips and spins to quiet my busy brain. i throw them and i hit my target

♰  ༻ my nightly routine includes gazing at the stars, wondering if there’s still a future worth fighting for. glamorous

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

　　　.   　　˚　　 　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　　　 ˚　.˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　 　　 　　　　

FOUND FAMILY? (first family. there was nothing before, either.)

finding a family after the world ended felt like stumbling onto an oasis in the middle of a desert—alien, overwhelming, and so damn beautiful it hurt. solo for so long, first by circumstance, then by necessity, the idea of belonging hit like a sucker punch. Rick’s quiet strength and Daryl’s rugged loyalty made them paternally carved out of grit and steel, grounding me in ways i didn’t know i needed. Carol, with her no-nonsense care and hidden softness, gave me a taste of the motherly warmth i’d long since buried as a pipe dream. and Beth—bright-eyed, gentle Beth—became the sister i’d never had, someone who made me believe in sweetness again, even in a world like one big sour gummy worm

♰  ༻ then there was Carl, all sharp edges and soft vulnerability. falling in love with him was like being cut by a blade i didn’t wanna dodge… like stepping into a fire i couldn’t put out—a blaze i’d protect with my last breath. the rest of the group—Glenn’s humor, Maggie’s resolve, Michonne’s quiet strength, Judith’s innocence—each thread wove into a tapestry i couldn’t live without

♰  ༻ raw, intense, and terrifyingly unfamiliar. this new family wasn’t bound by blood but by choice and survival, and protecting them becomes my creed, my compass. every scavenged meal, every walker killed, every sleepless night on watch—all for them—my salvation in a world that had tried to strip me of everything human. for that, i’d give them everything i had

ib : @/solanasreality & @/hrrtshape

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

　　　.   　　˚　　 　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　　　 ˚　.˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.

[bookwormjust]

A cold day at Autumn borders (established relationship with Eris, during some training, into a camp)

The autumn chill was biting today, far colder than you expected. The sharp wind whipped through the trees, and though you had layered yourself in a thick cloak and boots, the cold seemed to seep through every layer, settling deep into your bones. Your hands and feet were the worst—numb and aching, your fingertips and nails turning a pale shade of blue from the cold.

You couldn’t take it anymore. Shivering uncontrollably, you rubbed your arms and tried to will the warmth back into your body, but it wasn’t enough. You knew you needed *him*. Eris, with his fire and his heat, was the only one who could chase this cold from your skin. 

You searched for him in the camp, your breath coming out in visible puffs in the freezing air as you made your way toward where you knew he’d be. He was occupied, no doubt handling some matter of court or strategy with his people. Normally, you wouldn’t interrupt, but today… today you needed him.

When you finally spotted him, standing tall and regal amidst a group of Autumn Court soldiers, he was deep in conversation. His fiery hair caught the low sunlight, a contrast to the frost-covered ground. But even from a distance, you could feel the pull of his warmth. He radiated it, like the fire that burned within him. You hesitated for a moment, not wanting to bother him, but another shiver wracked your body, and the decision was made.

You approached him quietly, the cold making you slower than usual. When Eris caught sight of you, his sharp golden eyes softened instantly, his attention shifting fully to you. He immediately noticed the way your hands were trembling, how your lips were tinged with blue, and without a word, he excused himself from the conversation. His long strides closed the distance between you quickly, concern flashing across his face.

“Love, why didn’t you come to me sooner?” His voice was low and filled with a warmth that you craved. Before you could answer, he reached for your hands, enveloping them in his larger, much warmer ones. 

As soon as his skin touched yours, you felt the immediate flicker of warmth, a soothing heat spreading from his palms into your icy fingers. The relief was instant, though the cold still lingered painfully in your toes and limbs.

“I didn’t want to disturb you,” you mumbled through chattering teeth, leaning into his chest for more of his warmth. He wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him, as if shielding you from the wind with his body.

Eris’s brows furrowed in disapproval as he gently tugged you toward a secluded corner, away from any prying eyes. “You *always* come to me when you’re cold,” he murmured, his voice taking on a commanding edge, though it was layered with care. He raised your hands to his lips, brushing a kiss over your knuckles as he sent more heat into your freezing fingers. “Look at you—your nails are blue.”

You glanced down at your hands, only now realizing how bad it had gotten. Eris frowned, his fire flaring slightly, his hands growing even warmer as he directed his power to wrap you in a cocoon of heat.

“You’re freezing,” he muttered, clearly displeased, his eyes blazing like the fire he controlled so effortlessly. Without warning, his arms wrapped around you fully, pulling you against his chest. He whispered something under his breath, and you could feel the heat pouring from him, like standing next to a hearth in the dead of winter. His warmth seeped into every inch of your body, melting the cold from your bones.

You couldn’t help but let out a small sigh of relief as the warmth enveloped you, resting your cheek against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. He rubbed your back slowly, his fingers trailing soft patterns over your cloak, the heat radiating from his skin making you feel safe, protected, and finally warm.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured, your voice soft, feeling a bit sheepish for disturbing him after all. “I didn’t realize how cold I’d gotten.”

Eris tilted your chin up gently with his fingers, his gaze softening as he looked down at you. “You never need to apologize for needing me.” His tone was gentle, but the intensity in his eyes told you how serious he was. “Especially not when you’re cold. You know I’m the only one who can warm you like this.”

You smiled weakly, the warmth slowly returning to your cheeks. “You’re right,” you admitted, leaning into him more, savoring the way his fire seemed to seep into you, chasing away the last remnants of cold.

Eris gave you a knowing smile, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Next time, you come to me immediately,” he said, his voice teasing but firm. “Or I’ll carry you back to the fire myself.”

You chuckled softly, already feeling much better as the heat from his body enveloped you fully. “I’ll remember that.”

With one last glance around to ensure no one was watching, Eris pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, his lips warm and soft against your skin. He held you there for a moment longer, his arms wrapped securely around you, making sure the chill was completely gone before he even thought of letting you go.

Finally, he pulled back slightly, his hands still resting on your arms. “Better?”

You nodded, your smile widening as you felt his warmth still radiating through you. “Much better.”

Eris grinned, his eyes flickering with that playful fire you loved so much. “Good. Now let’s get you somewhere even warmer before I have to set the entire forest on fire to keep you warm.”

You laughed, the sound soft and light, knowing that no matter how cold the world got, Eris’s warmth would always be enough to chase it away.

[naw-naw-honeyimgood]

Is anyone else annoyed that Ambessa was set up as this huge Big Bad Villain, the over-arching enemy of the series...

Where just by raising her made Mel the person she was, and Mel's a great character don't get me wrong, i dunno if I'd even call her morally grey, but Mel is extremely manipulative. Jayce is honestly pretty naive in esp ssn 1- so many of his decisions were made because a Medarda had his ear.

Ambessa is a literal Noxian General: led armies, won wars. Extremely skilled fighter.

So many Kaitlyn stans like to lay every single one of that fascist's fucked decisions at Ambessa's feet and absolve her of everything in the name of manipulation.

And then... Ambessa Medarda didn't actually do anything? She shows up in the final battle, ploughs a path through a bunch of nameless characters, only to somehow lose in a one on two against Kaitlyn and Mel? Like are you absolutely fucking serious?

Kaitlyn's only been learning hand-to-hand for AT MAXIMUM the 3-6 months she spent as a fascist dictator, and that was obviously not a priority goal so its not like it was a boot camp or whatever shit. Not To MENTION she was learning from Ambessa herself. This is already ignoring that she spends the entire fucking fight with a dagger in her gut. Mel's solely playing support for the most part (don't get me started on the small instances she goes to fight Ambessa herself- Mel's a politician not a fighter. Even if she learned how to fight before she got banished that was over a fucking DECADE ago) and she's only had her powers for like, what, a week? She's clearly not mastered it in that amount of time.

So Ambessa, the Noxian Warlord with countless battles under her belt, somehow fucking loses to two women half her age with no actual battle experience whatsoever. One's a sniper using only hand-to-hand combat that she trained herself, who's injured the entire time but SOMEHOW keeping up. One's standing like ten feet away and making shields everywhere that she HAS anti-magic runes to combat.

If the writers wanted that fight to make any sense whatsoever Ambessa should've just kicked Kaitlyn in the dagger and while she's down just killed Mel (or AT LEAST knocked her out if you want to pull the "she wouldnt kill her DAUGHTER" card). Then she wouldn't have died at all. But no- the big anticipated fight against Ambessa with the dramatic-ass Blood Sweat and Tears entrance, that we've been building up to since forever... and the only casualty we get is Kaitlyn's fucking eye. Boo-fucking-hoo.

Technically we lost Jayce in order to defeat Viktor. In the most bullshit way possible we lost fucking JINX in order to take Warwick out of the picture. And yet Ambessa took no one with her. MADDIE got closer to killing Kaitlyn than Ambessa.

[staytrueblue]

Inexperienced John Price

Part 6: John's curse is that he cares

tags: mdni. sexual fantasy

ao3 link masterlist

John Prices career and duty was to his country.

Fuck his career and duty.

The inevitability of another bad guy in another country wanting to do bad things forced him to cancel all of his planned leave.

Instead of getting to know the sweet bar owner and having a pint he was inhaling dust and drinking tea with honey to help his aching throat.

John settled back into the plane seat closing his eyes. Now on the flight, the weariness had caught up to him. How long had it been since he’d been back? Two weeks? A month?

He had no time for himself. Truly through no fault of his own, although he probably could’ve tried harder when he was younger to lose his virginity. He had thought about why, why he hadn't just gone for it like his mates in boot camp, coming back from nights on the town with a girl in their bunk.

Deep down though he knew why. Curse him for caring about who his first time would be with. It had nothing to do with tradition or religion. The decision was more similar to how he chose his task force. The men were selected carefully, and their placement on the team was based on trust and understanding.

What if John had decided to give in to what he had been aching for, for years and went home with the blonde from the pub? Someone he didn't know or didn't trust...would she have made fun of him as he fumbled to take off her clothes?

Scoff when he wouldn’t be able to take his eyes or hands away from the softness of her breasts?

Snicker as he hovered above her holding his cock in one hand trying to guide himself between her legs into a place he’s never been?

And when he trembled and shook and moaned and lasted a minute thrusting inside her would she just go silent and leave?

John shook the thoughts away as the plane landed with a rumble. She may have if he took that chance, but he knew she wasn’t who he wanted.

He didn't know what he had wanted, but he found that in every rare silent moment on deployment, his thoughts went back to you. There was something in your short meeting that made him want to lean in and get to know you.

Between your smile and your teasing and your heart that made you follow him out the pub doors just to say hi and ask if he was okay..

All he wanted to do was go home and then straight to the pub. But there was someone he needed to talk to first, someone who could provide advice and be trusted to hold a Captain's deepest personal secret.

[myadagoat22]

This is a one shot of Poly Jason X Michale Myers X Y/n (so not a series) this is my multi may contribution @bisexual-horror-fan

Warning: Word count 1000+, this is implied smut, Joking about murder, A bit Fluff.

Sweetheart of the Slaughter

Camp Hollow was cursed. That’s what the locals said, anyway. Back in the '80s, there were murders—like a lot of murders. Now it was just some forgotten woods upstate, perfect for an edgy weekend getaway with zero cell service and all the bad decisions.

You came with six friends. Now, it was just you.

You were crying. Smeared with blood. Trembling like a leaf in the wind.

You clutched your flashlight like it could somehow stop the silent shape following you through the trees.

Michael. He didn’t run. He didn’t need to. He just walked. Always walked. Like a nightmare on legs.

You tripped on a root and scrambled backward. “Please—please, I don’t wanna die—!”

No response. Just the sound of his boots. Crunch. Crunch. Closer.

From the right, another figure burst through the trees—Jason, hulking and brutal, machete in hand.

“Oh my God!” you screamed, voice raw and perfect. “No—please, no—someone help me!”

For a split second, the two killers stood there. Facing each other. Silent. Still.

And if you hadn’t been “too busy sobbing,” you might’ve seen it: that look they gave each other.

Possession. Territory.

Mine.

Michael took a step forward.

Jason mirrored it.

You let out another wail and turned, running full-tilt into the dark, heart hammering, lungs aching.

Your eyes darted behind you. Michael was following again. But so was Jason. One on each side, like wolves hunting the same prey.

You crashed into an old toolshed near the lake and slammed the door shut, bolting it with shaky hands.

Inside, you collapsed against the wall, sobbing. Broken flashlight. Bloody knees. Totally helpless.

For real? You deserved an Emmy.

When the shed door finally creaked open, you screamed like it was the first time. Backed away. Begged.

Michael stepped inside, knife lowered.

Jason followed, eyes locked on you.

You pressed yourself against the wall, shaking, and whispered, “Please… just kill me fast.”

They didn’t move.

You sniffled, breath hitching… and then—

You laughed.

Low. Smooth. Unbothered.

“God, you two are so dramatic,” you said, standing up like your legs weren’t injured at all.

Jason cocked his head. Michael’s fingers flexed on his blade.

“What?” you said, brushing blood off your shirt. “You didn’t really think I was gonna scream through this whole thing, right?”

You walked right up to Michael, all fake-fear gone, and trailed your fingers across the front of his jumpsuit.

Jason took one step closer. Tense. Watching.

You glanced back at him, smirking. “Relax, big guy. You’ll get your turn.”

The air in the shed was thick now—not with fear, but with tension. Possessiveness. Jealousy.

“You were perfect,” you murmured, glancing at the bloodstains on Jason’s mask. “And you…” You turned to Michael, tilting your head. “You got so creative. I almost broke character.”

You laughed again, delighted. “God, they all bought it. I mean, Trish actually tried to protect me. Said she’d sacrifice herself.” You made a mock-sad face. “She was sweet.”

Michael’s thumb stroked your side once. Jason stepped closer again, brushing a hand over your hair like he was checking for wounds.

You smiled and leaned into both of them.

“You guys jealous?” you teased. “Getting all territorial over little ol’ me?”

Jason stayed quiet—but his hand landed possessively on your shoulder. Michael shifted so his body was pressed against your back, knife now hanging loose in his grip.

You closed your eyes, content, nestled between them in a literal murder sandwich. “Don’t worry,” you whispered. “They were just appetizers. You two? You’re home.”

The shed went quiet, save for your breath—slow, steady.

Then, Jason’s hand slid down your side, fingertips teasing the waistband of your jeans. Michael’s palm rested against the small of your back, and you could feel the hard line of his chest pressed against you.

You exhaled, content, nestled between them in a literal murder sandwich. “Mmm. You’ve got me now.”

Jason’s grip on you tightened, pulling you closer to him. You felt the weight of him against you, his strength, his solid presence, like nothing could touch you as long as he was here. He slid his hand under the hem of your shirt, rough fingers skimming your skin.

Michael's other hand gripped your chin, tilting your head back to look at him. His eyes were cold, unblinking, but there was something... possessive there. Something that made your breath catch in your throat.

Jason’s lips brushed against your neck, the sensation burning as he pulled you even closer, your body aligning perfectly with his. His hands were all over you—urgent, rough, claiming.

You shivered, your pulse quickening. “You two really think you can—"

But before you could finish the sentence, Jason’s lips silenced you. Rough. Demanding. A promise in every touch.

Michael’s fingers curled around your waist, his body pressing against your back, and you felt that dark, suffocating need in his every movement. His grip on you was heavy, like he was marking you as his own, and you let him—let them both.

Jason’s hand slid lower, grabbing your waist, pulling you closer, if that was even possible. His fingers grazed the waistband of your jeans, and you let out a soft gasp. Michael’s other hand slid under your shirt, his palm warm and firm against your skin.

You didn’t need to scream anymore.

They had you. And there would be no running this time.

Jason’s touch was possessive, but it wasn’t violent—it was heavy. Slow. He was letting you feel every inch of his hands, every touch of his body against yours, making sure you knew who you belonged to.

Michael didn’t need words. His hand, sliding lower, was enough.

You were caught between them, surrounded, controlled, and yet—you loved it. They were possessive, sure, but they were also claiming you. Making you feel wanted in the most primal way possible.

When they moved, it was like instinct. Like they couldn’t help themselves. Jason’s mouth found yours again—rough, urgent—but it was Michael’s hands that guided you, kept you where they wanted you.

You gave yourself to them, and in return, they gave you the most intense, intoxicating feeling of being wanted—needed—in the most darkly obsessive way.

The world outside didn’t matter anymore. It was just you, Jason, and Michael now.

And you were exactly where you wanted to be.

[gotxpenny]

Every Line We Crossed

WWII. Bad timing. Worse decisions. Long stares across war rooms, a translator who speaks four languages and still can’t find the right words, and Lewis Nixon who drinks too much and feels too much. It’s tense. It’s messy. It’s that kind of almost-love that was doomed from the start—but God, did it burn.

Pairing: Lewis Nixon x Reader

Prompt: "You think I don’t know how wrong this is? But I never once wanted something so badly.”

Word Count: ~3,400

Genre: Fluff/Angst, hurt/comfort, slowburn, TENSION

Setting: Berchtesgaden, Germany

Note || sooooo i blacked out and this fic wrote itself. it’s soft, it’s messy, it’s a little emotionally unstable—kinda like lewis nixon with a whiskey bottle. if you’ve ever wanted to scream “just kiss already!!” at two fictional characters flirting, this one’s for you. enjoy the tension. blame harry welsh for the commentary. and remember: no war room was harmed in the making of this aggressively tender meltdown <3 (also, speirs slapping people into silence? peak behavior.)

gotxpenny's masterlist band of brothers masterlist

They met in the dark.

Toccoa wasn’t dark in the literal sense—Georgia was too hot and raw for that. But something about war always shaded the air around it, even in the training camps. And in the middle of all the barked orders and scraped knees, he noticed her.

Y/N, the translator. The one who was always flipping through thick, dog-eared notebooks of German, French, Italian, and—what surprised him most—Yiddish. It wasn’t her fluency that first caught Lewis Nixon’s eye. It was her silence. She was sharp, but measured. Bright, but never eager to show off. She spoke like every word mattered. Like every thought had a weight. And something about that haunted him.

Maybe it was because he had never been very good at thinking before he spoke.

She was softness in a world built to crush it.

Nixon never quite understood how she made it this far, not because she wasn’t capable—God, she was terrifyingly capable—but because she carried herself like someone untouched by the rot of war. While the rest of them had started to harden, crack, even lose shape entirely, she still somehow managed to be kind. Gentle. There was steel in her, yes—but it was quiet. Forged into her spine, not worn like armour.

And she was small. A fact that made him ache more than it should’ve. Her uniform was always a size too big, sleeves rolled twice over and pant legs cuffed just so. Her helmet sat crooked more often than not, slipping too low over her eyes like it belonged to someone else. Which, of course, it probably did. Everything the Army gave her looked borrowed. Too harsh. Too impersonal. As if the world didn’t quite know what to do with someone like her.

He remembered Normandy.

They were crouched in the hedgerows, mud thick on their boots, sky still bruised from the drop. She had landed rough and hard, scraped and breathless, helmet practically swallowing her whole head. He’d spotted her half a mile away just from the way she moved—calm, sure, but dragging her radio pack like it weighed more than she did.

“You sure you weren’t supposed to land with the field mice?” he’d called out, grinning as she emerged from the brush beside him.

She had shoved her helmet up with a huff, eyes narrowed beneath it, “You’re hilarious.”

“I’m just saying,” he said, nudging her boot with his, “You might be the first paratrooper in history who could hide in someone’s pocket.”

She’d flipped him off.

He’d fallen in love a little.

Even then, soaked in rain and war, she looked like something too good for this place. And Lewis Nixon—hungover, jaded, already a little ruined—knew damn well he had no business wanting her.

He tried not to. Tried to drown it in the usual ways—brown liquor, black humor, buried glances. But she kept being there. With her quiet tenacity, her sleeves always too long, her voice calm even when half the room was losing their heads. She translated enemy reports like they were puzzles, threading through languages like silk, and sometimes—just sometimes—she’d look up at him while she spoke, and he swore it felt like confession.

Now, in a dim room littered with maps and wires and the stale weight of smoke, she was talking again. Something about troop movement east of Remagen. He couldn’t focus. Not with her sitting that close, lips moving, hair tucked beneath a helmet that still never fit right.

He wasn’t hearing a word of it.

He was watching the way she bit the inside of her cheek when reading aloud, the faint crinkle in her brow when she stumbled on a dialect shift. He was watching her mouth, mostly. And wondering what it would take to close the distance.

She paused. Blinked at him.

“Are you even listening?”

The room wasn’t quiet—papers rustled, boots scraped, the typewriter clacked faintly in the next room—but her voice sliced through it all.

Nixon blinked. She was sitting across from him at the table, fingers resting on a handwritten enemy communiqué she had just translated aloud. Dick Winters, beside her, was methodically flipping through another set of files. Speirs leaned in his chair, unreadable as always. Harry Welsh was too amused to be useful.

But Nixon wasn’t paying attention to any of that.

He was staring at her lips.

“Nope,” he said, shameless. His whiskey-laced grin curled at the corners, “But if you’d like to repeat yourself—maybe a little slower this time—I promise I’ll hang on every word like it’s scripture.”

Y/N’s mouth opened. Then shut. Then flushed.

She hated how easily he got under her skin.

It wasn’t just the smirk—the one that never quite reached his eyes—or the way he always smelled like a mix of cigarette smoke, damp wool, and something warmer, something him. It wasn’t even the fact that he could be infuriatingly charming when he wanted to be, which was often, and usually when she was trying to be professional.

It was everything else.

It was how he looked at her like she was something he meant to find. Like she wasn’t just some Army-assigned translator in a war room full of men trying not to fall apart, but something important. Something good. And she hated that, because she knew he had no right to look at her like that—not with that ring on his finger. Not with that kind of baggage bleeding into everything he touched.

She had tried to keep her distance after Normandy. Told herself it was just adrenaline. Just the intimacy of surviving. A man like Lewis Nixon didn’t mean the things he said when there was whiskey in his breath and smoke in the air. And she didn’t want to be one more mistake he tried to drink away.

But it never stopped.

He kept circling back to her. In the mess, at debriefings, brushing past her in narrow halls just close enough to make her breath hitch. He was never overt—not really—but he lingered. In looks. In jokes. In late-night silences that made her stomach twist.

And worst of all?

She liked it.

She liked him.

The way he was sharp and broken in equal measure. The way he let his guard down around her, just a little, like she was the one person who wouldn’t try to fix him or leave him worse.

She flushed now—not from his words, but from the heat of wanting something she knew she couldn’t have.

“Jesus Christ,” she muttered, mostly to herself. 

Because if she let herself fall any deeper into this, she didn’t know if she’d survive it.

“She’s gonna stab you with her pen,” Speirs said dryly, not even looking up.

“Oh, come on,” Nixon teased, chin in hand now, eyes fixed on her with that glint—playful, yes. But something darker too, “You know I’m not the only one who enjoys hearing you talk, sweetheart.”

There was a beat of silence after Nixon spoke—just long enough to feel loaded.

Dick Winters didn’t even look up from the report in front of him. His jaw ticked slightly, but he said nothing, flipping a page with the same crisp precision as always. Still, anyone who knew him could read the warning in that subtle shift: Careful, Nix.

Speirs, leaning against the windowsill with arms crossed, gave a barely audible snort. He didn’t say much—he never did—but the slight upward tug at the corner of his mouth said enough. Amusement. Disbelief. Maybe even a touch of curiosity, like he was watching a slow-burning fuse and wondering when it would reach the powder.

“I am this close to translating something wrong on purpose and letting Speirs go in guns blazing,” she shot back.

Harry leaned forward suddenly, lips twitching, “Okay, is anyone gonna say it or should I?”

“No,” Winters warned preemptively, still reading.

Harry ignored him. Harry Welsh dropped his pencil with a clatter and let out a laugh that was far too loud for the room, “Jesus, Nix,” he grinned, rubbing a hand down his face, “You flirting or interrogating? You two look like you're about five seconds away from tearing each other's clothes off or tearing each other’s throats out—I can’t tell which.”

“Harry,” Dick warned, sharper this time, finally looking up.

But Harry just held up his hands innocently, eyes wide, “What? I’m just saying. You two look like you're about five seconds away from aggressively making out,” he said cheerfully, “Which, for the record, is what usually happens when Kitty and I argue like this. Except sometimes, y’know, we just go ahead and fuck.”

That shut everyone up—including Y/N, who went still as stone, her cheeks going crimson.

Nixon just chuckled, slow and low, not taking his eyes off her.

And that—that—was what made Dick finally close the file with a firm snap.

Winters slowly lifted his eyes and gave Harry the look.

“Shutting up,” Harry said immediately, hands up.

But the damage was done.

She didn’t say another word for the rest of the debriefing. And Nixon? He stopped pretending to read and started drinking in silence.

The silence that followed was long enough to stretch.

Dick, still holding the closed file in both hands, looked between them—first at Nixon, who had resumed nursing his canteen of whiskey with deliberate ease, and then at Y/N, who sat stiff in her chair, jaw clenched, staring furiously down at the translated report like it might burst into flames under her glare.

“You two need to figure out whatever this is,” Winters said evenly, not unkind but firm, “Before it starts affecting more than just the mood in the room,” it wasn’t a question. It wasn’t a warning. It was a statement. Clear. Measured. But sharp enough to cut through whatever tension had wrapped itself around them.

Speirs, still lounging against the windowsill, piped up without looking over, “Just make sure it doesn’t affect enemy intel either. I’d hate to walk into a death trap because Nix was too busy trying to undress someone with his eyes.”

Y/N made a sound—half laugh, half exasperated groan, “You know what really affects intel?” she snapped, glaring at Nixon now, “The fact that this one never pays attention. I could be translating Hitler’s funeral plans and he’d still be staring at my goddamn mouth instead of the map.”

Harry choked on a laugh but covered it with a cough. Speirs raised an eyebrow. Dick didn't react—his expression unreadable—but the silence deepened around them, the air turning almost too still.

And then, without thinking—again—Lewis spoke.

Low. Careless. Raw.

“Can you blame me?”

The words hung there.

Not teasing. Not grinning.

Just true.

Everyone froze.

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. Her lips parted slightly, but no sound came out. She didn’t move, didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe.

Harry actually whistled under his breath.

Even Speirs straightened just slightly, the ghost of a smirk fading from his face.

Dick stared at Nixon for a long moment. And when he finally spoke, it was quiet.

“Out. Both of you.”

“But—” Y/N started.

“Out,” Dick repeated, without raising his voice.

Nixon stood slowly. No jokes this time. No grin.

Just those dark eyes, flicking to her like a storm ready to break.

Y/N followed, every step like walking on ice.

The door shut behind them, and the room fell into stunned silence.

“…Told you,” Harry muttered, “Aggressively making out. Five seconds.”

The hallway outside the debriefing room was dim, narrow, and oppressively quiet. The only sound was the low hum of distant generators and the dull buzz still ringing in Y/N’s ears from what Lewis had just said.

Can you blame me?

She hadn’t expected it—not like that. Not with that look on his face. Not with that truth in his voice.

She marched a few paces ahead of him, arms crossed tightly over her chest, trying to keep her expression neutral. Professional. Unbothered. But her heart was beating too loud and too fast and too hopeful, and that made her furious.

Lewis followed behind her with slower steps, the rhythm of his boots uneven, like even he wasn’t sure where this was going.

Finally, halfway down the corridor, she stopped and spun on him.

“You’re an idiot,” she hissed.

He stopped too, head tilted, “That’s fair.”

“And you can’t say shit like that in front of everyone!”

His brow lifted, slow and unreadable, “I didn’t plan on saying it, Y/N.”

“You never plan anything, Lewis,” she snapped, “You drink, and you stare, and you flirt like you don’t care who’s watching—like this is some goddamn game. But it’s not. You have a wife. You—”

“I know,” he said quietly. Firmly, “I know I do.”

That stilled her.

And it was the way he said it—not defensive, not deflecting—that made her heart twist.

She looked at him for a long second, trying to read past the shadows under his eyes and the way his shoulders sagged slightly, like carrying the weight of it all had finally started wearing him down.

“Then why?” she whispered, barely audible.

Lewis took a step closer. Then another. Close enough now that she had to tilt her chin up slightly to meet his gaze.

“Because you’re the only thing that still feels real,” he said, voice low, steady, “Everything else is noise. The war, the drinking, the mistakes I’ve made. But when you walk into a room—when you talk, even if I don’t listen like I should—you cut through it. You make me feel like I haven’t completely drowned yet. You think I don’t know how wrong this is?” he said, voice low, “But I never once wanted something so badly.”

She stared at him, heart pounding. Y/N’s throat tightened. She hated how part of her wanted to lean into him. Hated how part of her believed every word.

Her voice trembled, “You shouldn’t say things like that.”

“I have to,” he said, “Because if I don’t say it now, I might never get the chance.”

Silence settled again. Not awkward. Not angry.

Just heavy.

The silence stretched, thick and weighted, as they stood in that dim hallway between two breaths, between two choices.

Y/N dropped her gaze first. Not because she was weak—but because if she kept looking at him like that, she was afraid she’d fall into something she couldn’t climb back out of, “I hate the way you drink,” she said suddenly, the words slipping out before she could catch them.

Nixon blinked. It was the first time her voice had truly cut—not teasing, not playful, not distant. Just honest.

“I know,” he said quietly.

But she wasn’t done, “I don’t mean the smell or the slurring,” she whispered, eyes still fixed on the floor, “I hate what it does to you. How it dulls everything good. How it makes you forget what you’ve got. How it—” her voice cracked, just slightly, “How it makes you look right through me some nights like I’m not even real.”

He stiffened. That stopped him. Like the world had hit pause. Not because he was offended. Not because he didn’t know it was true. But because it was the first time she’d said it. 

Out loud. No jokes. No sarcasm. No safe distance.

And she wasn’t afraid of him. She wasn’t afraid he’d hurt her.

She was afraid he was already hurting himself.

“You’ll drink yourself to pieces, Lew,” she added, softer now, “And I don’t want to watch you drown when I know I’d still reach for you, even as you dragged me under.”

He stared at her, stunned quiet.

Then he stepped forward.

One slow, deliberate step.

“I’ll stop,” he said, “If you want me to. I’ll stop.”

Her eyes met his again, uncertain. Hope flickering at the edges of fear, “You’ve said that before,” she whispered, “To other people.”

“I didn’t mean it before,” Lewis murmured, and this time, he reached out—gently, firmly—and took her by the wrists, pulling her just close enough that her breath caught. His voice was rough, but clear, “I promise,” he said, eyes locked on hers, like if he said it with enough conviction, it might undo all the wreckage behind him.

Y/N looked up at him, her heart in her throat.

And for the first time in a long time, Lewis Nixon wasn’t running from anything.

She stared into his eyes and saw everything she’d been trying so hard not to feel.

Not just the want—that had always been there, simmering beneath every careless smirk and lingering glance—but the ache. The quiet desperation. The way he looked at her like she was the only clean thing left in a world that had gone to hell.

And for a second—just one painful, electric second—she wondered how long he’d been carrying this weight alone. How long she had.

She’d fought it for months. For reasons that were good and right and solid. He was married. He was self-destructive. He drank too much. He flirted too easily. He lived like he didn’t think he’d make it to the end of the war—and most days, neither did she.

But in this moment, all of that fell away.

Because this wasn’t about logic. It wasn’t about rules. It wasn’t about what was right or wrong or what the others would think.

It was about now.

Because he said he would stop. Because he meant it. Because for once, he wasn’t trying to charm his way out of the truth—he was facing it. Because his eyes were steady and open, and all she saw there was her.

And maybe it would end badly.

Maybe it would fall apart.

But for once, she wasn’t afraid of falling.

Because somewhere along the way—between the war and the silences and all the almosts—she’d already fallen.

So before she could talk herself out of it, before fear clawed its way back in, Y/N grabbed the front of his jacket, pulled him down to her—and kissed him like it was the only thing keeping them both alive.

It wasn’t soft.

It wasn’t slow.

It was years of tension igniting all at once—messy and breathless and real. He responded instantly, hands fisting in her sleeves, mouth desperate against hers like he’d been waiting his whole life for permission.

When they finally broke apart, gasping, foreheads pressed together, she whispered, “This doesn’t fix anything.”

“I know,” he murmured, brushing a thumb over her cheek, “But it doesn’t make it any less true.”

She didn’t pull away.

And he didn’t let go.

Inside the debriefing room, the air had settled again, though the tension still clung faintly to the walls like smoke after a fire.

Dick Winters sat stiffly at the table, arms folded, his expression unreadable but his eyes fixed on the closed door that Y/N and Nixon had just walked through. The silence that followed their exit had stretched too long—long enough that it was impossible not to wonder what was happening on the other side.

Harry, who had tried to focus on the scattered intel pages in front of him for all of three seconds, leaned back in his chair with a smug little smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

He waited.

Waited just a bit longer.

Then, with a small cough and no particular sense of timing or shame, he said, “So...we all heard that kiss, right?”

Dick didn’t move. Speirs raised one brow, unimpressed.

“I mean,” Harry added, throwing his hands up casually, “I did say they were about five seconds away from aggressively making out. You all laughed—except Speirs, who doesn’t have emotions—but I was right.”

Dick pinched the bridge of his nose.

Speirs looked directly at Harry, expression as deadpan as ever, then reached out and slapped the back of his head with a sharp thwap.

“Ow— what the hell, Ron?!”

“That’s for being insufferable,” Speirs said flatly, “And for the phrase ‘aggressively making out.’”

Harry rubbed the back of his head, muttering, “Still accurate.”

Dick finally exhaled, the barest flicker of something like resigned concern crossing his face, “This is going to complicate everything,” he murmured, mostly to himself.

Speirs gave a lazy shrug, “Could be worse.”

Harry perked up, “Yeah, at least it wasn’t in here. I’d never be able to sit in this room again if they’d started ripping uniforms off.”

Dick gave him the look again.

Harry shut up. Briefly.

But the door stayed closed.

And none of them said it out loud—but they all knew something had changed.

For better or worse…that line had finally been crossed.

[se-sissy-lina04]

What is Kix's fashion sense? He seems to be more cognizant of sartorial styles than some of his brothers...

Sissy’s Masterlist

Oh absolutely! If anyone in the GAR other than the Coruscant Guard has taste, it’s Kix. The man who can patch up a blaster wound and tell you your color palette is all wrong. Welcome to:

✨ The Clone Civilian Fashion Files: Expanded Edition

ft. Kix the Style Icon™ + Fashion Crimes + Sartorial Soul Discoveries

💉 Kix – The Fashion Medic

Style: Med-Core meets Space Chic

Palette: Navy, burgundy, black, deep greens. Subtle with intention.

Kix is the only one who knows how to layer. He has mastered the art of a clean, well-fitted button-down under a long-line coat. His sleeves are always rolled perfectly. His boots are always shining.

Signature look: Tailored pants, boots, minimalist accessories, rolled-up sleeves, and sometimes—a turtleneck.

Knows his angles. Knows your angles. Will give you unsolicited advice about your boots clashing with your coat.

Also Kix: “No Fives, tank tops do not count as high fashion just because the font is aggressive.”

Owns one (1) beret. Has never worn it. Fives knows and lives in fear.

💀 Echo – Space Goth, Soft Edition

Style: Comfortably brooding.

Loves monochrome looks. Black, gray, muted navy. Big coats, simple shirts, combat boots. Wears a lot of hoodies. Looks like he’s in a space rock band at all times.

Signature piece: One faded old hoodie that says “No Comment.” Refuses to elaborate.

Secretly owns fingerless gloves. Thinks no one knows. They all know.

Echo Mood: “This is my emotional support sweater. No, I’m not taking it off.”

🎧 Tech – The Practical Maximalist

Style: Techwear meets chaotic academia

Cargo pants. Tactical vests. Utility belts. Glasses. Layers. Always something with a million pockets.

Loves: Bright socks. Patterned button-downs under tactical vests. Jackets with 9 zippers.

Always has: A datapad holster, a satchel, and a second bag inside the first bag “just in case.”

Once wore: Crocs to a formal event. Claimed it was “efficiency-oriented.”

Is banned from dressing himself for formal occasions. Crosshair enforces this with threats.

🧼 Crosshair – Minimalist Murder Daddy

Style: Tactical Couture

All black. Always. Everything fits like it was tailored. Slim silhouettes, turtlenecks, fitted gloves, combat boots so polished they reflect disappointment.

Owns the same outfit in 6 variations. Hates clutter.

Signature Look: Black turtleneck + black slacks + trench coat + resting sniper face

Once wore: A deep wine-red shirt. Everyone gasped. He never did it again.

On Jesse’s wardrobe: “You look like a historical reenactment of bad decisions.”

🔥 Hunter – Soft Boy Outdoorsman

Style: Utility Core meets Camp Counselor Aesthetic

Neutral colors. Layers. Wool shirts. Soft cardigans. Henleys.

Wears a beanie unironically and pulls it over his ears. Has one jacket that smells like campfires.

Always has: A canvas backpack and herbal tea in a thermos.

Once said: “I think flannel is my personality now.”

His dream: To live in a cozy cabin. The reality: surrounded by chaotic clone brothers in tank tops.

💥 Hardcase – Neon Disaster

Style: Late-Night Holonet Thrift Gremlin

Neon. Clashing colors. Holo-reactive prints. LED strips??? He once wore pants that glowed.

Signature Piece: Sunglasses. Indoors. At night.

Thinks wearing mismatched shoes is “edgy.” Has no idea what a belt is.

Kix, at least once a week: “Hardcase, why are your pants metallic?”

Hardcase: “Because I’m shiny.”

Everyone else: sighs in fashion despair

🛡️ Bacara – Security But Make It Cozy

Style: Armored Lumberjack Dad

Flannel. Tactical boots. Thermal undershirts. Jeans. Wool jackets with reinforced elbows.

Big fan of jackets with hidden pockets. Has a mug that says “I’m Watching.”

You once called it: “Terrifyingly cozy chic.”

He blushed. Denied it. Wore that same flannel 3 days straight.

🧨 Wrecker – Confused Fashion Chaos

Style: Crisis Couture

Wants to do well. Tries really hard. Ends up wearing everything. Patterned pants, three scarves, a belt over his vest.

His mantra: “Too much is never enough if you balance it out with confidence.”

The Batch holds monthly votes: “Can we tell him?” — No. Never.

Kix cries weekly about Wrecker’s outfit choices but lets him be because the man deserves joy.

[sorrowful-wallflower]

"If anybody would like to send me some asks with microfic prompts, I'd appreciate it. 🥰"

how about james as a swim coach and sirius forces reg to get lessons from james, not knowing reg has had the hugest crush on his big brother's best friend. so shirtless james + swimming = flustered reg.

I asked for a 'micro fic' prompt, just to turn around and write a 2500-word one-shot. Clearly, I can't write anything short.

Thanks for the prompt.

Here is swim coach James teaching Regulus how to swim while Regulus tries not to die from the close contact.

Swimming Lessons

“I don’t want to go!” Regulus nearly shouted as he tried to pull his arm out of Sirius’ hold. 

Sirius had asked if he wanted to go somewhere and Regulus stupidly didn’t ask where he wanted to go. He assumed he wanted to go shopping since Sirius had been mentioning that he needed some new boots to go with his leather jacket for the last week. When they pulled up to the aquatic centre, Regulus started to regret his decision to come along. 

“Oh, come on, Reggie. It’s not going to be that bad,” Sirius replied, dragging him across the lawn towards the front door. “You need to learn to swim.”

“Why?” he asked defiantly. “I have no intention of ever going in the water.”

“Because it’s a life skill that everyone should know. Besides, James is a great instructor.”

Regulus screeched to a halt, yanking his arm out of Sirius’ grip. He crossed his arms as Sirius turned towards him with a confused expression. Regulus already didn’t want to learn how to swim, he hated the water. Even if he did, there was no way he would learn anything if James was the instructor. Regulus has had a minor crush on his brother’s best friend since he came back from a sports summer camp three years ago. 

“What? Do you hate James now or something?” Sirius quirked an eyebrow in question. 

“No,” Regulus scoffed. “I just don’t want to learn how to swim. I told you that.”

They stood in the middle of the walkway, glaring at each other before Sirius sighed and the corner of his lip twitched. Great. He’s gonna try to bribe me. It’s not going to work.

“What if I buy you those new Doc Martens you’ve been eyeing for the past three months?”

Fuck! He had been eyeing them and he was trying to save up for them but since being disowned and losing his inheritance, it was hard to keep up with his bills let alone indulge in something for himself. 

Regulus pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fine, but if I drown it’s your fault.”

“Ha, you’re not going to drown. James won’t let you,” Sirius chuckled, grabbing his arm again and dragging him through the door. 

Regulus resigned himself to being in close contact with his crush for the next however long. At least he wouldn’t be the only one. Sirius stopped at the receptionist's desk, talked for a few minutes in a quiet tone so Regulus couldn’t hear him then laughed loudly and grabbed the swim trunks from the blonde.

“Here you go,” he said, holding out the bright red shorts. “You can change in the bathroom over there.”

Regulus glared at him again before snatching them and stalking off the restroom and taking his time changing. He knew he was delaying the inevitable but he figured Sirius might forget about him if he took too long. 

Or not.

“Let’s go, Reggie,” Sirius shouted from the door. “Or I’ll throw you in the pool in your clothes.”

Regulus poked his head out of the stall, “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me, little brother,” Sirius smirked before crossing his arms over his chest and cocking a challenging eyebrow.

“Ugh.”

Of course, Sirius would. He finished quickly and sauntered out into the hallway, leading to the pool. He glanced at the door leading outside before sighing and following Sirius inside, the chlorine smell assaulting his sense of smell as soon as they opened the door. Regulus took a deep breath. He could do this. He just had to keep telling himself that he could and then he might believe it. 

Once they were inside, Regulus looked around. There was a large pool and three diving boards at the end at varying heights, as well as some bleachers off to the side. What he didn’t see, was James or anybody else aside from Sirius, who was standing next to him. 

“Where is everybody?” Regulus asked dumbly. “I thought this was a–”

He cut himself off as someone jumped off the diving board with a splash and swam to the edge. Regulus had to will his breathing to get under control as he watched James, clad in a pair of tight, barely there shorts, pulling himself out of the water and shaking his hair before running his hand through it. The water glistened off his golden six-pack as it dripped down to his toned v-line. Regulus felt his heart rate pick up as the back of his neck started to burn from the blush he was sure was there. 

“Pads!” James exclaimed when he noticed them standing there. He walked over to them and pulled Sirius in for a hug.

“Ugh, Prongs, not the jacket!” Sirius shrieked, pushing him off and James laughed loudly. 

Regulus’ knees nearly buckled from the sound. He tried to take a subtle breath, willing his heart to get back to normal as James turned towards him. It didn’t work.

“Hey, Reg. I’m surprised Sirius got you here.”

“I had to bribe him… after I kidnapped him,” Sirius chuckled when Regulus didn’t say anything.

James shoved Sirius in the shoulder and Sirius pushed him back, nearly pushing him back in the pool. When they were done messing around, James turned back to Regulus.

“Sorry,” he said sincerely. “He told me you agreed to come last week.”

What? Oh, he was going to kill his brother. 

“Of course, I didn’t believe him,” James chuckled before speaking softer, “We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

“It’s-” Regulus cleared his throat, hoping the blush went away when they goofing off. “It’s fine. I should probably learn anyway, considering there is a high probability of Sirius throwing me in if I disagreed.”

“Are you sure?” James asked with a gentle smile. 

“Yeah. I just thought there would be more people here when I found out what we were actually doing.”

“Oh.” Regulus was confused. He was going to ask him what he meant by ‘oh’ but James wasn’t looking at him anymore. He was staring at Sirius, who had an expression that screamed he was innocent. “You didn’t tell him it was a private lesson?”

“Hey, I was barely able to get him here,” Sirius remarked, putting his hands up in surrender.

James pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a heavy sigh. “Go back to the lobby and bug Marlene. You’re not allowed in here anymore.”

“But-” Sirius started before looking at James and Regulus had never seen that expression on James’ face. Granted, the only expressions he had really seen were smiles and gentleness. “Fine.”

James turned back to Regulus after the door closed. “I’ll ask again. Are you sure you want to learn? I’m not going to make you do anything that you don’t want to do, like your idiot brother,” he said, raising his voice on the last part so Sirius could hear.

“Umm…” Regulus’ eyes darted everywhere except at the toned chest in front of him. “I- I-” he cleared his throat, forcing himself to focus on James’ face inside of his water covered abs, “I guess I could try, since I’m already here,” he said as nonchalantly as he could manage.

Oh, that smile is going to be the death of me. Regulus willed the blush to disappear as much as he could, averting his eyes to the pool. 

“Okay. I promise nothing’s going to happen. I’ll make sure of it,” James responded, reassuringly.

“O- okay.”

James led him over to the shallow end of the pool and jumped in before holding his hand out for Regulus to take if he wanted to. Regulus stood there nervously as he looked from the water to James and back again repeatedly. 

“Don’t worry,” James said with a gentle smile. “It’s only three feet deep right here.”

He stood up completely so the water only came up to his waist to prove his point. Regulus sighed again, forcing himself to focus on the water and not James. He stepped towards the edge of the pool and dipped his toe in, testing the water’s temperature. It was warm and he hated that he couldn’t use it as an excuse to run out of the aquatic centre. 

“What exactly are we going to do?” Regulus asked as he grabbed the railing of the ladder.

James smiled and Regulus was glad he had something to hold onto as his knees wobbled slightly. 

“Well, since I can tell you’re nervous, I figured we could start with getting used to the water and maybe work on floating today,” James remarked as he stepped closer to the edge. “If you want to continue after that, then we can do some more or set up another time to work on it.”

Regulus hated that that sounded logically. He had hoped James was planning on throwing him into the deep end then he could have bailed without worrying about hurting anybody’s feelings. He sighed and sat on the edge, letting his legs dangle over the ladder and held his hand out for James to take to guide him into the water. 

James did before putting one of his hands on Regulus’ hip gently, waiting for him to scoot farther into the water. It took some time but Regulus managed to get all the way into the water and moved away from the edge towards the center with James’ guiding hand on his lower back. Regulus took a subtle deep breath to calm his racing heart at having his crush so close to him. It was a good thing they were in the water. He never would have been able to stay standing if he was still on land. 

“Okay,” James started, coming around to the front to face Regulus. “Now that you’re in the water, how do you feel?”

Regulus thought about it for a few seconds before locking eyes with James. That was a mistake as he saw the gentleness in the hazel irises and he hoped James couldn’t tell he was flustered. 

“G- umm, good. I think I’m good,” Regulus managed to get out when he looked back at the water, composing himself again. 

“Great. You’re doing so good already,” James beamed and Regulus’ heart skipped a beat at the praise. “Do you want to try floating or is this enough for the day?”

“Uhh… I think we could try floating. I’m not going to go under the water, right?”

“No, no of course not. I’ll keep you up the whole time,” James said quickly.

Regulus hated that he was so accomodating. It made him fall for James even more than he already was. Pretty soon, other people might notice his infatuation and start to tease him about it. Especially if Sirius figured it out. 

“Okay,” he replied, nodding his head before the word was out of his mouth. 

“Great,” James smiled gently. “Okay, I’m going to put my hand on your lower back and will gingerly move your legs up so you’re on your back. Is that alright?”

Regulus took a second to think about what that would feel like and figured this was probably the only way he was going to have James’ hands on him. He also forgot that he was in the water as James stood in front of him with the sweetest smile he had ever seen. At least until the water moved around them. 

James took a step closer and held his hand out, waiting for Regulus to turn around so he could place it on his back. Regulus did so and shivered when James placed his hand there. James guided him onto his back and Regulus made a point to not freak out as his hair touched the water when his legs were up. He was so focused on the feeling of James’ hand on his back that he didn’t notice he was floating by himself until James beamed at him from above. 

“What?” he asked with a little bite at the obvious amusement on James’ face. 

“You’re floating… by yourself,” he replied, showing Regulus his hands to prove his point. 

It took him a few seconds to register what was happening before he started flailing and James grabbed his hips before he went under the water. Once Regulus was standing back on the bottom of the pool, he smacked James in the chest, sucking in his breath when he made contact with his solid upper body. 

“You said you weren’t going to let go,” Regulus whisper-shouted. He didn’t want his brother coming in and asking what was going on. 

“No,” James smirked, “I said I would keep you up and I did. You didn’t go under the water, did you?”

Regulus glared at him for a few seconds before making his way to the ladder and hoped his heart didn’t make him do something stupid. James chuckled behind him but didn’t stop him. They got out of the pool and Regulus stalked towards the door. He needed to get out of there. He pushed the door open, grabbed his clothes from Sirius and made his way to the restroom to change back into his dry clothes again. 

He took his time changing, mostly to calm his heart down and will the blush off his pale cheeks before returning to his brother and most likely James. When he finally came out of the bathroom, James was talking to Sirius and the blonde receptionist jovially. 

“You good?” Sirius asked when he emerged. 

“Fine. Let’s go. You owe me a new pair of Docs,” Regulus grumbled. 

Sirius chuckled and when Regulus turned towards them, James was standing there with a sweet smile. 

“You did really well today, Regulus,” he said easily taking a step towards him. “Would you like to try another day? Maybe get you actually swimming next time.”

Regulus stumbled over his own feet as he took a step back from James’ closeness. James reached out, grabbing his arm so he didn’t fall on his ass. Everything seemed to stop as Regulus looked up into James’ golden irises. His breath stuttered as his arm heated up with where James was holding him up. 

“I’d really love to see you again, love,” James whispered, causing Regulus to suck in a breath and he nodded subtly. James smiled before straightening up and turning towards Sirius. “And Pads…”

“Yeah?”

“No more kidnapping your brother.”

“Regulus..”

“Hmm?”

“I can give you my number and you can text me when you want to set up another lesson.”

“Okay.” Regulus nodded, pulling his phone out without thinking about it. 

James entered his number before winking and handing it back. Regulus looked at the phone in his hand, noticing there was a new note open on it. He snapped his eyes up to look at James but he was already saying goodbye to Sirius and talking to the receptionist. 

He clicked on the note without thinking. 

Text me anytime. Even if it’s not about swimming lessons.

James

Regulus was sufficiently freaking out now. There was no way that James was flirting with him right now, especially in front of Sirius. But he really hoped he was.

[mjonthetrack]

The still air outside the compound cracked like thunder before anybody even saw her.

A low, guttural bassline rolled in like trouble—syrupy West Coast beat knocking so hard it shook dust off the porch railings. Tires crunched slow over gravel, chrome rims catching sunlight like they were dipped in pride. It was a deep-blue '84 Cutlass Supreme, tucked low with candy paint, blacked-out windows, and a Compton soul humming beneath the hood.

Then—doors flung open.

"YO, IMANI!" her voice cut through the trees like a warning and a promise, laced in smoke and steel. She stepped out, tall, brown-skinned and snatched, a whole scene in gold hoops and tight black cargos. Finger waves laid so clean they shimmered. Snatch-a-hoe boots laced to the knee. And the piece? Already cocked off safety, resting like a secret in her manicured grip.

She didn’t come to ask no questions.

“Somebody better tell me where the hell my baby cousin at before I start shootin’ the air,” she yelled, head on a swivel, eyes sharp. “Y’all got this place lookin’ like a summer camp for hardheads and bad decisions. Imani better come out here ‘fore I drag her out by her edges.”

Inside, it was already chaos—boys jumping up from the couch, Roman lifting an eyebrow, Jimmy cracking up and Solo backing slowly toward the kitchen like she wouldn’t see him there.

Josh? He just stood there.

“Who the hell is that?” “Trouble.” “Family.” “Auntie energy with a Glock.”

Then the front door opened and Imani appeared, wide-eyed and exasperated, arms halfway crossed like she knew this was bound to happen one day.

“Girl,” she said, walking out slowly like she was approaching a stray dog and a best friend at the same time. “What the hell you doin’ here?”

Her cousin looked her up and down like she was checking for bruises.

“Block got hot. News got late. I came to see if my blood still breathing.”

They hugged tight, both stubborn, both soft on the inside—but only for each other.

“You coulda texted—”

“I did text. You ain’t answer. I pulled up. Now tell your little brother-boyfriends to get my bags.”

————

The tension had just started to settle when her cousin clocked the baby.

Josh was standing off to the side, baby girl nestled on his hip, giggling like she didn’t just witness a full-blown hood entrance. That soft baby coo cut through the leftover tension like a knife—and her cousin's head snapped to the side so fast it was a miracle her finger waves didn’t shift.

“Who baby is that?!”

Josh blinked. The others froze. Imani didn’t move fast enough.

“Nah, don’t play with me. Don’t play with me, Imani.”

Imani started to open her mouth, hands slightly raised like that might slow her cousin’s fuse.

“I swear on Granny’s green beans, if you tell me that’s y’all baby—”

“It is,” Imani said flat, hands now on hips.

Her cousin stared. One breath. Two.

Then came the cussin'.

“BITCH!” she hollered, voice pitching so high even the birds got quiet. “You mean to tell me you out here playin’ house in the goddamn woods like y’all don’t got streetlights?!”

The baby blinked up at her, calm as a breeze. Josh, still holding her, looked down like he was reconsidering his entire existence.

“And YOU!” she snapped, turning to him with that same fire. “You just out here slingin’ raw peen in my cousin like she ain’t got a future?! Like she some side street project and not the girl we used to call baby first lady?!”

Josh opened his mouth but didn’t get a word out before—

“Shut up. I don’t wanna hear it.” She pulled her piece from her side and slid it right into the waistband of her cargos with a practiced flick. “You done already nutted the evidence, ain't no undoing it now.”

Josh swallowed hard.

Imani covered her face with both hands, muttering, “Lord Jesus, not in front of the child…”

Her cousin turned her glare back on Imani, one brow cocked high like a judge handing down a sentence.

“I swear to God, you gon’ tell me everything. Now. And I’m holdin’ the baby while you do it, 'cause clearly she the only innocent one out here.”

————

Before anyone could take another breath, she spun around and shoved her oversized designer purse into Roman’s broad chest with a thud that made him grunt.

“Aight, Fabio, go get my shit out the trunk,” she said, barely looking at him. “And don’t be nosey ‘bout that gas can and them ropes—I brought that in case this shit was twisted. Gotta stay ready.”

Roman looked down at the bag like it had just bit him. “Who the hell is Fabio?”

She was already stomping toward Josh, ignoring him.

Josh, still holding the baby, raised a brow but said nothing as the little girl reached her arms out—clearly vibing with her auntie’s chaos like it was a lullaby.

“There go my fat-necked princess,” she cooed, snatching the baby from his arms like she’d been waiting her whole life for that moment. “Yeah, you love this crazy ass auntie energy, huh? Imani been tryna make you soft.”

Baby girl let out a wild, wheezy laugh and clapped her hands, one chubby fist smacking her auntie in the cheek.

Josh stood there blinking, caught between being offended and impressed.

That’s when the boys all reacted at once.

Solo leaned in to Jimmy, whispering low but loud enough, “Yo, who the hell is that?”

Jimmy just whistled and said, “I don’t know, but she scares me.”

Jacob was doubled over already, laughing like it was the funniest thing he’d seen since cable went out. “She said gas and ropes. Bro. What kind of welcome home package is that?!”

Roman still hadn’t moved. He just stood there, purse in hand, muttering under his breath, “What in the hell just walked into my house?”

Tasha came out the screen door, spotted her homegirl, and lit up. “Ayyyye—bitch, you made it!”

“Damn right I did,” she hollered back, bouncing the baby on her hip, completely in her element. “I had to. My baby cousin out here in the damn woods raising a family like she ain’t from Compton. She talkin’ ‘bout she found love—I said lemme make sure he still breathin’.”

Josh smirked, arms crossed now, watching her hold his daughter like she’d been there since day one.

Imani sighed, rubbing her temples with one hand and pointing at the house with the other. “Y’all go get her room ready. This gon’ be a long-ass week.”

————-

[bullet-prooflove]

Distance: Roy Kent x Reader

Tagging: @anyamcdonald @elizabeththebat

Roy isn’t looking forward to seeing your name pop up on his phone. He dreads the conversation the two of you are about to have because he knows you’ve seen the papers. He pauses in the corridor that leads to the locker room, his thumb hovering over the button to receive your call. This is not discussion he wants to have in front of all the other shitheads. He grasps the doorknob of the Boot Room instead, steeling himself for the stench before he steps inside.

The screen lights up and he sees your face. It makes something ache in his chest because despite the fact it’s only been a week, he misses you ferociously. You’re in Ireland at the current moment, researching one of the episodes for your true crime podcast and his bed has never felt so empty. He sleeps with his face pressed into your pillow. It’s pathetic.

For a moment he forgets about last night, about his bad behaviour at yet another charity event, that he was forced to attend to appease one of his endorsements. Something about Saving the Pandas or that shit.  Instead, he focuses on you and how fucking beautiful you look in a peach coloured robe that leaves very little to his imagination. He wishes he was there with you, fingers untying that knot, the one that holds the whole thing together.

“Hey.” He says softly as he sits down upon the bench.

“Hi.” You return, tucking your damp hair back behind your ear. “I think you forgot to mention something when you called last night.”

“Would you believe me if I said I didn’t?” He asks you half-heartedly.

“I’ve seen the pictures.” You inform him, your chin coming to rest upon your hand.

“You know they don’t tell the whole story.” He reminds you.

“Roy,” You say in that tone of yours, the one he fucking hates because it makes him feel like he’s being completely irrational. “You headbutted a Booker Prize Winner at a Save the Polar Bear event.”

Polar Bears, not Pandas. He fucking knew it was some kind of bear.

“No.” He corrects you. “I headbutted your ex-boyfriend because he was being a little prick.”

There’s silence between the two of you, he sees you purse your lips together and he sighs because he knows what’s coming, you’re going to ask what he said, and Roy does not want to repeat it. He would rather endure a thousand laps of the fucking pitch that recount the words that came out of that dickhead’s mouth. He doesn’t give a shit that he lost his sponsor, that he made a scene and now he’s the nation’s bad boy. All that matters is you, you knowing that he has your back no matter what.

“You’re not going to tell me what he said are you?”

“No, I’m fucking not.” He tells you, shaking his head.

To be fair he had tried to walk away, he really had but Martin just couldn’t fucking help himself. Of course, your ex had seen that picture of the two of you, the one that the papers had run of him kissing you on the doorstep. You’d managed to keep it on the downlow up until that point. He hadn’t wanted your life to get any more complicated. He had gotten pretty good at dodging the paparazzi but there must have been one camped out.

That kiss…

It had been fucking filthy. You’d ended up coming back into the house and fucking him in the hallway, you didn’t even take your dress off. It had been the day you were travelling to Ireland, and he knows you felt the same way as he did, like you were losing something. You were only going away for a few weeks but you both hate the distance. You’ve become a fixture in his life, a grounding force and Roy’s not afraid to admit that.

“Fuck Roy, I’m sorry…” You begin and he holds his hand up to cut you off because he will not tolerate you apologising for something that wasn’t your fault.

“I’m a big boy.” He tells you forcefully. “I make my own decisions and my decision was to headbutt that gobshite.”

He sees your lips twitch up into a smile and he knows he’s won you over. You know as well as he does what a prick Martin is, it’s why you broke up with him in the first place. That and the fact you caught him fucking a page three model in your bed. Some people really are just cunts.

“Now I need to know yea? Did the nun really burn down the orphanage or was it someone else?” He asks you, referring back to the case you’re working on. “Because that shit has been playing on my mind all morning.”

“You wanna hear what I have so far?” You ask him, picking up your notepad and flicking through the pages. Roy leans back against the shelves, shifting on the bench so he can get a little more comfortable because he is dying to hear the rest of this story. When he hung up with you last night, you were still working on the narrative and refused to share anything after the ad break because it was too raw.

“Yes.” He tells you. “I fucking would.”

Love Roy? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[forestshadow-wolf]

Soap having trouble listening to authority especially if it unnecessarily put lives at risk

Except for ghost, who thinks soap is an excellent who never talks back and always follows orders. Ghost gets confused when another lieutenant says soap was hell to command bc he never listened. And then another time he sees soap back talking another captain, he's not sure what it's about but it's clear that soap is arguing.

Ghost is taken aback by this because never once has he seen soap be this rude and down right disrespectful. He supposes it's fair, soap's been in the military for over a decade and he's only known him for a fraction of that time. But still it's been years since he met soap, and he's never seen soap raise his voice against price, much less himself.

Soap himself does not have a problem with authority. He has a problem with poor authority that will cost people their lives. He's always had a strong sense of justice, even as a kid, and it only grew as he got older. He got in trouble with teachers and eventually cops a lot before he joined the military.

His first lieutenant when he just gout out of boot camp had no problems sending soldiers to dies, as long as the mission was completed. Soap was not a fan. And he didn't hide it. Infact he was very loud about it.

He got sent back to boot three (3) times before they just let him move up the ranks. They had no real grounds to discharge him, and he was a damned good soldier; always top of his class even in his first round of boot. He did eventually learn to pick some of his battles, like if it was a direct order from a general or higher, those couldn't be changed. But Sergents, lieutenants, and captains were fair game for him, even if it was a different squad.

On the topic of price and ghost, well he never had a problem with them, not really anyway. Price valued the life of his men over the success of the mission, and that earned more respect from him than a thousand success missions could have. And ghost, sure he's mission driven, but he doesn't devalue the life of his men.

And sure soap has given counter suggestions on mission planning, but it's always with the best interest in mind and never without backup to support. And sure there have been disagreements, but never out right arguing, or disrespect. Plus he figures price asked for him specifically, by name, even with his "anti-authority" reputation. So he figures if price wasn't open to listening to him he would have asked for him.

Gaz wasn't too surprised, if only because he'd met Soap in passing in the field once or twice. He'd heard how soap had gotten his callsign, being able to clear a room and take down multiple hostiles with quick efficiency. Be he does wonder if it was actually for trying to clean up a captain's act as a private, or maybe having to clean up his own act. All the times he'd met soap before the 141 he'd always known the man to be steamy and hot headed, often getting into fights with his SOs or hell even his fellow Sergents.

But it isn't soap's fault. Really! Trust! See, because every time his SOs or the other sergents made a bad call, and he had to follow orders. And he lost soldiers who didn't have to die? Then that was on him for not speaking up. Their blood was on his hands for not using his voice when he could. And trust him, he's got plenty of blood on his hands, some his fault, some his direct decisions, some because he wouldn't dump it on his privates like his superiors did to him.

Soap has had to lead too many bright eyed soldiers into danger, on a plan that was held together on hash threads and hope, and had to tell them that they'd all get their recognition knowing still that not all of them would make it. He used to go against direct orders, even as a private. It got so bad that he was threatened with dishonorable dischatge on account of going awol and a slew of other things. And had it not been for his family, he wouldn't have cared. Not that his honor didn't mean anything, just that it meant less than peoples' lives, but of course his family always came first before anything else, so he stopped.

Well stopped blatantly going against direct orders. Didn't stop the arguing, got smarter in how he disobeyed, left his position when he had even the barest hint of a valid excuse, started doing little things to make life just a little bit harder. Because he doesn't think that you should just be able to have an easy life of you can knowingly send people off to die without a second thought.

[avastrasposts]

The Pilot and his Girl - Epilogue

One final part of the story to wrap it all up!

Series Master List

Warnings have their own post - Word count: 21.6k (I regret nothing!)

Eight years later

It was the first time since last year you were able to come this far out from Jackson. The snow had been thick on the ground since November, and any patrols this far from Jackson had been postponed until the spring. But even your corner of Wyoming had finally been graced with warm weather and sunshine, the snow melting rapidly, making it crucial for patrols to go further out to make sure there were no threats closing in on your ever growing community. 

Maria and the board had made the right decision when they’d sent you and six experienced men and women this far down the valley. You’d come across a gang of raiders on an abandoned farm after spotting the corpses of two travelers in a ravine. The travelers had been ambushed and all their possessions, including their boots, had been taken from them. Martha, a woman a few years younger than you, was one of the best trackers in Jackson, and she’d picked up the raiders’ trail quick enough. The ensuing attack on their camp had been brutal and swift, leaving the four men dead in minutes. You left the bodies where they fell, as a warning to anyone who came near Jackson. 

Now you and two of the men in your patrol are up on a ridge, surveying the area, looking for signs of travelers or infected. You’d left Frankie at home this morning, with strict instructions to not leave the bed unless it was to pee. He’d stumbled home early yesterday afternoon from his guard shift, shivering under his heavy coat and coughing loudly enough to wake Benny and Eve’s dog across the street. It didn’t take you long to realize that he was running a fever, either a flu or a bad cold. Either way, it had knocked him out for the rest of the evening and he was still drowsy when you left him in bed with a jug of water, sandwiches and a couple of precious, and long since expired, paracetamols. 

You’re used to going on patrol without Frankie these days. It was easier if one of you stayed at home with Jack when he was little, and it felt like you were tempting fate if you both left. Patrols were not as dangerous as they had been in the early days of Jackson, but they still posed a certain risk. You breathed a sigh of relief whenever Frankie returned safely, even if nothing had happened to any of you in years, life was never without risk. But these days Jackson was an imposing enough structure to deter any raiders that came close by, and the patrols that went out were well equipped, well armed and large enough in numbers to handle almost anything. 

The other four in your patrol had split up and followed trails that led away from the farm, looking for any raiders that might’ve gotten away. You hear one of them approach through the underbrush now, calling out a greeting before you see the man. 

“Hey Elijah, did you find anyone?” you ask the dark haired man that appears between the fresh green birch trees. 

“Yeah, but not a raider I think, you’d better come see him,” he replies, pointing over his shoulder. You leave the two men with you up on the ridge and follow Elijah down the narrow trail. 

“What makes you say he’s not a raider?” 

“He’s all beaten up, looks pretty rough, and he’s got a badly sprained ankle,” Elijah says, guiding his horse down through the forest. “Says he got it running from the raiders, fell off a cliff trying to get away from them. And he sure as hell look as if he fell off a clip, all cut and bruised, clothes torn, the man’s a mess.” 

“Was he armed?” 

“No, he has an empty knife sheath on his belt, but no supplies, no bag, nothing on him.”

“Huh, maybe he’s telling the truth then,” you hum, “How did you find him?” 

“Cain sniffed him out, he was hiding in a small hunting cabin, I think he thought we were the raiders, looked pretty damn scared when we kicked the door in.” 

“Did Cain clear him? He’s not infected?” 

“Na, he’s clean for that at least,” Elijah says and nodded towards the small cabin you were approaching, “Kieran’s inside with him.” 

You both dismount and tie your horses to a tree before stepping into the house. It’s really just a shed, a tiny hunting cabin built just to give shelter for a night or two with a small window and an old wood fired stove in the corner, almost rusted all the way through now. On the floor, leaning against the back wall, is a man about your age with black hair. He’s wiping his hand gingerly over his check where the blood from a sharp cut is starting to clot, and he holds his other hand protectively against his chest. The dark jeans are torn in several places and you can see scrapes and scratches through the ripped denim. The light in the cabin is dim and when you step in through the door he looks up at you, squinting against the light from the open door. It takes your brain a few long moments to catch up, to place the face, but then your jaw drops. 

“Tommy?” 

Tommy blinks a couple of times, his eyes widening with surprise, “Holy shit….” he gasps, “I thought you were dead!” 

You shake your head as you take a few steps forward and kneel down in front of the man, taking in more of him, he really looks terrible. 

“I think I’m more alive then you are, Tommy Miller,” you say, taking a closer look at him, “you really do look like you fell off a cliff.” 

“You know this guy?” The tone of surprise in Kieran’s voice reflects your own feelings at stumbling across Tommy in a small Wyoming hunting cabin. 

“Yeah, since way back,” you reply, giving Tommy a smile and he seems to breathe a sigh of relief. 

“I think I have about a hundred questions,” he says with a grin, but he winces as he shifts his weight against the wall and you hold up your hand. 

“Let us fix your ankle first, and your hand too I think right?” 

Tommy nods and you ask Kieran for the first aid kit. Tommy grimaces as you carefully pull off the boot on his right foot and peel back his sock. The ankle is swollen and starting to turn purple and you make Tommy move his toes for you. 

“We’ll get you back to Jackson, that’s our town, and have the doctor check on it, but I don’t think it’s broken. I’ll just wrap it up tight for now,” you say, “KIeran, could you see if we can get Tommy up on Aggy, she should be able to carry both me and Tommy, you can take Argento back.” 

Kieran nods and steps back outside as you open the bag and take out the elastic bandage. 

“What about…Frankie?” Tommy asks, hesitating in his question and you smile. 

“He’s good, back home sick as a dog at the moment with a man-cold, but he’s good,” you say, “we both made it and we’re still here, still married,” you grin, starting to wrap his ankle. 

“I always wondered what happened to you two,” he says, “you just disappeared after Pope died, no one knew where you were,”  Tommy looks up at you and you raise your eyebrows in surprise. 

“Joel didn’t tell you?” you ask, securing the bandage with a small knot. 

“What? He didn’t tell me anything,” Tommy looks confused and you sit back on your heels, perplexed. 

“Huh, I thought for sure he’d tell you…Joel helped us, me and Frankie, to get out of the QZ when we left. I told him to not say anything to Benny and Will, but I thought he’d tell you.”

“Will and Benny left with Diana and Eve a few years ago too,” he says, “I’m guessing now you had something to do with that too?” 

You give Tommy a crooked grin, “Yeah, that was us, and I’m happy to report that they’re all in Jackson too, all doing well. Benny and Eve even had a baby two years ago,” you smile and now it’s Tommy’s turn to look surprised. 

“I feel like I’ve missed something important….” he says and you put your hand out to him. 

“I’ll tell you everything on the way home, come on.” 

Kieran’s got Aggy, a large and steady mare, standing outside as you help Tommy to limp through the door. Together you and Kieran get him up on her back and then you mount her too, sitting in front of Tommy. 

“I’m going to assume a Texas boy like you knows how to stay on a horse?” you ask as you gently nudge Aggy forward. 

“Yeah, but it’s been a while,” he says, hooking his good arm around your waist. 

“I wanna ask you about why you’re here,” you say in a low voice, “but I don’t know if you maybe wanna save that story for later?” 

“Uuh…” Tommy hesitates, “yeah, maybe, but what makes you think I don’t wanna talk about it now?” 

“Because you and Joel were inseparable, and now you’re out here alone,” you say, looking over your shoulder at him, “so either something happened between you, or…something happened to him.” 

“Yeah…” Tommy begins but trails off, watching the forest give way to open land, “he’s not dead, as far as I know, but I left him in Boston.” 

“Ok,” you say, letting the subject rest. You’re relieved to hear that Joel isn’t anywhere near Wyoming, you still haven’t forgiven him for what happened to Frankie, even if it was inadvertent. You don’t want him anywhere near Frankie ever again. 

You tell Tommy about Jackson instead, filling him in on how you all ended up there, reluctantly telling him about the radio tower. It’s rarely used, only when someone wants to find a lost relative or loved one, but you leave that part out. 

“There’s Jackson, right up ahead,” you say, pointing across the open plain in front of the main gate that’s looming in the distance. “We all have guard duty, either on the wall or out on patrol, like I was today.” 

“You get a lot of people out here?” he asks, looking up at the wall as you ride closer. 

“In the beginning there were raiders who attacked from time to time, but I think we’ve wiped out any raiders in the area. If any come close, I think they choose to leave us alone, we’re too strong now, haven’t had an attack in years.” 

“What about infected?” Tommy glances over at Cain who’s running alongside Kieran’s horse. 

“Yeah, sometimes, we still have to be careful. But we’re starting to figure out how they move with the seasons,” you say, “and in the winter they’re as snowed in as we are.” 

You ride through the gate, waving to the guards, and carry on down the street towards the clinic. Diana runs it these days, with Eve as one of the nurses, and they spot you as you stop Aggy outside and slide off. Eve comes out first, wiping her hands and squinting up at Tommy with a professional eye and not recognizing him with his cuts and bruises. 

“You look pretty banged up,” she says, “let’s get you checked in and we’ll clean you up.”

“Eve,” you smile, “it’s Tommy Miller, from Boston, Benny’s cousin.” 

Tommy gives an awkward wave as you help him slide off Aggy to land unsteadily on one leg. Eve stares at him in confusion as Diana comes out behind her to see what the new patient needs. 

“Tommy?” she gasps, taking two long steps forward and staring at him with such intensity that he chuckles, holding on to you for balance. 

“Surprise,” he grins, holding out a hand dramatically and Eve giggles, finally finding herself again as she pulls him into a hug. 

“Holy shit, what are you doing here?” 

“Long story,” Tommy begins and you cut him off. 

“You’ve got a badly twisted ankle and a sprained wrist, save the story for after Diana has done her thing, please.” 

“Yeah, reunion later, let’s get you taken care of,” Diana says, going into doctor mode, “But it’s good to see you, Tommy. Benny and Will are going to be really happy to have you here.” 

You leave Tommy with Diana and Eve, and take Aggy to the stable before you go and find Benny and Will. They were on patrol too today and should be back already, and you find them both at Benny and Eve’s house, with Benny’s daughter Lily. Benny is feeding her with mixed success while Will watches from across the kitchen, arms crossed over his chest, chuckling at his brother’s attempts at convincing the two year old to eat mashed peas. 

“Hi,” you say as you step in after knocking, smiling at Lily who gives you a big grin, pushing her dad’s hand away again.

“Hey, how was the patrol?” Will asks and you can’t help your wide grin. 

“You’ll never guess who I found,” you chuckle as both men look up at you, “Tommy Miller.” 

“What?!” Benny stands up so fast Lily gets scared and immediately starts crying, “our Tommy?” 

“How many ‘Tommy Miller’ do you know, Benny?” you laugh, “Yeah, the one and only. He’s got a sprained ankle and is at the clinic with Diana and Eve. I wanted to let you know so we can go over there straight away.” 

Will is halfway to the door already and Benny quickly picks up Lily, her peas forgotten. 

“How did he end up out here?” Will asks as he pulls on his boots. 

“I don’t know yet, I didn’t know if he wanted to tell the whole story in front of people he doesn’t know, Kieran and Elijah were with me on the patrol.” You take Lily from Benny as he gets his shoes on and the four of you leave the house, walking towards the clinic. 

“He did tell me that Joel is still in Boston, or at least he was when he left. We found him in a small cabin and he’s been pretty banged up. He said he was running from raiders when he fell off a cliff and hurt his ankle.” 

“Shit, he’s lucky to be alive,” Will says, taking long strides and you have to jog to keep up with the two tall men. You soon reach the clinic and walk inside to find Eve manning the small desk set up just inside. Lily immediately reaches for her mom and you hand her over. 

“He’s in the first exam room with Diana,” Eve says as Benny gives her a quick kiss and you follow Will and his brother down the short hallway. The door to the room is open and Will gives the door frame a quick knock before he steps inside with Benny in tow.

“Shit, it really is you!” Benny exclaims as Will takes a few quick steps over to Tommy and gives him a big hug. 

“Man, so good to see you, but how the fuck did you find us all the way out here? Will chuckles and gives Tommy a careful clap on the shoulder before Benny steps in and hugs him. 

“Long fucking story,” Tommy grins, slapping away Benny’s hand as he ruffles Tommy’s long curls. 

“You need a haircut, cuz, how long have you been on the road for?” 

“I lost count, what month are we in now?” Tommy shakes his head and sighs, the grin slipping from his face. 

“May 8th,” Will says, “spring was late this year.” 

“Shit, May already?” Tommy says, rubbing his good hand over his face, “Let’s see, I left Boston March last year, I joined the Fireflies about two years before then, I just had to do something about the way things were going, the QZ is grim,” he grimaces, “and then a group of us transferred to Pittsburgh and from there to Kansas City.” 

“Why’d you leave Joel behind? Will asks and Tommy glances at him before he drops his eyes. 

“You know Joel, how he is after Sarah. He believes in nothing, doesn’t think there’s any point to anything. I couldn’t live like that, so I joined the Fireflies so that I could make a difference at least and Joel didn’t agree with it. Called them a bunch of delusional idiots who were going to get themselves killed, we had a big fight about it,” Tommy sighs again and shakes his head, “It got nasty, we didn’t speak much the last year I was in Boston.” 

“He still smuggling?” Benny asks and Tommy nods. 

“Yeah, he and Tess, risking their lives every time they leave the QZ. They live together now, or they did when I left. I thought maybe she’d soften him a bit but…I don’t know…” Tommy shrugs and looks at you, you’ve furrowed your brow at the mention of Tess’s name, “she’s as broken as he is and she calls the shots, Joel’s her muscle.” 

“He hasn’t changed then?” you ask, still standing at the door, and Tommy shakes his head. “If you’re asking if he still deals drugs, yeah, he does, and he still uses them,” Tommy shakes his head again, “I miss him, he’s my brother, but I had to get away from him.” 

“So what happened to make you leave Kansas City?” Will asks. 

“The Fireflies were setting up a base out in Salt Lake City and I got sent there. But…I guess I was starting to see where Joel was coming from,” Tommy shrugs and looks at Will, “the Fireflies weren’t making any difference, you know? Just creating more violence in the QZ’s, so I was trying to find a way to leave them on the way out to Utah. But then we got attacked by raiders. A few of us got away but they were hunting us, I got caught by one of them and he beat me up a bit. But I managed to knock him out and ran, didn’t stop running for hours I think. And then I fell down that fucking cliff and busted my ankle and wrist,” Tommy waves his bandaged arm and gives a crooked grin, “And I thought I was really done for it when two guys with a huge dog turned up and sniffed me out, but then she walks in, I was sure I was hallucinating.” 

You can’t help but smile, Tommy’s relief is palpable as he grins at you, “If you want to stay, we’ll put in a good word with Maria,” you say, “she’s the head of the board that runs Jackson, we always need more people we can trust.” 

“We should probably head over and tell her about you now, and see where we should house you and see about getting some food for you,” Will nods and gives Tommy a hand up from the exam table as Diana comes back in with a pair of crutches. 

“Food would be amazing,” he replies, “Diana was kind enough to give me some jerky but I can’t remember when I last had a proper meal.” 

“The community hall, where the cantina is, is next door,” Will says, “Let’s get you over there and then we’ll get Maria to come see you, saves you trying to hobble all across town.” 

“I’m going to go home and check on Frankie, I haven’t been back yet,” you step back to let Will help Tommy out through the door of the clinic, “and then I’ll get Maria.” 

“Alright, see you over there,” Will says and you head off back home. 

Frankie is where you left him, in bed, dozing with a book next to him. It doesn’t look like he’s gotten through a single page of it, but he doesn’t look as pale as he did this morning. He’s sleeping peacefully so you go back downstairs and heat up some soup for him. 

Jack tumbles through the door as you’re ladeling it into a bowl, back from school. He turned nine a few months ago and he’s growing into a mischievous little boy, all too willingly helped by his uncle Benny. He goes to the small Jackson community school, run by an elderly, former high school teacher who was brought to Jackson by her son. Jack isn’t the oldest child in Jackson anymore, over the years, small families have found their way here, mainly through sheer luck. But he’s still the only child who’s been here almost since the beginning and to him, Jackson is his entire world. Which is why he so eagerly listens to any stories about the world before the outbreak, you think they might sound like fairy tales to him, his; ‘Once upon a time…’

 To Frankie’s pride, the helicopters he’d given Jack on his first Christmas was a huge success, and stories about Frankie flying were still his favorites. 

“I’m gonna bring up some soup for your dad,” you tell him after he’s given you a hug, “Do you want some?” 

“No, I promised Benny I’d come over and play with Lily while he makes dinner,” Jack says, throwing his school bag on the table and then hanging it on its peg on the wall after a look from you. 

“They’re down at the community center with a new arrival,” you say, “I actually found one of their cousins, Tommy, when I was on patrol today and we brought him back. He’d sprained his ankle so Diana took care of him first and now they’re getting him some food.” 

“Oh, can I go down and see him?” Jack asks, already getting to his feet, always eager to meet any new people in Jackson. 

“Yeah, I thought you might like that,” you grin, “run ahead, I’m going to give Frankie this and see if he’s awake and check how he’s doing.”

“Ok, I’ll see you later!” Jack yells and takes off, slamming the door behind him. You’re pretty sure Frankie will be awake when you go upstairs, thanks to that. Putting the soup on a tray with a glass of water and some bread, you take it upstairs and gently push the door to the master bedroom open. 

“Hey,” Frankie says in a sleepy voice, “patrol go ok?” It’s always his first question whenever you come back, his worry less now but still always simmering when you leave Jackson without him. 

“Yeah, better than ok,” you say, putting the tray on the bedside table and smiling at him, “Elijah and Kieran found a man in a cabin, lightly injured after running from raiders, and I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw him,” you pause for dramatic effect and Frankie raises his eyebrows, “It was Tommy Miller,” you grin, “just sitting on the floor of a cabin a few miles from Jackson.” 

“Tommy Miller?” Frankie's eyes widen in surprise and then you see the flash of worry that you’d felt and you’re not surprised about his next question, “And Joel?” 

“Not here, Tommy left him back in Boston.” 

“Oh,” Frankie says, his face slipping into a tired smile, “did you tell Benny and Will yet?” 

“Yeah, I took Tommy to Diana first and then told them, they’re with him now,” you reply and sit down next to Frankie on the bed, putting your hand on his forehead, “How are you feeling baby? You look a little bit better but you still seem tired.” 

“A little bit better, I think the fever broke, but I’m really tired,” he leans into your palm as you caress his cheek, running your thumb over his small bald patch. 

“I brought some soup, you didn’t eat anything all day did you?” 

“No, I slept most of the time,” he yawns and leans his head on your shoulder, wrapping his arms around your waist, “I was having weird dreams, you turned blue, and then butterflies landed on you and Jack kept telling me it was perfectly normal for this time of year.” 

You chuckle lightly, running your fingers through his tangled curls, trying to smooth them out, as Frankie sighs and pulls you down onto the bed so that he can curl into you. 

“How about some food, Frankie?” you say softly, still stroking his hair. 

He shakes his head, “Stay with me like this just for a little bit, I missed you,” he tucks his arm in under you and pulls you closer, the tip of his nose buried against your neck, “Tell me what Tommy said,” he mumbles, “how did he get out here?”

You begin to tell him what Tommy had told you, but it doesn’t take long before you hear his breathing slow down and he slips back into sleep. You carefully kiss the top of his head and untangle yourself from his arms, tucking him in again. The soup is left uneaten on the bedside table but you cover it and take it back downstairs. 

You leave Frankie sleeping and walk down to the community center, where Tommy is just polishing off his second bowl of stew while he chats with Will and Benny. Maria sits next to them and as you walk over they all laugh at something Tommy says. Maria is smiling and looking at the newest Miller with a look you haven’t seen on her before. 

“Hi,” you greet them all and sit down next to Jack who’s also at the table, mopping up his own stew with some bread, “Frankie says hello Tommy, but he’s gone back to sleep, he’ll see you when he’s better.”

“How’s Fish doing? Is it just a man-cold or the real deal?” Benny grins and you give him a mock scowl. 

“He’s actually sick, but his fever broke so he’s doing better, just really tired.” 

“The flu has been going around,” Maria says, “Pat and Linda were sick last week too.” She turns back to Tommy and gives him a smile, “So, now you know how things work around here, and we could really use someone like you here too, especially seeing as you’re family to some of our oldest residents, do you want to stay?” 

“Yeah, if you guys will have me, absolutely”, Tommy says, nodding as he looks around the table, “I’d really like to stay, and I’ll do whatever you need me to do to help out.”

“Tommy used to work in construction before the outbreak,” Will says, “he’ll be a great asset to the building team.” 

“Great, that’s really great,” Maria says and stands up as she smiles at Tommy again, “Will and Benny can show you to the house but it might be easier for you to stay with one of them until you’re healed up.” 

“Thanks, I really appreciate this, Maria,” Tommy says, smiling back at her and you catch Will’s eye as he winks at you with a grin. 

…

Tommy settles in easily, both with Will and Diana, where he stays until his ankle has healed, and in Jackson. You start remembering how easy Tommy was to hang out with at the old bar back in Boston when Joel wasn’t around, as he becomes a regular at Sunday night dinners. It’s only natural that Tommy joins these weekly dinners that you have with the two Miller brothers and their wives, but you’re not surprised when Maria starts coming to them too. The flirting between the two of them is obvious and Will has to slap Benny over the head when he ribs Tommy too hard about it. A few months after Tommy arrived in Jackson, they’re officially a couple and it doesn’t take long before Tommy moves in with Maria and as time moves along, it feels as if he’s always been part of the community, and your worry about Joel lessens. 

…

The short Wyoming summer is already starting to fade as you join Maria on a patrol and hunting trip up towards the foothills of the Rockies a few months later. You’ve stopped up on a ridge that overlooks Jackson for your lunch break, letting your horses graze nearby. Even though you’re on high alert, it’s peaceful up here, and Jackson looks like any small settler town down on the plain. 

“I’m glad you could come with me on this patrol,” Maria suddenly says, looking over at you, “I wanted to talk to you about something that might be sensitive.” 

“Sounds serious,” you reply, handing her one of the sandwiches from your pack. 

“Hopefully not,” she shakes her head, “but I don’t know if you know, Tommy asked to use the radio to contact his brother back in Boston, to let him know that he’s alive, which I was fine with and he talked to him last week.” 

You feel your skin go cold as you continue to look down at Jackson and Maria seems to sense the shift. 

“I told him not to say where he was, too much of a risk of someone listening in, but I saw no harm in him talking to his brother. But I can see that you think differently,” Maria pauses and keeps her eyes on you. 

“How did you know I’d have an opinion about who Tommy talks to?” you ask, turning to meet her gaze. 

“Will,” she replies, “Tommy told him he’d talked to Joel and Will came to me afterwards and said I should talk to you.” 

You nod and look back out towards Jackson, it still looks peaceful but it’s like you can feel Joel drawing closer. 

“Is there something in Tommy’s background that I need to know about?” Maria asks and you inhale, slowly letting the air slip out again as you look down at the toes of your boots before turning fully to Maria. 

“I’m only telling you mine and Frankie’s story, Tommy has to tell you his part with Joel, that’s not for me to say anything about,” you begin and look up at her, and she nods, so you continue 

“You know Frankie was in the army for years before the outbreak, with Will and Benny, that’s how they met” you begin, “They all have different scars from those days, and they’ve all handled them differently. Frankie, unfortunately, had really bad PTSD, and he didn’t handle it in the best way….” you sigh and glance back at Jackson, it feels like you’re betraying Frankie by telling Maria but she needs to know if you’re to protect him from Joel getting to Jackson, because of course, Tommy wants his brother here too. 

“Frankie developed a drug addiction,” you say, looking back at Maria who raises her eyebrows.

“Your Frankie?” she says with surprise, “he’s the last person I would think had a drug problem, he doesn’t even get tipsy at the bar.” 

“That’s the reason, he knows too well how easily he falls into it,” you reply, “and when I met him he’d gotten past that. He told me everything, the PTSD, the drugs, how he really hit rock bottom, and how he pulled himself together again. He’d put his life back together again when we met.” 

“Good for him, that’s not easy,” Maria says as she pours you both tea from a thermos and you take the mug she holds out. 

“Yeah, he had a lot of help from his friends, from Benny and Will, but mostly from a man called Santiago, you’ve probably heard about him.” 

“Yeah, you guys mention him sometimes, he’s the one you call ‘Pope’ right?” 

You nod, the usual twinge of grief in your heart as you think about Santi, “That’s him. He let Frankie sleep on his couch when he was at his lowest, lost his job, his apartment, he had nothing left, and Santi kept him afloat. And then Frankie’s girlfriend at the time got pregnant, and with Pope’s help, Frankie managed to get clean so that he could be a good dad for the baby, a girl called Lucía.” 

Maria sighs and you see a shade of a grief pass over her face, “Since she didn’t come to Jackson with you, I guess she didn’t make it?” 

You turn back to look at Jackson, rubbing a hand over your face. Certain memories from the past eighteen years are harder to look back on than others and as the scenes from the roadside outside Franklin floats up into your mind, tears well up and you swallow hard before you speak. 

“She died on one of the first days. Frankie and I were trying to get to her, she was staying with her mom on outbreak day, but we were too late. It broke Frankie,” you say, your voice unsteady as you drag the heel of your hand over your eyes, “And I know you understand.” 

You’d seen Maria’s little shrine to her son Kevin in her house, and noted how Tommy had added Sarah to it a little while ago. 

“I’m sorry,” Maria reaches out and puts her hand on your arm, “I didn’t realize he had a daughter too.” 

“He never talks about her to others, not even Jack knows, Frankie’s gonna tell him when he’s a bit older. But losing her, and then working for FEDRA, triggered his PTSD again. He was in bad shape and it was harder getting out of it this time, I had to try so hard…” you shake your head and Maria sits silently next to you until you draw a deep breath and continue. 

“Eventually we made it to Boston, we’d met Tommy and Joel just before we got there so we all arrived together and Frankie and the others started working together as smugglers, without me.” 

“You knew Tommy and Joel before the outbreak right?” Maria asks and you nod. 

“I met them once, we spent a fourth of July weekend together, so I didn’t know them well. But Joel, back then, he was a nice guy. Great with both his daughter and Lucía, seemed much more on top of things than Tommy,” you smile and Maria chuckles. “But after Sarah and ten years after the outbreak…he was very different. Not the same man at all,” you say, “He doesn’t seem to care about anyone except maybe Tommy. And the worst thing was, he brought out the worst in Frankie, Joel had no qualms about using violence to get what he wanted or needed, and it rubbed off on Frankie. Frankie’s not a violent man, none of them are, but they can be very violent when they have to. And Joel gave Frankie the permission to be as violent as possible…”

 You stop for a minute, gathering your thoughts as you remember the darkest days in Boston. 

“Frankie’s PTSD got bad, it was never really gone, not after Lucía, but it got really bad when he worked with Joel. And then Joel found a guy that could supply drugs,” you look over at Maria, “You probably don’t know, but because of Frankie’s addiction, Will, Benny and Pope were dead set against dealing any kind of drugs when they were smuggling. But Joel didn’t have the same reservation. And Frankie got addicted again…” 

“And Joel supplied them to him?” 

“Yeah, he did, but in Joel’s defense, he was using them too and he didn’t know Frankie used to be addicted. And when Frankie told him, Joel cut Frankie off and stopped selling to him. But there was another smuggler, Tess, that Tommy and Joel started working with, and she continued to sell to Frankie. And now, apparently, they’re pretty tight. Tommy said they’re living together, but…listen, Maria,” you turn back to her, taking your eyes off the view as you take hold of her hand to make your point crystal clear, “I do not want Joel Miller in Jackson. I’m sorry he lost his daughter, but he’s not a good man anymore, and if he comes here, I’m scared what he’ll bring with him and what it’ll do to Frankie.” 

Maria nods and holds your hand tight, “I agree with you, I only know Joel from what Tommy has already told me, but it’s enough for me to know that we don’t want someone like him here, even though Tommy loves him.” 

“But Tommy talked to him already?” 

“Yeah, but only to let him know that he’s alive and well, I told him not to tell Joel where we are.” 

“Sean knows what radio tower we’re broadcasting from, so Joel will know Tommy’s in Wyoming.” You get to your feet, nerves starting to grate on your limbs and you need to move so you pace along the ridge. 

“Maybe you should talk to Tommy?” Maria suggests, “make sure he knows you’re worried what’ll happen if Joel comes here.”

“And tell Tommy he can’t see his only living family member again?” You look at Maria and shake your head, “I can’t do that, much as I don’t want Joel here.” 

“Then talk to him and just tell him how you feel at least, Tommy knows what kind of man Joel is, he might come to the same conclusion as you, without you having to tell him.” 

“You think he’ll listen to that?” 

“Maybe, Tommy loves Joel but he did tell me about what the two of them used to do as smugglers, and he knows I think Joel was a dark influence on him. I think he’ll see it the same way for Frankie.”

“Yeah, ok, if you think he’ll understand,” you reply as Maria starts packing up the lunch. 

“He will, Joel was a big influence on him, but he’s been away from him for a long time now, he’ll understand.” 

…

You and Maria make it back to Jackson early in the evening and you drop off the rabbits you’ve managed to snare at the butches, bringing home some fresh deer meat in exchange. Jack is at the kitchen table as you come through the door and Frankie is peeling potatoes. From the conversation you can hear drifting out into the hall, Jack is trying to understand how the dam that supplies the electricity works, and Frankie is going through the different steps as you walk in. 

“Hey mom,” Jack says as you press a kiss to the top of his head, before putting the meat in the fridge. Frankie wipes his hands and pulls you into his side with an arm around your waist, tilting your head up with a hand on your cheek so that he can kiss you. 

“Welcome home, hermosa,” he mumbles as Jack makes retching noises in the background and you giggle. Jack’s at the age where any sign of physical affection between adults is the most embarrassing thing ever and Frankie loves teasing him about it. Wrapping both arms around you he buries his face against your neck and places loud, smacking kisses all along your throat as you try to fight him off, laughing at Jack’s loud protests behind you. 

“Nooo, stop,” he wails, “that’s so icky!” 

You can feel Frankie shaking with laughter under your hands as you finally manage to push him off. You’re laughing too and Jack shakes his head in the most indignant way as you bite the inside of your cheek, trying to stop the laughter. 

“C’mon Jack,” Frankie grins, “before you know it you’ll be desperate to kiss Simona, just give it a few more years, you’ll be asking Benny for advice.”

“Noooooo,” Jack howls and buries his head in his arms, “I’m not listening!”  

You slap Frankie’s chest but you’re still smiling, “Don’t send him to Benny for girl advice, Frankie!” 

“Fine, you can come to me for advice, Jack. I clearly know what I’m doing,” he grins at you and you have to roll your eyes at his mischievous smile. 

“I’m still not listening,” Jack mumbles from under his arms. 

“It’s fine, Jack, you can come out, I won’t let him kiss me again,” you laugh and Jack’s head pops up as you swat away Frankie’s grabby hands and he gives you a look as if you’ve just kicked his puppy.

“Mujer malvada,” he pouts, going back to the potatoes in the sink and you stick your tongue out at him before you start cleaning the fish that’s going to be dinner.  

“Have I told you how I met your mom, Jack?” Frankie asks, looking over his shoulder at the boy, who shakes his head.

“It better not be gross,” he says, “if it’s gross, I’m leaving.” 

“No, I promise, nothing gross, but I was at this bar with Benny, Will and Pope and she came in with some friends and I thought she was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen,” Frankie winks at you and you’re not surprised to feel butterflies in your stomach even now as he smiles softly. 

“I was trying to be sly and look at her without her noticing, but she saw me straight away and I got all shy, didn’t know what to do with myself,” Frankie chuckles at the memory of the night at The Outback Bar. “And then Pope saw that I was looking at her and he started staring and then Benny and Will turned around and looked too and your mom got all nervous and- “ 

“I did not!” you protest laughing, “I suddenly had four big guys staring at me from across the bar, it was a bit disconcerting, but I was not nervous!” 

“You were totally nervous because we were checking you out, but you only had eyes for me, hermosa,” Frankie smiles. 

“It’s getting gross!!” Jack warns from the table and it makes you both laugh again. 

“So Pope said I should go and ask for her number, but I was too shy, I didn’t think someone like her would want to talk to me,” Frankie smiles at you again and you give him a wink before going back to the fish. 

“Wait,” Jack says, “what number? Why did you need a number from her?” 

“So back before the outbreak we had telephones, kinda like radios, but every telephone had a unique number and if you dialed it, you got to that specific telephone. So I wanted the number for her telephone so that I could call and talk to her,” Frankie explains and Jack nods. He’s used to things from before the outbreak needing to be explained and it constantly amazes you how normal he seems to think this world is, but of course, it’s the only world he’s known. 

“So I was too shy to go ask for her number,” Frankie says, “But Pope bet me money that I wouldn’t have the guts to do it, and that made me go up and talk to her.” 

“And then I wouldn’t give him my number,” you laugh, “he came up to me just as they were closing the bar and I didn’t want to give my number to this random guy, even though he was kinda cute.” 

“I was devastated, Jack!” Frankie says, throwing his arms out for dramatic effect and making Jack giggle, “She was so beautiful and had this amazing smile and I really wanted to get to know her but she just turned me down and then she and her friends were leaving.” Frankie looks over at you with a tender smile, “It was like electricity when you looked at me across the bar, hermosa, and then you broke my heart.” 

“So what happened?” Jack asks, interested against his will, leans forward on the table. 

“I had to go back to Pope and tell him I didn’t get her number and he was nice enough to not tease me too much about it,” Frankie says, smiling at the memory, “And then we left the bar, I was going to drive everyone home, and as we were walking across the parking lot I hear someone call my name, and I turn around.” Frankie’s finished with the potatoes and places them on the stove and turns it on before sitting down at the table next to Jack. “She was walking towards me across the lot and I was rooted to the spot like a fool,” he chuckles, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck as he looks up at you, “But Pope, he gave me a shove and made me move, so we met in the middle and she asked me for my phone and then she gave me her number.” 

“And then I kissed you,” you say from the counter, wiping your hands clean from the fish as you smile at him. 

“And then you kissed me,” Frankie says, and his eyes soften as he meets yours, “And I was a goner, I think I fell in love with you right there.” 

“Gross,” Jack says, breaking the spell and Frankie laughs, reaching out and pulling you down on his lap. 

“Not gross at all, it was the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he smiles and Jack shoves his chair back from the table. 

“I’m leaving,” he announces and you hear him thunder up the stairs, “I’m gonna get my bag and toothbrush!”

“His toothbrush? Were we that gross today?” you ask, confused, and Frankie chuckles. 

“He’s sleeping over at Mike and Jesse’s place, he asked me when he got back from school and since it’s a Friday, I said ok and we get the house to ourselves tonight…” Frankie’s hand slides up to grip the back of your neck and pull you closer, brushing his nose against yours before he gently kisses you. 

“Did you already make plans?” you smile between Frankie’s soft kisses and he nods. 

“Dinner and then an early night I think, I definitely need to lay down and be in a horizontal position for most of the evening, and I think you should join me.” 

“You’re such a dork, Francisco Morales,” you say, cupping his cheek with your hand as you feel him grin against your lips. 

“I love it when you use my full name, I know I did good when that happens,” he kisses you again but you hear Jack come thundering down the stairs so you pull back and stand up. 

“You’ve got everything?” you ask him as he comes into the kitchen and he holds up his backpack and pillow. 

“Yeah, I think so,” he says and you bend down and give him a hug and a kiss. 

“Have fun sweetie, don’t let Jesse scare you and Mike with ghost stories again ok?” 

“I’m not scared of those anymore mom,” he protests, “they’re not real.” 

“Alright then, good to know,” you laugh as Frankie comes over and gives Jack a hug too. 

“Sleep well, gordito, see you tomorrow morning.” 

“Ok, see ya tomorrow!” 

Jack wriggles out of Frankie’s tight hug and gives you a big grin and disappears out through the front door. Frankie immediately takes your hands and puts them up around his neck so that he can wrap his own around your waist. 

“I have plans, hermosa,” he smiles, leaning his forehead against yours. 

“Dinner first, Morales,” you say, making him walk backwards to the kitchen where the potatoes are boiling on the stove, “but then you’ve got free range, you can fuck me however you want, come wherever you want…” you trail off, placing a kiss on his soft lips as he groans. 

“You’re killing me, cariño.”  

…

“Let me hear it, bebita, please,” Frankie growls, digging his fingers into your thigh, holding you open as you arch your back and choke back a moan, “The house is empty, you know I love hearing what I do to you.” 

“Oh god, Frankie…” you pant as he bends his head back to your heated clit and circles his tongue around it again, “pleasepleaseplease,” you plead, fingers grabbing his curls to urge him on. You hear him groan into you as he tightens his grip on your hips, licking and sucking, his nose slipping through your folds as he lets his tongue taste you. His hips are grinding into the bed, seeking any relief. You know he’s rock hard and leaking, he’s groaning into your soft heat, lapping at your opening as you writhe underneath him. 

He’s taken his time tonight, he only rushed you upstairs after dinner, slowing down as he got you to the bedroom. Asking you to take your clothes off slowly, one item at a time while he watched. You’d seen him grow hard, palming himself through his jeans, a mischievous smile making his mouth twitch as you pulled your t-shirt over your head, letting your hands skim over your breasts on the way down to your pants. 

When he had you naked and lying back on the covers, he pulled his own shirt off and climbed up between your legs, pushing them apart with his knees. Sinking back on his heels he took his time looking over your body, his warm palms skimming over your legs, caressing the soft skin on the inside of your thighs. When finally made space for his wide shoulders between your legs, you were moaning, begging him to touch you where you needed it the most. 

Now he’s lazily letting his tongue flick across your clit, holding you open with one hand as his other begins to tease your opening, one thick finger sliding in, your arousal letting him push it in with no resistance. 

“Fuck…Frankie…” you keen, “more, give me more…” and he chuckles, you can feel the vibrations across your heated skin as you try to press your core closer to his mouth, his fingers. 

“Relax, bebita,” he mumbles, his lips brushing over your clit with every word, his tongue lapping over it again, making you whimper, “we have all night.” 

But he pulls out his finger, and slides two back in, curling them as he pushes deep and then out, slowly. Setting a steady pace, he knows exactly how to make your back arch as he holds your hips down with a heavy arm over your belly, fingers and tongue working together to make you come undone. You can feel your muscles tighten as your mind unravels, all there’s room for is how he makes you tremble and whimper, trying to remember how to breathe. 

You grab hold of his curls, twisting your fingers around them, pulling him closer. When you glance down you see him looking up your body, dark eyes watching your chest heave as you gasp for air. 

“Frankie…” you moan, dropping your head back onto the pillow, the sight of him, your legs spread wide around his shoulders, too much to handle as he curls his fingers back and increases his rhythm. You hear him mumble against your skin, incoherent words that pulls your coil tighter. 

He’s pushing your leg up, moving to give himself more leverage, leaving your clit for a moment to lick a broad stripe up from where his fingers are knuckle deep, to the very apex. He feels your pussy start to clamp down harder around him and he knows you’re close. Glancing up at you again he seals his lips around the swollen button and pulls it into his mouth, making you cry out, tightening your fingers in his hair. He doesn’t let up, moaning into you, his fingers finding every nerve ending as they slide through the silky heat. He pushes himself up on his knees, groaning as the movement makes his pants rub against the aching head of his cock, but the new position lets him spread you open, gives him more leverage and he uses it to increase the pressure on your clit. 

Your mouth falls open, strangled cries escaping as the coil tightens in every muscle. You can feel him grab your thigh, his fingers digging in as he holds himself together, intent on making you topple over the edge. Forcing your eyes open you look down at him, on his knees, the dark curls on the top of his head brushing over your belly as he buries his face between your legs. He’s growling into you and as he quickly slips in a third finger, stretching you open, his tongue flicking hard over your clit, you feel yourself explode. 

“Frankie, fuck…d-don’t… “ You close your eyes against the onslaught, colors dancing behind your eyelids as his movements continue to shoot electricity through your muscles, thick fingers keeping you open, his shoulder forcing your legs to spread wide as his tongue laps across, and then around, your overwrought bundle of nerves. 

He feels your grip on his hair loosen, the muscles in your legs go limp around him, and he slowly gives your clit a final, soft, kiss, his fingers slipping out. You’re gasping for air as he leans his head against the plush inside of your thigh, relishing in the softness of the flesh and the sight in front of him. He can feel the heat coming from your folds, puffy and shining, slick with your arousal and his saliva, and as he lets his eyes trail up your body he meets your drowsy eyes. 

“You back with me?” he smiles, giving your thigh a soft kiss. 

“Just about,” you smile back at him, “I lost a few seconds there.” You reach down and take his hand, tugging slightly on it, “Come here, take those pants off and fuck me, Francisco Morales.” 

He groans at your words, his cock twitching and reminding him of how painfully hard it is, and he lets your fumbling fingers open the buttons when he reaches your mouth. You can taste yourself on him, smell it on his beard, it’s slick against your cheek when he slides his tongue into your mouth. 

“Got..got to get ‘em off…” he mutters, struggling to keep kissing you and push the stubborn jeans down his legs. He groans as the rough denim scrapes across his cock tenting in the soft cotton of his boxers.

“Oh fuck it,” he snaps and pushes himself up off the bed and you can’t help but laugh as he stumbles back, tugging at his pants, kicking them off his feet and rushing to crawl up the bed to you again. 

“I need to fuck you so badly now,” he growls, grabbing your hand and moving it down between your bodies, making you close your fingers around him. He’s hot and velvety to the touch, you love the feel of him like this, so hard you can feel every ridge and vein, every twitch as your hand caresses the heavy weight of his cock. 

He moans into your mouth, hips thrusting into your hand, and you guide the head to brush across your clit, gathering the slick that still coats you. The feel of him across your sensitive clit makes you shiver as he moans again, a low rumble coming from deep inside him. He drops his head against your shoulder, pushing your legs apart with his hips, letting you guide him inside. 

“Always so good, cariño,” he mutters, pushing his thick length in, inching it deeper with shallow thrusts, “always so fucking good, bebita.” 

Wrapping your legs around his waist, you take him deep, as he tries to hold himself up over you, but you pull him down. He always thinks he’s too heavy on top, but you love to feel him over you, his hot skin sliding against yours, crushing you down into the bed, wide shoulders and arms caging you in underneath him. 

“I want you closer Frankie,” you mumble, your arms around his shoulder, tangling your fingers in the long curls at the back of his neck, pulling him down, “I love feeling you weighing me down.” 

You reach up and find his lips, feeling him breath into your mouth as he starts thrusting into you, grunting, panting hard. “Love looking up and seeing only you above me, only you Frankie,” you whisper and he whimpers, you can feel him stutter and pick up his speed, moaning into you.

“You feel so good, baby,” you kiss his open mouth, “make me feel so good, so full, so fucking full of you, so thick, so hard.” 

You wrap your legs tighter around him, rocking up to meet his thrusts, “Fuck me harder Frankie, you feel so good like this,” you’re mumbling against him, your hands holding him close to you, he’s panting, groaning and every sound you pull from him makes your own arousal build again. 

As he changes his angle, you moan, squeezing your eyes shut, he’s hitting something deep inside that shoots sparks through your limbs. 

“You’re gonna make me come again, please, make me come again…” you can’t stop yourself from crying out as he sinks his teeth into your lip, his dark eyes glinting above you. 

He’s moving faster, pushing himself deeper, each thrust grazing over your clit, sending sharper sparks through your body with each pass. 

“Come on then,” he growls, almost an order, “come for me again and I’ll fuck you so full, cariño, I’m so…fuck…close,” he groans, his rhythm faltering and it hits you like a truck, your body tries to arch up against him, his weight keeping you pressed against the bed as you cry out, almost a sob, digging your fingers into his shoulders. 

Frankie’s breath catches in his throat, through your own haze you hear him shout, he’s grinding into you, groaning loudly into your ear as he struggles to hold himself up under the onslaught of his climax, his groans turns to whimpers and you pull him down on top of you, not caring about his heavy weight. 

His face is pressed against your shoulder, and he turns his head, drawing a deep breath as he feels your pulse race under the delicate skin on your throat. He looks at the way it thrums, your breathing slowing down as you relax under him, your body soft and pliant. Your fingers move from his shoulders, he knows he’ll feel marks there tomorrow, and up into his hair, caressing slowly through the tangled curls, scratching his scalp. 

He hums, melting into you, he knows he should move, get his weight off you, but you're warm, soft, like velvet under him, and his body doesn’t want to shift. Instead he presses himself closer, his nose skating across your jaw, lips against the soft skin by your ear. 

“Tell me to move,” he mumbles, breathing against you and he sees you shake your head, your fingers holding him tight, passing through his hair and sending delicate shivers down his spine. 

“Don’t move, stay,” you whisper, cupping the back of his head with your hand. 

He draws a deep breath, listening to the silent house, your breathing, your heartbeat under his ear, the soft scrape of your nails against his scalp. 

“If this is the rest of my life, I will die the happiest man in the world,” he says, his voice low, not wanting to disturb the peace. He sees corners of your mouth quirk up in a lazy smile as you turn and kiss the tip of his nose, the only part of him you can reach. 

“Have I made you happy?” he asks, voice still low and quiet. He knows the answer, has known it for years now, but sometimes he still wants to hear you say it. 

“Always, Frankie, you always make me happy,” you smile, shifting under him so that you can look at him, your eyes softening as you lean your forehead against his, “Have I made you happy?” 

“More than anything, hermosa, amor de mi vida, you make me happy every day,” he says, brushing his lips against yours, pressing a soft kiss there, keeping his lips close to your mouth, sharing breaths. 

….

It’s a rare morning the next day, waking up when you want to, not when the old shrill alarm clock wakes you. Or actually, this morning you wake up when you feel Frankie shift behind you, his warm body pressing closer to you, his heavy arm pulling you just that little bit tighter. He’s not even awake yet, his even breathing tickling the back of your neck as he stirs, even in his sleep making sure you’re near him. 

You let yourself wake up gently, relishing in the feeling of being warm in bed with Frankie, safe, happy, nowhere you need to go today at least. Frankie’s hand is resting on your chest, between your breast, and you trace soft patterns with your fingertips on the back of it. Slowly he wakes up, burying his nose into your hair and breathing deeply, groaning as he stretches out behind you. 

“Morning,” he mumbles, his voice low and heavy with sleep. 

“Morning, my love,” you say, turning in his arms so that you can see him. He gives you a sleepy smile and cups your cheek with his hand. 

“Have you been awake long?” He asks and you shake your head. 

“Just a little bit, I was enjoying the peace and quiet. And you were so warm and nice, my Frankie shaped furnace,” you smile and give the tip of his nose a peck, making him wrinkle it with a grin, “Did you sleep well?” you ask. 

“Yeah, like a log, no nightmares, no bad dreams,” he replies, his thumb caressing your cheek, tracing along your nose, under your eyes and following the line of your jaw to your chin, “slept like a baby.” 

His nightmares are almost rare these days, but you still ask, you always want to know and he knows why, he’s never going to hide anything from you again. 

He shifts, his hand slipping over your shoulder, down along your body until he can cup his large hand over your ass and pull you closer. It makes you smirk and he chuckles. 

“How do you feel about morning sex, cariño,” he grins, grabbing your thigh and hooking it over his hip. His half hard cock is already making itself known and it makes you give an involuntary shiver as your hips buck into his. 

“I’d be very interested in morning sex,” you smile, leaning forward to capture his sleep warm lips in a kiss, ignoring the morning breath. He hums into your mouth and grinds his hips in between your legs, dragging his rapidly stiffening cock over your clit in a move that makes you moan. 

A door slams downstairs and you hear Jack’s clear voice echo through the house. 

“I’m back! I got eggs from Jesse!” 

Frankie groans and you sigh, much as you love your son, his timing is unbelievably bad. 

“We’ll be right there, honey!” You call over Frankie’s shoulder. He groans again, grinding into you harder this time. 

“I can be real quick and quiet, you know that,” he growls, grabbing your hips and you laugh, pushing him away. 

“Raincheck, Frankie, we can always take a shower later,” you smile, kissing him as you pull away from his grabby hands. 

“I’m taking that as a promise,” he grins, rolling out of bed and grabbing his pants and following you downstairs. 

“Morning sweetie,” you say to Jack, kissing his cheek, “did you have fun?” 

“Yeah, we played this old game called Twister, do you know it?” he asks. 

“The one with the mat and you have to put arms and feet on the right markers? Yeah, I used to play when I was little.” 

“Jesse traded for one and we played it all night, it was so much fun!” Jack’s out of the chair and demonstrating on the floor how he contorted his body to reach the markers, “I want one too!”

“I could probably make you one,” Frankie says from the stove, “it wouldn’t be hard.” 

“Really?” 

“Yeah, I’ll see what supplies I have, I know I have paint already.” 

“Can I help?” Jack asks as you start putting away the eggs that he’s handed you. 

“Sure, do you want to do it today?” Frankie ruffles Jack’s hair, “And give me a hand with breakfast, did you eat already?”

“Yeah, I ate there. Can we do it when you’ve had breakfast?” 

“Unless your mom has plans for us?” Frankie hooks his arm around your waist and puts his chin on your shoulder, “Any plans for us, cariño?” he grins, giving you a quick wink. 

“No, no plans at all actually,” you give him a mock scowl before kissing the tip of his nose with a smile. 

…

The conversation you had with Maria sticks in your head after Frankie leaves. You haven’t told him about it yet and part of you wants to protect him from having to worry about Joel. You bounce it back and forth in your head, going from wanting to ignore the whole thing to trying to convince yourself that the chances of Joel showing up are slim. But then you remind yourself that if Benny and Will, and Tommy, could make the trek across the country and find Jackson, so could Joel. Joel is nothing if not persistent. 

In the end, you decide that you have to talk to Tommy, at least for your own peace of mind. 

You seek him out at home when you know Maria is busy with a town meeting, knocking on their front door. He answers with a smile and opens the door wide, inviting you in.

“Hey, good to see you! Maria’s not in if it’s her you’re looking for,” he says and leads you into the kitchen. 

“No, I know she’s at the town meeting, I actually came to see you,” you say, deciding to get straight to the point. 

“Alright, what’s up? And do you want some tea? I was just going to make some,” he replies, holding up a mug to you. 

“Thanks, tea would be great,” you sit down at the kitchen table and tap on the surface with your nails, gathering your thoughts. 

“So what’s up? Seems serious, you look pretty tightly wound,” Tommy turns to you after putting a kettle to boil. 

“I don’t know how to start, Tommy, I feel a bit shitty about bringing this up with you, but…” you shift on your chair, leaning back and Tommy furrows his forehead as you fidget. 

“I talked to Maria, and she told me you talked to Joel on the radio,” you eventually say, watching Tommy take out another mug and tea, “And you know how bad Frankie was in-”

“You’re worried Joel’s gonna come out here,” Tommy says, and it’s not a question, “And get Frankie back into trouble.” He pours the boiling water into the mugs and sits down opposite you at the table. 

You shift again uncomfortably but Tommy doesn’t look mad or disappointed, he’s just nodding slightly, looking down at his own mug. 

“I’m sorry, Tommy, I know he’s your only family,” you begin but Tommy shakes his head. 

“I know maybe more than you think,” he says, “Benny told me pretty much everything, I think he’s worried about Joel turning up here too. So I know the part my brother played in Frankie’s drug addiction.” 

“It’s not just that, Tommy,” you reply, leaning forward and holding onto the mug, “besides, the drugs don’t worry me so much, I doubt anyone could find drugs out here anyway. But Joel is violent.” 

You see Tommy’s shoulder’s drop forward, like he’s hunching, as he gives you a small nod, “I know, it came out after Sarah.” 

“It gets to Frankie too, Joel’s anger rubs off on him, Tommy. And Frankie knows how to be very violent, maybe even more than Joel, and with his PTSD, the fucking leftovers from Delta…” you shake your head, sighing, “When we were in Boston, Frankie behaved in ways I’ve never seen from him, when he was working with Joel. And Joel…he sees it like it’s the only way to do things, to survive, and he encouraged Frankie, saw it as he was doing the only right thing.” 

“You know Maria doesn’t want him here either, right?” Tommy asks, “I told her about how Joel and I had been surviving since the outbreak and she doesn’t think what we did was right, says we could’ve made different choices.” 

“But Joel never saw it that way,” you reply and Tommy nods in agreement. 

“No, he never did, he was barely surviving, after Sarah, and he just hardened. I never questioned if what we did was right, we did it to survive and he was the only family I had so I followed him. Blindly maybe. 

“And he hasn’t changed? Since Frankie and I left Boston I mean,” you ask. 

“No, if anything he’s more ruthless than ever. We started working with Tess, Frankie introduced us to her, did you know that?” 

You nod, Frankie had told you everything that had happened those last few months in Boston, how he got drugs after Joel stopped selling to him. 

“She can be as ruthless as Joel, whatever it takes to survive, and it turned out they were kinda the same, maybe like with Frankie and Joel,” Tommy drains his mug of tea and gives you a crooked smile. “It took me a while to pick up on it, but they must’ve started something pretty soon after we met her. I only found out when I realized she’d moved in with him, that they were sleeping together.” 

“It’s hard to imagine Joel caring for anyone but himself and you,” you say, “it sounds horrible to say it, but he’s so different from who he was when I met him before the outbreak, I can’t see him loving anyone.”  

Tommy shrugs, “I don’t know if he loves Tess, if he’s even capable of that anymore, losing Sarah, it took it all out of him. Maybe she’s just in his sphere, someone he needs to protect, like he used to protect me.” 

“Has it changed him, being with Tess I mean?”

“I was hoping it would change him, soften him at least a little, but whatever it is they have, Joel is the same on the outside. And things in the QZ were getting worse so when Marlene, she’s the leader of the Boston Fireflies, approached me, I wasn’t hard to convince…” Tommy leans back in his chair, sighing deeply, “Joel got really mad when he found out I joined them, we had a big fight, left it on pretty bad terms…” Tommy trails off and looks guilty.

“We didn’t really get past it before I left…” he says after a long pause, “when I told him I was leaving with the Fireflies he just just shrugged and said I’d always joined every lost cause. Maybe he’s right, I don’t know. But I know he was mad at me for leaving, but I couldn’t stay and do nothing.” 

“At least you tried to make a difference, Tommy, even if the Fireflies weren’t right for you,” you say, giving Tommy a small smile, he seems to be feeling guilty about leaving Joel but you think it was probably for the very best, at least Tommy. 

“I’ve got to ask though…” you hesitate, “do you think Joel wants to come out here, bring Tess? Because…fuck, that’s my worst nightmare at the moment Tommy.” 

“I won’t tell him anything,” Tommy shakes his head, “And Maria asked me to not contact him again.” 

“She did?” Your eyebrows shoot up and you can’t help the relief that floods your chest, “I didn’t know she was going to do that, I…I’ve got to admit I wanted to but Joel’s your brother-” 

“He’s my brother, and I love him,” Tommy interrupts,”but you met him before the outbreak, he isn’t the same person now, hasn’t been for almost twenty years, and Jackson doesn’t need someone like him, he brings too much violence and he only cares about himself.” 

You nod, leaning back in the creaking kitchen chair, the knot in your stomach is unraveling as you let yourself exhale. 

“I’m sorry it has to be that way,” you say, “but I’m relieved, keeping Frankie, and Jack, safe and happy, is all I care about. Maybe I’m like Joel in that respect, but they’re my family, and to me, Joel’s a threat to them.” 

“You’re nothing like Joel,” Tommy replies, “or maybe, we’re all a bit like Joel, keeping our family safe first, but I know my brother’s ways are too violent. It took me a while to understand that, but here, in this community, it’s clear that there can be another way of keeping family safe.” 

… 

When you get back to your house, Frankie’s already back and you can smell the wood smoke from the fireplace. You’re not surprised when you find him flat on his back on the couch, his cap pulled down over his eyes, snoring softly. As you walk into the room he stirs, pushing it up onto his forehead. Years of being a soldier, and living in this new world, has made him a very light sleeper, the years in Jackson haven’t changed that. Now he’s giving you a sleepy smile as he reaches out for you, pulling you down over him when you take his hand. 

“Hey, cariño,” he says, tucking you into his side so that you can stretch out and put your head on his chest, “I missed you when I got home.” 

“Yeah, I was out,” you say, burying your nose into his soft t-shirt, “I went to see Tommy about something.” 

“Mhmm…” Frankie hums, still sleepy as he runs his hand up and down your back, you can feel his lips against the top of your head. 

“How’s Tommy?” he asks eventually and you have to shift so that you can look up at him, his sleepy brown eyes looking up at you. 

“I went to see him about Joel,” you confess and although you expect Frankie to look confused, he just nods and sighs. 

“Yeah, I’ve been thinking about Joel coming here too,” he says, pushing his cap further up so that he can see you properly, “Tommy’s the only family he’s got, I wouldn’t be surprised if he comes out here too.” 

“He won’t,” you say, shaking your head, “Tommy told Maria about what kind of man Joel is and she’s asked him not to talk to him again, to not risk him coming here.” 

“And Tommy’s ok with that?” Now Frankie does look surprised as you nod. 

“Yeah, he’s no fool, he knows what kind of man Joel’s turned into. And they didn’t leave it on the best of terms when Tommy joined the Fireflies. And he doesn’t want him to come here either, he knows the type of violence Joel brings.” 

“Cariño, I don’t think Tommy not talking to Joel is going to stop him if he really wants to find him. If you and I could make it across the country, so can Joel, especially if he’s looking for his only brother.” 

“Frankie, I really don’t want him to come here, he can’t come here, I don’t want him even near us,” you push yourself up to sitting and Frankie follows you, but he wraps his arms around you, pulling you close. 

“You’re worried I’ll fall back into the same habits as in Boston,” it’s not a question, but you nod as he rubs his hands up and down your back. 

“You shouldn’t worry, cariño,” he says, “even if he does come, I’m not the same man I was in Boston, I promise.” 

“I know, Frankie, he just scares me, he just…” you trail off but Frankie knows what you’re thinking. 

“I know he brought out the worst in me, cariño, but I’m stronger now. I haven’t used drugs in almost nine years, I’ve got both you and Jack, and a purpose in Jackson that’s more important than any of the shit I did in the QZ’s.” He cups your cheek in his warm palm and caresses the soft skin, “If, and it’s a big if, he comes here, it won’t be the same as last time, I know that, hermosa.” 

You nod into his hand and he gives you a warm smile, “Always looking out for me, still don’t know what I’d do without you, cariño.” 

…

Frankie’s words calm you some, and he’s right of course. He is stronger now than he was before, he’s nothing like the man he was after his daughter died, and life has almost returned to normal for the two of you. It’s only the constant patrols, and people’s scars from life outside of Jackson, that remind you of what surrounds Jackson. But as spring turns into summer and then fall, your fear of Joel showing up lessens. Tommy doesn’t contact him again and he doesn’t turn up. Jackson has turned into a busy small town and life keeps you occupied, before you know it, it’s winter again and the town prepares for its official holiday celebration.

…

“Are you going on patrol tomorrow?” Frankie asks you one afternoon as he comes back home, shrugging out of his thick jacket and stomping the snow off his boots. 

“No, not until Saturday, why?” 

“They’re showing ‘The Goodbye Girl’ at the community center tonight, I thought we could go. I have no idea what the movie’s about but apparently it won an Oscar,” Frankie says, giving you a cold kiss as he comes into the kitchen. 

“You’re freezing, Frankie,” you smile and he rubs the icy tip of his nose against your cheek, making you protest when he moves further down and presses it against your neck. 

“It’s freezing outside, I was chopping wood though, kept me warm,” he grins, his warm hands sliding between your sweater and jeans, “But what do you think, wanna go on a movie date with me and Jack?” 

“Sure, sounds nice,” you say, giving up on stopping him from warming his nose up against your skin, his nose is cold but his breath is warm and sends shivers down your spine, “Beats watching Home Alone for like the hundredth time.” 

“Yeah, the movie selection isn’t great,” Frankie chuckles, “I mean, great movie, but how many times have we seen it now?” 

“We need to figure out where the nearest movie theater is and see what’s available,” you say, “What movies were in theaters on outbreak day?” 

“Uuhh…all I remember is that Pope and I went and saw the re-release of Scarface, that was awesome,” Frankie says as he lets go of you to grab a glass and fill it up with water and you lean on the counter next to him. 

“You and I went and saw ‘Lost in Translation’, that’s the last time we went to the movies before it all.” 

“Oh yeah, that was good too,” Frankie nods, “made me wanna go to Japan. Remember we were planning it, seeing if we’d be able to go someday?” 

You sigh and wrinkle your nose, “Let’s change the subject, now I’m bummed we never got to go to Japan, or even on a proper holiday together.” 

“You wanna sip cocktails on the beach with me, hermosa?” Frankie smiles, coming to stand in front of you at the counter, his hands on either side. 

“I would love to sip cocktails on a beach with you, Frankie,” you smile back at him, wrapping your arms around his neck so that you can card your fingers through the curls on his neck, “see you in a cute little speedo, all nice and tan.” 

Frankie snorts, “When did you ever see me in a speedo?” 

“Never, but a girl can dream,” you grin back at him, “Although, I’m not sure what speedo would be able to contain your…’talent’.” 

“I wanna see you in a bikini again,” Frankie says, his voice taking on a lower tone, “I grieve the loss of that yellow bikini you had…” he gives you a mischievous smile, “any chance of finding something like that at the store?”

“Not much need for bikinis in the apocalypse, Frankie,” you laugh, “but I’ll see what I can do, maybe I can use it for gardening in the summer. But on one condition.” 

“Anything, hermosa…” Frankie has pulled you closer, his mind clearly on the lost yellow bikini as you feel his half hard cock pressing into your belly. 

“You help with the gardening, wearing a speedo,” you grin at him as he laughs. 

“Deal, anything to see you in a bikini again,” he says, smiling down at you, “but I can’t promise we’ll get much gardening done.” 

He bends his head down, letting his nose brush against yours, the tip of it warm again as his hand slips up to hold the back of your neck and his lips press against yours. He deepens the kiss, nudging your mouth open with his tongue as you pull him closer. It’s soft as he licks into you, small touches, tasting him as your breaths mingle. 

He’s so familiar now, the way his hand holds your neck, lightly caressing your hair, his other hand at your waist, fingertips grazing whatever bare skin he can reach. You think you could identify him just by the way his thumb rubs small circles into your waist, his touch seared into your brain just as his taste is. Even his tongue is familiar, and the way the tip of his nose always touches the same spot on your cheek when he tilts his head to kiss you deeper. Your fingers run through his curls, finding the well hidden scar from some old army injury, and down to his neck again. 

He hums into your mouth, his cock pressing hard into your soft belly, heat pooling between your legs, before he reluctantly pulls away, leaning his forehead against yours. 

“Wish we had more time, hermosa,” he mumbles, “I need to take a shower and I want to take it with you.” 

“Jack will be home any minute,” you say in a low voice, gently scratching the back of his head, “and I should make some dinner before we go to the movie.”

“Alright, raincheck for tonight then,” he smiles, giving you one more kiss, letting it linger, before he pulls away. 

…

The Jackson community center is full as the movie starts playing, movie night is always popular. Jack managed to snag a seat reserved for the children in the middle of the room, and now he sits engrossed in the images playing out on the large white screen hanging on the wall. Frankie and you are standing by the wall, watching the film through the gaps in the audience as people filter in and out. Frankie, thanks to his height, could have a better view, but he prefers to rest his chin on your shoulder as he stands behind you, hands secure around your waist. You can feel his breath tickle your cheek and you lean against his scruffy jaw, briefly closing your eyes to capture the moment in your mind; the warm community hall, Frankie’s soft beard against your skin, his strong arms around your waist and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat behind you, and all around you the smell of fresh popcorn. 

You open your eyes again and look for Jack, he’s got his elbows on his knees, wide eyes staring at the screen, mouth hanging open as he takes in every detail of the scene in front of him. It makes you smile to see him so enthralled by every movie that gets shown here, and it makes you wish you could show him your own favorites from when you were nine, almost ten, you remind yourself. He’ll be ten in a few weeks.

The film doesn’t capture your imagination as much as it does for Jack so you let your eyes drift across the audience, you spot Will and Diana across the hall, but you can’t see Benny and Eve. You look around the room for them, they usually always turn up, only for Benny to moan about the movie selection as you all walk home together afterwards. 

Searching the room you spot Tommy talking to Maria, her hand on the small swell of her pregnant belly, and something about the conversation makes you stop and look at them. When Tommy turns and walks away Maria sees you, and gives you a smile, but it looks tight. You smile back but in the corner of your eye you see Tommy exit the community hall and disappear outside. The hairs on the back of your neck stand up, a shiver running down your spine, and as you look back at the screen, you can’t focus on it. 

“I’ll be right back,” you say, turning to give Frankie’s cheek a kiss, “pee break.” He nods and lets you go as you slip through the crowd, avoiding Maria’s eyes. You don’t know why you need to see where Tommy went, but something in your gut tells you to find out, Tommy’s face said something. 

The air outside is cold as you exit the hall. You left your coat with Frankie so you tuck your arms around yourself as you look up and down the street. It’s empty, only fairy lights and snowflakes. Not sure where to go, you turn and walk down towards the stables, the snow whirling around you. 

Nothing stirs and there’s no sign of Tommy as you make your way past the small shops that serve the community. You’re shivering as you reach the stables and the warm smell of horses and manure envelops you as you crack the door open and slip inside. A soft nicker from the horses closest greets you, the large animals stirring and looking in your direction at the intrusion. Finding old Winston, a graying gentleman now, in his stall, you softly rub his muzzle as he blows warm air at your fingers. 

“All quiet here, old friend?” you ask in a low voice, and Winston snorts gently, lowering his head so that you can reach between his ears. 

“Only my ghosts, I guess,” you whisper, leaning your nose against his soft head as you scratch his forelock. He shifts his weight, putting his muzzle on your shoulder and nipping gently at your sweater. The stable is warm and comforting, the smell of horses familiar and safe, but after a few minutes you pull yourself away, giving Winston a final scratch. 

“I’d better get back before Frankie sends out a search party,” you say, giving him a final pat. 

The cold air makes you shiver as you close the stable door behind you and hurry up the street again. You almost don’t see him coming towards you, a tall man, wrapped in a heavy tan coat, but his boot scuffs against the street, making you look up as he passes under one of the street lights. He sees you, as you see him, stopping in his tracks and you freeze in place. There’s no mistaking him, he’s aged, his hair gray now, but it’s still Joel’s sharp eyes that meet yours. His expression grim as you look at each other for a beat, fear starting to coil in the pit of your belly. 

He glances at the side street, up towards the edge of town, and down at his boots, before he looks up at you again. 

“I’m leaving in the morning.” 

It’s all he says, turning and taking long strides up the street as you stand rooted to the spot, nausea creeping up your throat. 

… 

“Where have you been?” Frankie asks as you open the door to the community center, he’s just coming out of the hall, his coat on and yours in hand, “I was just about to go looking for you.” He notices your shivers and quickly holds out your coat for you, pulling it on and starting to rub his hands up and down your arms, “Why were you outside, what’s going on?” 

“Nothing, I just needed some air after I went to the bathroom,” you quickly lie, “I went down to the stables but I didn’t realize how cold it was until I was coming back.” 

“Crazy girl,” he smiles, “getting frostbites just to say hello to Winston, you spoil that horse.” 

“You know I have a soft spot for him,” you say, letting Frankie lead you back into the hall where the movie is still running. You’re glad for the darkness, standing in front of Frankie again as he keeps rubbing warmth back into your arms. Pretending to watch the movie your thoughts are in turmoil.

Joel is in Jackson. 

You glance over at Maria and see her looking at Tommy with an odd look, he’s standing a little bit in front of her, leaning against one of the wooden pillars, turned away from her. You can only see his profile, but he seems to have the same expression that you can feel on your face, watching the big white screen, but seeing nothing. As if he can feel your eyes on him, he turns his head and locks onto you. You should smile, pretend everything is fine, but you know Tommy knows Joel is in town, you can see it on his face, and Maria knows too. And you can’t hide your fear. 

Behind you Frankie laughs at something that happens in the film, his rumble vibrating against your back, and you tear your eyes away from Tommy and look at the screen. 

…

It’s late as you walk home with the rest of the movie goers, Jack almost stumbling on his feet, yawning widely. Frankie can sense that something is going on, but he says nothing. Instead he pulls you closer under his arm, holding on to Jack’s hand with his other. When you get home he sends you upstairs, giving your hip a squeeze. 

“Go to bed, I’ll lock up and make sure Jack gets to bed,” he says and you nod, kissing Jack goodnight. 

You’re tucked into bed, under the warm covers, but not even close to sleepy as Frankie comes into the bedroom and closes the door behind him. He pulls off his clothes as you watch him from the bed, and he pulls back the covers and climbs in next to you. 

“C’mere,” he mumbles, pulling you into him, both his arms encircling you as you tuck your face into the crook of his neck. His hand comes up to cup the back of your head, caressing you lightly and you can feel his lips pressed against the top of your head. 

“What’s going on, cariño?” he asks, running his hand up and down your back. 

“Joel’s in Jackson,” you say, and his hand goes still on your back. 

“Did you meet him?” Frankie pulls back a little so that he can see your face and you nod. 

“Just for a moment, on the main street. All he said was that he’s leaving tomorrow.” 

“So soon? He must’ve only gotten here today,” Frankie says, sounding surprised, “I heard some of the guys saying a couple of people had been picked up by Maria’s patrol today.” 

“Do you think Maria said he can’t stay?” you ask, “Could Tommy be leaving too? She was looking at him oddly at the movie, just before he left.” 

“Is that why you snuck out?” Frankie asks, “How did you know Joel was in town?” 

“I didn’t, I just got a weird feeling about Tommy leaving,” you reply. Frankie’s gone back to running his hand up and down your back as he furrows his brow, looking lost in thought. 

“With Maria pregnant, would he really leave her?” you ask, “Even if she said Joel had to go?” 

“If he does, leave her, I mean, Tommy’s not the man I thought he was,” Frankie shakes his head, “I can’t see him running out on his child, he’s been so happy about it.”

“If Joel really does leave tomorrow, then the rest is really between Tommy and Maria. And if Tommy leaves her…” you sigh, “then I guess we’ll have to help her anyway we can.” 

“I just can’t see him doing that,” Frankie shakes his head again, “not now, but who knows, if Joel’s back…I don’t know.” 

Frankie goes silent and you have nothing else to say, so you rest your head against his chest again, listening to his steady heartbeat. You’re almost asleep when Frankie presses a kiss to your head. 

“You don’t have to be scared of him, cariño, not now, I promise.” 

“I love you, Frankie,” you mumble and his arms tighten around you. 

“Love you too, hermosa.” 

… 

Joel really is gone the next day, you hear talk of him, but he’s nowhere to be seen. Tommy says nothing and you catch Maria avoiding your eye, but she says nothing either. You think Tommy realizes that you somehow know Joel was in town, but you don’t bring it up, and after a few weeks, the brief encounter with Joel almost seems like something you imagined. 

…

The winter drags on, the snow as thick as the first winter you spent in Jackson. When patrols snow in you find extra work learning how to repair everyday objects. It means you get to work with Frankie as he teaches you about wiring and welding. The first lamp you manage to rewire without his help brings you enormous satisfaction, but Frankie’s smile is worth more. 

“Proud of you, cariño,” he grins as you flick the switch back and forth, watching the lamp blink on and off. 

When the snow finally begins to melt, everyone is eager to get back to patrols, even the horses are unusually frisky. The first real chance to stretch out in a fast gallop makes them all take the bit between their teeth and run, thundering over the fresh spring grass as their riders whoop. As you all finally bring them to a halt, their sides lathering, stomping their hooves and snorting loudly, it feels like the winter is truly over even. 

Your first patrol of the spring is uneventful except for taking down three runners in the distance.

“Fuck,” Benny hollers, as your third shot takes down the third runner, “that’s three for three! You missed your calling as a sniper,” he laughs, scanning the clearing below you for more infected. 

“It’s a skill I never knew I had,” you grin, pulling back the bolt of the rifle and slotting in a new bullet. 

“Well, you had the best teacher of course,” Benny smirks as you both get to your feet, “I was always a better shot than Fish.” 

“Benny, you can take credit for my skills in hand to hand combat any time, but the shooting, that was Frankie,” you laugh. 

He just smirks again, swinging himself into the saddle, “Speaking of hand to hand combat, it’s been ages since we did any training, maybe we should get back to it? I know you and Fish are getting old, but that’s no reason to slack off.” 

“Who are you calling old?” you snort, “You’ve got more gray hair than I do!” 

“Pfft…it’s just the light,” he scoffs and you can’t help but laugh. Benny is still mostly blonde, the youngest of you all, whereas both Will and Frankie were more gray nowadays. Frankie’s patchy beard had started turning gray years ago and now none of his original chocolate brown color remained. 

The ride home is easy, you keep your eyes open and stay alert, but patrolling with Benny is always fun, his easy, golden retriever, energy hasn’t diminished with age. If anything, it’s more pronounced than ever with his daughter Lily. She’s inherited her mother’s ginger curls, but all of Benny’s energy and she runs the Miller household. At least for now.

“How’s Eve doing, one more month to go right?” you ask and Benny nods with a grin. 

“She’s huge, pissed off and hating it, but I’m being the perfect husband, she gets foot rubs every evening.” 

“Good man, Benny,” you laugh, “you’d better keep her happy.” 

“She’s been having the weirdest cravings,” he says, “Where the hell am I supposed to find Reese’s? Or Diet Coke?” 

“Try harder, Benny,” you grin and he gives you a mock scowl before breaking into another big smile. 

“She’s being a fucking champion though, I know she’s struggling, her back’s killing her, so I just try to make sure she can rest as much as she wants.” 

You hear horses behind you and you both turn to look at the approaching riders. You smile as you recognize Frankie’s cap, he’s returning with young Jesse. He’s just become old enough to go on patrols and has been going out regularly with you all to learn the ropes. 

“Hey, how was your patrol?” Benny calls as the two men get close. 

“Quiet, didn’t see anyone or anything,” Jesse says, “but we saw a whole herd of bison, should be good hunting tomorrow.” 

“Yeah, the herds are getting really big,” Benny says as they pull up their horses alongside you. Frankie rides close to you, putting his hand on your thigh and giving it a squeeze. 

“Hey, hermosa,” he mumbles and you lace your fingers between his. 

“Hey, honey,” you smile back at him. 

“Did you guys meet the new arrivals yet?” Jesse asks and you all shake your heads. 

“No, but I heard someone new turned up, yesterday right?” Benny asks. 

“Yeah, a man and his daughter, a teenager.” 

“Where’d they come from,” Frankie looks over at Jesse who waves in a vague way back up north. 

“Somewhere in Utah I think, Salt Lake maybe? But they’re staying up in that green house on McMill’s Lane.” 

“Almost neighbors then,” Benny says, “we’ll have to go and say hello.” 

…

You don’t make the connection, and neither does Frankie, and you don’t go to see your new neighbors straight away. So it’s not until you’re walking out from your house a few days later, Frankie just behind you, that you see them. 

You look up from opening the low gate onto the street as you hear footsteps approaching, and you see him. Joel, slowing down, eyes on you and Frankie, dropping behind the young teenage girl walking in front of him. His face is unreadable, apprehensive maybe, his fingers twitching by his side. You hear Frankie come up behind you and stop, waiting as Joel takes a few more steps down the street.  

The girl with him notices that Joel’s slowed down, “C’mon, I’m fucking starving,” she says, glancing back at him, but she follows his line of sight and spots Frankie and you by the side of the road. She looks between the two of you and then back at Joel, furrowing her brow. Joel picks up his pace again and comes towards you, passing the girl who’s stopped, still looking at between the three of you. 

The silence is awkward, Joel’s jaw ticks and you feel a shiver of fear run down your spine. But Frankie moves first, placing his hand on your lower back, a warm, steady presence, and takes a step forward, holding out his other hand towards Joel. 

“Good to see you, Joel, we didn’t know you were back in town.” 

“Good to see you too, Frankie,” Joel nods, shaking his hand, “We just got here a couple of days ago, been getting settled in.” He gestures back at the girl who’s still standing a few feet behind him, watching the exchange. 

“Hi, I’m Frankie,” Frankie says, giving the girl a wave and a smile, “this is my wife.” 

You give the girl a small wave and your name. You can’t wrap your head around Joel turning up with a teenage girl, you feel like you’re staring at her as much as at Joel. 

“Ellie,” she says, raising her hand in a short wave, stepping closer to Joel. “Can we please go, I really am starving.” 

“Yeah, sure, we’d better get going,” Joel hums, glancing up at you and meeting your eyes for a brief second. 

“Alright, we’ll see you around,” Frankie says, giving the girl a smile, “Nice meeting you too, Ellie.” 

The odd couple make their way down the street as you follow them with your eyes. 

“That was weird,” Frankie says, “Jesse said it was a man and his daughter, but she can’t be Joel’s daughter.” 

“Tommy didn’t say anything about Joel adopting a kid either, back in Boston,” you say as Frankie takes your hand and you start walking down the street, watching Joel and Ellie disappear down towards the community center, “Could she be Tess’s daughter?” 

“Tess didn’t have a daughter, at least not as far as I know,” Frankie shakes his head, “It’s a mystery, and I wonder, where’s Tess, if only Joel is here?” 

“Yeah, true,” you worry at your bottom lip and you feel Frankie glancing at you. 

“Don’t, cariño, don’t worry about him being back,” he says, gently stopping you by pulling on your hand and reaching up to tug your lip from between your teeth, “It won't be anything like before, I promise.” 

“I know Frankie, I trust you, it’s all different now,” you give him a weak smile, “I’m just worried what else he’ll bring.” 

“Let Maria handle him, Maria and Tommy, it’s his brother,” Frankie cups your cheek gently, smiling down at you, “it’s just you, Jack and me, that’s my team. Ok?” 

“Ok,” you reply, your fear dissipating a little and you smile back up at him. He gives your forehead a small peck and takes your hand again. 

“C’mon, then, let’s go find Jack before he accuses us of forgetting about this school play.” 

… 

You see Joel around town the next few days, usually with the teenager, Ellie, in tow. And when you see his name on the patrol schedule you realize they’re staying and the knot in your stomach grows again. You have so many questions, and they all lead back to the graying man who now seems to always hover at the corners of your mind. 

“Fuck it,” you mumble to yourself, turning around and walking back up the small street you live on, past your house, until you’re standing in front of Joel and Ellie’s front door. 

The teenager opens when you knock on the door, and she gives you a guarded smile as she lets you in. 

“Joel, someone here to see you,” she calls into the house, leading you into the kitchen, and you hear footsteps on the stairs. Joel stops in his tracks as he sees you standing awkwardly in the middle of the room, clearing his throat, fingers twitching again. 

“Hey,” is all he manages, giving you a nod before stepping into the kitchen, skirting around Ellie who’s looking between the two of you with a curious face.

“Hi,” you say, your earlier determination slipping away and you retreat to the kitchen counter, leaning against it, shoving your hands into the pockets of your jeans. 

“Uhhm…can I get you something to drink, we’ve got some elderflower cordial. Diana gave us some of her homemade,” 

“I’m fine, thanks,” you say, swallowing and glancing at Ellie who’s quirked her eyebrow and is looking at Joel with a smirk. 

“What’s going on?” she asks, “Why are you being so weird?” 

“Just being polite,” Joel grunts, yanking the fridge door open and pulling out a jug. 

“How do you know Joel?” Ellie asks, looking over at you, and you meet her curious eyes before looking back at Joel, wondering what he’ll say. But he’s busying himself with taking down two glasses from the cabinet, wiping one of them down with the dish cloth. 

“Frankie, my husband, and Joel used to work together back in Boston, years ago,” you say, “Will and Benny are Frankie’s best friends.” 

“Oh yeah, they gave us some stuff,” Ellie says pointing at the dry goods on the kitchen table. 

“Ellie,” Joel suddenly says, his voice gruff, “we’ve got some things to talk about, could you maybe go over and see if Eve needs help with something for a while.” 

“No, I want to know what’s going on,” she says, frowning at Joel, “Is this about what Maria said to you last night?” 

Joel’s eyes are on Ellie and he scowls, “You shouldn’t be eavesdropping on conversations that aren’t meant for you.” 

“Yeah well, talk quieter then,” Ellie scowls back at him and turns to you. “Maria said stuff had happened in Boston with Frankie and-”

“Ellie!” Joel snaps, “That’s none of your business, that’s between me, Frankie and her,” Joel motions to you, and it earns him another scowl from Ellie. 

“Maybe it is her business too, Joel,” you can’t help but speak up, “if she’s living with you, under your protection?” 

“Don’t.” Joel growls, “Don’t bring her into this.” His voice is low, a warning but you clench your jaw, meeting his dark eyes. 

“Like you brought Frankie into it?” you challenge and you see his jaw tick, his fingers wrapping hard around the glass in his hand. 

“Ellie,” he says, not taking his eyes off you, “go help Eve.”

“But I-” 

“Now.” 

Ellie glares at you, “You don’t know him,” she spits out, “you don’t know him at all and-” 

“Ellie, we’ll talk when you’re back,” Joel’s voice is almost pleading with the teenager now and she looks at him. There’s a silent communication between the two of them while they stare at each other, and then Ellie turns around and stomps out from the kitchen, throwing a final angry stare at you. 

The front door slams shut and Joel lets out a sigh. 

“Sorry ‘bout that,” he says, his voice still tight as he looks at you. 

“She’s awfully loyal to you it seems,” you reply, crossing your arms over your chest, “I can’t imagine what you did to earn that kind of trust.” 

“Long story,” Joel says, shaking his head, “Ain’t got nothin’ to do with Frankie and me.” 

“I don’t want you in Jackson, Joel,” you square your shoulders, spitting it out before you lose your nerve. “I’m grateful to you for helping us get away from Boston. But I don’t want you here.” 

“Well, you ain’t the only one it seems,” he replies, giving a twisted grin, “Maria made it very clear last night that I’m only welcome because of Tommy.” 

“I’m not telling you to leave,” you say, “You’re his brother, I wouldn’t do that to him, but he knows how I feel about you.” 

“Things have changed…” Joel begins but you cut him off. 

“You forget I lived with a drug addict for years, long before you came back into the picture. One of the first things Frankie taught me about his addiction was that you can never trust an addict. You’ll say things have changed but I can’t believe you.” 

You study Joel, he’s looking back at you, his fingers still twitching, but he meets your eyes with a steady gaze. 

“I don’t expect you too,” he says finally, nodding, “I can just tell you that things are different now,” he looks over at the door where Ellie disappeared, “She’s the reason things ain’t the same, I’m not the same.” 

His response makes you swallow your sharp retort, Joel’s face softens in a way you have never seen, his eyes still on the spot where the teenager just was. When he looks back at you some of the softness remains. 

“Why?” you ask simply, but he shakes his head. 

“It’s a long story, but I ain’t the same, not at all.”

The silence stretches out in the kitchen as you look at each other, Joel’s face doesn’t harden again, his fingers have stopped twitching, and you feel the knot in your stomach loosen a little. 

“I’m…I’m sorry about Frankie,” Joel finally says, sighing and leaning back against the counter, “I didn’t know then, I didn’t see it, how I affected him. And I’m sorry I sold him the pills. It ain’t no excuse, but you know I was using them just as much, and I just didn’t know he’d already been addicted before.” 

“If you bring drugs back into Jackson, Joel…” your voice is low in warning but Joel shakes his head before you even finish your sentence. 

“I won’t, I promise. Like I said, things are different now.”  He leans back, crossing his arms over his chest, mimicking your stance as you observe him. 

You want to believe him, he feels different, but you’re scared. Seeing him again has brought back dark memories of Frankie spiraling out of control, hearing the stories of what he did to others, seeing him passed out on the couch, his guilty, pained face as he left you, even when you asked him to stay. 

Santi. 

You drop your gaze to the toes of your boots, shaking your head. But Ellie’s scowl, her defense of him, the way Joel’s face softened when he thought about the girl, his daughter, it makes you doubt your initial thoughts. 

“Joel…” you say, inhaling slowly, making your mind up, “If you bring drugs here, if you fall back into who you were in Boston, if you bring out the worst in Frankie again….” you pause, looking at him, his face is open, nodding along to what you’re saying, “If your presence here begins to threaten my family…” 

He nods, understanding your underlying threat, and lets you continue. 

“I’ll trust you now, because of Ellie, she’s loyal to you, obviously fiercely loyal, and you must’ve done something to earn that.” 

Joel nods again, his shoulders dropping slightly, and you nod back, the silence stretching between you in the small kitchen as you fall silent.  

Eventually you clear your throat, your piece said, “I’ll see you around, probably tonight if you want to, Sunday dinner at Will and Diana’s, it’s tradition.” 

“Alright,” he replies, “we’ll be seein’ you then.” 

You push yourself off the kitchen counter and walk to the front door, you can hear Joel following you and as you put your hand on the handle he speaks up. 

“I…I just wanna say thanks, for givin’ me a chance,” he says and you give him a small crooked smile. 

“Don’t make me regret it, Joel.” 

“I won’t, I promise.” 

…

You tell Frankie about your conversation with Joel as he cleans up in the bathroom, getting ready to head over to Will and Diana’s for dinner. 

“That girl, Ellie, she seems to have changed him in some ways,” you say, sitting on the toilet seat as he dries off from his shower. It’s taking everything you’ve got to not reach out and trail your fingers through the soft hairs on his belly, the happy trail leading down to… You pull your eyes up to his face, meeting his smirk. 

“Am I distracting you?” he grins, bending down and tilting your chin up with his hand so that he can kiss you as you smile. 

“Always, especially when your dick is right in my face,” you chuckle, “But as I was saying, Ellie was ready to bite my head off for challenging Joel, she’s very loyal to him. He must’ve done something good to earn that kind of devotion, to be her father all of a sudden.” 

“Maybe he has changed, but he’s here now, we’ll just have to wait and see,” Frankie says, pulling on his boxers and then a clean t-shirt. “And cariño, try not to worry. I’m not worried for myself, I’m not the same man I was back then,” he sinks down on his haunches in front of you, cupping your face with both his hands, “You got me through it, you got me here, and with you and Jack in my life now, I’m the strongest I’ll ever be, he can’t get to me again,” he leans his forehead against yours, “Ok?” 

“Ok,” you breathe and he smiles, pressing his lips against yours. 

“Ok then, hermosa,” he whispers, “Let’s go over to Will’s before our son claims we’re starving him.” 

As if on cue you hear Jack shout from downstairs, “I’m hungry! Can we leave now? Please!” 

His dramatic outbreak makes you both giggle as Frankie stands up, pulling you to your feet, “Go calm the ravenous monster we’ve created,” he chuckles, “I’ll see you down there.” 

…

You can hear music from the back garden as the three of you approach Will and Diana’s house. During the warm summer months the Sunday dinner moves outside when the weather allows and tonight the air is balmy and soft. As you round the house and step into the garden you’re greeted by Diana bringing out a tray of meat to the barbecue. 

“Hi guys, right on time! Frankie, can you please bring this to Will, I need to get an extra cushion for Eve.” 

“Sure, I’ve got it,” Frankie says and takes the heavy tray from her. 

“Can I help you with anything, Diana?” you ask and she waves you into the house. 

“Yes please, that tray to the table please,” she says, but as the screen door closes behind the two of you she puts her hand on your arm. 

“Just so you know, Will invited Joel and the girl he arrived with, Ellie, tonight. I hope that’s ok with you and Frankie? Have you seen him yet?” 

“Yeah, I’ve talked to him, it’ll be fine,” you say, giving her a smile, “Or at least I hope it’ll be fine, he seems different, maybe he’s changed for the better.” 

“Ok, that’s good. And I hope you’re right, I haven’t had a chance to talk to him yet but I met Ellie in town earlier. She seems like a great kid, very protective of Joel, which surprised me.” 

“Yeah, me too,” you reply, glancing out at the garden. You can see Frankie by the barbecue with Will, Benny is kneeling next to Eve who’s on a sun lounger, Joel and Ellie haven’t arrived yet. “That’s what makes me believe him when he says things are different now, but he’ll have to prove it too.” 

“Alright, I’ll take my cues from you,” Diana says, “just let me know if you need our help to kick him out of Jackson if he misbehaves,” she gives you a wicked grin and it makes you laugh. 

“Thanks, I’ll let you know if it comes to that.” 

Diana grabs a tower of glasses and a large jug, “Come on then, lets get poor Eve something to drink, she’s so fed up with this baby now.” 

You pass out drinks to everyone, handing tall glasses to Will and Frankie before grabbing your own and standing next to the two men by the grill. Frankie’s hand drifts down to the small of your back and you lean into him, taking comfort in his presence, his warm body next to you and his hand slowly circling over your t-shirt. They’re talking about putting together a larger hunting party and culling the local bison herd once the young calves are old enough to be separated from their mothers. 

You listen to them with half an ear, waiting for Joel and Ellie to show up. You feel on edge, despite what you said to Diana, it’s as if you can’t relax before you’ve seen Frankie and Joel together. 

You spot them arriving with Tommy and Maria, Tommy proudly holding their month old baby boy in his arms. Joel comes in after Ellie, she’s looking shy, glancing around the garden but Jack spots her and runs over. You’d talked to him earlier about Ellie being new in town and asked him to look out for her, thinking it would be easier for her to talk to someone her own age, even though she looks to be a few years older than him. You smile as you see Jack wave her over to the table where Diana has set out drinks and popcorn as snacks while everyone waits on the meat to be done. Jack pours the elderflower cordial in two glasses and offers one to Ellie with a flourish that makes you stifle a giggle. 

“He’s quite the gentleman,” you hear Will chuckle and you look up to see both men watching the interaction, “you raised him well, Fish.” 

“I had to, or she’d never forgive me,” Frankie smiles, giving your hip a small squeeze. 

“I asked him to take care of Ellie,” you say, “it’s intimidating to turn up to a party where you know no one.” 

“He’s doing a great job,” Will says, turning back to the meat, “We’ve got about ten minutes until the meat is done I think.”

“I’m gonna go say hello to Joel,” Frankie says, “I haven’t had a chance to talk to him yet.” He drops a kiss on your cheek and walks over to where Joel is talking to Tommy, the baby now in Eve’s lap on the other side of the garden. 

You watch the two men shake hands as Tommy excuses himself, going over to Eve and Maria. 

“You’re worried,” Will says in a low voice, a statement rather than a question, and you pull your eyes from Frankie and look over at him. His steady blue gaze is on you as he lets the meat rest. 

“I guess,” you confess, “less than I was before, but…yeah…it’s hard seeing him with Frankie after all that happened.” 

“I talked to him, to Frankie I mean,” Will says, “he knows how worried you are, but he’s confident Joel can’t get to him like he used to. And I agree.” He smiles at you, a small quirk of his lips, “Frankie’s not the same, not at all, you know that too.” 

“I know, of course I know,” you sigh, “and Joel doesn’t seem to be the same either, but…you know…” you trail off, looking at Will who nods. 

“Give it time, if Joel has changed you have nothing to worry about. If he hasn’t changed, Frankie certainly has, and you have nothing to worry about either.” 

“Yeah, I know you’re right,” you say, looking back at Frankie and Joel. You can read Frankie’s body language better than anything, and he looks relaxed, an easy smile on his face as he says something to Joel and motions over at Jack and Ellie. Even Joel smiles as he looks at Ellie, busy trying to catch the popcorn Jack is tossing at her mouth. 

Maybe things really will be fine now. 

You sit next to Frankie at the dinner table, Joel and Ellie across but slightly to the side. The patio table, made for six, which once only saw you and Frankie, has been expanded to accommodate the large group now sitting around it, thirteen individuals, including the children. 

It’s incredible, you think, as you look around the table, how the community grows, how your extended family has grown. Even if you don’t count Joel and Ellie to that group, they’re still family to Will and Benny, and they’re your family. 

But as usual, at every Sunday dinner, the four of you all remember the people that are missing. It’s inevitable to see the three old friends from Delta Force together, and not touch upon the memory of Pope. It hurts less now, you can think about him, you and Frankie can even joke about him. And when you see Lily stick out her tongue to her dad, it reminds you of Lucía at the same age, as you look around the table, you miss the people who should be there too. 

Will raises his glass, as he usually does, and looks at Benny, Frankie and you, “To Pope,” he says with a smile and everyone raises their glasses, Joel too. Only Ellie looks confused but she drinks as everyone else drinks. 

“Alright, tuck in,” Will waves his hand over the spread and Jack dives for the fattest sausage with a happy yelp, making everyone laugh. 

Platters and bowls are passed around as plates are piled high and soon everyone is following Will’s orders and tucking in. 

“Who’s Pope?” Ellie asks around a mouthful of burger that she's carefully constructed, watching Jack build his own. “And this is like the tastiest thing ever,” she says, swallowing down her mouthful and taking another large bite. 

Your eyes flick up to Joel and you can sense the mood shift around the table, Maria and Tommy both glance over at you, Frankie’s hand falls onto your leg and Will clears his throat. But it’s Joel who speaks up. 

“Pope was an old friend, back in Boston,” he says, “Especially to Will, Ben and Frankie, they served in the army together before the outbreak.” He looks up at Frankie who’s got his eyes on his food, his thumb rubbing across your jeans. Ellie catches on to the tension and looks over at Joel. 

“What happened?” she asks, glancing between the three of you, this kid is clearly too perceptive for her own good, you think, just as Joel begins to answer. 

“He...he died. FEDRA in Boston executed him, I…fucked up something, it’s a long story, you don’t need to hear the whole thing.” 

“Maybe she does, Joel,” Maria suddenly says and from the corner of your eye you see Tommy grab her hand as if to stop her. 

“Why? What did you fuck up?” Ellie asks, still looking at Joel, and then Frankie and you.

“It doesn’t matter Ellie, not now,” Joel says, his voice sharper now, telling her to quit it. 

“Is that why she’s all weird around you?” Ellie plows on, nodding to you, ignoring Joel’s tone.

“Joel’s right, Ellie,” you say, “It doesn't matter now, we can put it behind us.” 

“But Maria said stuff had happened with Frankie and you and now his wife doesn’t want you here. Do you want him to leave too?” The last thing she says to you and you have to shake your head. 

“No, not now,” you reply, “But I admit, I didn’t want him here when he first came, because of what happened in Boston,” you look straight at Ellie, deciding it’s best to treat her as an adult, be honest with her. “Joel did things in Boston, you don’t need to know what, that made me not trust him, but I’m giving him a second chance.” 

Ellie meets your look with a steady look of her own, and you feel like you’re being evaluated by the teenager. 

“It’s ok, Ellie,” Joel says, “She’s looking out for her family, that’s all, and she’s right not to trust who I was in Boston.” 

“But you’ve changed and…”

“But she doesn’t know that, so for now, I need to earn back that trust.” His tone says ‘leave it’. 

Ellie looks up at him and he gives her a nod, his eyebrows raised and she seems to concede, looking back at her burger and taking another bite. 

Frankie’s hand is still on your jeans, grounding you, as you glance over at Jack. He’s looking at you, wide eyed and worried, his own burger forgotten. Frankie suddenly takes your hand, his long fingers wrapping around yours. 

“C’mon, family council,” he says softly, “Jack, c’mon, you too, son.” 

No one says anything as the three of you leave the table and walk around the side of the house, Frankie scooping Jack up into his arms even though he’s really too big to be carried by his dad anymore. He stops as you all reach the front porch, placing Jack down on the stairs. 

“C’mere, cariño,” Frankie pulls you down on the step just below the one he sits on, so that he can wrap one arm around you, and the other around Jack. 

“Jack, I know you don’t know what happened when we lived in Boston,” he says looking over at the young boy, “And you don’t need to know all the details, but I think you’re old enough to know the story at least.” 

Jack looks serious as he nods, and you wrap your arm around his waist, the other around Frankie so that you’re sitting in a little huddle on the porch stairs. 

“I used to be a soldier, Jack, before the outbreak,” Frankie says and Jack lights up. 

“You flew helicopters, I know!”

“Yeah, I did, exactly, but I did a lot of other things too, things that left bad marks on my mind, things that gave me nightmares and left me feeling like a bad person,” Frankie says and Jack nods along, listening intently.  

“I was very unhappy, until I had a daughter, your sister Lucía. She made me want to be a better person, and I managed to get past the bad thoughts.” 

“But you still have nightmares,” Jack says, his face worried, he’s been woken up on a few occasions by Frankie’s shouts, when you haven’t been able to calm him. 

“I do, I think I will probably always have them, but it was much worse back then,” Frankie strokes Jack’s head, calming the boy before he continues, “Lucía, she died when the outbreak happened, and…I almost died too, when I lost her, it broke my heart because I loved her so much.” 

Jack nods solemnly, he knows this part of the story, Frankie had told him not too long ago about Lucía. 

“And then we had to survive the first few years of this new world, and it wasn’t anything like Jackson,” Frankie continues, his hand starting to rub over your shoulder as he looks at you, “It was dangerous, and all the things I’d done as a soldier, all my nightmares and bad thoughts, they came back and I didn’t handle them very well.” 

“What did you do?” Jack asks and Frankie looks back at him, pulling him closer. 

“I started taking special types of pills, they’re a drug that makes you feel better at first, but soon they just make you feel worse than ever, but then I couldn’t stop taking them. And my nightmares got worse, and I wasn’t acting like myself. I was very angry and scared, I thought your mom would leave me, that she’d be fed up with my problems and not want to be with me anymore.” 

At this Jack looks over at you with a worried frown and you give him a reassuring smile.   

“I never, ever thought about leaving him, and I kept telling him, but he was so unhappy, so broken after all that had happened, that he didn’t believe that I would want to stay with him. He didn’t think he deserved me.” 

“It’s hard to explain, Jack, even now, but I thought that I was a really bad person, and that she’d be happier if she didn’t have to deal with my mess.” 

“But you’re not a bad person?” Jack says, looking up at Frankie who has to shake his head. 

“I’ve done bad things, Jack, both as a soldier, and afterwards, but I was having trouble understanding that it didn’t make me a bad person.”

“No, Jack, your dad isn’t a bad person,” you say, pulling both of them closer into your little huddle, “He never was, he just couldn’t handle all the bad things that happened to him in a very good way.” 

“And when we were in Boston, Joel was like me,” Frankie says, “He was angry and very unhappy, but he didn’t have someone like your mom to help him out of it. And when I worked with him, we weren’t good for each other, and together we did some very bad things…” Frankie trails off, looking at you, sighing deeply. 

“Jack, what I did…” he says eventually, looking back at the boy, “it led to my best friend dying and it makes me feel very bad, thinking about it. Before he died he told me it wasn’t my fault but I still feel like it was, I made terrible mistakes, and I miss him every day.” 

Frankie pauses and you pull him closer, pressing your cheek against his chest while Jack looks up at him.

“That’s what happened in Boston, Jack,” Frankie says and Jack nods, his eyebrows wrinkled as he thinks. 

“But you didn’t kill tio Santi?” he asks eventually and you answer before Frankie can. 

“No, he didn’t, not at all.” 

“But I feel guilty about it,” Frankie says, “it was my mistake that put him in danger.” 

“Are you ok now though?” Jack asks, “You still have nightmares.” 

“I’m fine now, Jack, even though I have nightmares sometimes, but your mom takes care of me when I have them, like she always takes care of me,” Frankie says and Jack smiles at you.  

“I just wanted you to know what happened in Boston, Jack, why we came to Jackson. I left all of that behind me when we came here, and it’s been a long time since then, do you understand?” 

Jack nods and Frankie tucks him into his side, the boy wrapping his arms around his dad’s waist and you smile up at the two of them. 

“C’mere, cariño,” Frankie mumbles, nudging your chin up with his free hand and bending down to you. His lips are soft and he smells of wood smoke and barbecue when he kisses you. It’s a small, gentle press, his scruffy mustache tickling your mouth, you can feel his smile and you cup your hand around his neck, holding him close. 

Jack makes a retching noise next to you, burying his face in Frankie’s t-shirt. 

“Ewww, gross!”

THE END

That's it, end of the story after wrapping it up with Tommy, Joel and Ellie arriving in Jackson too (of course). I'm relieved and drained, so ready to shoot this out into to space and start something new, to change perspective. It's been incredible writing this story and having all your feedback some at me every time I post a new chapter and I can't thank you enough (again).

Love you all!

Bonus Christmas chapter!

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