#but I would have put her under ‘hates road trips’ and you will have to take this headcanon as purely vibe based | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

justagalwhowrites · 9 months

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Hey babes!!! I’ve been on vacay so im trying to get caught up on your post 😂 but i saw your prompt lists and i think 3 5 18 or 19 with LOTS of angst and a happy ending would be AMAZINGGGGG🫠🤍

OMG Hi Bestie!

Remember when I put this prompt list out there? I barely do! It was like 6 weeks ago, that's why! I've been AWFUL and finishing the 500 follower celebration. I got so hung up on finishing Lavender and Beskar Doll and starting Yearling and going on vacation that I still have requests from this sitting in my inbox... and I'm now at 946 followers 🫠🫠🫠

BUT THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THIS REQUEST! @encephalitiskat also requested prompt number 3 and I came up with this little non-canon angsty trip outside the QZ for Doc and Joel. I hope you like it!

Lost and Found

You and Joel run into trouble on a run outside the QZ. Based on prompt 3: “I almost lost you.”

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader (Lavender pairing)

CW: Canon-typical violence. Threat of SA. Minors DNI, 18+ Only.

Length: 2.4k

You tried to avoid winter runs as much as you could. For starters, it was cold. Even after years in Boston, part of you still longed for the warm weather of your college years in Texas. At least your apartment had heat, you could curl up under your quilt with a cup of tea. Sometimes, Tommy would come over and you’d keep each other warm and the cold was suddenly inviting.

But you weren’t at home. No, you were on a run, one that Tess and Tommy had both stayed back from. Tommy had some Firefly thing to take care of, Tess had broken her arm on the last job. That left you and Joel.

Out in the cold.

Outside Boston.

And you were miserable.

“Keep up,” Joel looked over his shoulder at you, scowling, as usual. He was always fucking scowling.

“You have longer legs than me,” you were panting for breath, hot below your heavy coat in spite of the frigid air. “I don’t like being stuck out here with you any more than you like being stuck out here with me but I’d rather not get so exhausted racing through snow that we don’t make it back to Boston.”

“If we’re makin’ it back to fuckin’ Boston alive we need to move faster than you’re movin’ so keep. Up.”

You ground your teeth but tried to listen. Even though you knew you’d get your way before too long. It was going to be dark soon, the sun already low in the sky, and you were at least four hours from the QZ.

Even though that was going to mean another night on the road with Joel.

Joel, who hated you. Fucking hated you. Hated you so much that the last two nights you’d been outside the QZ he glared at you or ignored you entirely. You could feel it pouring off him, the loathing.

You’d thought you’d have gotten used to it by now. But it hurt. It hurt every single time. You’d loved him what felt like your whole life, with your whole being. Even after you found out about what he’d done before he’d come to the QZ, you loved him so damn much that you’d set it aside within yourself. It didn’t matter, none of it mattered, all that mattered was that he had made it this far alive and you could forgive almost anything if it led to that.

The hate you could take. Most of the time, anyway. The indifference, though. The total lack of anything in his eyes and on his face, like he was looking right through you, like you didn’t exist. That was worse. That alone, you thought, could kill you.

You tried not to think about it, not to linger on it. It turned your stomach to knots and sent your mind down paths you knew you should avoid, especially when you were outside the QZ and facing the threat of infected and raiders.

It made your guard low. Even when you knew you should pay close attention to Joel’s deaf side - the ear you couldn’t whisper in during the year he could tolerate your presence in the QZ - you didn’t.

Not until it was too late.

You sensed the raider a split second before you felt him, heard him, smelled him. His hand closed around your wrist and pulled you sharply to the ground, his body all but materializing out of the trees beside you, their shadows so long and dark you hadn’t seen him. You hadn’t been paying attention.

“Joel!” You shrieked as you fell. “Run!”

You had a moment where you relieved about his indifference. He’d leave you there if he didn’t care, he’d get out if he didn’t care. You weren’t stupid, you knew you were a vulnerability in situations like this. It’s why he didn’t want to take you to begin with. You dragged him, Tess and Tommy down. Tommy was stupid enough to put himself on the line to keep you safe but Joel, you were certain, would get the fuck out before he was overrun or hurt.

You were wrong.

He spun toward you, his gun raised as three other men came out from the trees. One went right for Joel from the side - when he was too busy focusing on you - and slammed into him, sending him to the ground.

The man who had you pawed at you, pulling at your pack and fumbling for your weapon in your waistband before you had a chance to go for it. He yanked your pack off and you tried to crawl away but he grabbed your ankle and yanked you back, making you shriek again.

“Such a pretty thing,” the man all but fell on top of you, knocking the air out of you. He grabbed your braid and pulled your head back, his teeth against the soft skin of your cheek. “Can think of all kinds of uses for you…”

You slammed your elbow back into him as best you could and he grunted in what sounded like a combination of shock and pain. You were able to shove him off of you and clamber to your feet to see the other three men trying to contain Joel.

You didn’t even think about it, didn’t think about the fact that it was stupid as hell, that you didn’t know how to fight worth a damn, that you’d never killed anything but infected. You just saw Joel, on the ground, overwhelmed, being hit again and again and you acted in the only way you could think to act. You launched yourself at the nearest man, your arms going around his neck until you heard him cough and gag, digging his fingers into your forearms as you clung to him for dear life. You sank your teeth into his neck and he let out a strangled yelp as he tried to dislodge you.

He stumbled back from Joel, you still wrapped around his back, when he gave up on pulling your arms free from his neck. Instead, he reached back and grabbed your shirt at the nape of your neck by the fistful with one hand, your braid with the other, ripping you up and over his shoulder and throwing you like a rag doll into a tree.

“Fucking bitch!” He was panting and you couldn’t seem to get your body to cooperate quite yet. Your head was spinning and you were trying to sit up but everything hurt, everything. You were seeing double and both versions of the man were stalking toward you, freeing the knife at his belt. “Not even worth fuckin’ but I bet your man would hate to hear you scream…”

“Don’t fucking touch her!” Joel shrieked, something unhinged in his voice. You couldn’t get your eyes to focus, everything beyond the man prowling for you jagged and unclear. “I’ll fuckin’ kill you, touch her and I’ll fuckin’ kill you!”

The man ignored him, going down on one knee next to your place on the ground like some kind of perverse proposal. He smiled and you could see the rot on his teeth.

“Maybe you are worth fuckin’,” he held the knife up. “Just to piss off your boyfriend…”

“He won’t care,” you shook your head, doing your best to scramble back from him, your body still not ready to listen after being thrown and hitting your head. “He’s not my… he won’t care, I’m not worth it, remember?”

He grabbed your hair fiercely, forcing a small yelp from you as he yanked your head back. There was blood on the snow, you realized. Your blood, from where you’d hit your head.

“Startin’ to think you are worth it,” he slid the knife over your coat, cutting it open at the zipper. “Might just need to keep you…”

You kicked and caught him on the side, making him groan and you rushed to pull yourself away as he grabbed your ankle. You could hear the struggle of Joel with the other men and your heart was pounding, the terror thrumming through you.

This was it. You’d been so busy longing for Joel you’d gotten him killed. He was going to die and you were going to end up enslaved by raiders, the exact thing he’d said would happen if you left the QZ. Joel was going to die and it was your fault.

He pulled you back toward him and he forced you onto your back before straddling your hips, his heavy weight pressing you down into the earth and you wanted it to swallow you, wanted to do anything that would make this ending different.

You barely noticed that the struggle with Joel and the other men had gone quiet when the man on you was ripped away from you. He cried out, shocked, and Joel threw him on the ground.

“Told you I’d fuckin’ kill you,” Joel panted, blood dripping from his mouth. He shot the man before he had a chance to respond.

He put the gun in his waistband before he went for you, eyes running up and down your body again and again in the seconds it took to reach you.

You were desperately trying not to panic, trying to not devolve into something that couldn’t handle itself and would just get left in the woods outside the city. You wouldn’t make it back on your own, you didn’t have the skills and you weren’t sure how badly you were hurt.

He dropped to his knees beside you, one hand going to your ribs, the other going to your face, his gloved thumb brushing your bleeding temple.

“Joel,” you couldn’t seem to keep your voice steady. You closed your eyes and forced yourself to swallow. “Joel, if you’re leaving me out here, please give me a gun at least I can’t…”

“Not leavin’ you,” he said. “Need you to tell me how to check for a concussion.”

You opened your eyes again at that, brows knitting together as you looked at him.

“What…”

“Concussion,” he repeated. “C’mon, Baby, walk me through how to check for one…”

“Um,” you had to close your eyes to focus. He was so close, he looked so afraid. “Blurred or double vision, eye strain, light sensitivity, pupils that aren’t dilating properly, eye movement, confusion and inability to focus, loss of consciousness.”

“Right, OK,” he said. He sounded afraid, too, why was he so afraid? It was Joel, it didn’t make sense for him to be this afraid. “Gotta open your eyes for me, Baby, alright? Tell me how many fingers you see, OK?”

You opened your eyes and he was holding up three fingers. You answered and he nodded, looking relieved. He used his flashlight as dusk started to fade to check your pupils. He seemed satisfied with those, too.

“Know who you are?” He asked. “Where you are? Who you’re with?” You nodded. He looked insistent. You sighed and said your name before going down the rest of the list in order.

“I’m outside the Boston QZ,” you said. “With Joel Miller… please don’t just leave me out here, Joel, I know you hate me but…”

“Don’t hate you,” he cut you off. You frowned. He ignored it. “Think you can walk? Not far from a suburb, we can find a place for the night there…”

“Yeah,” you nodded. “Yeah, I can walk.”

He pulled you to your feet and you had to lean on him for a moment to catch your balance. But when you tried to pull away, his grip on you remained. He held onto you with one hand, his gun clutched in the other, waiting for someone else to come out of the woods.

“Are you OK?” You asked, looking up at him. “There were so many of them on you and…”

“M’Fine.”

He was still holding onto you.

The suburbs Joel mentioned were close and it didn’t take long to find a house that met whatever standard Joel was looking for. You weren’t arguing. Your head was starting to swim and you were pretty sure it was because you were losing blood.

“On the counter,” Joel ordered once you were both safely inside and he’d locked everything down and closed all the curtains. He put his hands on your waist and helped you up before stepping between your legs to look at your injured head. You tried not to think about it.

“You’re gonna be OK Baby,” he said. He still sounded so worried. You frowned. Why? “Gonna get you cleaned up, patch this up…”

“Joel,” you began, but he cut you off.

“I almost lost you,” he took your head in his hand, his fingers curling around the base of your skull and around your neck as he brought his forehead to your own. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Can’t lose you, Baby, I can’t. You gotta stay with me, OK? Please, I’ll beg if I have to but you can’t leave me, not like this, OK? Don’t make me lose you, please. Can’t lose you…”

“Not going anywhere,” you said gently, chest tight. “I promise.”

He pulled back from you with a nod and went about the business of patching you up to get the bleeding at your head under control.

“Joel,” you said as he finished and he dropped his forehead to your own again, his body so close to your own. “I don’t understand…”

“I’ve been a fuckin’ idiot,” he said softly. “I’ve been so goddamn stupid. But I’m so scared, I’m so scared all the fucking time with you. Thought if I pushed you away hard enough and far enough that I could live with it but I can’t… I can’t lose you and I almost lost you and I’m done being a fuckin’ idiot with you. I know I don’t deserve it, I know you’ve got no reason to trust me at all, but… if you can find a way to let me back into your life. I don’t care how, I’ll be whatever you want me to be to you but please, don’t let me lose you. Please, Baby.”

You reached up, running your fingers through his curls, and gently pulled his lips to yours. He kissed you soft and slow and gentle and he still felt like home against your body.

“Can’t lose me, Joel,” you whispered. He nodded against you before kissing you again for a moment before you could continue. “I’m yours. Always have been, always will be.”

#fanfic #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #lavender #follower celebration

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nardo-headcanons · 1 month

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heyyy how do you think the founder era characters, and maybe some akatsuki members, would be in an road to ninja au???

omg nonnie, that is such a funny idea!

RTN!Akatsuki and Founders

I havn't watched Road To Ninja in a while, but as far as I know, the Akatsuki are like a normal mercenary group? From what I've seen, they haven't changed much personality wise, which is a bummer. this is a long post, so more under the cut! also please take these with a grain of salt lmao

Kakuzu is terrible with money. Absolutely terrible. He's the worst treasurer the Akatsuki ever had, but no one dares to take the job away from him because he still has the best connections and also he's just intimidating so they let him do his thing.

Itachi was probably a bigger player than RTN!Sasuke. He had to flee Konoha from all the unwanted fangirls and -boys. Outside of battle situations he is the goofiest man alive. Puns and everything, but very charismatic and playful. This Itachi KNOWS how good-looking he is.

Konan is a total klutz. She is very bubbly and sweet, openly showing her care for everyone in the world, but please do not let her near anything breakable EVER. She'll run up to you, be like "Hiii, reader-chan!" and fall flat on her face or trip over her own feet.

Deidara is scared of his own explosions. He's, much like Konan, very clumsy, especially with his bombs. Often had to pay Kakuzu to reattach his limbs and always jumps whenever he blows something up. Also, he will read more about the chemistry behind explosions than the actual explosions themselves.

Sasori is still a human, and he hates anything having to do with corpses, bodily fluids or organs. He's making all his puppets out of wood or other materials. Very cleanly, squeamish and emotional.

Hidan is very professional and soft-spoken outside of battle, he's trying to TALK you to death. He really likes meditating and has a soft spot for kittens and cinnamon buns. His bloody battles are an outlet for all the anger he suppresses.

Kisame is unintentionally really rude yet so gullible. He's very obsessed with his looks and considers himself a top tier guy looks-wise. Those women that rejected him in the bar? They are just scared of him because he's just too cool for them. He doesn't care about the cause of the Akatsuki and just joined them for his own selfish ambitions.

Madara has betrayed the Uchiha clan after Indra's death, by trying to be "one of the good ones". He is a loyal Konoha soldier through and through, ruthless and cold unlike his canon counterpart, who is very empathetic and loving, but instead with great charisma. He himself believes the Uchiha suffer from the "curse of hatred" and thinks all discriminatory policies against them are justified. He rarely uses his sharingan in battle.

Hashirama ruthlessly rose to power as the first Hokage, not even considering Madara as the first candidate. Unlike canon Hashirama who I think was just painfully naive, this one is fully aware of the position he is putting the Uchiha in and just. doesn't. care. Once he set all these policies in motion, he abandoned the village to go drink and gamble because being the Hokage bored him.

Tobirama watched as his brother enrolled all his policies and was disgusted with how the Uchiha were treated. He is struck with guilt for killing Izuna and steps in when the village is suddenly abandoned. He tries reforming the cruel policies his brother put in place and thanks to him, the Uchiha massacre could be avoided.

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blacklister214 · 3 months

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Honesty and Codology: Chapter 2 (Shenanigans)

This is the second chapter of my Scarnash fanfiction. This one is set just prior to 3x03 as Patrick is journeying to the Hotel St. Marc. As ever, sorry for any typos! Enjoy!

__________________________________________________________

Dear Lord, he hated the countryside. Traveling in a drafty carriage during the winter months was bad enough, without having to contend with the ruts in the dirt roads.

As if on cue the carriage jolted again, causing Patrick’s head to smack hard into the side of the conveyance. Damnation. He rubbed the sore point and tried to focus on the prize that waited for him at the end of this God-forsaken trip.

“There are better ways, you know.”

Slowly Patrick’s gaze slid to the left, half hoping and half dreading about what he might see there. His prayers and fears were answered in the form of a lean bearded man, far more plainly dressed than Patrick. Even if Michael had survived long enough to enjoy the profits of their business, Patrick suspected he would have continued to dress simply. He’d never had much of a taste for showmanship. Their complementary skills had been what had made them such a pair.

“To travel the French Countryside? I’m afraid not.” A glib reply, but he had none better. Months had passed since his odd experience in the hospital. The hallucination had faded to the back of his mind. He’d been shot, and tired, and taking a drug containing opium. It had been easy to dismiss as unimportant. To see Michael again though was something else entirely.

He touched the small lump hidden by his hair. Precisely how hard had he hit his head? Perhaps he should visit a doctor when he returned to London.

“Better ways to get a girl’s attention then by pulling on her braid.”

Patrick ceased probing his injury. Whatever the reason for Michael's presence, he might as well take advantage. How many people were lucky enough to chat with a belated loved one? Patrick was nothing if not an opportunist, and this was a unique opportunity.

“I haven’t the slightest notion of what you mean.”

Michael's derisive snort told Patrick what he thought of that bald-faced lie.

“You have cases. Many cases. So many in fact that you couldn’t spare a single one of your men to help you.”

Patrick waved his hand dismissively. He’d been a one-man band after Michael passed, and he’d handled himself just fine. Managing thirty men hadn’t made him so soft that he couldn’t survive on his own.

“He’s a non-violent fugitive. I'll be fine.”

Michael rolled his eyes to the heavens, as if praying for patience.

“The point I was trying to make was that you don’t NEED to do this.”

Patrick furrowed his brows.

“Do what? Capture a criminal twelve years on the run? Why shouldn’t I?” His successful apprehension of Charles Percival would bring Nash & Sons acclaim on multiple continents. It would launch his Paris branch in spectacular fashion. In a few times he might even expand to the United States.

“Whatever the benefit to Nash & Sons, it would be relatively minor, compared to the benefit to Miss Scarlet’s business.” Patrick deflated a bit. That fact did slightly sting his conscience.

“True.” He had no reason to feel guilty. They were competing agencies. He had no moral obligation to help her.

“Then why are you so determined to steal her victory out from under her?”

When Michael put it that way, it made him sound like a cad. The fact was, he hadn’t seen Eliza in months. Their last encounter had been friendly enough, especially considering she had been the reason he’d been shot. He’d been gracious about the whole thing. He even let her keep the fee after she’d offered to return it. Was it too much to ask in return that she’d drop by? They had an agreement after all.

“Steal is such an ugly word. I went to her office to propose we track down the conman together.”

He’d been perfectly willing to share his information and in turn he’d hoped she could help him find some new leads. That was, in a way, precisely what transpired.

“You broke in!”

Patrick held up hand to fend off further objections.

“She didn’t answer when I knocked. I was concerned. Was it my fault the whole case was pinned up to her wall for anyone to see?” This wasn’t a complete lie. For Eliza not to be in her office at 9 am was unusual for her. Their business was a dangerous one, and as far he knew, Eliza hadn’t yet acquired a weapon for her personal protection. Well, outside poison, with which he knew she was quite handy.

“Anyone committing criminal trespass, you mean.”

Patrick shrugged in what he hoped to be a careless manner.

“She should learn to be more circumspect when it comes to her protecting her leads.” What Eliza needed was some hidden safes. They were quite handy when it came to storing sensitive information. Patrick himself had a multitude both in his office and in his residence.

“Planning on telling her that when you see her at the hotel?” Patrick grimaced. Ordinarily he was quite happy to share his knowledge and experience with Eliza, but in this case it would be counterproductive.

“No.” Eliza would react poorly if he revealed how he’d come to be at the hotel. Best if kept that nugget of advice to himself.

“I thought you wanted to be more “fair and honest”, when it came to Miss Scarlet.”

Patrick frowned, not liking his words being used against him.

“Ideally yes, but this is a necessary step.” Rules had to have exceptions. He fully intended to be fair and honest with Eliza, once she joined Nash & Sons. However, she never would come to work for him unless he could prove he had something to offer.

“Toward what?”

“Toward earning her respect.” It wasn’t that he terribly minded losing to Eliza. She was an absolutely brilliant detective. It would be like a painter being upset they weren’t quite as good as Winslow Homer. What he minded was ALWAYS losing to Eliza. If he couldn’t beat her, not even once, then he didn’t deserve having her as his employee.

“I don’t see how taking advantage of her hard work will help you achieve that goal.”

Patrick's stomach churned uncomfortably, but he ignored it. A few lies of omission were nothing in the grand scheme of things. He’d done far worse without losing a moment’s rest over it.

“There is no reason for her to know about that part.”

The ends did justify the means in this case. On her own it would take Eliza years to build the requisite reputation for a thriving business. Working for him would ensure she got the prestige and pay she so richly deserved now. It was a mutually beneficial outcome.

Michael wiped his hands over his eyes, seeming less than impressed by Patrick’s response.

“Patrick, you lie so much, I think it might be a medical condition.”

Patrick stiffened at the old reproof. It wasn’t as though he’d made no progress on the case before he’d…stumbled upon Eliza’s notes.

“It’s not all a lie. I found the house on my own. I found the IDs on my own.” Well, with the help of his men, but it still counted. He wasn’t a fraud, at least not a complete one. He also had information Eliza did not. He’d scoured her evidence wall and there was neither the name “Sebastian Baron” nor his likeness.

“Just so I have this straight: Your plan is to apprehend the fugitive, then gloat to Miss Scarlett about your success? You feel this will raise you in her esteem?”

Michael’s tone was rather dubious, but Patrick was undeterred.

“I’m not sure ‘gloat’ is the word I would use, but essentially yes. Once she realizes I beat her to the prize, she will be forced to acknowledge my investigative skills.” He only too clearly remembered the sneer in her voice when she spoke of his firm’s reputation. Ordinarily he didn’t care if people turned their noses up at his methods, but with Eliza it was different. He wanted her to think well of him.

“Yes, theft is quite the step up.”

Patrick banged fist against the seat cushion. He’d forgotten that Michael was as insistent as a pounding hammer if he thought that Patrick was making a poor choice.

“For the last time I’m not stealing from her! I fully intend to share credit and payment in exchange for her assistance transporting the man back to London.”

He’d made his plans there in Eliza’s office, once he realized she had already left for France. Alone, neither of them could safely transport the conman to London. Between the two and the private boat he’d hired, however, they could manage it. He wondered if she’d brought any of her poisons with her. Did she intend to drug Percival and then shove him into a large trunk?

“And if she refuses? How do you plan on transporting the prisoner on your own?” Patrick blinked, thoughts diverted from wondering if Eliza had remembered to add air holes.

“She won’t refuse.” Eliza was a survivor, like him. She may not like sharing credit, but she surely understood the opportunity this bounty represented. The trick would be to present the offer in a way that didn’t smack of condescension. Better still, if she believed it was her idea.

“Patrick, I urge you to reconsider this course of action. You’ve already had the girl thrown in jail and attempted to poach her case. It did not end well for you.”

“I know what I’m doing.” He’d invent a team of his men searching the countryside. They were to meet him at the hotel, but then they’d hit a snag. They’d send a message by telegram. Their carriage broke and they will be unable to assist him. If he received this note in Eliza’s presence, she might suggest a collaboration without him having to say a word. Yes, that would work splendidly.

“What is your ultimate goal with Miss Scarlett?” Patrick focused once again on his brother. Was he back dropping hints about Patrick’s having a more than professional interest in Eliza?

“I want her to come work for me.” It was even more true today, than it had been the day they’d met. Until that day “The Lady Detective” had been a file. A case. An asset to be acquired and put to good use. She was more than that now. A person who interested him. A person he liked. Despite the genial persona that he put on like a suit, there weren’t too many of those in the world.

“Anything else?” Michael’s eyes bore into Patrick’s as though waiting for him to blink. He shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny.

“I suppose I wouldn’t mind it terribly, if we became friends.” He had employees aplenty, but none that he would choose to socialize with. The truth was that most people bored him. Eliza never did.

“That’s very generous of you.” Patrick did not miss the sarcasm in Michael's response and wasn’t sure he appreciated it. He pointed an accusing finger at his brother.

“I know what you're thinking. You’re thinking I’m not good enough for her. You’re wrong.” Or so Patrick told himself. With enough repetition, he was bound to believe it, eventually.

Michael leaned forward in his seat, his hand hovering above Patrick’s knee, before withdrawing it. He sighed heavily.

“Patrick, the only person who has ever thought you're not good enough is you.”

That comment pierced through the wall of ego that Patrick had erected to protect his heart. What stung was how very incorrect Michael was. Anyone who’d ever known the both Nash brothers had found Patrick wanting. The Irish Constabulary, their school master, their neighbors. Even their parents, though they loved both of them, knew Michael was the good son, and Patrick the bad. Jealousy might have eaten Patrick alive, if he hadn’t been so damn proud of Michael. If Michael hadn’t been so loving a brother. Besides, it hadn't been Michael’s fault. Patrick was frequently found inferior by those who didn’t even know he’d had a brother. Case and point Eliza.

“Eliza has said, to my face, that I'm a liar and a criminal.” Having someone he admired so much consider him lesser was intolerable. He was determined to change her mind, by whatever means necessary.

“You have a strange way of proving her wrong.” Perhaps there was some irony in his trying to swindle his way out of her original perception of him, but he didn’t care. He was who he was. His methods were his methods.

“I told you, she won’t find out about my…shenanigans. I need her to witness me win, just once. Then she might actually see me as someone worth working with.”

“Don’t you mean ‘working for’?” Patrick tilted his head to the side. Michael was right. He’d said “working with.” Strangely that prospect seemed almost more appealing than the idea of having her under his command. It was more personal. He’d get to watch her work up close. Still, that was impossible, at least on a regular basis. He was the boss. He jumped from case to case whenever he felt his expertise was needed, or for the grand reveal at the end, but he didn’t have partners.

“Yes, of course that’s what I mean.” He felt strangely let down at the prospect. It wasn’t all bad news though. When she came to work for Nash & Sons, he would see her far more frequently than he did now. Long hours working meant shared meals, friendly banter, and getting to know each other better.

“I understand why you think you have to do this, Patrick. I do. But I think there’s one thing you haven’t considered. You want Miss Scarlet to trust you. That is the biggest obstacle standing between you and your objectives.”

Patrick nodded slowly, unable to find a fault in Michael’s logic. He was unsure where his brother was going with this line of thought.

“Agreed.”

“Trust is difficult to earn, but it is nearly impossible to repair. If your plan works, and then later she finds out about your deception, you’ll be far lower in her esteem than you are right now, possibly irretrievably so.”

A sudden sense of foreboding filled Patrick. Michael was right, he was making a risky gamble. Eliza had armor similar to his own. If he breached it, even a little, and then she discovered he’d bamboozled her, she’d be beyond furious.

When they’d last spoken, her eyes had lacked the contempt and wariness they’d held the day they’d met. Incrediment progress was still progress.The trouble was there was no other path forward that he could see, gradual or otherwise. Waiting patiently had never gotten him anywhere before, and he doubted that would change now. He’d have to risk it.

“She won’t find out.” He’d been careful not to disturb anything in Eliza’s office. The only way he’d be caught was if he confessed. He knew how to keep a secret.

Michael regarded Patrick, his lips pressed into a thin line as though to prevent further reproaches from escaping. He settled for shaking his head sadly.

“Good luck Patrick. You’ll need it.”

In the blink of an eye Michael vanished as if he’d never been, leaving Patrick alone once more in the rocking carriage.

Most unsettling, this hallucination business, but perhaps more so was the message this visit seemed to bring. A part of him clearly thought he was about to make a mistake.

He reached into his coat and retrieved the two sketches he’d hidden there. The first was of “Sebastion Baron” which he glanced at before moving to his trouser pocket. The second was of Eliza Scarlet. He’d commissioned it when he’d first put her under investigation. He had several photographs as well, including one from her most recent arrest, but the drawing was his favorite. It captured the directness and intelligence of her stare, and well as the defiant tilt of her chin.

Patrick had brought the picture with him to show to the bellhops. They were everyone in hotels, and generally quite susceptible to bribery. He would use them to track Eliza’s arrival and movements until he was ready to greet her personally.

He could do this. He was Patrick Nash. In less than a decade he had turned a struggling two-man PI firm into the most successful agency in London. His exploits had been written about in no less than three countries. He was about to open a second office in Paris and had plans for a third in the United States all before he turned 40. Winning the approval of one woman, albeit an extraordinary one, was well within his capabilities. It had to be.

#scarnash #miss scarlet and the duke #fanfiction #eliza scarlet #eliza x patrick #patrick nash #michael nash

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annakie · 6 months

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My family was supposed to all be out of town by now, but Stuff happened and they're not leaving til next week.

Asked my mom on Sunday if we were going to do any kind of Thanksgiving and she was like "Oh I bought sliced turkey at the deli!" Me: lol no

Spent an hour or so googling for options and H.E.B. (Texas grocery chain) had a full Thanksgiving dinner for four (4 - 6 lb Turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing, sweet potato casserole, green bean casserole, gravy and real cranberry sauce), all pre-cooked, and for under $100. Just unbox, stick it in the oven for an hour, and voila, easy dinner.

So I ordered that. They bought some pie when they went to Walmart, mom's making bread from scratch because she loves using her Kitchenaid stand mixer for bread, I bought a little cheese tray for appetizers, and we've got the easiest Thanksgiving ever for four.

Went to pick it up and:

A) Forgot that everyone gets out of work early today thus getting on the road at 2pm was like usually getting on the road at 5pm, especially heading away from downtown.

B) Forgot how far this grocery store was. I used to work right by there and completely forgot how much I hated that commute. I took the tollways. Worth it.

C) HOLY CRAP the grocery store parking lot was like Mad Max. Trying to get in and this idiot cut me off badly before getting into the parking lot, then I guess they got scared when I followed them into the parking lot and were driving erratically trying to get away from me? Even though I was just, you know, being normal. Maybe they were just THAT dumb. Then they nearly hit a family on foot while making a shitty blind turn. Terrifying. I offered the family my dashcam footage, but since nobody was hurt and they were leaving, they just wanted to get out.

D) CANNOT IMAGINE what it was like in that store, the parking lot looked FULL full. Thank the retail gods for curbside pickup. Didn't have to get out of the car. Wasn't allowed to tip the girl who brought the groceries out. =\ Only downside is that I'd ordered an extra side of pre-made Parmesan Garlic carrots for more veggies. They substituted the carrots for more green beans. Nobody in my family likes green beans much already. :p

E) Driving home was almost as bad, but traffic was better going south.

F) Thought it would take me 45 minutes. Entire trip took an hour and a half. Glad to be home.

G) I hate putting groceries away. The box with dinner juuuuust barely fits in my fridge. I had to duct tape the door shut. No, I'm not kidding. :D IT'S FINE. It's for like, 18 hours!

#personal post tag thingy #thanksgiving stuff

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charliehoennam · 1 month

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the NO-SKIP albums: a tag game

rules: share the albums that you can listen to nonstop. those lightning in a bottle-albums that scratch ur brain just right. every single track, an absolute banger. u could not skip one if u tried. no notes. stunning, show-stopping, immaculate. ur no-skip albums. 🔎 bonus & optional (but imo, v fun) rules:1) add a track rec for us to listen to! AND2) share ur favorite line(s) from that track! 👀

tagged by @stephendorff, i got pretty excited for this but then i realized that i don't have many no-skips albums....or so i thought🤦‍♀️ tagging: @gyll-yee-haw, @gyllenhaalstories, @potter-solomons, @navybrat817, @laurfilijames, @ithinkwehitametaphor

🎧 album info/track recs/my favorite lines under the cut!! ↓↓↓

album: audioslave by audioslave song rec: shadow on the sun I can tell you why // People go insane // I can show you how // You could do the same their self-entitled album never fails to make me feel like driving out in the middle of the desert in a pick-up truck with a cigarette hanging between my lips, hands stained with the blood of my ex-lover

album: diamond eyes by deftones song rec: beauty school You're shooting stars // From the barrel of your eyes // It drives me crazy // Just drives me wild deftones (and chino with all his side projects i.e team sleep, crosses, and palms which deserve a shoutout) never fail to amaze me with every song they make. hands down, my favorite band and coming to that conclusion was not easy

album: koi no yokan by deftones song rec: swerve city She tames with her voices // As she plays around with the forces i wasn't lying when i said they're my number 1 band lmao when this album first came out, i was hesitant about because i felt like their music changed a bit. but listening to it, 14 years later, made me realize how it sounds like a more mature side of the band and also i feel like they've successfully managed to put how an orgasm feels into music

album: razorblade romance by HIM song rec: right here in my arms She keeps on crying // But i won't leave her alone // She'll never be alone HIM was probably my first introduction into rock in general when i started watching jackass and viva la bam and it was love at first song. i just love how their music makes me feel like a century year old vampire wandering the modern world. and their lyrics are incomparable

album: meteora by linkin park song rec: from the inside Tension is building inside, steadily // Everyone feels so far away from me // Heavy thoughts forcing their way out of me choosing between meteora and hybrid theory is a long life debate and they're both so perfect but meteora is what i listened to the most growing up and it became the soundtrack of my teenage age lmao

album: peripheral vision by turnover song rec: new scream Adolescent dreams gave to adult screams // Paranoid that I won't have all the things they say I need this band deserves so much more attention. this album brings a sense of nostalgia to me and just makes me feel warm and happy and like road tripping through australia, which has always been a place i've always wanted to visit and unfortunately haven't been able to

album: as far as the eye can see by people in planes song rec: falling by the wayside It's OK // To be safe // I'm losing control // Falling by the wayside if i could choose a song to play at the moment of my passing away, that would be this. it's beautifully haunting in a way and the entire album is a musical masterpiece. i truly hate that this band broke up and never got the appreciation they deserved so i've made it my life's mission to spread the good word of people in planes lmao

album: placebo by placebo song rec: teenage angst Since I was born I started to decay // Now nothing ever, ever goes my way the only reason i didn't choose sleeping with ghosts is because there are two songs on there that aren't my favorite and i usually skip. placebo is a great alternative band that never goes out of style for me and i could listen to this album on repeat forever

album: jar by superheaven song rec: in on it / youngest daughter And I know just what I need // Autumn leaves and fallen trees // To feel the cold beneath my feet // Breathe until your lungs fail // You can sing 'til you go deaf this band has successfully revived alt/grunge in a mature way that brings a sense of nostalgia along with it. for me, it's hard to believe this album was only birthed in 2013. under the video, there's a comment that says "greatest 90s band of the 2010s" and it couldn't be more accurate. i couldn't pick between the two songs

album: teenage wrist song rec: swallow Older and older // The voice of wasted youth has never been so loud // Over and over // Like powder in the barrel pushin' deeper down another band that's been bringing atl/grunge and they do it so well. haven't really listened much to their new stuff, but this album has a very special place in my heart deserves much more attention. you can't tell me their grittiness doesn't make you feel like you're in the 90s

album: the questions by emery song rec: playing with fire Why should I take all the blame for all my mistakes? // You were there with every promise made to break one of my first introductions to 'emo' music lmao this band has been a must-have on every playlist i've ever made. the vocal harmony in their music really hits the soul

#about me #music #challenge

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blackwolfstabs · 6 months

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30 Day Writing Challenge: Day 29

VACATION

The Core Four go to the beach (but it's all about TARAcon).

based on @michiganstray's headcanon about Tara having her own convention called TARAcon :D (i will link the headcanon once she posts about it)

It was finally summer, and only a few days after college let out for the semester, Sam, Tara, Chad, and Mindy drove down from New York to California. They had planned to stay there for 2 weeks, Martha opening up her home to her children and the Carpenter sisters—whom anyone would’ve thought she’d adopted into the family already—to stay. Taking a plane would’ve been faster, but Sam and Tara hated flying and it was more expensive, so Operation: Road Trip Core Four Style was a go.

They left New York City on Monday at 7:00 in the morning, drove 14 hours for 2 days, then arrived in Woodsboro, at the Meeks-Martin residence, at around 8:00 at night on Thursday. Sam drove the first day, Mindy on the second, and then Chad finished the last 13 hours. They didn’t own a car in New York, so they rented one, which came out to be a 2013 white, Chevrolet Tahoe.

And as expected… Chad had to name it. So, for the duration of their vacation, it became known as The Core Four Tour Mobile.

Friday and Saturday had both been chill days with catching up on the past year in NYC, but Sunday, they headed down to the beach to have some fun under the sun.

That was where the Core Four were now…

“What are we even making?” Mindy asked as she clawed another handful of wet sand out from the hole they created to make a base for their sandcastle.

“Uh, a castle,” Chad replied flatly, clearly conveying an ‘duh, obviously!’ kind of tone.

She rolled her eyes, “Yeah, no shit, Sherlock. I mean, is it something specific? Like, how should we build it?”

To her left, Sam added to the small mound beside her. “TARAcon,” she suggested, sounding rather neutral but actually joking.

However, Tara, who was on the other side of the sand pit, wasn’t joking and immediately looked up with big eyes. “Um… YEEES! This is TARAcon. Tara-approved, so you all better make it the best thing on this beach.”

TARAcon was something Tara randomly made up one day that was basically a convention including everything Tara-coded and based. Joking around, Tara claimed she had fans because of the social media blow-up about Sam and insisted TARAcon was somewhere they could all hangout with the one-and-only Tara Carpenter. However, she grew fond of the idea, parodying it from the disastrous event, TanaCon, that wreaked havoc on social media in 2018. But TARAcon wouldn’t be anything like TanaCon, Tara assured. She’d make everyone homemade crafts, Chad and Danny would be her security, she’d have a million different snacks and drinks, and she would talk to everyone at some point.

It’d be great, because it’d be Tara’s.

Mindy nodded with a chuckle. “Alright then. How about these two towers are where people get their tickets to get in?” she pointed to where her and Sam had parallel sand piles.

“Like Admissions,” the eldest of the group put a name on it.

“Yeah, admissions.”

Tara nodded, “Yeah, that’s fine.” She smoothed out a path that led to what looked like an igloo about a foot away from the hole. “This is gonna be a private area… Like, solely VIP. The Core Four Cave.”

Sam scoffed, “Sounds like a hideout, to me.”

“It is! Well, kind of… it’d be dark in there most times with, like, lights and a lot of other awesome shit. Maybe it’ll have a huge screen, like a media room, where we can watch movies. And we’ll probably have an aquarium in there. It’s really like a multi-purpose cave for us and maybe a few others.” Her younger sister dug out a small entrance to the said-cave. “VIP-access isn’t easy to get at TARAcon.”

Chad glanced up to observe the secret base. “How do you get over there though? There’s no path.” The trail that led to the cave’s entrance was a dead-end right into the pit.

His girlfriend thought about it for a moment, before shrugging, “I don’t know. We can’t build the actual TARAcon, because I’d need to make blueprints. It’s just a sandcastle, so just know that there’s some secret way to it, okay?”

“Aye-aye, Captain!” was the understood reply. Then, he jumped to a side-note, “Oh, can we name this hole Love, by the way?”

Sam didn’t look up, but her brow furrowed. “Why?”

“So we can watch people fall in Love,” he said, receiving a snicker from Tara. He gestured towards his sister. “Maybe Mindy can find herself a girlfriend at TARAcon.”

Mindy just rolled her eyes and scoffed sarcastically. “Oh, yeah, TARAcon is the place to meet Tara and find the love of your dreams. That’s really promising.”

“Maybe if you met them online first,” Sam added.

She laughed, “Yeah, meet them on Tinder and be like ‘Hey, are you going to TARAcon, we should meet up!’ for real.”

“Hey, don’t judge what goes on at TARAcon!” Tara was covering the dome of the cave with a wet sand design that looked like stacked aggregate concrete pieces. “Anybody can do what they like as long as it’s not illegal, immoral, or stupid.”

This made her older sister share another comment. “Wow, you sound like Mom…”

“Except Mom’s done stuff that falls under all three of those categories, so she’s not allowed into TARAcon.” The younger glanced over to where Chad was digging the hole even deeper and advised, “Chad, baby, you can start building the wall. Gotta have the territory marked, you know?”

Mindy nodded for him. “That’s a good idea. Sam, you wanna start on the wall over there?” From the looks of it, she was close to being done with her tower.

“Yep,” she replied and moved back to branch it off the flank.

That invited Tara to move onto the next idea. “I wish we could keep that car. I’d get a license plate customized for it that says TARAcon.”

Her sister jumped in, “You haven’t even driven it!”

“Yeah, but that would make me drive it.”

“No, we’d need it to say Core Four!” Chad intervened. “We could make all the o’s zeros and the e a 3.”

The youngest huffed, “Okay, fine, but we’d get a sticker that says TARAcon, and it’d go on the back windshield.” She glanced over her shoulder at the Tahoe that had been backed-in to its designated spot. “Actually, if the plate says Core Four, then we should each design a sticker that represents us to go on the back.”

“We’re not keeping the car, guys.” The older Carpenter met the base of the sand-wall with the one Tara made that led to her cave.

“It’s fun to think about though…” Mindy mumbled.

“Yeah, you’re such a mood-killer sometimes, Sam,” Tara groaned.

“I know, but I don’t really care.”

Chad gave a short chuckle, but it was nearly cut off by a loud exclamation from his sister, which caught all of their attention. The built wall that was connecting her tower to her brother’s had collapsed into the pit, the base sliding out from beneath it.

“Oh, nooo!” Tara watched it melt away with a sigh. “It was almost done, too…”

“Sorry, T…” Meeks-Martin tried to hold the last of it together, but she was told to just let it go.

“It’s fine. It wasn’t gonna last forever, anyway.”

“TARAcon’s over-con,” Sam concluded.

Her little sister gave a nasaled scoff, “L.O.L.”

Chad did the same. “More like, S.O.L.”

“Or F.M.L.” was Mindy’s input.

Tara laughed, then pulled the last member into it. “Alright, Sam, you gotta come up with one, too!”

Samantha paused in her contribution to the sandcastle to think about what kind of acronym ended with an L but still fit the subject. “Hmmm…” Then, she smirked, “How about just L? L TARAcon, because this sucks.” She gestured to the crumbled part of the castle.

“Hey!” Tara grew offended at this and threw her next handful of building material in her direction. “You take that back! TARAcon is the best!” It was all in good fun, of course.

Sam jumped back with a small yelp but shook her head, rubbing splattered sand from her cheek away with her shoulder. “No,” she giggled, “I’m not taking that back, it’s true!”

“TARAcon’s the best ever!” the other repeated, mock offense showing past the smile clear on her face. “Say it!” She raised her hand again, another round of sand in her fist, “Or else…”

But it wasn’t taken seriously. “Or else, what? You’re gonna throw sand at me?” She rolled her eyes and put her hands up in fake surrender, “Oh, I’m so scared!”

“Or else, I’m gonna get you!” She threw her sand-ball as she said this. “Say it, Samantha,” she demanded.

“No.” Sam pushed her boundaries as she grabbed some of the sand already placed on the wall, “Welcome to LoserCon!” She flung it in Tara’s direction.

Tara tried to swat it clear, but it didn’t work. “Okay, you asked for it!” she growled and lunged for her, “Get over here!”

“No!” Her big sister twisted to not be caught and got up to bolt away. “You guys heard it here, Tara’s a loser and so is her convention!” she hollered over her shoulder. “You’ve all been juked!”

The said-ressembler of that remark raced after her. “Chad! You’re TARAcon security, what are you doing?!” she barked, “ATTACK!”

And Chad was up in a flash. “TARAcon security incoming! Loyalty breach! LOYALTY BREACH!” His legs were longer than both sisters’, so he was able to catch up and gain speed like a predator to prey.

“Target: Sam Carpenter!” Tara howled, hot on her boyfriend’s heels as he passed her up.

Sam’s lungs were in a struggle between balancing breathing and laughing at the same time, so all that was heard from her was the product of breathless laughter.

And so, the chase was on to defend TARAcon, leaving Mindy to figure she might as well start picking up all of the shovels and buckets so they could head home afterwards. The sun was starting to make its way towards the horizon, and the drive back would take 45 minutes, at least. They had told Martha they’d be home before dark. So, once the puppies had chased each other ‘til they couldn’t anymore, they’d be leashed up for the day.

And that’s exactly what happened.

The TARAcon sandcastle was left to spend the rest of the day standing with the stubbornness of a mule, just like its owner, who had fallen asleep rather quickly on the road back to the Meeks-Martin’s. Both twins had also crashed in their seats, Mindy behind the passenger seat, where Chad was. His sunglasses blocked out the ability to see that his eyes were closed, but Sam knew. The oldest of the Core Four had one hand glued to the steering wheel, while the other held her head as she leaned against the car door. The highway was fast, but clear and quiet. And that time alone allowed her to go down Memory Lane to when she would babysit the twins and Tara. How they’d be wild and crazy and then drag her into their foolishness. There were days when they’d run themselves down into the night. Then, they’d go inside to wait for Martha to show up and Christina or Mr. Carpenter to get home.

And Tara, Chad, and Mindy would all fall asleep on the sofa before then, leaving Sam to wait the longest for rest.

Even after all this time… some things never change.

ONE MORE DAY TO GO AAAAHHHHHH

idk how i feel about this one but it's lighthearted and fun soooooo

All my best and more ♡ - parker

#scream #scream v #scream vi #sam carpenter #tara carpenter #carpenter sisters #chad meeks martin #mindy meeks martin #the core four!#core fuckin four #ao3 #ao3 writer #ao3 author #ao3 fanfic #scream fanfic #30 day writing challenge #vacation #TARACON #AU: All My Heart

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jo-harrington · 11 months

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For the AASB blurb game - this was a very tough decision for me. The obvious answer for me would be Bigfoot, of course, but I've decided to take a different and less traveled path.

This is the Loveland Frogman, a well known Ohio cryptid from - you guessed it - Loveland, Ohio. I would love to know about any possible interactions our Knight may have had with this green fellow.

Oh buddy, HOOTIE! WE ARE IN FOR IT THIS TIME. I was really hoping that you were gonna drop this one specifically. It's not the sexiest...ahem...but...

Please enjoy a little summertime fun. If a name is unfamiliar to you, it's because they are who I lovingly refer to as "Corroded Coffin 1.0" AKA the boys that Eddie grew up with before they left him behind. They always show up in one of my stories or another.

Haven't ready Heaven yet? Find it here. And find the Master List for As Above, So Below here.

August 1984

Eddie hated goodbyes.

After his mom died, he got it in his head that it was because he said goodbye to her at the drop-off that morning that she never came home.

Wayne had held him for hours as he begged and cried and pleaded for whatever power that was in the universe, whatever God, to just bring her back. To start the day over so he could say "see you later" instead of goodbye.

But there were no merciful Gods, and no do-overs. Once something was put out into the world, it couldn't be taken back.

So he didn't say goodbye anymore. Sometimes he didn't say anything at all. A clap on the shoulder could do just as much as any words could.

And now, as his friends were about to leave on the most harrowing of journeys--college--he decided a "good luck" party was more important than a "goodbye."

It was nearing the end of summer now, still as humid as ever. Belongings were already packed into boxes and last minute trips were taken to Kmart and the Bed Bath and Beyond out by Muncie Mall to grab dorm essentials. Textbooks were purchased and summer jobs abandoned with the empty promise of shifts given during holiday breaks.

Mickey and his parents would hit the road for such-and-such University in the morning, and instead of letting him sleep in his comfortable bed for the last time, Eddie made the whole gang sleep under the stars out by Lover's Lake.

Of course, like any camp out or sleepover, there was no real sleep happening. Instead you were all stuffing yourselves with burnt marshmallows, sipping rapidly-warming beer, and scaring each other shitless with ghost stories and other tall tales.

Well, trying to at least.

"...so they say, if you put baby powder on the back of the car and you sit on the train tracks, your car will roll off the tracks themselves and you can see the handprints of the ghosts in the baby powder."

The boys all boo'd and threw marshmallows at Dave, who flinched and defended himself.

"A ghost train dude? Really?"

"It's not a ghost train, it's ghost kids!"

"If I wanted to fall asleep I would have just stayed home."

"LAME!"

Eddie felt you shake under his arm as you giggled at their antics. Dave's eyes immediately zeroed in on you.

"You too?" he whined, and Eddie didn't know whether or not he should feel a little proud that the younger boys wanted to impress you too.

"Your story was good, Davey," you insisted. "Not as scary as we were all expecting, though."

"Alright, what kind of story do you have then?" Jack challenged you from across the fire.

"Probably not a good one."

"You're a fucking liar," Eddie scoffed, hoping that it would get you to be a little braver and tell the gang one of the many stories you told him. You shifted to look at him with a big smile and warning eyes. He simply ignored you and turned to the already-captivated audience.

"She's a liar," he repeated. "Before she came to Hawkins, she was driving through Ohio and pulled over to ask a group of people who were on the side of the road for directions and when one of them got closer...it was a Frog Man."

All of the stories of the night had been tall tales meant to shock; even so, the boys instantly lost their minds.

"What the fuck?"

"What do you mean a Frog Man? He was a frog...and a man?"

"What did he look like!"

"AND," he continued proudly. "She maintained eye contact the whole time and when he blinked it went--"

"Shut up Eddie!" You slapped your hand over his mouth before he could keep talking and he licked your palm to get you to release him. You turned back to the boys sheepishly. "Ok it was late and it was dark and when I told Eddie this story I might have been exaggerating because I was a little high."

Ok. That might have been true. Eddie had coerced you into smoking. But, he knew even under the influence, you were not typically one to lie. In fact, it just got you to loosen up more. Spill some of your many secrets.

Just not the ones he was dying to know deep down.

Still, the boys started to ask their questions.

"Ok so was it a frog man or was it not?"

"You know the kids book Frog and Toad? Just like that but no little vest."

"Did he ribbit?"

"He didn't...but one of his buddies for sure did."

"HOLY SHIT ANOTHER ONE!?"

"Yeah."

"Did you get out of the car?"

"Well, no that wouldn't have been smart," you laughed judgmentally as if that was the most odd and dangerous thing being said all night. "But it was the middle of the night. I just needed to know how to get back onto the highway."

The discussion progressed, more amongst the others than you and Eddie, about the logistics of the Frog Man and his Frog Friends, and what they might do if they ever crossed paths with them.

You snuggled back into Eddie's embrace and watched them, the two of you making comments occasionally, especially as they started debating whether the Frog Man would walk like normal or if he would hop.

"Ok. What else have you seen though?" Jeff finally piped up and shuffled a little closer. "Or what did you think you've seen? A ghost, a vampire...a hellhound or something?"

"Uhh..." You tripped over your words and reached up to fiddle with the cross on your necklace. "Well nothing like that but..."

Eddie knew that little tell of yours, how you couldn't stop playing with your necklace when you were nervous. Restless. It was sudden and unexpected and he frowned.

Why were you so nervous all of a sudden?

He pressed a kiss to your temple and said a few words of encouragement.

You took a deep breath and went along with your next story, something much more elaborate and cryptic, falling into the theme of the night. And you didn't once reach for your necklace again.

But as the festivities began to wind down, and everyone started to doze off, Eddie couldn't help but wonder...

They were just stories. Weren't they?

#eddie munson x reader #aasb #Eddie munson blurb #Eddie munson fluff #hootie mcboob <3 #hymns of heaven

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stobinesque · 11 months

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phryctoria | chapter 2: four by four (tau)

Sometimes your gay awakening is just having someone to show you it’s possible. Steve has just come out to Robin, and suddenly she's running around with ideas and schemes.

[1][2][3][4][5][6 & 7] | [Read on AO3]

“We should go to Indy this weekend,” Robin declares as she slams the beamer’s door behind her the next morning.

“Hello to you too, Rob. And you’re so welcome for the ride. My morning’s been great, how about you?”

Robin rolls her eyes with a put-upon little huff. “Yeah, yeah. Good morning and thanks for the ride, mom.”

“Don’t take that tone with me, young lady,” he snarks back in his best ‘beleaguered housewife’ impression. It’s enough to make Robin snort and elbow him in the side.

“Whatever, dingus.” Robin throws her feet up on the dash as he pulls out of the Buckleys’ driveway, utterly ignoring Steve’s resigned protestations. “I don’t know what’s got your knickers in a twist when I’m trying to help you.”

Steve raises an eyebrow in disbelief. “And how would a 3 hour round trip to and from Indianapolis help me, exactly, Buckley?”

“Well, Harrington,” Robin starts, with a tone that mock-suggests that he’s the stupidest thing on the face of the planet. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Hawkins isn’t exactly crawling with queers.”

The last word comes out of her mouth a little wooden and self-deprecating, and Steve seizes up at it—the idea that ‘queer’ includes him now. It’s a truth he’s always instinctively flinched away from (and, oh, shit, he owes Byers a whole new round of apologies now)—but Robin just keeps barreling on, while he feels like he’s about to be pulled under by a riptide.

“I was thinking last night— Okay, so, you know how you’re kind of a slut?”

Steve shoves aside the cresting wave of panic (if he can take on Billy Hargrove, demonic-gorgon-dogs, and murderous Russians, he can handle fucking homophobia, right?) and lets himself settle into the familiar banter. “I would take offense to that, but you are, factually speaking, correct.” The brightness in his tone isn’t even faked. “I thought we weren’t talking about my sex life anymore, though?”

“Right, well—” Robin gestures dismissively like he’s missing the point. “—the grace period has been extended.” She pulls down the visor to start messing with her hair. “Anyway, I figured—you learn by doing, yeah? And regardless of how you actually feel about women, you know you’re good at sex, right?” Robin draws up short and turns to shoot him an intense look. “…And that is literally the only time I’m ever gonna say anything even remotely positive about your ‘sexual prowess,’ and if you try to bring it up around anyone else they’ll never find the body, Harrington.”

“Threat acknowledged, Buckles.” The corners of his mouth turn up into a helpless smile. God—how does she manage to make the end of the world so easy?

“Eugh—Buckles??” Robin looks ready to grab the wheel and steer them off the road.

Steve shrugs. “It felt right in the moment.”

“I hate you,” she says, shoving a finger in his face to emphasize the point. She falls back into her seat and continues, “Anyway, back to your gay crisis—”

“Yeah. About that.” He frowns as the dark edge of his thoughts is drawn back to the forefront to be held up for inspection. “Did you…did you, like, turn my coming out into a science experiment? Are you trying to code break my gay awakening?”

“I can neither confirm nor deny these allegations.”

“Rob.”

“Okay, look.” Robin flips up the visor and turns to look at him straight-on. “You have an opportunity in front of you that I bet most gay people don’t get to have!” The look on her face is so painfully earnest it’s almost hard to look at. “I’m pretty sure most of us realize we’re fucked up by age eleven, and then spend the rest of our lives hating ourselves so hard we can’t see past our own navels. Or we just make it everyone else’s problem. Or repress the shit out of it until we get stuck in a loveless marriage with two-and-a-half kids, a dog, and a white picket fence!” The anxious edge to her voice has Steve sitting up straighter: muscles tensing up, spine going stiff.

“Robin,” he says, slowly, delicately. “Have you…met another gay person?”

“No? I thought we’d already established that. Also, I don’t see how that’s relevant here.”

Steve drums the fingers of his left hand against the steering wheel as he reaches over with his right to fiddle with the radio. On every inhale he can feel his chest going tighter and tighter as his lungs struggle for air. He feels like he’s back in the tunnels, breathing in pores of the Upside Down’s death-ridden atmosphere, wondering between heartbeats if his next one might be his last. “Is that …do you think we’re fucked up?”

Steve is very pointedly staring at the road ahead of them, but he can still feel the way Robin’s face falls as she continues to look at him with what he knows will be too much sincerity.

“I…” The way Robin’s voice trails off into quiet uncertainty is what finally makes Steve turn to look at her.

She’s wearing an expression he doesn’t think he’s seen before. Sadness, yes—but tied up with confusion, and anger, and—well, he looks in the mirror too often not to know what self-loathing looks like on a person. The two of them are too alike, he thinks.

“Robbie.” He reaches out a hand to her, palm outstretched and expecting. The comforting weight of her grip tightening in his follows a moment later, and he squeezes her hand twice, like a heartbeat. For courage, maybe. Or just to say I’m right here. And, I’m not going anywhere. Robin squeezes back twice in return.

“I used to,” she whispers. “I still do, on bad days, y’know?”

Steve nods.

“And, yeah.” Robin sighs and turns to lean her head against the passenger side window. “Up until now I’ve been figuring it out on my own. And, like, there are books and stuff? But anything I read I’ve gotta make sure to do at the library, but without anyone seeing me. And there are, like, two pulp novels—that are literally disintegrating—where the lesbians die at the end—and holy shit I think that’s the first time I’ve said that word out loud—and one book of gay history that I have to assume was ordered by accident in 1976. And I’m pretty sure if we were literally anywhere other than bumfuck Indiana I could probably find more…more anything. But. Uh.” Robin shoots him a halfway sheepish look. “I don’t have a car?”

Steve laughs, the shock of it unraveling the inky vines of panic that’d been working their way across his chest. “Oh my God,” he gasps through the laughter. “I realize I’m gay, and somehow the fact that I have a car is still the most interesting thing about me. Also, hold on a second— Robin, you don’t even have a license.”

Robin throws her hands up. “Exactly.”

“Thirdly—”

“Thirdly? Since when were we making lists!”

“Thirdly—” Steve over-exaggerates his steering on the turn he’s making to emphasize his point. “I can’t believe I’m being saddled with a field trip in exchange for baring my soul to you.”

Robin snorts. “We find the right bar in Indy and you can bare more than that.”

Steve blinks, thoughts grinding to a halt again, but this time he’s flashing hot with something closer to interest than shame. “Are there gay bars up there?”

Robin shrugs. “I mean, yeah? It’s a city, right?”

“Oh my God.” Steve stares off into the middle distance as he comes to a horrifying realization. “Oh my God. We really are just two idiots up against the world together. Doomed to symbiotic cluelessness for the rest of our lives.”

“Think of it this way: it’ll be an adventure! This time with at least 70 percent fewer drugs and torture.”

“Yeah, that’s comforting,” Steve scoffs as he pulls into the parking lot outside of Hawkins High.

“Oh, come on, Steve. We won’t be the first gay teens who’ve stumbled into the city with no idea what they’re doing. We’ve just gotta…look the part?”

Steve bangs his head against the steering wheel with a resigned groan. “Fine. Let’s go on a big gay field trip to get me laid, and get you…gay…summer reading? Also we should probably talk about that whole ‘this is the first time I’ve even said the word ‘lesbian’ out loud’ thing at some point.”

Robin swats at his arm, and he snaps his head up to glare at her in confusion.

“You’ve concussed yourself enough without willfully banging your head against things, asshole! Also, it definitely doesn’t count as summer reading anymore.” She pushes open the door with a dramatic flourish, and Steve doesn’t bother to say anything when it bangs open with just a touch too much force. He’s already accepted that he’s never going to meet another person who treats his baby the way she deserves. Robin turns to plant an obnoxiously loud, smacking kiss on his cheek with a manic grin on her face. “But yeah, sounds like a plan! Except for that last part, I’m pretty happy to just keep ignoring that.”

Steve gazes heavenward as Robin slams the door closed again. He’s not sure what he did to deserve Robin Buckley, but if he ever finds out he’s gonna thank his past self, and then firmly smack him across the face.

Actually—maybe in the opposite order.

“Have a good last first-day, Rob,” he calls out the driver’s side window.

“Yeah, yeah, see you at three, Steve!” She waves back at him without really paying attention as she runs to catch up with a couple of students he assumes she must know from band, or something.

Steve smiles after her, and then catches sight of the kids all nervously congregated by the bike rack. Dustin turns to face the lot, beaming his toothless smile back at Steve, and Steve waves back in response. Once the warning bell rings, and they’ve all dragged themselves into the building, Steve pulls away, wishing, for the sake of them all, a happy and uneventful year.

Notes:

We are simply handwaving away the fact that in season four Steve reveals that he didn't realize that Robin doesn't have her license. As funny as that is, it simply does not make sense for how close I have written them here. …and also I wrote that bit of dialogue before remembering it was technically non-canonical, but I liked it too much to rework it. Steve being out as gay already breaks season four canon and also this series will more majorly break from season four canon down the line so you can just consider this the first (second?) casualty. The inspiration for the line about a history book getting purchased accidentally in 1976 is a reference to Gay American History by Jonathan Katz, which did in fact come out that year. Also, while Robin is at least a little nervous about her parents potentially finding gay books she's brought home, her refusal to check anything out from the library is more because she's worried about the librarian seeing them/having a paper trail of what she's borrowed (even if no one should be looking at her browsing history). Also, to be clear (and also as a warning for chapters to come): while Robin and Steve did kind of forget about the AIDS epidemic for a hot second, I very much did not. They've got a lot going on in their little traumatized, teenage minds, is all.

#steve harrington #robin buckley #stobin #stobin fic #gay steve harrington #read writes #phryctoria #semiotics 'verse

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bubble-tea-blossom · 1 year

Text

The Soldier and the Smuggler

Part II : The Smuggler Hub

Pairing: Joel x f!reader

Rating/ Warning: E for Eventual Smut so 18+ Only. Kidnapping. Canon Typical Violence. Tender Wound Care. Sass.

WC: 7.4 k

Summary: An illegal deal goes south when you're used as a pawn in some sort of game you have no intention on playing. You're getting out of this, and you won't let your stupidly handsome captor slow you down either.

A/N: This was really fun to write. It gets a little silly so hopefully you enjoy it :) Cross posted to my AO3.

Previous chapter

You lie awake in the cold, curled in a ball with your knees folded up almost by your chest, facing the wall in the far corner from the door. It’s dark in the van but when you crane your head over your shoulder you can see daylight begin to peek through the cracks in the van.

You must have been driving at least a few hours.

You’ve used these precious hours to roll your thoughts around your head, it’s nearly impossible to plan ahead for what’s to come when you’re so completely stuck in the dark about what’s going on.

So instead you look back, trying to think if anyone has been acting strange before all this. You still can feel it in your gut someone knew something wasn’t right before sending you off, meaning the immediate thought is to blame your Sergeant Rhodeson who’d given you the assignment, but you knew the orders came from higher up and blaming him didn’t feel right.

So you continued to try and match puzzle pieces together, the little bits of information you knew to piece together the bigger picture. Bad thing is that you know almost nothing.

Maybe figuring out who is less important than figuring out why. Why would someone go through the effort to set up a fake deal just to kidnap a low-ranking officer?

FEDRA had no short-comings of people on their bad side. To say most people did not love FEDRA would be putting it mildly. And you don’t blame those who hate it. The public executions stain your streets as well, people shot in the head because the Infected got to them. Or the Fireflies.

Maybe the Fireflies want a ransom, or leverage. Or to negotiate some kind of prisoner exchange.

Or maybe the library was really serious about those threats when you didn’t pay off your late fees.

Your jigsaw puzzle of thoughts is shoved aside when you hear the voices. You lift your head off the ground to try and free up your ears as much as possible as you strain to listen. Earlier they’d spoken a few times but it was only a word or two here or there. Obviously not a very cheerful road trip.

The voices are muffled by the wall that separates the front seats and they’re speaking low. The gravel under the tires and the random loose screw rattling around in the far right corner overwhelm their words, and you can only hear the vibrations of their voices.

But they keep talking, having an actual conversation, it’s not even an option to pass up this opportunity. You need every little scrap of information you can get your hands on.

You sit up, and figure out quickly the easiest and quietest way to move with your hands tied behind your back is to shuffle on your butt backwards. You shuffle quick and quiet towards the divider that separates the cargo hold and the driver seats. You scoot until your ear is a hair width away from the cold metal. You hold your breath and wait.

“What the hell they’d want that kid for?”

“Don’t know, don’t really care.”

There’s a pause on the other side of the wall and you end up staring at the ceiling praying for someone to say something again, your heartbeat becoming so loud thumping in your head you’re worried it’ll drown out whatever they say if they do speak again.

Finally someone does and you pick it up just fine. You can even tell the voice seems to be coming from the driver’s side, “I hope it ain’t nothing too nasty.”

“Ain’t my business. I’m being paid to deliver her, nothing else.” Comes the voice from the passenger side. If you had to guess you would say the passenger is the smuggler that met you outside the cars.

“Jesus.” responds the driver, disagreement apparent in his voice. Only silence fills the air for a long time.

Eventually you grow weary of holding your head up, so you rest your cheek against the wall, hoping they’ll speak again. You doubt that however, that seemed like a pretty awkward end to a conversation.

You wait there for what feels like an eternity, occasionally glancing at the cracks of daylight. They seem to be growing warmer and more yellow. It must nearing noon.

You sit up straight as a rod when you hear someone speak outside the van. You’re going too fast to catch anything of what they said but it was definitely other people. Again, here and there as snippets of conversations zip by as you desperately try to make out anything they’re saying. Maybe a clue to where you’ve been brought.

“Well this is where I leave ya.” says the driver, breaking the silence.

The van makes a wide turn, slowing so suddenly you get pushed into the wall before it comes to a complete stop. The momentum of the sudden halt sends you falling backward, and with your hands tied behind your back, all you can do is flail uselessly like a worm, right before you land hard. Your skull bouncing against the metal floor makes a significant thud, and you guess they probably heard that up front.

A few more words are exchanged but you don’t pay attention to them, busy sitting back up and then flipping onto the balls of your feet. You hear someone swing the doors open and then closed followed very quickly by footsteps outside the van, heading for the back. You don’t really know what your plan is but you scuttle as fast as you can to the doors where you wait on the balls of your feet, ready to pounce. You crouch, breathing shallow, waiting for them to open the back doors. Maybe you can jump past them and make a run for it.

The doors swing open and the blast of daylight blinds you slightly. In your fumble you loose any aspect of surprise when the smuggler looks down, and discovers you right underneath him.

“Sit down.” He barks, surprise in his voice at you being so close. You accept this defeat and slowly settle onto the van floor again, your legs hanging off the side so at least they can’t slam the doors closed on you again without some kind of notice.

You look past his shoulder at the second smuggler, you didn’t get a good look at him last night, too busy looking at the shotgun he was pointing at you. But now with a better chance to look, you can see he’s older than the first smuggler, white on top of his head. When you make brief eye contact with him he looks as much at a loss as you. So not your well of information then.

“What’s your rank?” the first smuggler asks you. You re-focus back on him. He’s standing rather close meaning you have to crank your head way back to look up at his face.

“Go fuck yourself.”

His mouth flattens into a line, before he just grabs you by the jacket and pulls you closer. He finds the badge sewn into the arm of your sleeve quickly. He flashes you a look of confusion as he releases you.

“You’re not a Lieutenant?” he demands.

You try to de-ruffle your feathers after his manhandling, shimmying your shoulders back down from around your ears to a more neutral position. Your state of calm and collected lasts about 1 second before you respond.

“Why would they send a Lieutenant on that bullshit mission?”

All he does is shrug, “Told me there’d be a Lieutenant I was supposed to grab, along with an escort. Guess you’ll have to do.”

“Do for what?” you demand but he stays silent.

His buddy pipes up from behind him, “Let’s settle up. I don’t want part in this any longer than I have to.”

The smuggler reaches in his bag and pays the driver off.

The driver takes his part quickly, one tip of the head, then he’s scampering off to the driver’s side and slamming the door shut.

The smuggler takes a grab of the front of your jacket, this time a lot more gentle as guides you down, to your feet.

Standing tall, you and the smuggler move out of the van’s way quickly. You both watch it reverse a turn, away from the building, before speeding down the alley and disappearing around the corner. Without further prompt, he starts walking down the street in the opposite direction, only keeping his hand on you until he knows you’re following. You keep pace just to the side of him, casting wide searching glances around at your surroundings. You’re in a city. But with no sign of FEDRA, soldiers or posters, you’re guessing it’s not a QZ.

In fact there’s not really a sign of anyone, at first at least.

The smuggler takes you down turns and back allies, sometimes feeling like you’re looping in on yourself. Before long, you start to hear the sounds of people and dogs barking. You prepare yourself as you draw nearer and nearer until finally you round a corner and there they are.

It’s a strip mall full of people, with people sitting around outside the stores. Along one side of the street is a wire-fenced kennel which contain the barking dogs. Some people are in groups, others are alone, sharpening knives or checking amo. The smuggler leads you confidently into the throng of them. As you swipe your head left and right, one thing became quite apparent quite fast, none of these people are civilians. They all look much more the part of smugglers, so criminals basically. He’s brought you right into the smuggler’s nest.

When you pass by the kennels you can’t help but let your gaze linger on the cute pups rolling around in a separate kennel. Your gaze leaves the pups and is pulled to a lean man, staring at you. You can’t help but look back for a split second and see his eyes flicker down to the badge on your jacket before returning to your face, his eyes narrowing.

Your brief pause made you lose steps with the smuggler, so when you tear your gaze away from the stranger, you trot a few steps to catch up.

In fact, it seems conversations seem to drop off around you as all eyes turn to you and the smuggler. For some inexplicable reason you find yourself drifting a tiny bit closer to him.

This comes to your disadvantage when two steps later his comes to an abrupt halt at the sharp cry of "Miller!" You nearly lose your balance as you do everything you can to not touch him. Your elbow gently dips into his side as you find your balance again before you can rip it away.

Luckily for you, his attention is torn away from you, at the fast approaching boar of a man from across the street.

The man takes place at an opposition from the smuggler. Well technically they both could be smugglers, he stands across from your smuggler. Hm, don't know how that makes you feel referring to him as your smuggler. The boar man's beady eyes scan you quickly, growing a sneer on his face as if the sight of you makes him sick. Well that’s a two way street buddy, cause he sure ain’t a pretty sight. He’s extremely hairy for one thing, wiry, beer colored hair growing everywhere except for the top of his head. When he comes to a stop about one foot from him, you see that he actually stands taller than the smuggler, who doesn’t look the least bit concerned and doesn’t step back to get more space. He just holds his ground.

The man’s eyes do one last scan over you, lingering on the badge on your arm before they flick back to the smuggler, a sneer in his loud voice, “So you gonna explain why the fuck you got a FEDRA dog with you, Miller?”

Ouch, never been called a dog before.

“I don’t think that concerns you,” he repliess, cool with disinterest.

“I think it does concern me,” the man’s voice seems purposefully loud now, “actually I think it concerns all of us.”

He casts a glance at the others around you who are watching the spectacle he’s putting on. You watch with growing unease that a few others have stood from their various seats to step a little closer. It feels a little too much like how you imagine that zebra felt being surrounded by hyenas in a documentary you watched as a kid. Those taunting laughs the hyenas bayed as they took turns tearing at the zebra haunted you for years. You really, really don’t want to end up like that zebra.

“She’s part of a job, my business. Not yours.” The smuggler's voice comes from low in his chest, a warning. It would be enough to make your smart mouth close at least.

Unfortunately the boar man isn’t nearly finished, he enunciates clear and loud, “I think it is our business if you’re going to bring a FEDRA shitstorm on us just because you got yourself a new piece-“

You hear the bones break before you even realize the boar man had made a move to grab you.

The smuggler, quick as fucking lighting apparently, intercepted his hand and twisted the man’s two fingers so violently in the wrong direction they snapped almost instantly.

“Don’t touch her,” he says, akin to a growl. He keeps a wrenching hold on the fingers while the boar man cries out, falling to one knee in front of the two of you.

When the boar man still refuses to give him what he’s searching for, he goes looking further by twisting even harder, wrenching another cry from the man. His voice is almost comically high pitched as he shouts out, “Ok! Ok I won’t touch her! Not my business!”

The smuggler holds him for one moment longer just to seal his promise before letting go. The boar man falls back before stumbling back to his feet. He makes his escape to go lick his wounds somewhere less public.

The smuggler doesn’t address any onlookers, only re-focuses on his destination and keeps walking, face an unbothered mask. You keep up this time. Walking besides him in the echoing silence left afterwards, you realize how fast your heart was beating by it’s thundering deceleration. You’re not immune to the goosebumps that form from being stared at. Your curiosity wins out, and you glance over again to see who's staring.

It's a young man, a year or two younger than you. He eyes your jacket with disgust, and then sub sequentially, you as well. When you make eye contact a sudden flash of brashness comes over you and you can’t quell the urge to see his reaction. You smooch him a kiss and watch with satisfaction at the fury flooding his face.

Try and touch me now, fucker.

Alerted by your obnoxious noise, the smuggler looks back at you and grunts in annoyance, taking a hold of you by the underarm and hurrying your steps so you’re right by his side and somewhat hidden by the onlookers on the other side of him. He leads you down to the end of the block and rounds the corner, crossing the street in the direction of a different strip mall. There’s far less people in this area, you can see a few poking about in the few windows that aren’t broken or boarded up. You’re lead to a store on the corner, where the sign above the entrance says “Pharmacy.” But when you get inside it could look as far from a pharmacy you could imagine.

For one, it's completely void of even a hint of medications, not surprising being in the center of a smuggler hub. All the bare-bone shelves are shoved together against one wall, and instead in the middle, is a barrel standing upright, you’re assuming for fire, with a few couches surrounding it. There are a few tables strewn around the room, one with two people, a man and a woman, sitting and playing cards.

The smuggler doesn’t even wait for the door behind you to close, to keep ushering you further into the store, he obviously has a very specific destination in mind. At your entrance the two card players look up and watch the two of you cross the room.

After a moment, the man speaks up, “Hey there.” It’s a simple greeting, curiosity evident in his voice, an expectation for an explanation, but not a threat.

“Max, Alex.” Is all your captor says, a simple nod to the two of them before setting his eyes forward. He’s a man on a mission.

Both of the strangers look at you with curiosity, you notice a sharp gleam of interest in the woman’s eye as she takes you in following your captor like an obedient puppy. Since they seem to show no fault at staring, you do the same.

They’re dressed similar to your captor; jeans and cargo pants, simple long sleeve shirts, sleeves rolled up from the heat of the summer day, hiking or combat boots. The man’s hair is long, pulled back in a loose bun at the nape of his neck, a long cord around his neck with a bone amulet that gently hits him on the sternum when he moves. The woman’s head is buzzed bald and no sign of jewellery. Nothing for an attacker to grab.

The smuggler ignores them after that and when you’re almost at the corner, with curiosity burning the air, Max prompts further-

“Interesting haul?”

“You could say that,” he answers, his voice flat.

You watch Max shrug. He looks back at you, then even gives you a little wave. You go to wave before you remember your tied hands. Instead you give him a nod.

Judging by the look on the Alex’s face you don’t think you’re going to get a wave from her.

Finally the two of you round the corner and you see another long corridor, one section square with lots of chairs and a desk before another long, narrow hallway of doors.

It looks like a doctor’s office.

He leads you to a specific door near the end of the hallway. He reaches into his jean’s pocket to pull out a key. When he opens the door for you, you see a pretty spacious room, with a desk, an examination bed, and a nice love seat couch.

First thing you look for is a window and find with disappointment there’s only one, and it’s above standing height. Probably designed for privacy reasons, you’re guessing.

Your captor closes the door behind you while you step into the room, wondering what happens now.

“Take off your jacket.”

“Excuse me?” you whirl around to face him, your voice comes out high-pitched.

“It’s a dead giveaway, people are gonna keep asking questions and I don’t need it. So take it off.” He says, sounding grumpy like it's your fault people will recognize you're FEDRA.

You know he’s right. It makes you a target in an area full of people that are in active opposition with FEDRA.

“Ok but you’re gonna have to untie me to do that.”

He nods, “Ok turn around.” he says as he pulls out your knife he'd taken from you last night.

"Is that my knife?" you demand. That knife has been with you since outbreak day. It's saved your life more than anyone else has.

"I'm safe keeping it. Turn around." He reiterates.

You do so, loathe to see your precious baby in the hands of someone else, especially your kidnapper. He’s quick to cut the bonds and release you. You shrug your jacket off. You don’t bother to wait for him to ask, you just hand it to off behind you and then replace your hands back together.

He re-ties them with fast and efficient tugs before he grunts instead of actually saying anything as he steps back. You face him again and there’s a moment where the both of you pause, before glancing down at your legs and your camouflage pants.

They kinda scream “army.”

“I’m not taking off my pants.” you throw out before he can say anything.

“No, I know. It’s fine, s’not too noticeable.” He waves it off quickly.

Well that’s not exactly the truth. Add lying to the list of sins your kidnaper has committed in the short time you’ve known him.

There’s a long enough pause that you think he’s done talking, and you don’t know if he’s expecting you to just stare at each other before he adds, “You do have dirt all down your backside.”

Well that’s not what you were expecting. You crane your head around to look back at yourself and see he is indeed correct. Your ass is filthy. You snap your head back to look at him.

“Well maybe you should clean your kidnapping van more often then you won’t have dirty captives.” you clip back.

Your eyes drift to the very comfy looking, surprisingly clean, suede couch across the room. Material that’s hard to get dirt out of. You make a show of crossing the room to the couch, swinging your hips around to sit down a little more than necessary, before rubbing your ass deeper into the couch to get comfortable. Sliding all the way to the back and leaning your exhausted body against the cushy back of the couch.

You relish this moment of comfort for a moment longer before you turn your head to look at he again.

He’s standing still, patiently waiting for you to finish your show, looking thoroughly unimpressed.

He rolls his eyes, turning towards the door, “I’ll go find you some pants.” He grumbles, turning around, you hear a last mumble about 'never should've taken this damn job' before the door is slammed closed. You wait for the sound of him locking the door from the outside. You’re statuesque until you can no longer hear his footsteps. Then you spring off the couch and scramble into action.

You go straight for the examination bed. You glance down and unclick the lock foot pedal. Now mobile, you use your torso to push it to the wall with the window. Once flush with the wall you push down on the lock again so it doesn’t move while you climb without the use of your hands. Standing up is no problem, but now comes the tricky part, actually opening and climbing through the window. You feel your heart race accelerate with every passing second. You have no idea where the smuggler's gone or when he’ll be back, so you try and move with quick, but efficient and careful moves.

Turning around on the bed so your back is facing the wall, you sidle closer til your grasping fingertips feel it. Then you navigate your way to the window and the crank handle by touch. Cranking the lever is extremely awkward and doing it backward is time consuming. You hear a voice rise up in the distance so you freeze. You have no idea what your captor would do if he catches you like this. You wait for a few heart pounding seconds but when no other sound comes, you resume with great speed.

Finally after what feels like an eternity the crank won’t go any further and you whip your head back and see the window has opened quite a decent amount, enough to squeeze your body through. You make a quick decision to go head first, since you have no idea how you’d even go feet first. Hopefully you can turn midway so you can land on your feet.

Nope. You launch yourself head first and scramble your legs for a hold on the wall. All your effort to turn ends up doing, is making you wiggle a little too far, and then you’re falling. You have quick enough reflexes to turn to your back a split second before you hit the ground.

You don’t even give yourself a second to writhe in pain, you just grit your teeth and struggle to your knees, then to your feet. God this would be so much easier if he would just tie your hands in front of you.

Your first few steps of your daring great escape almost send you careening into the wall, but you right yourself just in time. You gain momentum as you push your feet off the ground faster and faster, feeling like a running fish, without your arms. You make your way through the streets at somewhat random, hoping you'll find a sign that says “City Exit That Way.” Since that’s fairly unlikely, you opt for avoiding any sign of people. You just need to get out of the city, or maybe find a park with a forest you can hide in. Find a rock or something sharp to cut your bonds, then wait for night to sneak out, and start making your way back home. Home. You wonder if your mother has started asking people to help look for you.

A traitorous tear slips from your eye but it’s whipped off your face by the wind from running, before it can slide down your cheek.

You’re racing thoughts distract you and so you don’t notice the quiet sounds of a conversation before you run right into the open about 20 feet away from a group of three, huddled together. You slow in panic, wondering if they’ve seen you or if you should back out. When they all turn and stare at you with wide disbelieving eyes you take it as a yes, they see you. You notice Alex, from before.

You don’t take the chance to introduce yourself before you’re turning and running down a different alley. You hear them shout at each other and take after you. Your only hope is to loose them.

Your pounding feet take you around a sharp bend, but then skid to a stop at the sight of the looming brick wall at the end.

Dead end. Well your escape lasted a lot shorter than you had anticipated.

You turn to face your chasers when they round the bend two seconds later, also coming to abrupt stops. They don’t even let you catch your breath before one of the men steps closer, “You’re that soldier.” he says and you realize it’s the same young man that you smooched at.

Yowch, that’s really coming back to bite you in the ass.

With nothing else you can think of, you say, “Oh no, got the wrong girl, I’m not FEDRA.”

“Oh yeah, is that right?” the man snaps, his anger and disgust out of control on his face. He’s getting closer and closer, until he’s only about a foot away.

You feel yourself bracing, a strange but familiar calmness washing over your body as it prepares for a fight. You feel yourself start to warm as your heart pumps blood to your muscles, harder and harder. Then comes the quietness of your mind while the hairs on the back of your neck rise.

“Yeah, I’m not wearing my jacket.”

To your credit, you dodge the first punch. And the second. When he swings at you, you roll your shoulders to the side and slip your head out of the way, before planting your front foot, turning your back to him for a millisecond to swing your back leg around to gain momentum with your spin and drive the heel of your boot as hard as you can into the side of his face. Only thing is he turned his head a split second before your foot made contact, so you end up colliding with his nose and mouth.

There’s an audible crack and with both your feet back on the ground you watch as he bends forward, clutching his face in his hands as a stream of red gushes from his face at a surprising force. He holds back most of his cries of pain, but the curses that come shake with breathiness.

There’s a slightly stunned silence from the other two, before it’s broken suddenly by a low, angry voice.They all whip around to see who spoke as if a gun had gone off.

“Alright, y’all had enough now?”

It’s him. Because of course it is.

“Why did you bring her here?” Alex demands, “What the fuck kinda job is this?”

“I’m being paid to deliver her to someone. Whole and unharmed.” ls all he says, his deep voice level.

“I think it’s time for you to get the fuck out of here, old man.” the second man speaks up. He’s big and muscled with a shinny bald head, but when he steps forward to intimidate the smuggler, he’s half a head shorter.

Your captor looks down at him with annoyance, not fear or apprehension. With his mouth tightly closed he licks his teeth. Then he nods.

“Alright then, let’s have it.”

You see the man lunge at the smuggler and hear the sound of fists hitting skin, but you don’t get a chance to wait and see what happens next. Alex is charging at you like a bull. Your attempt to side step her like a torero ends up futile when she sweeps her arms wide enough to catch you around the middle and bring you crashing to the ground, flat on your back with her on top of you.

Immediately she begins striking your face, getting a good number of licks in before you manage to wriggle your hips enough to roll onto your side and curl into a tight, protective ball. She continues to punch and strike at your head, torso, even reaching behind to target your hip, anywhere she can reach. Her punches are too powerful and fast, you don’t know how you’re going to manage getting away from her. She just keeps hitting you.

Then all of a sudden her weight is lifted off you completely. You hear her yell and there’s sounds of a brief scuffle. You’re shaken enough by her vicious beatings, you don’t dare move from your ball for a long moment. Only when there’s an eerie silence do you peek out.

There’s Alex on the ground, staring up with murder in her eyes at the smuggler, who’s standing in between you and your assailant, like a guard dog.

“You’re smarter than this, Alex.” He says, somehow managing to sound a perfect mix of threatening and disappointed parent.

Alex lingers on the ground for a moment longer before she’s on her feet, clutching her right shoulder and runs off. Only after she’s rounded the corner do you unfurl from your ball. You hope that’s the last you’ll see of her.

You look around and see the other two men have vanished as well, the young man you kicked leaving behind a path of blood. You must be taking too long to get up, because your captor reaches his hand down to help you up. His touch is gentle, like he can tell how much you’re hurting right now. His hold stays for your first two steps until he’s made sure you can walk fine, then he lets go.

“C’mon, I’m taking you back.” He says, beginning to lead you out of the alley. You follow, it’s pointless trying to escape again right now, you wouldn’t make it very far. You can see a bruise forming on his jaw, and the collar of his shirt looks stretched, like someone grabbed it. Right now you just want to get back to the doctor’s office so you can sit down.

“What was their deal? It was like they wanted to murder me,” you say.

He responds promptly and matter-of-fact, “They probably did.”

“Why? I’ve never met those psychos before.”

He takes a measured breath so he can think about what he’s going to say next.

“Alex’s parents were murdered by FEDRA at the beginning of the outbreak. The other two, I’m not sure but there’s no lack of hate for FEDRA in these parts.”

You take a couple of moments to absorb what he’s revealed to you. It makes sense, and the sad part is her story is not one you haven’t heard before. You can’t help but feel shame at being part of that organization even though if it were up to you, you wouldn’t touch anything FEDRA related with a ten-foot pole.

So you do what you always do when raw emotions pick at your nerves, you deflect. In this instance you use sarcasm.

You mock him with a lowered voice in a bad impression of him, “Yeah, just take the jacket off after everyone’s seen your face, they’ll be none the wiser!”

The smuggler looks at you sharply, “Well I wasn’t taking into account you running off try’na escape.”

“Not a very good kidnapper if you couldn’t possibly foresee an escape attempt,” you snap back.

There’s a heavy pause and his steps slow to a stop. You wait impatiently for him to respond, painfully aware at your overstep. You’ve been letting too many things slip. You’d been arguing like friends in a spat. He is not your friend, he’s your captor. And by his tense silence, you’re guessing he’s remembering that too.

“You’re right, I’m not a kidnapper. I’m a smuggler, but I’ve never had to smuggle a live person before. I sure hope I won’t have to try again.”

You know a threat when you see one, and you also know when to shut up. The rest of the embarrassingly short journey back to the doctor’s office is silent.

Once you’ve re-entered the room, and he's shut the door behind him, he gestures at the exam bed.

“Sit.” There’s a sharpness to his tone, and you listen, going to go settle on the exam bed, only dragging your feet a little.

Meanwhile the smuggler turns his back to you and crosses over to the cabinet hanging on the wall. There he finds some bandages and a bottle of what you’re assuming is isopropyl alcohol. Your suspicions are confirmed when he opens the lid and the sharp smell of it taints the air.

Soaking one bandage in the alcohol, he returns to stand in front of you. You automatically widen your knees so he can stand between them and have an easier time reaching your face. Before you can feel awkward at that move he’s rubbing away the blood on your cheek and the sting of it makes you forget.

You wince at the bite of the alcohol soaking into your open wounds but remain silent, and so does he while he washes you clean of blood. There must already be some caking because you feel the pressure of his nail through the bandages as he scrubs down your jaw, then going to scrub at the bridge of your nose.

Throughout this entire time you keep your eyes cast down to the side, as far away from looking at him as possible. You feel your cheeks heat up for some stupid reason, which makes you angry, and you feel yourself frown at the ground.

Good thing you probably won’t live long enough to worry about wrinkles.

His ministrations make you think of a lioness grooming her cub, while the cub squawks as he’s pushed from side to side from the caring, but firm pressure of her tongue. Another image from the nature documentary from so long ago.

“Got pretty banged up back there.” He speaks quietly in the space between the two of you. You’re close enough you’re convinced you can feel his voice vibrate the air between your chests.

You keep silent. Too tired to bother even a grunt in acknowledgement. What are you even supposed to say to that anyway?

“Turn your head, you’re bleeding at the back,” he says.

“Mmm, I know,” you grumble, twisting your upper half so he can see.

You feel his gentle fingers part through your hair, brushing any out of the way so he can actually see where the blood is coming from. You can’t fight off the shivers that creep up from your spine at the gentle sensation. You still them abruptly, desperately hoping he didn't see anything.He makes no mention of it, not that you assumed he would even if he had. He just keeps massaging through your hair so he can clean the gravel and blood. Kinda like a monkey picking lice out of it’s friend's fur. Damn you really remember a lot about that nature documentary, huh.

“Well none of them need stitches, which is good.” He says, voice quiet.

His words make you reel, and cuts through any weird haze you were experiencing.

“Why would you care,” you demand, breaking out of his hold to turn around and face him.

He takes a step back, a look flashes across his face that you can’t identify before it’s gone.

“I don’t want you dead, or hurt. I’m being paid to deliver you, that’s all.”

“Can you tell me why?”

He exhales audibly, before he responds with a simple “No.”

Maybe he was a dad, that would explain how he’s mastered the classic Dad Sigh.

He gathers the bloody gauze and discards them in the trash bin under the desk. He turns back to you.

“Alright, git.” he gestures at you and the exam bed. You hop off and stand aside when he starts wheeling it out the door. "You’ve lost bed privileges.”

You take a beat to process, “Are you serious?”

You see through the open doorway as he pushes the bed on a send off down the hallway, before he’s sliding back through the door.

“Yup.”

Now you watch him push the mini sofa to barricade the door, before settling down into it.

You retreat to the furthest corner and slide down to the floor, back pressed against the two walls. You watch the smuggler take his sweet time getting comfy, horizontal across the length of the couch. You watch a little too closely at the motions of his hips as he rocks them up and down a little bit to get in the right spot, before stilling with another sigh.

You look away sharply.

You sit there and think for a long time, turning your thoughts over like water over a stone. Was this a simple, someone got a tip off that this deal was a set up and not wanting to let up, they send someone insignificant to get burned instead of someone valuable? So then why and who would want a hostage anyway?

You look back at the smuggler and can visibly see his breathing change, becoming slower and you’re pretty sure he’s actually asleep.

Not wanting to waste any opportunities to inconvenience him, you loudly announce your thoughts.

“How much are the Fireflies paying you?”

You can see in his profile when his eyes snap open. He schools his face right after but it doesn’t matter. You feel your lips pull up in a smile in triumph.

“I don’t know anything,” he says, “All I know is what they’re paying me for dropping you off.”

For some reason you don’t believe him.

“You’re a shitty liar.” you tell him.

You watch him roll his eyes before closing them again.

You hate being ignored. You know in this situation you probably should be grateful for being left alone for the foreseeable future. He’s a big, scary man with a visibly well-loved revolver at his hip, who captured you and is basically selling you off to a commission. But for some reason you don’t feel the expected apprehension at his attention. You feel the opposite. An urge to make things as difficult as you can for him. Must be some late act of rebellion you guess.

“I need to use the washroom,” you say, shattering his peace and quiet.

“I think there’s a bottle lying around here somewhere," he says, without opening his eyes. His voice raspy from tiredness.

“You're hilarious,” you say dryly.

Another heavy sigh, before he’s swinging his legs around to plant his feet on the ground and stand up.

“Alright let’s go.” he gestures for you to stand up.

He takes you down the hallway, around another corner before opening the door for you. Except before you can walk in, he’s there first, flicking on the lights and begins scanning around the room. He presses down on the railing on the side of the wall to check the sturdiness of it. He checks in the toilet and water tank, then checks under the sink. After a quick peruse of the very few items there, he snatches the plunger before leaving the room so you can go in.

You eye his treasure with a distasteful look.

“Really? What was I gonna do, beat you to death with that?”

All he does is shrug.

“Well how am I gonna do this with my hands behind my back?”

He heaves another sigh, before motions for you to turn around so he can undo the tough knot, which takes a good effort to come loose. When the pressure falls away you immediately release your arms from the angle they had been stuck in for hours. A sharp ache throbs in your muscles as your torso regains it’s mobility.

Then he’s taking your hands and putting your wrists against each other in front of you and retying the knot. He finishes and takes a step back out of the room so the door can close.

You turn to face him, your tone obstinate when you say, “Well I’ll tell you, when I get out of here- and that’s a when, not an if- when I-“

He interrupts your speech by slamming the door shut.

You glare at him through it, narrowing your beam of hatred through a squint, hoping it pierces the wood and kills him.

Gathering your composure you bend your arms at an awkward angle down to unzip your pants so you can do your business. Once finished with yours hands are washed, you open the door.

“Enjoy the show?” you ask. The smuggler stands up from where he was leaning against the opposite wall.

“You know I think they usually charge extra for that," you continue poking at his silence.

“Dear lord, do you ever shut up?”

He leads you back to the room where you re-take your previous spot on the floor in the far corner.

He opens one of the cardboard boxes under the cupboard, rummaging around for a little bit, then stands back up with a canteen and a can of soup. He hands the canteen down to you. Your hands go up to receive it but falter before you grab it.

“What does it cost?”

“Nothing, I don’t want you passing out on the hike tonight, making me carry you the entire way.” he says, crouching down in front of you after you’ve taken the canteen.

You still hesitate, and at your expression he continues, "For breaking Justin's nose, that kid needed to be taken down a peg, here's your reward."

He sets the soup on the floor and unsheathes your knife. With practiced precision, he cuts open the lid before he places it down carefully in front of you.

“Don’t cut your yourself. Ain’t got any spoons.”

You hold the canteen, your hands cupped around it like it’s precious and watch your captor cross the room back over to the boxes. He fishes out another can and canteen before he closes the box. You maneuver the canteen so you can unscrew the cap. When you take a sip you discover it’s water. After drinking your fill, you re-screw it and set it down on the ground, picking up the soup next. You bring it to your lips slowly. The film of cold grease is at level with the top and is close to sloshing over.

You place the metal with care against your lips and tip back to take a drink of the cold soup. The texture from the cold grease feels vile sliding down your throat and the temperature makes it worse. But there’s hearty noodles, and once you can get past the texture, the balls of meat taste decent. It’s far from the worst meal you’ve eaten.

You finish your soup voraciously, only realizing how hungry you were once you’ve started eating. Once you’re finished, you take a moment to breathe.

“You said hike. Where are we hiking?”

Now he's on the couch, canteen in his lap while he finishes his canned meal. You switch your empty soup can on the ground for the canteen, unscrewing it and taking another few big gulps. He finishes his cold soup, eyeing your empty soup can. He stands with his in hand, and gathers yours as well. He stacks them together before throwing them in the trash bin.

“I’m taking you across the border. Taking the interesting route.” he says, plopping back onto the couch and stretching out over it.

At his words, you feel your heart fall and shatter on the floor.

“Get some rest. You’re to keep up. We’ll leave at nightfall.”

Next chapter

A/N: Hope you guys enjoyed! Any feedback at all would be glorious, especially if you find anything like a typo or a spot that flow's awkwardly, I would love to know. I'm hoping to get the next update by the next two weeks since I'm extremely busy right now. But things should calm down soon and I can write a lot more.

#joel miller x f!reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x you #my writing #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction

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wiypt-writes · 2 years

Text

Riding Free

One Shot: All Hands On Deck Kinktober Day 11: HANDS

co written with @spectre-posts

Summary: Fliss can’t get enough of her Sailor’s Hands…

Warnings; SMUT SMUT SMUT (yeah…no under 18s, NSFW)

Pairing: Frank Adler x OFC Fliss Gallagher

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. Any likeness to real life people/scenarios is purely coincidental. I do not own any characters in this fiction bad Fliss Gallagher and any other original characters. I do not consent to have my work copied/translated onto any other site. If you are reading this story anywhere bar Tumblr, it has been taken without my consent. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

W/C: 2.3k

A/N: I would say I’m sorry about this…but I’m really NOT

Riding Free Masterlist // Main Master-list

September 2022

Frank turned off his truck engine and cracked his neck. That had been a bit of a longer errand than he’d expected thanks to a road closure due to a car accident on the highway.

“Fucking Sunday Florida drivers.” He muttered, hopping down from his Mitsubishi. He headed up the path and through the side door, greeting Thor who had wandered into the mud room having heard his footsteps.

“Hey boy…”

After giving him a fuss, he moved through to the kitchen-slash- family room and smiled as he saw Fliss and Mary on the sofa, bowl of popcorn between them.

“Hey…” Fliss looked over and he smiled.

“Hey, honey.” He crossed to give her a quick kiss, “sorry I’m so late back.”

“It’s okay. I saved your dinner when you called.”

“Thanks. You okay, Stack?”

“Yup.” She didn’t turn from the TV.

“Alex in bed?”

“Mmmhmmm.” Fliss nodded, “went down half an hour or so ago.”

Frank sighed, he hated missing bed time, especially seeing as he’d set off almost three hours ago for what should have been an hour round trip, tops. He should have been home, had dinner, and helped put his boy to bed in the time it had taken him to drive across town and back. His eyes then strayed to the TV as Mary laughed.

“What are you watching?”

“She Hulk.” Fliss replied, shoving a handful of popcorn in her mouth.

“What?” Frank arched a brow.

“It’s a Marvel show.”

“A female hulk? How? I mean-“

“Look, stop asking as you hate Marvel, you won’t like it.” Mary stated, then she giggled, “look, Mom, she’s got Captain America’s butt as a screen saver!”

Fliss paused the screen and smirked as she tilted her head to one side. “Oh yeah…”

“That’s America’s ass.” Mary giggled, saluting as Fliss laughed.

Frank scoffed, “well, seeing as my boy is in bed and you two are somewhat preoccupied with a fictional soldier’s rear end…”

“Errr have some respect for Steve Rogers.” Fliss narrowed her eyes. Frank arched his brow in response before he snorted.

“I’m gonna have my dinner and nip out and do some more work on the Camper Van.”

“You know, you guys have had that thing like almost two years and you’re still doing it up, Dad!” Mary stated the obvious.

“Hey, it works, we’ve been out and used it.” Frank folded his arms, “this is its second do up…I’m merely updating the engine and some of the cosmetics and tu-“ he stopped and narrowed his eyes as Mary sniggered. “What is this? Pick on Frank day?”

“Oh hush.” Fliss smirked, “go and get your hands dirty, leave us to watch our show.”

“Ohhh after this can we start a rewatch of Falcon And The Winter Soldier?” Mary asked.

“Sure.” Fliss shrugged, “but only one episode tonight. You got school tomorrow. And it’s Alex’s first day back at Daycare so we need to be up and ready.”

"Fine... Fine..." Mary sighed, popping kernels in her mouth.

Frank dropped a kiss to Fliss’ head before he made his way back to his truck for the box of spare parts he had been to collect. He tucked them under one arm and headed into his garage and stepped through to the workshop.

“Hey, Wanda…” he patted the shiny blue camper van fondly on the bonnet. He chuckled to himself, he was well aware the name belonged to a Marvel character, and was also a play on the word “wander” which had been suggested by Mary.

He’d spent his time doing the vehicle up, just as he had with his boat and finished it mostly almost seven months to the date since they’d been given it as a gift.

Since then, they’d had a few goes in it up and down the County. Camping trips , days out and it had worked well enough but as with his boat, Frank had identified further improvements to “pimp his ride” even more. These included a bigger engine, chrome plated fenders and wing mirrors, a state of the art entertainment system and new leather upholstery to replace the current cloth ones that Fliss and her mum had installed as a stop gap measure.

An hour and a half into said engine improvements, or his 'Frank time' as he'd taken to referring to it as, Fliss came out, his dinner plate in hand.

"Hey Sailor, you forgot something..."

Frank looked round and gave a little chuckle, “shit. Sorry, Cowgirl.”

She popped a shoulder, “it’s okay. Mary’s headed to bed. She told me to tell you she’s calling child services to report you for neglecting your father-uncle duties, and will be referring to you as Frank for the next forty-eight hours as punishment.”

“Huh, could she not just talk to me at all?” His eyes twinkled with humour.

“Well, she pondered that but then decided you’d tell her that wasn’t a punishment, more like a very welcome break.”

Frank pointed at her with a smirk, "Yahtzee."

Fliss laughed, shaking her head. “How long you intending on staying out here? Not that it matters, just figuring out whether or not I can start my weekly lesson plans for the yard or wait until tomorrow morning.”

"You could sit out here and do them, I'll bring up that little table."

“Huh, not just a pretty face are you?”

"Meh, I've been known to have brighter days." He shrugged. "At least sit with me while I eat."

“Alright, you got any beer in that fridge?” She nodded to the back of the workshop and Frank scoffed.

“How long you known me? Course there’s beer in there.”

“Well then gimme one.”

“We are still talking about the beer, yeah?” Frank grinned.

“Pervert.”

Frank laughed as he moved to pull two cold Buds out of the fridge. He popped the caps and handed one to Fliss.

"Why thank you, Sailor."

She took it from him, her eyes straying to his hand and she frowned. “Hey, you’re bleeding.”

Frank looked down at his hand, noticing the knick on his knuckles. He wiped it on the rag, half out his pocket. "It's nothing, grazed it tightening up something."

“Did you seriously just wipe it with that filthy shit rag?” Fliss wrinkled her nose as Frank perched on a stool in front of his work bench. “You’re disgusting .”

He popped a shoulder and sipped his bottle. "Done worse."

Fliss shook her head, “let me see.”

He took a small bite of his meal and passed his hand over to her. "It's nothing."

She took a deep breath and gently took it, twisting her wrist so his fingers lay across her palm. She gently swiped her thumb over the back of his knuckles as she looked at his skin.

He was currently grubby from the work he’d been doing. And the hand she held was sporting a few healing cuts and grazes, from various minor knocks he picked up at work or around their home and yard. They were dotted across his long fingers and the back of his hand. His blunt nails were dirty, but would be scrubbed clean that night before bed, just as they always were when he came home from work or finished whatever hobby project he was working on.

Maybe once, in a time before she’d met him, they’d been softer and neater, thanks to his previous career as a professor. But now, Frank Adler had well worn and weathered hands.

And Fliss fucking adored them.

She loved the way those fingers would drum noisily on a surface, indicating he was bored, maybe restless or impatient. How they’d slap his thigh or hers when he had made a decision. Even the way he would crack his knuckles either absentmindedly when deep in thought, or on purpose with a smirk as he knew the noise made her shudder and grimace as she hated it.

But what she loved the most was how those hands, so tough, rough and calloused from years of manual labor were also as soft and gentle as the man they belonged to.

Five years ago, on a boat out on the open water, they'd held her to him as he'd kissed her tenderly. Three years back, they’d delicately yet ever so safely held their baby boy for the first time in the hospital, and continued to be safe, careful and strong with both her and the kids.

They could also be a little possessive. His fingers would slip through hers when in public, or grip her hip as his arm slid round her waist, always just tight enough to keep her close, squeezing when he knew she needed reassurance or comfort, or simply wanted to remind her, and anyone else for that matter, that he was there and she was his.

They were delicate and loving when he trailed his fingers up and down her arm, her neck or her spine. They would dance across her shoulders or skin, heating her from the inside out.

And of course, there were other things those hands could do, when they were alone…

"Frankie..."

“Yeah?"

Brown eyes met blue from beneath heavy lids and Frank arched his brow.

Fliss moved to stand between his legs, which were spread apart at the knees as his feet rest on the lower rung of his stool. “Put your hands on me, Sailor.”

Frank hopped down and grabbed her by the waist, turning turned their bodies so her back bumped the work bench. "But I'm filthy."

“And?”

A low chuckle bounced that Adam's apple in his throat. Frank cupped her face. He gazed at her and smirked before he dove right in to give her a harsh kiss, filled with tongue.

She kissed him back, her own hands tangling in his hair, nails taking over his scalp.

“Whaddya want, cowgirl?” His lips hovered over hers.

“Your hands…”

“Yes, ma'am." With a grin he kissed her again. “Turn around.”

Fliss smirked as her eyes glowed with mischief. She spun on the ball of her foot and leaned against the workbench. Craning her neck so she could peer over her shoulder, she smirked. "Well?"

“Sassy tonight, I like it.” He grinned as he pulled her back into him. His hands squeezed her hips, before he gripped the hem of her vest top and pulled it over her head.

Fingers glided up her sides and belly until Frank's hands covered her bra covered breasts and gave them a generously hard squeeze.

Fliss sighed, her head rolling back onto his shoulder.

"Again..." she said softly as her arm snaked up Frank's neck.

Frank chuckled, his lips fluttering against her neck as his hands pulled down the cups of her bra. “Like that?” His voice was a raspy whisper as his fingers and thumbs found her nipples.

A lustful moan came out her throat from the depths of her chest, the vibration beating against Frank's chest. "Yep."

“My hands feel good, huh, baby?” He hummed, tweaking a little harder.

"Always so good."

“Want then to make you cum?”

"Oh, yes...." Fliss whimpered.

Frank gave a low grunt as his teeth nipped her neck, his hands working a little harder. With each tweak, pull and squeeze, he could hear and feel Fliss reacting as she writhed and panted. Her head was completely laid back on his shoulder, eyes closed, mouth open.

"Thassit, Cowgirl. Get lost....." he was in her ear.

He could feel himself growing hard in his tasty jeans, his dick pressing uncomfortably against the crotch of the denim. With a nip to hee ear that made her squeal, his right hand traced its way down her sternum to her belly and slipped into the waistband of her lounge shorts.

Fliss gasped and moaned, the feel of his hands on her was one of her favorite things.

"Oh, Lissy," Frank crooned lowly in her ear, "so wet for me."

“Always…” she gasped, her hand tightening in his hair.

With a grunt of satisfaction at the feel of her fist, Frank began toying with her clit. Running circles around it with his middle finger.

Fliss gasped, her hips bucking at his touch.

“Thassit, baby…” his breath was warm on her face. As those nimble fingers toyed with his wife, coaxing her closer and closer, her pelvis started to move, grinding herself against his palm. "Chase it, baby," he dug his heel upward into her clit as he slipped two fingers inside her wet heat.

“Oh, fuck…” her knees buckled a little and Frank moved his left arm across her chest, holding her up as his fingers found her right nipple.

"Fahk, darlin'," he grunted. "I got you."

“You…you always…oh, god…” she groaned, her eyes flying open, “you always..always do…”

"You're there, cowgirl , c'mon."

Her breath was coming in quick, rapid pants, a staccato rhythm as the feel of his strong arms and those hands she loved so much completely overwhelmed her.

“Frankie…Frank…Frank…”

“I gotchu …” he repeated as he kissed her neck behind her ear. He then groaned when he felt Fliss buck violently in his arms. “Atta girl.”

Her walls clamped around his fingers as she cried out into the silence and dim light of his workshop.

"There you go...." Frank said softly as his lips press into her cheek.

Fliss gave a hum of satisfaction as she sagged backwards. Frank gently slid his hand up and out of her shorts, his fingers sticky with her slick as the rest on her belly.

“I can feel you,” Fliss spoke, her voice raspy as she gained her breath. “Poking me…”

“Well, I’m kinda turned on right now…” he replied , with a cheeky grins of his rock hard dick into the small of her back.

With a slow movement, Fliss turned in his arms and gripped at his shirt. She stepped back towards the work bench, a smirk on her face.

“Well, we best do something about it then, huh?”

#kinktober #kinktober 2022 #chris evans kinktober #frank adler fanfiction #Frank Adler x ofc #frank adler #gifted fan fic #gifted fanfic

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