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azzibueckers5 · 3 days ago

Text

i wanna know peace again (wanna sing a different song) (ao3 link) (chapter 1 link)

chapter 2: in which azzi is a drama queen and mentally calls herself the word stupid so many times that it loses its meaning (wc: ~8.5k) (gasp)

AN: ummmm hiiiiii i'm back. please enjoy! i wanted to make it angstier but i didn't want to actually write that? so here you go. umm. any and all mistakes re: basketball and the wnba (and anything else) are mine and mine only! i'm learning slowly and I googled a lot of things but who knows. i think that's it? idk have fun freaks <3

azzi wakes to a pounding headache, a crick in her neck from sleeping on the couch, and an overwhelming sense of dread at everything in the world ever.

hanxiety doesn’t even begin to capture the feeling that curdles in her stomach when she goes to confirm that last night wasn’t a hyper-realistic dream, the words outgoing call, 1:47 reflecting back at her bleary eyes underneath paige’s contact. she’d called her at two in the fucking morning. good god.

she’s not sure if the wine or the hours of crying is the cause of the absolute knife between her temples, but it doesn’t matter because she needs three advils, like, now, before she begins processing the nightmare that the previous night really was.

she drags herself off the couch, wincing at the ache in her muscles, and heads to her bedroom to change out of last night's pjs and try and dig up the pain killers that she knows are somewhere in her bedside table.

briefly, humorously, she contemplates the tub of miscellaneous, much stronger drugs that she’s accumulated over her years of surgeries and injuries. maybe if she overdoses on the opioids she’d been given but never taken after her acl tear she won’t have to deal with this whole L-word realization that is sure to ruin the current stability of her life.

as she mentally picks through the haze of wine over her memories from the night before, the pit in her stomach grows. she had been a lot of things the prior night- stupid, emotional, drunk, but wrong about the truth of her complex web of emotion surrounding paige?

she wasn’t so sure. (she was actually kind of sure she hadn’t been wrong. which. fuck.)

after swallowing her pills (advil, not the oxycodone), she picks up her phone and fires off three texts to aaliyah in quick succession, needing her to know how much her line of questioning had caused azzi to spiral.

azzi: u suck btw.

azzi: the all-star break isn't the time to make me over analyze my friendships

azzi: or my sexuality for that matter

the older girl responds in a matter of seconds.

lili: BRUH I THOUGHT U KNEW

lili: come shoot before practice w me and we can talk it out

lili: but jsyk uve been moping for A YEAR my bad for thinking it was cause yall broke up

azzi: brooooo everyone always says friendship breakups r worse anyways

she releases a long suffering sigh to the mirror above her dresser. she looks a little bit like shit, eyes puffy and cheek creased, posture slumped over looking at her phone. the picture of i don’t want to have this crisis right now but i fear it’s too late.

screw everything. she looks back down at the buzz of her phone in her palm:

aaliyah: that’s only for straight girls dumbass

azzi: ok well i thought i WAS a straight girl

lili: [screenshotted image of her profile photo for azzi: her, sitting on the ground in the uconn facilities, propped up against the base of her locker, legs spread comfortably. her head is tilted up at the camera, a smirk lopsided on her face, and one hand is throwing up a four, the other splayed out across the top of her trucker hat. she’s wearing a huskies sports bra and sweatpants, slung low enough on her hips to exhibit the the thick band of her basketball shorts and the v of her lower abs]

lili: does this look like a straight girl to u

it's almost funny how obvious the answer is. azzi types out a succinct kill youself and throws her phone across her bed.

she feels like she should be concerned with how easily the knowledge that she’s into women (or at least one specific woman) settles into her skin. but somehow it feels more like something she’d known about herself and simply buried, waiting for the right time to fully process. and this doesn’t necessarily feel like the right time, but it's happening whether azzi likes it or not, and she supposes that accepting that you’re gay is a lot easier when every single person in your life already knew and thought you knew before you actually did.

the only person she really has to solidly come out to is herself (she ignores the voice in her head telling her that she will also maybe have to come out to paige at some point. if they talk and y’know. things go the way azzi is somehow already desperately hoping they will), and she’d always kind of known, in an abstract sense anyway, that she was attracted to women, but she’d never really had a crush on one or had the inclination to actually do anything about that thought so it had sat on the backburner, something she only really thought about when she was drunk, or lonely, or some combination of the two.

she figures she can work out whether she’s ever even been into men at all at a later date. all she can think about right now is paige anyways, and it's childish, but she’s almost annoyed at how cliche she feels for having her gay realization be the blonde, like she’s just another fangirl in paige’s tik tok comment section writing some variation of ‘i'm straight, but its paige bueckers!’

and it’s stupid, but it feels like she’s feeding into paige's ego by just acknowledging this space that’s been carved out in her chest. paige had always been droning on and on about how much rizz she had, how everybody wanted her, and azzi had loved nothing more than humbling her, calling her conceited and egotistical and stupid, and well. it seems azzi had been the stupid one all along.

she knows, though, that this feeling, this thing in her chest that has somehow ballooned inside of her overnight, runs much, much deeper than the silly, surface level attraction that most people attributed to paige. and she also reasons that she knows paige, both her flaws and her insecurities and the parts that make her so wonderful, in a way that none of the teenage girls on tiktok could ever begin to even dream of.

being in love with paige (and she guesses she’s really acknowledging it now, so that's. cool.) didn’t feel like a fluke, but rather something that was simply innate inside of her, ever humming under her skin.

she curses the universe for giving her this mid-life crisis eight days before she has to hop on the flight that will take her directly to paige’s city, but there's an underlying feeling of hope, too, that she tries to squash. she firmly ignores the thought that it feels a little bit like a cosmic sign.

paige having a woman she was almost certainly sleeping with, minimum, in the background of her phone at 1am also kinda felt like a cosmic sign. a sign that meant it's too late.

and. oh god. she needs to text paige about dallas.

and what the fuck to you say to your ex best friend who you hypothetically were (are?) in love with and drunkenly called crying after a year of not speaking one-on-one to try and plan a hangout? your ex best homoerotic friend who maybe has a new girl?

but paige had insinuated that she wasn’t expecting azzi to actually reach out, which, aside from the fact that azzi did want to, also made it somewhat of a competition, and azzi didn’t lose competitions. especially against paige.

it's already nearing 10 am, and even though paige is an hour behind, she wants to make it clear that she’s true to her word. paige had seemed like she’d wanted her to text, too, and. she’d said she missed her. a lot.

she types out the first thing she thinks of, u gonna show me your cowboy boots collection or what, and sends it before she can talk herself out of it.

the anger at paige from the night before is still simmering in her blood, a little bit, because what the fuck? they haven't talked in a year and it was paige’s fault. but also. azzi knows paige, even after all this time, and. she has a growing hunch that instead of the callous disregard for azzi and their friendship that paige had tried so hard to portray, azzi is starting to think that it had been hurt, not indifference, that had caused paige to distance them.

when paige doesn’t immediately respond to azzi’s text and profess her undying love for azzi and azzi only, she tries to convince her immune system that she did not, in fact, just drink poison and she was not, in fact, having a heart attack.

and god, was it normal to feel like she was dying after sending a text? yesterday-azzi was lucky as fuck that she thought she hadn’t been in love because this fucking sucked.

she makes breakfast with her anxiety at an all time high, checking her phone every sixty seconds and nearly burning her omelette. as the minutes tick by, azzi tries to resign herself to the reality that maybe paige had told her to text because she didn’t believe azzi would, not in spite of it.

but then, as azzi is throwing things in her bag to leave for the facilities and bombard aaliyah with questions and a borderline mental breakdown, she feels her phone buzz in her pocket. she drops her water bottle on her foot in her haste to check what it says, and it hurts like a bitch, but paige responds with ‘unfortunately only one pair of boots. but im sure my hat collection will impress u’ and well.

azzi’s foot could be broken for all she cares, because paige responded and she’s texting like old paige, and maybe it's flirting, maybe it's not, azzi clearly has no idea, but it's a million times better than the one-word messages she received throughout last year, and.

hope blooms, slow and steady, in azzi’s heart, despite her attempts to squash it.

…

azzi: please tell me you don’t actually wear any of them outside the house

paige: u have to wear one here at all times or they’ll kill u

paige: texas is no joke

azzi: so i guess i’ll need to borrow one when im down there then

paige: when do u fly in

paige: ill give u the pick of the litter

…

(azzi does not shriek when she sees that text after practice. she does not.)

…

three days before azzi flies to dallas (and potentially lights herself on fire), she has a moment of weakness. after a particularly tiring lift and a day without more than a few new texts from paige, she settles into bed freshly showered with her laptop propped open on a pillow. she means to put on the rest of the abbot elementary episode she’d been watching earlier, but her fingers apparently aren’t connected to the rest of her body because they type in “paige bueckers and azzi fudd” into the youtube search bar instead.

a couple nonsense videos pop up before her eyes catch on to the SLAM interview they’d done together right before azzi’s freshman year season. she clicks the link before she can chicken out.

it's a behind the scenes, with interview anecdotes thrown in between clips of them messing around, and they look so young. and jesus the way paige is looking at her. like she hangs the moon in the sky. and eighteen year old azzi isn’t much better, and she can’t keep her eyes off the blonde for more than five milliseconds, and they’re, well, they’re flirting right in front of current azzi’s face, and good god. no wonder everyone had thought something was going on.

if azzi hadn’t lived through it, known the way they’d only ever tiptoed the line, never crossing, she would’ve thought so too.

she makes it six minutes into the video before she slams her laptop shut, rolls over, and screams bloody murder into her pillowcase.

…

the mystics don’t fly down until the night before, and their game is in the afternoon, so she and paige make tentative plans to hang out after azzi ‘find[s] out what happens when you mess with texas.’

paige is a dork, and an unfunny one at that. she hearts the message when azzi tells her as much, and azzi has to hide her smile in the hood of her sweatshirt so georgia doesn’t ask any pestering questions when paige adds ‘unfunny maybe but a loser? never.’

azzi really, really hopes that this text-flirting or whatever they’re doing means that paige doesn’t have a girlfriend. she doesn’t think her heart could take it if she did, and she doesn’t understand how paige (maybe? she’s being optimistic. sue her.) lived with these feelings for so long and didn’t act on them because it's been a singular week of occasional texting and only that has azzi feeling like she’s going to tear her hair out.

the flight to dallas and subsequent restless night of sleep in a mediocre hotel room crawls by so slowly that azzi feels like she’s been physically transported to a planet in which every minute that goes by is actually an hour. or something. she doesn’t remember the plot of interstellar but she feels like messy time travel and space stuff like that was part of it. maybe it's happening to her. stranger things have occurred.

(like not knowing you were in love with your best friend for eight years)

(she doesn’t remember the plot of interstellar because the uconn team had watched it one slow off-season afternoon, and azzi had let paige coax her into taking an edible, gotten ridiculously high and scared, and had spent the entire movie with her face tucked into paige’s shoulder, letting the hands rubbing her back and stupid commentary in her ear lull her into safety)

(fuck everything)

…

and then the most dreaded and anticipated day of azzi’s short, miserable life so far is upon her. thank god it’s a saturday game, so tipoff is at 2:00, and she doesn’t have to drown in anxiety for a whole day beforehand, because breakfast and the pregame meeting in the hotel is tortuous enough as is.

kiki has to forcefully put her hand on azzi’s leg on the bus to get it to stop jumping up and down, and everyone knows not to bring up anything related to paige in front azzi, and she hasn’t said anything to anyone other the aaliyah about how they’re speaking again, but she can feel the sideways glances her teammates are sharing behind her back and her brain itches.

they warm up on the court after the wings are done with their shooting drills, meaning azzi only gets a glance of paige disappearing back into the tunnel when they head out to stretch, but it's enough to transform her anxiety from a level 6 on the richter scale to a solid, nauseating 8.

there’s signs of paige everywhere: posters with her face all over the walls, her number plastered on the sides of the hallway they have to walk down to get to the arena, and, worst of all, fans milling about, decked out completely in #5 jerseys and paige paraphernalia. several have carefully drawn out posters and clever slogans, clamoring in the stands to get as close as possible in an attempt to gain the one and only paige bueckers’ attention. and azzi can’t even fucking blame them, as pitiful as it is, because she wants paige’s attention on her, too. probably more than any of these fans combined.

a twisted, irrational seed of jealousy takes root in her heart when she thinks about how these fans have gotten to see paige grow and blossom over the last year and a half, how paige had left connecticut and the team and azzi and come here and immediately charmed the hearts of this entire stupid city, not caring what, or rather, who she left behind.

and fuck texas and their stupid cowboy boots and hot weather and their ability to win over really pretty blonde girls and entrap them in their clutches.

her shots are off during warmups, and it takes everything in her not to turn around and look for a familiar blonde head when they announce the starting lineup and paige’s name is called, but then that effort is entirely futile because paige’s face is suddenly plastered on every single god-forsaken screen in the entire arena as she runs back out through tunnel. and she looks so cool and confident and definitely not like she’s having a tweak-fest about her ex best friend being in such close proximity. and life isn’t fair.

and azzi loses her breath for a second at how stunningly beautiful paige is. she’s always been gorgeous, even self-proclaimed-straight-azzi had known that, but something about paige in the center of the basketball court, completely in her element, has always made her look more magnetic than usual.

paige’s eyes flit across the visiting team’s bench for a second, like she’s looking for someone, looking for azzi, and she wants to jump up and wave her arms or do something equally as ridiculous to get her attention, but it turns out she doesn’t need to because then blue eyes find azzi’s without any help, like a magnet, and, wow, azzi had thought that she’d mentally prepared herself for this as much as possible, but she’d been horribly, terribly wrong.

paige seems almost bashful when her face tilts into a lopsided grin, and azzi’s heart is doing this weird little flipping thing inside of her chest, which, it's never done that before, or maybe it had and she’d just never noticed because she’s an idiot, but regardless, azzi grins back, eyes probably all squinty and everything, and she really hopes no one is paying attention to them right now because she knows she looks absolutely sick in the head.

she feels bolder than usual all of a sudden, adrenaline coursing through her and the high of having paige’s attention on her after all these months must be messing with her brain to mouth filter, because then she’s mouthing “you ready to lose?” to the blonde girl across the arena.

paige’s smile drops in exaggerated offense and she’s getting nudged by her teammates to pay attention to something else but she smirks lazily, and flips azzi off before her attention is dragged into their huddle.

and azzi feels woozy- like a fucking cartoon character with little birds circling her head. lord give her strength. paige flips her off and suddenly she’s acting like the blonde girl came over and proposed or something. this whole thing is so. stupid.

the anthem and pre-game huddle is a blur of nerves and trying not to get caught staring at the back of paige’s head. and then it’s tip off, and blessedly, graciously, they’re not guarding each other, and azzi tries valiantly to focus on the ball and her teammates’ positioning and not on the blonde in her peripheral vision.

she’s off balance though, only making one of her first four shots, and she knows exactly why that is and it's so frustrating because paige already has seven points and seems entirely unaffected.

and then, six minutes into the game, paige knocks the ball away from kiki in a breakaway, and azzi is the only one who has a chance at stopping her from a simple, uncontested layup. they run up the court together, paige just out of azzi’s reach until they get to the paint. and azzi knows exactly the move paige is going to pull, could draw it up in her sleep, and the only real way to stop it is to throw her hip out and jump up at the exact second she knows paige will release the ball and pray that her hand makes contact with rubber and not skin.

and she does knock the ball away, fuck you, paige blockers, but her hip also makes contact with paige’s side and she goes sprawling, sliding across the linoleum. azzi has a split second of panic that she’s actually hurt paige, but paige is grinning up at her, the drama queen, and azzi groans when she hears the familiar whistle of a foul call somewhere behind her.

azzi’s hand grips paige’s to pull her up, other hand going out to steady her hip, and the first real skin on skin contact in a year shocks her to her core. her fingers are tingling, and how on earth was she able to ignore the feeling that arises in her whenever paige is close to her for so long because it feels like the world has stopped spinning on its axis for a second.

nothing had ever been able to pry azzi’s attention away from basketball before, except for paige, (which. add that to the list of things that probably should have clued her in years ago) and it’s even worse now that azzi understands why that was the case.

and they are in the middle of a basketball court on live television with thousands of people watching their every move and azzi is still gripping paige’s hand. and someone needs to put her in a psychiatric hospital or something.

she regrettably pulls her fingers away from the taller girl’s grasp and immediately misses the contact.

“you playin’ dirty cause you don’t think you can win?” paige taunts, but she’s grinning at azzi like she knows it was an accident, and her face is flushed from the first few minutes of running and she looks positively edible and. how azzi thought of herself as immune to paige’s charm for so long is well beyond her now because she wants to do. a lot of things, actually, but she needs to focus on basketball right now. because again. middle of the basketball court.

“shut up, cheater. you’re the one flopping around trying to get a call,” is her very mature and reasonable retort.

and oh. azzi realizes again, in real time, what everyone was talking about when they used to say that her and paige were constantly flirting. because her hand is still on the taller girl's hip (just to steady her. yeah right.) and paige is smirking down at her and azzi is teasing her and- oh my god she’s been so stupid.

the familiar spark of competition (and probably some other things. like attraction. whatever.) lights up between them like no time has passed since they were staying late after practices and running shooting drills just the two of them, and azzi feels herself settle for the first time since she caught sight of paige warming up.

she’d been worried that she’d be too distracted by paige’s presence to play well, but the feeling of blue eyes on the back of her neck whenever she has the ball, and even when she doesn’t, fuels her like nothing else.

by halftime, she has 19 points.

and when the mystics finally edge out an unexpected, much needed win, there’s a 34 next to azzi’s name in the box score. she only misses two shots after her exchange with paige in the first quarter.

and it's merely an out of conference win, but it's a close one because paige had played well too, and she can feel the satisfaction of a well-fought game settling in her bones, and the added bonus of beating paige, specifically, is making her feel like she's on cloud nine.

they keep their post game hug short and cordial (or. as cordial as a paige burying her face in azzi’s neck and azzi gripping her shoulders as tight as possible can be) (azzi might be delusional but she swears the crowd gets louder when they hug)

she kind of never wants it to end, and misses her instantly when paige pulls away, but then paige stays close when they separate, and looks nothing but proud when she congratulates azzi, asking “you tryna outdo my rookie of the year performance?”

azzi is grateful for the flush on her cheeks from the game, so it masks how hot her blood gets at the question. “maybe, we’ll see,” is the only thing she can come up with in response, and it sounds coy even to her own ears.

“i know we will” is paige’s fond response, and there’s cameras surrounding them and azzi’s not stupid enough to bring up their post-game plans right now but she wants to so she just hums and stands there, probably looking like a fucking adoring idiot.

paige smiles, big this time, despite their loss, and tugs azzi back into a much briefer hug. it’s friendly for the cameras, and quick, but paige manages to tuck an “i'll text you” into azzi's shoulder before she’s pulling away and leaving azzi to watch helplessly after her as she’s immediately swarmed by teammates and media.

and winning the game was fun and great and awesome or whatever, but the mile-wide smile on azzi’s face has a lot more to do with residual tingling of paige’s hugs than anything else. she is so stupendously screwed.

…

the press conference goes by torturously slow because azzi doesn’t have time to check her phone beforehand, but they only ask her one question about paige so she counts it as another win.

(they ask azzi if this victory is sweeter because paige is on the other team and azzi answers with a really eloquent “yes,” and doesn’t elaborate when asked. her teammates nearly wet themselves with laughter)

azzi almost falls out of her chair in her attempt to get up as fast as possible when they’re released from press, and it takes everything in her not to sprint back to the locker room to check her phone. aaliyah doesn’t even try to hide her laughter.

three texts from paige from 10 minutes prior are waiting for her when she finally gets back to her locker.

paige: about to hop in shower

paige: wanna j do something straight from here

paige: or we can do something later if u wanna go back to hotel first idc

the three separate texts means that paige is nervous, and some satisfaction settles in azzi’s stomach, but it’s overshadowed by the fact that she’s left the decision making to azzi.

she debates it for two seconds before deciding she might run into oncoming traffic or something equally as gruesome if left to her own thoughts for more than 5 minutes. she hearts the second text.

azzi: if u wait for me to shower i can be ready in 20

and then she’s only 20 minutes away from being one-on-one with paige for the first time in a year. her shower goes by in a haze and she hopes she remembered to like. use body wash but she can’t really recall because her mind is an abyss of nausea and stress and the little glimmer of hope that she keeps trying to make shut up.

paige’s ‘kk call me when ur ready and ill tell u where to go’ is waiting for her when she gets out, and she curses herself for only packing a pair of old sweats and a tank top. whatever. it’s not like she needs to impress paige anyway- she’d seen her in every state of dress from black tie evening gowns to pajamas- but still. she’s stressed.

and then she’s slipping out of the locker room (she’s not doing anything wrong, but she still feels a little bit like she’s sneaking around, trying to avoid questions on where she’s going from her teammates), and calling paige, and letting her voice guide through a hallway and out a couple doors and into the parking lot.

she hangs up when she sees paige’s recognizable grey jeep ahead of her, and something settles in her stomach at the familiar sight. she’d been in the passenger seat of this car a million and one times.

but then she’s opening the door and, wow, she feels the furthest thing from settled because there is paige, sitting in the driver's seat and looking clean and nervous and adorably small in an oversized hoodie and shorts. her hair is down and still damp, and she’s wearing glasses, and her hands are fidgeting with her phone in her lap, partially covered by the cuffs of her sweatshirt, and azzi feels something crack in her chest. because how had she not realized that this was exactly what she’d wanted all along?

“hi” paige greets her, voice small and a little shy.

azzi’s answering “hey, loser” sounds just as bashful and wow, what have they become?

but then azzi climbs into the passenger seat as paige groans and says “i knew that would be the first thing you’d bring up” and they fall into the ease of bickering about the game and the music paige is playing, and as they pull out of the garage and into the bright afternoon dallas sun, azzi relaxes a bit into her seat.

they decide to drop their stuff off at paige’s apartment before potentially heading out to find some dinner, and it’s weird- how normal it feels, even though they haven’t done this in forever. azzi still has an undercurrent of panic coursing through her, and she knows she’s looking at paige a little weirdly because the blonde keeps glancing at her funny, like she’s trying to figure something out and can’t quite place what’s changed, but despite that, they fall right back into the simplicity and comfort that each others company has always held.

until paige decides to ruin the ease of their conversation by glancing across the car at a red light and asking “you gonna tell me why you’re looking at me funny?”

azzi squirms. debates jumping out, ladybird style. decides against it only because the risk/reward ratio is particularly low. she could deny it, call paige crazy, but that seems useless when she plans on bringing it up when they get inside in 10 minutes anyways. she was planning on waiting until after dinner, but the thrill of having paige within arms reach is making her antsy and she knows she won’t be able to wait that long.

“no,” she replies. at paige’s sideways glare, she relents, “when we get inside.”

paige hums, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel, and the relaxed environment turns tense in seconds. the remainder of the drive is silent, and it's not awkward, necessarily, but anticipatory, tension clogging azzi’s lungs.

she fiddles with the ac vents and tries to stop herself from thinking at all. she fails, obviously, and her mind is a mess of paige and random moments from their time at uconn and, the girl in the back of the phone call, and. somehow her hands are shaking. perfect.

she is somehow both thankful and miserable they’re almost there.

they finally pull into paige’s complex, and the mostly silent walk through the garage and elevator ride only further serves to heighten her anxiety. and then paige is pulling out her keys and opening the door and.

they barely get inside before azzi is rounding on her, dropping her bag on the floor and backing up to lean against the opposing wall. she’d planned this part out in her mind a hundred times, dissecting all the possible pros and cons of asking in different ways, figuring out how to slowly work up to the question that’s been eating her alive since the the all star break, but one look at paige’s confused face and the adrenaline that's been coursing through her veins throughout the whole car ride has her sidestepping logic and reason entirely and blurting out a strangled “were we in love?”

she’s pretty confident she knows the answer, but the ensuing silence is agonizing anyway.

azzi can see the second paige processes her question, her face dropping in utter disbelief, and something like heartbreak splinters in her eyes at azzi’s words. paige’s arms go limp at her sides, her keys slipping to the ground beside her, and the jangle of metal against the hardwood floor is deafening in the silence of her entryway.

“azzi,” paige chokes on her name, like it causes her physical pain. she looks shell-shocked, like she can’t breathe, and azzi can’t breathe either, but she needs to know anyway.

“were we in love, paige? were you in love with me?” she asks again, more desperate this time, the words ripping out of her chest almost without her permission. she feels out of control. between the two of them, paige was always the one to push things too far, press and press until azzi was forced to answer her questions or shut down, and the whip-lash of that role reversal is clear on the older girl’s face.

still, paige is silent, gaping at her in shock.

just as azzi opens her mouth to ask a third time, paige closes the gap between them with two steps and seals their mouths together in a desperate, searing kiss.

azzi’s hands fly to paige's chest immediately, and the blonde’s hands find their place on the sides of her face, cupping her cheeks. azzi opens for her in seconds, and paige makes a wretched, helpless sound in the back of her throat as their tongues meet. she drags one hand down to azzi’s waist and pulls her closer, fingering the gap between her sweats and tank top, and azzi’s hands grip her shirt in return, needing her as close as possible.

and wow. okay. if there was any lingering doubt in azzi’s mind about whether or not she was into women, into paige, it evaporates into thin air, heat pooling immediately in her stomach.

and also. paige probably doesn’t have a girlfriend if she’s kissing azzi senseless in her foyer. the relief of that makes her needy, desperate.

she feels wild with it, with the sudden release of this desire for paige that's been hibernating just under her skin for years, and as paige presses her back into the wall, all azzi can think to do is tug her as close as possible. her hands move again, this time sliding up to the back of paige’s neck, everywhere they can reach, and when they separate from each other for a second to breathe, foreheads pressed together, azzi’s eyes flutter open to probably the prettiest version of paige she’s ever seen.

she looks absolutely ruined, cheeks flushed and mouth swollen, and azzi feels drunk on the look in her eyes, gazing at her like azzi is the sun and the moon and the whole fucking solar system too. and she’s struck with the thought that they probably could have been doing this for years, probably should have been doing this for years.

“did you- azzi- did you not know?” is the first thing paige gets out, voice sounding wrecked with emotion and something else, and if azzi had a nickel for every time someone had seemed incredulous that she hadn’t known about paige and her being in love, she’d have five fucking nickels. five nickels to place on the shelf next to her #1 stupidest person on earth trophy.

azzi can’t help but sound indignant when she sputters out “well no one told me!”

paige just looks at her for a second, like she’s trying to cement this as real, and then she smiles, small and beautiful and just for azzi.

“you’re stupid” is her only retort. and, well. yeah.

and she looks like she’s about to cry but in a good way azzi thinks, and then azzi can’t see her face anymore because they’re kissing again. she makes a sound in the back of her throat that she will not be recounting when paige slips a hand underneath her tank top, pressing her fingers to her ribs, and jesus, they’ve been making out for maybe a total of two minutes max and she already feels like she’s going to melt into a puddle on the floor.

paige kisses her like she means it, like she’s starving for it, and azzi didn’t know it until right now but it's exactly the way she likes to be kissed.

paige wedges a leg between azzi’s, somehow pressing closer, and this is really nice and azzi really doesn’t want to stop but also. they need to actually discuss this before she lets paige do something stupid like finger her in the hallway or drag her off to her bedroom. she might be jumping the gun but also. one of paige’s hands is sliding underneath the waistband of her sweats to caress the smooth skin of her hip, teasing. and, and. she really needs to stop this before her fingers dip any lower because she knows any coherent thought she has will crumble into nothingness.

she tugs her mouth away for a second, and murmurs out a breathless “paige” in between kisses. she receives a contented grunt in response.

“paige-” she tries again, except the older girl simply hums and moves lower, pressing open-mouthed kissed down her neck instead. azzi’s brain goes blank for a second, nothing but thoughts of paige’s mouth on her neck and her hands on her waist. but.

they do need to talk about this. regretfully.

“paige, we need to- to talk about this,” she stutters out, and when paige still seems undeterred, having moved down to attempt to suck a mark into azzi’s collarbone, she adds, “before we have sex.”

she tries to look away, so she doesn’t have to see the smug grin that she knows will spread across paige’s face at her words, but a consequence of furiously making out with the blonde is that their faces are still inches apart, so she still sees the sly smirk on paige’s stupid, self-satisfied face.

“who said anything about sex, hmm?” she crows, and azzi blushes, and then looks down pointedly at paige’s hand that is currently slipping under the waistband of her sweats.

“oh i’m sorry, was that not on your agenda?” she asks, teasing, and pushes herself out from underneath paige, walking down the hallway towards the living room, smiling to herself at the immediate feeling of paige’s hands back on her hips, grasping at her to keep her close.

“no, no, azzi, c’mon, i’m jus’ playing, come back here,” and she actually sounds a little bit worried, as if azzi will somehow change her mind or something ridiculous.

she spins back to face paige when she gets to the couch, and laughs at the look on her face, hopeful and kind of like a puppy dog. it's definitely a diversion tactic and it almost works, she almost says fuck it and drags paige further into the apartment in search of the bedroom, but she stays strong.

“talk first, and then you can give me a very thorough tour of the rest of your apartment,” she assures, and paige relents, but not before pressing a short, close-mouthed kiss to azzi’s lips, as if sealing the deal.

“‘kay. i’m holding you to that,” she adds, but she looks unsure of herself, and then they’re just standing there like idiots in the evening light of paige’s apartment, looking at each other.

azzi decides she wants to be sitting for this, so she kicks off her slides and drops onto the couch behind her.

for a second, paige looks like she doesn’t know what to do or where to sit, and she’s never been unsure of invading azzi’s personal space before, so azzi just rolls her eyes and tugs her down onto the couch next to her. paige flops down, sprawled out next to azzi, and they settle into the cushions, azzi curled underneath paige’s arm, facing her, legs crossed and socked feet tucking under paige’s thigh.

paige is quiet, waiting for azzi to formulate how she wants to start this, and she’s grateful for the silence as she mentally grapples with how to open this particular can of worms.

she settles on “can you tell me what happened the night of the championship?”

might as well start out with the big guns.

paige inhales sharply, and she looks like she really doesn’t want to recount that night, so azzi gently takes one of her hands in her own and tangles their fingers.

“you don’t remember?” she mumbles, and her voice sounds so small, not at all like the confident paige that had just been giving azzi shit and kissing the living daylights out of her.

“no, only. only that we kissed, but even that’s hazy. and i had a mark,” she reaches up with paige's hand still tangled in hers and presses at her collarbone, “right here.”

“yeah.” paige’s voice breaks on the acknowledgement, and she looks like she’s gonna cry at the reminder, eyes watery where they gaze at the spot that her fingers are pressing into. azzi’s heart squeezes in her chest. she looks a little relieved, though, that azzi can’t recall what happened.

“if i’d known you were that drunk i wouldn’t have…” she trails off, voice shaky, and azzi cuts in.

“you were drunk too paige, s’not your fault.”

paige hums. when azzi squeezes her fingers, she continues. “it was such a good night until then. we were so drunk, and you were so happy, and you were clinging onto me like it-” her voice breaks, and azzi leans further into her side to try and comfort her. they’re both already crying a little bit, and her heart squeezes, again, but she needs to hear this before they go any further.

“like it meant something. something more than usual. and then you wanted to go upstairs and i kept thinking finally. and. and i kissed you when we got to my room and you seemed so into it. and then i said-” she cuts off again, and azzi feels dread pool in her gut. she isn’t sure she actually wants to hear this story but she can’t stop listening.

“i told you i was in love with you, like an idiot, and you-” she inhales, through her tears, like she’s steeling herself, and azzi squeezes her eyes shut in preparation, gripping paige’s hand tighter.

“you asked me why i had to ruin it, why we couldn’t just kiss without it meaning anything.”

azzi makes a wounded sound, curling closer, and paige is sobbing now, and this is so, so much worse than she’d thought.

“paige.” is the only thing she can get out as comfort, and now she's sobbing too. god she’d been so, so stupid. “i didn’t know.” she shifts, and then climbs all the way into paige’s lap, trying to ease the hurt that her unconscious drunk mind had caused and pressing a messy kiss to her hairline. she tries to get as close as possible as a reminder that they're here now, not in a shitty hotel room in tampa.

god. no wonder paige had distanced herself. azzi doesn’t even know what she’d have done. probably run straight out of that hotel and thrown herself off a cliff

paige isn’t done, though, and azzi briefly wonders how it could possibly get worse, before regretting her curiosity instantly.

“and then you got mad when i wouldn’t. wouldn’t just keep going. and i asked if we could jus’ talk about it in the morning and you promised that we would.” paige presses the words into azzi shoulder, bring her arms up to wrap around the younger girl’s back. her tank top is wet from paige’s tears and. this whole thing has azzi sick to her stomach.

she presses a sob into paige’s hair, and she knows the next part but she lets her finish anyway.

“and then you didn’t say anything the next morning and i didn’t know if you didn’t remember or if you just didn’t want to talk about it, but either way i just. couldn’t do it anymore.” her voice is shot, and she’s still crying, but she looks relieved to have finished.

azzi lets the silence sit for a minute before responding. “i thought you regretted kissing me. or whatever happened, i couldn’t remember. and then you just. stopped, like, wanting to be friends, and i thought you’d decided you didn’t need me anymore,” azzi releases through tears, and her heart breaks for both of them at the stupidity of the last year.

a “no!” rips from paige’s chest, insulted, and she laughs humorlessly. “az, i’ll always need you. for god sake, i pretty much just moped for the entire year plus. arike banned your name ‘cause she got tired of listening to me whine about how much i missed you.” she looks up at azzi through her eyelashes, tears clumped together, and she looks so beautiful, despite them, that azzi’s heart breaks all over again.

“if it makes you feel better, i missed you just as bad, except i wouldn’t talk to anyone about it. the whole team knew not to bring you up around me cause i would just shut down.”

she knocks their foreheads together, gently, in affection before continuing, “one of the freshmen got your old room and i wouldn’t go anywhere near it.”

paige smiles, brokenly, at that. “bet she didn’t decorate it as well as me.”

it's not really funny, but azzi lets out a watery giggle anyways, pressing it into the curve of paige’s brow. “she probably didn’t have a blanket over the blinds though.”

paige hums in agreement, and motions for azzi to continue before starting to trace lines on azzi’s back.

azzi takes a deep breath before speaking. “over the break we went to dinner, me ‘n lili and a couple others. and somehow like dating and stuff got brought up and she asked me if i’d ever been in love. and i said no.”

paige tenses under her, but azzi squeezes their hands that are still tangled together and waits until she relaxes again to continue.

“and none of them believed me. they all thought we’d been dating in secret or whatever. and i couldn’t believe it but then i started thinking about it and. and then i got home and called my mom, and asked her if i’d been in love with you,” she pauses for a second, trying to get her words straight. paige’s hand on her back falters for a second, before continuing, slow and steady, and it grounds her.

“and she said if i was asking her than i already knew.”

paige laughs a little bit, commenting “‘course she did.”

“i know,” she agrees, “and then. well. i got really drunk and somehow thought it was a good idea to call you.”

paige smiles, a little crookedly. “wasn’t your worst idea, though.”

azzi hums in agreement. “no, it wasn’t”

paige opens her mouth to say something and then stops, reconsidering.

azzi narrows her eyes. “what,” she prods, needing to know everything.

paige hesitates again before continuing. “i thought god was punishing me when i saw who was calling. i’d just made the first step in so long to try and get over you, finally relented to all my teammates telling me to get laid for the first time in over a year and. here you were calling me for the first time in forever like you knew i’d just spent half an hour pretending the girl on top of me was you.” she shakes her head, laughing a little. “i left as soon as i hung up. cried all the way home.”

and azzi knows it’s fucked up, but satisfaction settels in her bones at the knowledge that paige hadn’t been sleeping her way through texas in azzi’s absence like she’d thought, even if the reminder of the girl on the phone kills her a little.

“i wanted to die when i heard her voice. almost hung up you,” she gets out, and paige presses a kiss to her shoulder in response.

“baby, i haven’t wanted anyone but you since i was like, sixteen.”

the word baby echoes inside azzi’s head and she smiles, ducking her head.

“maybe if you’d ever told me that-”

“-i did tell you-” paige protests, but azzi’s having none of it.

“sober- if you’d told me sober i probably would’ve figured out i was in love you a lot quicker.”

paige huffs. “azzi, the entire world knew i was in love with you. obviously i thought you knew, too, ” and then, when azzi’s words sink in a bit more, and she adds, a little in awe, “you’re in love with me? like, forreal?”

azzi doesn’t bother correcting her verb tense. it might seem stupid to already be saying i love you when they haven’t actually had a conversation in a year, but she knows with more certainty than anything ever that this is a past and a present and a future kind of thing.

“obviously.” is her only response, gesturing to where she’s sitting on paige’s lap, their fingers still curled together.

and paige’s smile is positively blinding as she leans up to press their mouths together, murmuring “s’ fire.”

honestly. you’d think she’d be a little more romantic.

and their faces are both damp from tears, but it doesn’t matter because paige is kissing her like her laugh is the best thing she’s ever tasted, and maybe it is.

and paige flips them somehow (azzi isn’t really paying attention to the logistics, too focused on the patch of skin she finds below paige’s ear that makes her keen) and they end up pressed into the couch, paige laying on top of her.

azzi finds paige’s mouth again, fingers tangling in her hair, and paige presses their hips together, swallowing the brunettes' moan at the contact.

and then paige pulls back above her and grins.

“so can we have sex now,” she questions, and azzi rolls her eyes, shoving at her shoulder.

“way to be a romantic, p,” she responds, but it just sounds fond instead of annoyed.

“excuse you, i am such a romantic,” she retorts, and at azzi’s unimpressed look, she tries again. “azzi jazlyn, i am very much in love with you, can i please make sweet, sweet love to you?”

azzi groans, but it’s kind of a futile attempt to seem like she’s not utterly charmed, because she lets paige tug her up off the couch anyways.

and there are still residual tear tracks on their faces, and more conversations to be had, but as she chases paige down the hallway to her bedroom, laughter flowing freely from them both, she figures they can figure that out later. right now, this is enough.

AN: ummmm thank you for reading? pleaseeee comment/send me asks it literally makes my whole entire day and I need all the love I can get over the next week of hell (finals). i know i said i was writing smut and i ammmm it just is taking me. a while. so i cut it off here. but maybe keep your eye out for more of these two being freaky? idk. also if you wanna like see any more from them pls let me know what that would be! i have a couple ideas for a paige pov but it would be really angsty. and also a few about like their friends and fam finding out and being like THANK FUCK. took u long enough. idk. again, only time will tell but I can confirm that comments and asks do wonders for my creativity soooo. please do that! ok bye now <3

#iwkpa #pazzi #pazzi fics #paige bueckers x azzi fudd #paige x azzi #like again do i need more tags? idfk #please tell me how you like this im BEGGING #ok back to my homework

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tqlepatia · 1 day ago

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— ULTRAVIOLENCE.

( ⌗ warnings' : emotional manipulation, parental alienation, gaslighting, emotional abuse, and toxic power dynamics, dark themes)

You didn’t leave her.

No matter how the story gets twisted, how the words get reshaped in your daughter's young mind — you didn’t leave.

She made you go.

It was Ambessa who ended it.

Ambessa who packed your bags, shoved you toward the door, told you in that cold voice, "I need something more than you can give."

It was Ambessa who stared down at you while you crumbled at her feet, who barely flinched when you begged.

Four months, Four long, brutal months you fought for her, Fought for Mel, Fought for the family you built from the ruins she left you to clean up.

You argued, You pleaded, You slept in your car outside the house just to be close to them.

You screamed yourself raw trying to remind her of everything you survived together, all the promises whispered in bedsheets and battlefields.

And when none of it mattered, when she turned her back like you were nothing, you clung to the only thing you had left:

Your daughter, Mel Medarda.

Your heart walking outside your body, You thought — at least she will know I fought for her. But Ambessa, cruel and patient, had different plans.

She didn’t just take your house, She didn’t just take your marriage, She took your daughter’s love too —

slowly, strategically, like pulling petals off a delicate flower.

Telling Mel that you were weak, Telling how boring and dumb you think that Mel is, Telling her that you left because you didn’t care enough to stay, that you didn't love them anymore, Telling her that real strength doesn’t beg.

She fed Mel half-truths and pretty lies, and you — you were just a voice on the other side of a door she wouldn’t open anymore.

Every visit became shorter, Every phone call, colder.

Until one day, when you called, Mel said, flat and empty, "I don't wanna talk to you.", And then she hung up.

No warning, No goodbye—Just silence.

You stared at the dead line like it might come back to life if you begged it hard enough, You sat there for hours, phone clutched to your chest, shaking and helpless and hating yourself for being so powerless.

Weeks kind of blended together. Nights turned into mornings without any sleep. You hardly ate, and you felt like you were just getting by.

You kept telling yourself, "I'm tough enough to let her reach out first." But with each day that went by without hearing her voice, it felt like another piece of you was breaking apart.

Until finally, you caved, You broke. And you called the one person you swore you never would again.

Ambessa answered on the second ring, She sounded bored, Amused.

Like she knew you’d come crawling back eventually — "Well," she drawled, voice low and smug. "Look who finally remembered where home is."

Your voice shook so badly you had to grip the counter to stay standing.

"I just want to see her," you whispered. You heard her sigh, long and theatrical, as if you were asking so, so much of her.

"And what," she purred, "makes you think you deserve that?". You bit your tongue until you tasted blood, Swallowed your pride like poison, "Please."

A beat of silence then — a soft laugh, Victory. "You know the price, little dove."

You went back, Of course, you did—What choice did you have?

You walked up the steps of the house that once smelled like home and now reeked of loss. Ambessa opened the door herself, leaning against the frame with a smirk that made you want to scream and sob all at once.

You stepped inside, You pretended you didn’t notice how her gaze roamed your body, cataloguing every broken part of you.

You pretended you didn’t feel her hands brush your waist — casual, possessive, as if nothing had changed.

You found Mel sitting on the couch, legs swinging, drawing something in her lap, You knelt in front of her—Your hands trembled when you reached out.

She looked up at you with big, wary eyes — so different from the little girl who once used to run to you, arms open wide.

"Hi, baby," you breathed.

She gave a quick nod, didn’t smile, but didn’t pull away either. It was enough to break you inside. You wrapped your arms around her gently, trying to hold back the sob that was trying to escape your throat.

You wrapped your arms around her, gently. Desperate not to scare her. Trying to hold back the sob rising in your throat—Trying not to scream at the thought of what Ambessa had done.

What she'd turned you into. A ghost. A villain. A stranger in your own daughter’s life.

“She missed you, you know.” Ambessa’s voice slid into the room like smoke, You looked up. She stood with arms crossed, leaning against the doorframe.

Watching. Smiling, That slow–cruel smile.

The kind she only wore when she knew she had you beaten.

“You should’ve seen her crying for you. The first few weeks? Wouldn’t eat. Wouldn’t sleep. Just kept asking why her mom didn’t love her anymore.” You flinched.

“But I told her the truth.” Ambessa’s voice dipped, poisonous honey. “That you left. That you gave up. That weakness always folds in on itself.”

Your stomach turned. You wanted to scream.

To tell her that she was the one who filed for divorce. That you fought for four fucking months to stay with your daughter. You begged, pleaded, and bled for your family.

But she’d already written the narrative.

And Mel had believed it.

Ambessa crouched beside her daughter — your daughter — and gently tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.

“I was wrong about your mother,” she said, like casting a spell. “She’s not so bad. Tell her how much you missed her, Mel.”

Mel blinked. And then, Her eyes welled with tears. Her arms shot forward, “Mommy!” she wailed, clinging to your neck like she’d never let go.

“I missed you. I missed you so bad.” You held her, sobbing quietly, your body shaking with something too broken to name.

You should’ve been happy. But all you could feel was the chill of Ambessa’s shadow pressing on your back. She rose slowly. Crossed her arms again.

“See?” she said, to no one in particular. “When you're soft like her… you always come back.”

Over her shoulder, you saw Ambessa watching you, Arms crossed. A slow, satisfied grin curving her mouth.

She had you exactly where she wanted you: Crawling, Begging, Broken And she wasn’t going to let you forget it.

Later that night, after Mel had gone to bed, you locked yourself in the guest bathroom — the one Ambessa so graciously offered you because, of course, you didn't belong in the master bedroom anymore.

You slid down the wall, crumpled into yourself, and cried into the fabric of your sleeves until you couldn't breathe.

You hated yourself, Hated that you were here, Hated that you let her win. But you loved your daughter more than you hated your own humiliation.

And Ambessa knew it—That’s why she dangled Mel like a carrot on a stick. Because she knew you’d chase until your legs gave out.

Because she knew you would endure anything — anything — if it meant Mel would still know you loved her.

Even if it killed you inside, In the dead silence of the night, when you finally pulled yourself off the bathroom floor, you caught your reflection in the mirror.

You barely recognized yourself, Eyes hollow, Face pale, Mouth pressed into a thin, trembling line.

You pressed a hand against the glass, desperate for something solid. "I'm sorry," you whispered.

Not to Ambessa, Not even to yourself.

To Mel.

To the part of her that still loved you, somewhere under the web of lies. "I'm sorry."

Because you knew you would stay, Knew you would take whatever Ambessa dished out. Knew you would endure being treated like a ghost in your own life—Just for a few stolen moments with the only piece of your heart you had left.

Ambessa would savor every second of your suffering, Because you were no longer her wife.

You were her possession, Her puppet. Her favorite toy to break, over and over again.

And you would let her.

Because you had no other choice.

She fucks you like she’s furious.

She is absolutely furious that you walked away. Furious because she pushed you to leave. Furious that you still have the power to haunt her when she closes her eyes at night.

She set you free. Signed the papers with a hand that didn’t shake.

But four months later, she’s still chasing the ghost of your warmth through cold sheets and colder silences.

So when you came back—tail tucked, heart aching—for Mel, just for Mel.

She made sure you paid for it.

The bed groaned under the force of her anger. Your breath came in ragged gasps, teeth clenched, tears hot.

And she grinned at every sound you made. “Still so good at taking it, little kamb,” she muttered against your throat, breath hot, words thick with something bitter. “Still mine.”

You didn’t answer.

You just let her take what she needed. Because maybe you needed it too.

The pain. The control. The weight of her body grounding you, even if it was only to the ruins of what you used to be.

And God—She knew it, she always knew it.

“I missed you,” she confessed in a voice that trembled with the effort not to be soft. “Missed the way you scream for me." Her thrusts were brutal. Deliberate. Like she wanted to carve herself into you again.

“I hate how much I love you,” she muttered. And you wanted to scream me too.

Wanted to spit you left me first.

Wanted to say this isn’t love.

But all that came out was a choked sob as she broke you open.

Afterward, when you were limp and ruined, she cleaned you gently. As if her gentleness could erase the bruises she left behind, She cradled you against her chest, stroked your hair, wrapped you in warm sheets and colder promises.

“I love you,” she whispered into your scalp. And then, like venom behind sugar: “You ruin me.” You didn’t respond, Couldn’t.

Because the worst part was—you still loved her, Still needed her even if she made you sick with it. Even if her love was a knife you kept pulling deeper.

“You looked so pretty begging for me,” she said with a soft laugh, fingers drawing lazy circles on your back. “So fucking pretty when you cry.” You flinched and she noticed.

Her voice dipped lower, her lips brushing your ear like a curse: “You make me sick,” she said, too sweetly. “But if I ever see you with someone else—if Mel ever calls another woman ‘mama’—”

Her hand paused. “I’ll take it all away.”

You stopped breathing.

Because you knew she meant it. Mel. The only piece of light you had left.

She’d use her too. Just to keep you here, just to keep you hers.

When you woke hours later, bruised and aching, the scent of her still clinging to your skin, you heard soft footsteps.

Mel’s voice. Laughing, You stepped out into the hallway, heart in your throat.

She saw you—and her little face lit up. “Mama!” she squealed.

And your knees buckled. Because it hadn’t been that way in months, Ambessa had twisted her against you. Had made you the villain. Had poisoned your baby girl’s heart. And now—now it was undone.

All it took was one night.

One fuck, One surrender.

You looked up and met Ambessa’s eyes across the hall. She was smiling. Victory looked good on her. It always did.

She whispered, “See?" Like This is what love is... like this is what kindness feels like. You nodded, feeling the weight of it all.

Because what else could you do? You’d already let her back in, Already handed her the knife.

☯ - 𝓣ag list.' : @princess-ish-shit , @marieeeluvsyou , @caitviana , @abbysdollie , @watermelonshine , @diouna , @boomhellokitty3141 , @zombieeepup

#arcane x reader #lesbian #wlw #ambessa #ambessa x reader #ambessa medarda #ambessa reader #ambessa angst #ambessa smut #arcane ambessa #ambessa x you #ambessa medarda angst #ambessa × reader #arcane imagines #arcane ambesa

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icupblog · 2 days ago

Text

Where did the party go? (batfam x neglected reader) TW: neglect, slight kidnapping

Gotham residents always said that the city could hollow your heart out, that if you lived there long enough you wouldn't care about how many homeless lived in that abandoned building, or how high casulties were every time the Joker got out of Arkham. But at least when gothamites went home they could cuddle up to their loved ones. At least they could have someone coddle them and ask them mundane questions like how their day was and talk about the weather. You on the other hand had no one.

Did you have a family, yes... but they weren't yours, in the sense of whether they would care if you left the house late or if they would come to a dance show you had because you had asked them to (they wouldn't)

So you spent your days working, grinding away at your schoolwork. because maybe Tim would be impressed if you got all A's on your exams, maybe Dick would notice you rather than just ignore your presence, maybe even Jason would give you some semblance of a smirk and tell you good job (you had lost hope for Damian).Oh, how you hoped to live up to your expectations, even for Barbara and Stephanie and they weren't even adopted.

Maybe you knew when you first entered the Wayne Manors beautiful gates that the house would be haunted by something, you just didn't think that something would be you.

You first entered the fiery gates of Bruce Wayne's home when you were 12 years old, unlike the kids that had come before you, you had actually reached double digits before making it to the dark knights home. (well the kids that were there at that moment in time).

The first time you met the man himself was after a funeral. You had just arrived at the Manor a day prior with Alfred escorting you to your room before you slept, and when you awoke there was pure brilliant silence throughout the mansion. It was so surreal you thought you were in a dream, you tiptoed down the massive staircase into the entrance of the house. The windows were slashed with a heavy downpour of thick unyelding rain, almost as if it reflected Bruce's own emotions. He opened the tall doors with superhuman ease (to a small twelve year old at least) and slouched his way into the manor, uncaring to whether his soaked clothes would get on Alfred's beautifully cleaned carpet. He looked up at you and held your gaze for an unseemly amount of time before sighing. You felt as though you should have said something, however upon seeing the man your throat closed up immediately. How could you do anything when just looking at him fills you with a strange foreign emotion? (fear)

When you were 12 you ignored the hints the family would sometimes give you that they were too busy. "Sorry name but I'm pre-occupied besides you're a bit old to ask for my help, right?" Dick would say while he would scroll on his phone. "Okay, uhm, see you around then," "Hey, I was wondering if you weren't too busy with paperwork the-" "No name I'm working got to Alfred if you need anything." "O-okay" Bruce would always be straight forward and blunt, he didn't care, no matter how hard you wanted him too. To him you were nothing more than a mistake a stain on his playboy image as one of his many escapades as Brucie Wayne ended with your mother getting pregnant. "Babs, can you help me with my computer?" "Have you tried switching it off and on again?" "no..." Barbara would always give you some time of day just not a lot... like 30 seconds max.

Then before you could think it could get any worse Tim arrived a Kid around your age, yet he would always sneak off with Bruce and Stephanie (a girl he would bring round, you sometimes could spot her before she disappeared) into the depths of the study and come out hours later looking exhausted and even more irritable before.

It somehow got even worse when Jason came back an evil entity hell bent on ruining your life, and Tim's. He show up outside your school sometimes telling the office workers you were his half-sister and he had to pick you up after school some days. He would shove on the end of his motorbike and hold you in a safehouse for hours on end before realising no one would arrive for you. Upon realising the great Batman didn't care about his one civilian child he would grow furious, breaking things around you as you clinged to whatever you were attached to and cry. Eventually he would grow bored of this old routine and leave you alone.

You tried to tell the family but they would just say "he didn't mean it" "he's not in his right mind name" or even worse they would forget the fact that their child who should be dead by all means kidnapped you and instead asked about his well-being. "Was he angrier or more sad?" "Did you see where you were held? maybe we can reach out to him B". In fact you didn't even realise Bruce Wayne your supposed father was Batman until you had moved out and put the pieces together.

Eventually Cassandra came along, then Damian. You think you were so traumatised by your first encounters by them both that you had blocked them out of your memory. You do however remember coming out of each conversation with an injury.

Let's just say when you eventually became eighteen you were quite frankly done with the family, you had decided to move out asap, so the second you got your college admissions you skedaddled out into metropolis.

Guys how do we feel about this?????

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gingiesworld · 3 days ago

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Villa Getaway

Elizabeth Olsen x Reader

AN: Reader has a penis. She/her pronouns used. Also contains smut. It has also been a while since I have wrote smut so it might not entirely be my best work

Word count: 3.9k

18+ MINORS DNI

Requested @babybluewoso

Taglist : @natashamaximoff-69 @canvascoloredin @wizardofstories @louxbloom @wandanats-goodgirl @the-ox-fan20 @ladyqueenxoxo @aemilia19 @wandaromamoff69 @mfd-101 @dorabledewdroop @marvelogic @dopeyouth @karsonromanoff @bimad @reginassweetheart @machyishere @gemz5 @pawiie @duckiekong @womenarehotsstuff @thatssomeplaygirlshit-blog (If you want to be added to my taglist, please DM me or comment)

Y/N walked in the bedroom, finding Lizzie running around and packing, making sure they had everything they needed. Y/N leaned on the doorframe, her eyes never leaving Lizzie's busy form.

"I'm sure we already have everything packed, love." Y/N spoke up, Lizzie's eyes soon darting to her direction.

"It doesn't hurt to check." She stated, resting her hands on her hips and tilting her head. "And I know you, you're always last minute packing and that's why you have me.

"And I am extremely lucky." Y/N told her with a crooked smile as she stepped closer, her hands reaching to take Lizzie's in hers, kissing each knuckle as Lizzie's eyes softened, her chest warm. "I love you so much." She whispered, looking into Lizzie's eyes as she kept her hands in her own.

"I love you too." She whispered, closing her eyes as Y/N kissed her softly. "Now, go and shower because I am not sitting on a flight with a sweaty you for hours." Y/N smirked as she pulled Lizzie closer.

"You could always join me." She lowered her voice, Lizzie almost folded before she put her hands on Y/N's chest, shaking her head.

"You go and shower, I'll make sure everything is set before we go." She told her sternly, patting her chest. "And then I shall shower before we order our taxi." With that, she stepped away from Y/N, moving towards their closet as Y/N couldn't help but smile as she made her own way into the bathroom.

Once Lizzie had finally finished packing, their passports and flight tickets on hand ready. She jumped slightly as she heard the bathroom door open. Turning to find Y/N stood with her hair damp in just a sports bra and boxers as she finished towel drying her hair.

"So, is everything set?" Y/N asked with a smirk, watching as Lizzie's eyes remained on her toned stomach.

"Mhm, yeah. Yes." She nodded, her lip between her teeth as her eyes met Y/N's.

"Well, I think you should shower so we can make our flight." Y/N told her, stepping towards the closet to get her clothes. Lizzie groaned, throwing her head back as she trudged to the bathroom. Even as the years have gone by, Y/N still has an effect on her. Whilst Lizzie was finishing up after her shower, Y/N had already carried their luggage down to the door, their passports and tickets in her carry-on.

"The taxi's on its way." Lizzie informed her as she walked down the stairs, wearing one of Y/N's hoodies and joggers, although she had the roll up the hem as Y/N is over half a foot taller.

"You ready for your break?" Y/N asked her, a gentle smile on her face.

"I am." Lizzie sighed, resting her forehead against Y/N's chest. "And I can't wait for plenty of time with you, I have missed you." She whispered, her arms wrapping around Y/N's torso. "It's nice to be in the same country, at the same time."

"I know." Y/N spoke softly, her hands rubbing softly up Lizzie's back. "I have hated not being near you, it's like I was missing a piece of me." She pressed a kiss on top of her head. "And it would be nice to see our family and spend time with them." Lizzie smiled brightly, keeping her head in place as she looked up at Y/N, a sparkle in her eyes. Before she could react, the taxi announced it's arrival, Y/N taking the luggage as Lizzie locked the door behind them.

The two had decided to book a Villa in Greece, somewhere for everyone to enjoy the relaxation away from their everyday life.

Once they had arrived, both of their families were already there, as soon as the two stepped inside the villa, Y/N was quickly tackled into a hug by their nephew.

"Aunt Y/N!" He squealed excitedly, Lizzie couldn't help but smile as the two interacted. "There's a pool!"

"There is?" Y/N questioned, sharing his enthusiasm.

"Yeah! It's big!" He told her, using his arms for emphasis. "Can we go swimming?"

"Of course we can, but not just yet as Aunty Lizzie and I need to get settled in first." Y/N told him, he just nodded before he disappeared further into the villa.

"Come on." Lizzie said as she grabbed her hand. "Let's go and get settled before my brother turns up and takes you away from me." Y/N smiled as she let her guide her to their bedroom. Once the door had closed behind them, they dropped their bags down on the floor at the foot of the bed.

"You know, this is perfect." Y/N whispered, wrapping her arms around Lizzie's waist, pulling her into them.

"What?" Lizzie breathed out, her arms resting on Y/N's shoulders as she played with the baby hairs on the back of her neck.

"Being here, with you and our family." Y/N answered her truthfully. "It's the perfect break from our hectic lives."

"Yeah, it is kind of perfect." Lizzie whispered, her eyes glancing at Y/N's lips which had formed into a smile. Before they could connect their lips, there was a knock on their door.

"Dinner's ready." Mary-Kate informed them, peaking her head through the door. "Mom made her famous lasagna."

"Really?!" Y/N questioned excitedly, Lizzie shook her head at her girlfriend. "Okay, just let us get washed up and we'll be right down." Y/N told her, stepping away from Lizzie and picking up their bags.

"Seriously? You're excited about my mom's lasagna?" Lizzie questioned, raising her brow as Y/N nodded, grabbing some fresh clothes out of her bag. "What about mine? Is it better than mine?"

"I feel as though this could be a trap." She spoke nervously, watching as Lizzie waited for a real answer.

"Well?" Lizzie pressed on, Y/N's grip on her clothes in her hand tightened.

"I guess it's different." Y/N told her. "You like to follow the recipe and your mom wings it. I guess it's nice to have a meal that isn't trying to be perfect."

"So my cooking is too perfect?" Lizzie pressed on, watching as Y/N looked towards the her and the door.

"No." Y/N tried, figuring out the right words to say. "You love trying to make new dishes, you love your cook books and I love it when you cook, I love trying the new things you make, but your mom's is more traditional, I guess." Lizzie fought the smile that was threatening to form as she watched Y/N shuffle nervously in her spot.

"Get washed up." Lizzie told her softly. "I'll be downstairs." Y/N nodded as Lizzie turned around and left the room. She soon entered the kitchen, the conversations from the others. Dinner went by smoothly, Lizzie's eyes kept finding Y/N who was lost in a conversation with Trent and her nephew. She couldn't help but feel something in her chest, she couldn't quite put her finger on what it was.

As the days went on, Y/N had spent a majority of her time with Trent and Tyler. Barely spending time with her girlfriend. Lizzie watched as the three of them were playing a videogame, the two teaching Tyler how to play Gears of War. Soon deciding to join the twins and Y/N's older sister beside the pool.

"So, Y/N is with Trent and Tyler." Ashley stated, watching Lizzie through her sunglasses.

"They're just playing videogames." Lizzie waved them off, leaning back into her sunlounger before she groaned loudly. "I just want her to spend some time with me."

"She will." Jess told her softly. "Trent and Y/N are like best friends, and they haven't really seen each other since Y/N has been playing for Barcelona and the international training is going to start soon."

"I know, but I guess since the two of us haven't really been in the same country for a while." Lizzie started, sighing as she looked up at the sky. "I guess I just miss her, and seeing how she is with Tyler isn't helping either."

"Someone's broody." MK chuckled, Ashley and Jess both sharing a smile as Lizzie scoffed, glaring at her older sister.

"No." Lizzie stuttered, trying to find a way out of this conversation. "Besides, we have only been together a couple of years, it's too soon to think like that and I don't even know if she wants kids either."

"Well, maybe that is a conversation the two of you should have, especially since the two of you are meant to be." Jess told her. "And I know that she wants the same things as you." Before the conversation could continue, Y/N, Trent and Tyler all came running out. Lizzie watched as Y/N jumped in the pool, her lip between her teeth as she watched Y/N climb back out of the pool, her shorts sticking to her as water droplets rolled down her abs.

"You know, if I had met her first, I would have definitely tied her down." MK teased, Lizzie's eyes snapped to her as the sound of laughter from the three in the pool faded into the background.

"I think you need some alone time." Y/N's mom stated as she stood behind Lizzie, watching her daughter play in the pool with Tyler. "I know there is a restaurant we haven't really tried out, we should go their for dinner tonight." She suggested, the three girls nodded in agreement as Lizzie's eyes went back to her girlfriend. "Then you two can have some uninterrupted quality time." With that she headed back inside, leaving the girls as Tyler's screams and laughter filled the air.

"See, you'll get your alone time." Ashley teased, wriggling her brows as the girls burst into laughter. As the afternoon wore on, everyone was ready to head out for dinner.

"So, where are we going?" Y/N asked her mom as she entered the living room.

"We are going to try this new restaurant." She told her. "But you are going to stay here with Lizzie, you two need to spend some time together."

"I have spent time with her." Y/N retorted, not knowing Lizzie was stood behind her.

"No, you haven't." She scolded. "And if you see a future were she is your wife, then you need to act fast and put a god damn ring on her finger because she is an amazing woman and you are damn lucky to have her by your side."

"I do plan on a future with her." Y/N told her. "I'm still looking for the perfect ring and I'm still trying to find the right moment to ask her."

"There is no such thing as the perfect moment." She told her. "It doesn't really matter how or when you ask her, all that matters is the meaning behind this relationship." She patted Y/N's arm before stepping past her, heading out with the rest of them. Y/N turned around once the front door had closed, finding Lizzie already standing behind her.

"So, what are we going to do? Do you maybe want to cook some dinner since we've been abandoned by everyone?" Y/N asked her, playing with the ties on her shorts.

"No." Lizzie spoke firmly, stepping forward as the confidence radiated from her. "I have spent this whole week watching you hang out with my brother and our nephew, you have barely been with me other than when we are both tired."

"I'm sorry, I've missed them both." Y/N started as Lizzie just listened to her. "With work and training, and being on a different continent from them is hard."

"What about me?" Lizzie asked her. "Isn't it hard being away from me too?"

"It's the hardest." Y/N spoke honestly, stepping forward with caution. "You are the one person who I want to spend all of my time with, I want to spend my life with you, and I am grateful that your family has welcomed me in as one of their own." She reached out for Lizzie's hands. "I guess, I'm trying to make up for lost time with Tyler and Trent, but I haven't been focused on spending time with the one person who means the world to me." She moved her hands to cup her cheek, her thumb gently caressing the skin. "You, you are the one who means the world to me." Lizzie let out a shaky breath, closing her eyes for a moment before they snapped open, the sight of Y/N all week in her jogger shorts and fitted tank had made her weak. Without another word, she grabbed Y/N's hand, leading her through the villa towards their bedroom.

"I have had to watch you all week wearing those and seeing how you are with Tyler." She started, opening the bedroom door open, stepping aside as Y/N entered the room, watching as Lizzie closed it behind her, locking the door. "And all I can think about is you fucking me until I can't walk." Y/N watched as Lizzie stalked towards her, already removing her clothes, leaving her in her underwear as she approached Y/N, her fingers reaching under the hem of Y/N's tank top, nails scratching her skin. "I can't stop thinking about you, your fingers, your tongue." She continued as she started to rid Y/N of her clothes. "And I can't get enough of feeling you inside of me, stretching me out and filling me up." She leaned forward, pressing her body against Y/N's as her hand palmed over her boxers, gripping Y/N's already hardened cock. "Make me yours. I need you to make me yours." She spoke an octave lower, her hand reaching inside of Y/N's boxers, stroking her.

Y/N could barely handle it, snapping from her daze she pulled Lizzie in for a rough kiss, pushing her tongue past her lips, making her gasp as Y/N's hands travelled up her sides. Lizzie jolted slightly with a moan as Y/N's hands reached around and squeezed her ass, pulling her impossibly closer as her kisses moved down Lizzie's neck.

"Please." Lizzie whispered, her head tilted back as she kept herself balanced as she rested her hands on Y/N's shoulders. "I need you to touch me, make me cum." Y/N's hands ventured lower, dipping beneath the fabric of Lizzie's underwear, moving her hand to run between her cheeks, Lizzie's legs opened instinctively, gasping as Y/N's fingers ran through her folds, dipping her finger inside her already soaked cunt.

"Fuck, your so wet for me." Y/N husked out, biting down on Lizzie's neck, her teeth grazing the skin as she continued to thrust at a steady pace. "All for me." She leaned in, biting Lizzie's earlobe as she added a second finger, increasing her pace as Lizzie was becoming unable to talk.

"All yours." She whimpered, resting her forehead on Y/N's shoulders, a yelp leaving her mouth as Y/N's other hand connected with her cheek.

"All mine." Y/N growled, pulling her fingers out of her before she could fall over the edge. Y/N gripped Lizzie's jaw, forcing her eyes on her before guiding her lips to connect in a kiss, it was rough and a mess of teeth and tongue. "I want to see all of you." She whispered, her hand playing with Lizzie's bra strap before reaching behind her and undoing it, helping her pull it from her form. "I want to see you on the bed, legs spread with that pretty wet cunt on display for me." Lizzie let out a shaky breath as she watched Y/N fall to her knees, pulling her underwear down before guiding her to lay on the bed. Her legs wide open as she watched Y/N get undressed before moving to hover over her. Kissing her hard as her hand roamed over her body, kneading her breasts and pinching her nipples, smirking as she moved to closer, her hardened member running through her folds.

"Fuck." Lizzie gasped when Y/N's cock applied pressure to her clit. Y/N relished in how wet she was, closing her eyes as she continued to rub herself against her wet cunt, not giving Lizzie what she truly wants, well needs. "Please." She whispered, her hands wrapped around Y/N's shoulders, keeping her impossibly close. She soon moaned when Y/N unexpectedly slipped inside her, gripping harshly as Y/N started to thrust her hips. "Oh." Lizzie threw her head back on the pillow as Y/N moved her legs and rested them over her shoulders, able to hit another angle, grazing her g spot.

"Lizzie." Y/N gasped breathlessly, her forehead resting against Lizzie's. "Fuck you feel so good." She started to go harder and faster, feeling Lizzie getting closer to the edge. "Such a good slut for my cock."

"Y..your good, oohh slut." Lizzie tried to reply, her eyes closing as Y/N went harder, her grip on Lizzie's skin bound to leave bruises, but neither of them cared in that moment. "I..so close."

"Beg for it." Y/N growled, halting her movements. "I want to hear you beg."

"Please." Lizzie whimpered, trying to move her hips but Y/N's grip on her hips prevented her movements. "Please, I need to cum."

"You can do better than that." Y/N husked out, shifting slightly, teasing Lizzie as she moved.

"Please, I need it. I need to cum." Lizzie cried out. "Please let me cum. Please fill me up. I need it. I need to be yours." With that, something snapped within Y/N as she heard those words, snapping her hips harder and faster, moving her hands to pinch Lizzie's nipples, massaging her breasts as she increased her speed. The sound of skin slapping, Y/N grunting and Lizzie's moans filled the room. Her moans where getting louder and higher in pitch, signalling that she was getting closer. "Can I cum? Please can I cum?" Lizzie cried out, Y/N grunted as they went faster, the sweat beading upon both of their bodies.

"Cum with me, love." Y/N grunted, continue her movements as Lizzie soon came undone underneath her. Y/N soon followed by filling her up, slowing down her movements as the two soon calmed down. Y/N looked down at her, a smirk on her face. "Thankfully, you're on birth control."

Lizzie moved to cuddle into her once Y/N pulled out and laid beside her, her hands tracing patterns on Y/N's skin. Y/N glanced down at the woman in her arms, furrowed brows on her face.

"What's on your mind?" She asked, her fingers combing through Lizzie's hair.

"Do you ever think about having kids?" Lizzie started. "With me?" She finished barely above a whisper, not daring to meet Y/N's eyes.

"All of the time." Y/N confessed, a smile on her face as Lizzie looked up at her. "Of course when we are married and our careers have maybe calmed down a little." Y/N caressed Lizzie's cheek, gazing lovingly into her eyes. "I do want to build a family with you, maybe get a house in the suburbs. Somewhere with a big garden so our kids have plenty of room to grow."

"It sounds like you're referring to our future kids as plants." Lizzie smirked teasingly, Y/N rolled her eyes, feigning annoyance but a smile gave her away.

"I love you, Elizabeth." Y/N spoke softly, gazing intensely at her. "I will always love you." Lizzie reached up, pressing a gentle kiss to her lips as a smile broke out on her lips.

"I love you, Y/N, more than you will ever know." Lizzie whispered, resting her head on Y/N's shoulder, pressing a kiss on the skin. Y/N's arm pulled her in closer, closing her eyes in content. The two of them were exactly where they both wanted to be, in each others arms.

#elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen smut #elizabeth olsen imagine #elizabeth chase olsen #elizabetholsen #elizabeth olsen #elizabeth olsen x you #elizabeth olsen x female reader

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silens-oro · 1 day ago

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Well Enough Alone: Part VI

Not all fics have adult content, but this blog is 18+. Andrew "Pope" Cody x f!Reader (nicknamed Hawk) Prologue Cut the Loss (companion piece) Part I Part II Chicken Hawk (companion piece) Part III Part IV Trespassing (companion piece) Part V

Masterlist Pope Cody Playlist

General Synopsis: Hawk and Pope come full circle. Word Count: 5.6k Content Warning: angst; uncomfortable conversations; typical Animal Kingdom warnings AN: you guys have been so amazingly kind about this series. if I could give you each a lil forehead kiss in thanks, I would. just know that I'm reading every comment, reblog, tag, and message you guys post and I'm giggling kicking my feet and twirling my hair. I appreciate every single one of you who have been a long for the ride so far, and to everyone who is just hopping on the Pope x Hawk train. please comment & reblog :)

Hawk’s head pounded as she woke up the next morning. The increasingly familiar hangover was nothing new for her, not recently, and she figured it would be a close companion if things continued the way they were going. The smell of coffee wafting through the air made her eyes snap open and sit up like the living dead. Hawk’s stomach rolled as she stood on wobbly legs. She didn’t give herself a single second to acclimatize herself before trudging down the hall and out to the kitchen.

“Hey.” Pope greeted stoically as he leaned against the counter, sipping from a coffee mug.

“Hey? Ten days of absolutely no contact from you and hey is the best you’ve got? Give me a fucking break, Pope.” Hawk moved around him, grabbing her own mug and filling it with what was left in the pot before taking it back to her bedroom so she could nurse the headache from Hell that was approaching.

“We need to talk,” He called out to her, but the only response he got back was the slam of her door that shook the whole back end of the house.

The sound of Hawk’s cell phone ringing made her head spin. She had fallen back asleep after downing her cup of coffee and the disorientation was making her feel like she needed to puke. Hawk’s hand sloppily hit around the bedside table blindly until her fingers reached the offending tech. Her dry eyes cracked open and squinted at the name on the screen. Sighing, she hit decline before she let her face fall back onto her pillow. Another thirty seconds later, it rang again.

“I’ve heard enough from you to last a lifetime, Baz.” Hawk’s voice was dry and rough as she spoke. “Someone better be dead.”

“Have you, uh, talked to Cath at all, Hawk? In the last day or two?” Not to alarm you, Hawk, but we haven’t been able to contact Catherine in nearly two days. Hawk’s stomach sank and bile made its way up the back of her throat. “Hawk?”

“No, I haven’t talked to her, Baz. Is everything alright? Is Lena okay?”

“Yeah,” He paused. “Lena’s here with me. Just haven’t been able to get a hold of Cath. Can you do me a favor and reach out to her? Maybe she’ll answer your calls. She’s probably just pissed at me and I want to make sure she’s alright.” Catherine wouldn’t leave Lena. Never. Hawk wasn’t close to the woman, but she knew how fiercely she protected her daughter and would never leave her behind for anything.

“I’ll give her a call now, alright? I’ll let you know if I hear from her.” Hawk had a horrible feeling that she’d never get a hold of Catherine, not after what the police told her. If Smurf somehow found out about it…Hawk let the thought die where it began.

“Thanks, Hawk. I appreciate it.” He hung up, not waiting to hear anything else from Hawk and she was grateful. She shakily brought a pillow up to her face and screamed until her lungs burned.

Hawk knew Pope was watching her. He had been watching her every move since she resurfaced after Baz’s call and he attempted to approach her three more times before she got in the shower, and all times he was unsuccessful.

Pope stood in the doorway of her bathroom, and unlike the first time he watched her in the shower, there was nothing inherently sexual about it. He needed her to say something, to look at him, to acknowledge him. He’d take anything at this point because being ignored by her was starting to do his head in.

Hawk took her time, listening to the music she had playing from the speaker she kept in the bathroom while she exfoliated and shaved. She lathered and rinsed, lathered and rinsed, and Pope knew she was doing it to drag this out as long as she could.

The shame Pope used to feel when he upset Smurf, and occasionally still felt, was nothing compared to what he was feeling currently. Now, it was amplified to a degree that made his fingers twitch at his sides and made his jaw tick. He’d look away when she turned in his direction because Hawk looking through Pope was worse than not looking at him at all.

After the third time she brushed Pope off, he gave Hawk her space, but still moved from room to room with her as she went about her day. It was a Monday and the shop was closed, so she had nowhere to go and only had time to kill.

Pope haunted every room Hawk inhabited and it killed her when he looked at her like a wet cat. When Hawk sat on the sofa, Pope sat on the armchair, both in silence as she flicked through the channels on the tv. When she made herself lunch, he stood in the entry to the kitchen and watched as she moved around the kitchen. After a while, he started straightening things out in every room they occupied because it was the only thing his brain could control in the situation.

Every tidy.

Everything in order.

Everything in its place.

The shower turned off and Pope continued to watch as Hawk grabbed a towel to wrap around herself before stepping out of the shower and around Pope like he was an obstacle. He followed her, as he had all afternoon, and sat on the edge of her bed facing the closet while she got dressed. Pope’s fingers continued their nervous tapping against his thigh, jaw clenched, and he looked ready to puke if this went on for much longer.

Hawk was still slightly damp when she bypassed Pope to grab her sunglasses on the nightstand. He swallowed thickly when the scent of her body wash enveloped him, teasing his senses in the worst way. Hawk slid the door open to her private area on the deck and stepped outside. She heard him sigh from inside as she lowered herself to sit on the top step.

“Please just talk to me.” Pope broke as he came to sit next to Hawk, his knee boldly resting against hers, searching for any form of physical contact he could get with her.

“I haven’t heard from you in over a week, Pope. You did that, not me. I tried to fix this and you wouldn’t let me so as far as I’m concerned, there’s nothing that needs to be said.” The warmth of the sun was relaxing in an otherwise tense setting.

“There’s plenty that needs to be said.” Pope’s eyes squinted, brows pinched together, as he looked out to the horizon. “I know it wasn’t you. I confronted Smurf about the pills.”

“I heard.” He glanced over at Hawk quizzically. “Baz stopped by a few days ago. I’d say I was disappointed you didn’t actually strangle her, but I’d never want to put that on you. Not when I could do it myself.” Hawk mumbled the last bit under her breath, but Pope still heard it.

“We had a job-” He started to explain, but was swiftly cut off.

“-Yeah, Pendleton.” Hawk chuckled sardonically. “How’d that go, by the way? Considering you haven’t landed yourself back in lock up, I’m going to assume things either went fine or you haven’t done it yet.”

“You really want to know?” Hawk shrugged, looking to the flowerbed she missed a few weeds in. “How do you know about Pendleton?”

“It doesn’t matter. Is that why you iced me out? So you could focus on the job?” Hawk picked at her nails, doing everything she could to not look at him.

“No.” Pope admitted, “Not completely, anyway.” Hawk scoffed, turning her head in the opposite direction of where he was sitting so he couldn’t see her face at all. “I had some shit I needed to figure out, Hawk.” Vin, Cath, Smurf, Lena, the job.

“And you couldn’t have just said that? Jesus Christ, Pope, I didn’t deserve that.” Hawk shook her head, turning back to Pope. “Ten days, Pope. Ten fucking days of silence. In what world does what I did require that kind of punishment?”

“I wasn’t punishing you.”

“That’s exactly what it was.” She snapped. “You were punishing me because you couldn’t punish Smurf.” Baz’s explanation regurgitated through Hawks’s mouth and the words, although true, felt acidic like bile. “You were punishing me because you knew I’d care that you did, and that it would hurt me if you did it because I hurt you -and that gave you control over the situation.” He didn’t deny it.

“That’s part of it.”

“Well that doesn’t work for me, Pope.” Hawk’s voice was firm, reprimanding, and she didn’t know how much longer she could keep her spine about her when he looked at her like that. Like he knew he disappointed her. It was scarily similar to the look J gave her the night before -a Cody trait shared with J’s mom’s twin. “And that’s not even the biggest problem we have right now.” Hawk turned to face Pope fully and he could feel a tug in his chest at how goddamn defeated she looked.

Hawk sat for a moment, contemplating her next words as she let out a sigh.

“You have been purposefully lying to me since you stepped foot in my house.” She removed the sunglasses from her face to reveal her bloodshot eyes. Pope blinked, his mouth opening and closing as if searching for something to say. “From day fucking one, you’ve lied to me.”

Pope’s heart raced. The only thing that crossed his mind was Catherine, but the timeline didn’t line up and there was no way Hawk could’ve learned about what he did. He and Smurf were the only two people alive on the planet who knew about what Pope did, and Smurf wouldn’t rat him out to Hawk of all people. Not about this, even at her maddest. Still, it felt like his stomach was trying to escape through his throat the longer she held his eyes with hers.

“I was so unbelievably angry with you. I wanted to scream and yell and take all of my anger and frustration out on you when you finally decided to grace me with your goddamn presence, but now the fight’s left me, Pope. Now I’m hurt more than anything because you of all people know what it’s like to be deceived by someone you cares about you.” It wasn’t even the latest pill incident she was referencing. A lifetime of deceit from his own mother and Baz had its hooks dug deep into Pope. He carried that weight with him, unable to release it because there was nowhere to release it. That feeling stuck around like an old friend and he never wanted Hawk to feel that, not intentionally. Pope knew he fucked up something, he just didn’t know what it was or when it happened. It’s hard to keep track of the skeletons in your closet when it’s filled to the brim, even when you’re as meticulous as Pope Cody.

“What are you talking about?” Pope’s voice was low, genuinely confused at the direction Hawk had taken this conversation. This couldn’t just be about the time he fell off the face of Hawk’s Earth.

“J, Pope.” There it was. Everything lined up and Pope finally understood. Somehow, probably from the kid himself, Hawk found out about J’s little field trips. “I’m talking about J and the shit you’ve pulled him into after telling me, promising me, that he wasn’t involved in any of it.” Hawk glared at him. “I don’t know why you did it, but you kept it from me and you lied about it when I asked you point blank.” She broke eye contact with him, looking back out into the yard. “I understand that I hurt you in my own way, Pope. I’m not minimizing that, but these are two very different situations.” Pope released a breath of relief, as fucked up as that was. With everything else going on around him, this was one of the smaller problems he could deal with -and he would deal with it.

“I know. ” Pope squinted again as he looked over the backyard with her. He needed to fix this rift that he let split between them, and Pope wasn’t the type to lay his feelings and emotions out in the open, but he had to let Hawk know that he understood. “I saw Julia in him, Hawk, and I hated it. I hated how close you were to him and I guess…if I could bring him in, destroy some piece of him so I could let go of her, but I realized that yeah, he looked like Julia, but everything else?” He turned to Hawk, “That was all you and by the time I figured that out, he already got a taste of it.” Hawk rested her elbows on her thighs and she let her face fall into her hands.

“You don’t understand the lengths I went to, Pope, to keep this from happening.” Pope squatted in front of her, forearms resting on his thighs. “Josh is supposed to go to college, have a life, maybe have a family one day. He was supposed to exist in a world where this shit didn’t touch him and you helped decimate that. All I’ve thought about was him either ending up in prison, or worse -dead. I can’t lose him too. I won’t come back from that.” Pope didn’t have the heart to tell her that Prison was the worst option of the two. If J was lucky, he’d end up in a casket before it ever got to that, but looking at Hawk, he silently vowed to himself to look after the kid. As much as he could without being obvious about it, anyway.

“I told you before that everything I touched...” Turns to ash. “J was no exception.” Hawk picked her head back up and leveled Pope with a look.

“Just because it’s been that way, doesn’t mean it has to stay that way.” He nodded, standing back up. Pope turned his back to Hawk so he could face the ocean and cut that line of vulnerability so he could take a breath. His hair was a brighter red under the direct sunlight, Hawk noticed as she watched Pope.

“J is a part of my life, a very big part, and he always will be.” Hawk left no room for speculation. “If this is going to be a continuous problem, then you need to say something now because I will never leave him behind. For anyone. You understand that, right?” The slightest of nods was given to her, though he didn’t turn around. “J is with me for life, Pope. We’re a package deal. You don’t get one without the other.” Hawk hoisted herself up and walked over to Pope to stand next to him. “But that doesn’t mean I give anything less to you, Pope. They’re different parts, each one a different type of love. One is just as important as the other. Are you okay with that?” Pope turned to fully face Hawk, initiating touch with her once more by bringing his hand up to cup the side of her neck, just under her jaw. Her eyes closed at the contact and she took a step closer to Pope.

Hawk missed him, even as pissed off as she was, she truly missed his presence in the house -in her bed at night. He was quiet, observant, but dutifully by her side when he was home. She missed his touch, his presence, his cologne -him. She missed the space he took up, even though he didn’t try to take up any of it. From being alone for so long with J coming and going as he got older, to having Pope fall back in and out of her life, the whiplash Hawk was experiencing was hard to manage.

“I get that now, believe me.” Pope bit his lip before letting it go. “I don’t have any more problems with J. He’s not a bad kid,” His shoulder raised in a half shrug, “-especially to have around you. He’s smart, loyal.”

“Not nearly smart enough and loyal to the wrong people apparently.” Hawk scoffed, thinking back to the fight she had with J the night before. Hawk tried to give J some leeway, she really did, but it was hard. She experienced what he did, albeit just slightly different. It was easier for her to say no to the temptation because the people she was saying no to were her age at the time. J, on the other hand, was dealing with four grown men who were at least twice his age and had decades of experience being who they were. They were pushy, aggressive, even downright mean at times. She was in denial, Hawk realized. As long as J was in that house, he was never coming out unscathed.

You left me, Hawk winced, shaking the thought out of her head as she pulled away from Pope.

“He cares about you.” His eyes followed Hawk as she stepped around the yard. “He loves you. He’d die for you. That alone makes him okay in my book.” Hawk turned to walk back towards Pope, determination filling her.

“And you?” Hawk put Pope on the spot. His face hardened, but not in anger. Pope matched Hawk’s seriousness as she stopped directly in front of him.

“You know I do, and I would.” Pope said without hesitation, as if his admission wasn’t absolutely earth shattering to Hawk. Pope’s eyes stared into her soul as he reached his hand out to take hers. Hawk let him pull her hand up to his lips, both of them yearning to feel any part of each other that they could before bridging that gap. He gently pulled her closer, coaxing her in just close enough to lean down to press his forehead to hers.

Pope let his confession settle for a moment before continuing, his voice lowering even further as he spoke. It was intimate in a way Hawk had never heard Pope speak before. “My time locked up -I don’t need to tell you how bad it was.” The feeling of his lips moving against her temple was soothing, and the more he spoke, the more she craved him at a molecular level.

“The day you showed up, I felt like I could breathe again, you know? You’re all I thought about for three years, Hawk. This,” he held up their conjoined hands, “is all I thought about -what I imagined you felt like, the way you smelled, your warmth. Everything. And every time I closed my eyes, it was you. Every call and every visit kept me going and made me feel like I was dying a slow agonizing death all at the same time because I was stuck there…” He trailed off, letting the impact of his words hit her. His hands, both of them this time, returned to her jaw.

“I’m sorry for pulling J into this.” He nodded with his words, “I did it for selfish reasons, plain and simple. My head wasn’t screwed on right.” He swallowed thickly, “I was just released, I finally got to be around you without any kind of barrier and that was overwhelming. Julia was dead, and then here comes this kid -her kid, who knew every single thing about you. He lived in your house. He spent time with you. He existed alongside you for years. He loved you and you loved him back so fiercely in a way I didn’t think anyone could love their kid. He’s not even blood and you’ve done everything to give him the best life he could have because you loved Julia.” There was something underlying there, and Hawk knew exactly what it was. Pope resented Baz for how Smurf treated Baz as opposed to himself -her actual son. This didn’t excuse what Pope did, but it was starting to make a little bit of sense to Hawk.

“Smurf gave him my room like I was never coming back -they sold my house. J had you, he had Smurf, he had my things. And it was like I was obsolete and replaced with something new and untainted. I was territorial, unadjusted, and backed into a corner, but he was still a kid who didn’t ask for any of this. None of us did.” Finally, Hawk wrapped her arms timidly around Pope’s waist. He allowed her head to drop to his chest and let his eyes close after finally truly feeling her against him.

“We can’t do this, Pope.” Hawk mumbled against his shirt. “Not if this is how this relationship is going to function. I can’t live like this -I won’t.”

“It won’t be.” He promised. “I can’t lose this, Hawk.” Pope’s hands ran up and down between her shoulders as he held her. Pope was very obviously uncomfortable with the conversation, but he was willing to be vulnerable with her -for her. “There is no one else and there never will be after you.” Hawk pulled back just enough to create a little bit of space between them without actually letting go.

“I’m not ending this, Pope, but this” Hawk pointed between them, “is a partnership, and we are supposed to act as a unit. I’m too old to be doing this. I’m not asking for the world, just you. Not Smurf, not the bullshit. Just you.”

“Okay.” Hawk’s palm held Pope’s cheek so his attention stayed on her as she spoke.

“Then all of that ends now. The lies and the scheming -all of it. Do your jobs, but you don’t bring any of that shit home. If you need to talk about it, that’s one thing, but anything physical stays out.” He nodded. “We do this our way. If something is bothering you, if something happens, you need to talk to me about it. You don’t disappear and then reappear when you’re ready because I won’t be here waiting again. The same goes for me. We talk and work things out, but we always stay honest with each other.” Hawk thought for a moment. “And we don’t go to bed angry. I’ve had too many of those nights as of recent and I’m done with it. Those are my stipulations for this.” Pope nodded again. “I mean it, Pope. No more lies. I need to hear you say it.”

“We talk things out. Stay honest. Never go to bed angry.” His eyes were earnest and Hawk genuinely believed him as he said it, but that little bit of doubt that stuck around -like a gnat flying in her face- kept itself nice and cozy in the darkest recesses of her mind.

“Okay,” Hawk whispered, closing the distance between them for the first time in ten days.

It’s fixed. Can we talk?

That’s the text Hawk receives from J while she’s working at the shop a few days later. She stared down at her phone for a moment, typing and then deleting what she wrote, then typing it out again.

When I’m ready. Was Hawk’s response. She wasn’t mad at J -not anymore, but the hurt still lingered and she needed time to work through everything that had come to light between him and Pope. She’d invite him over for dinner soon and they’d hash out what they needed to so they could move forward. Hawk meant every word she said to Pope about J -she’d always be there for him. In no way was she okay with what he was doing, nor did she know just how deep he was into it, but they would make it out of this.

“Still no word on Cath?” Hawk asked as she got comfortable in the bed. Two months had passed since Pope essentially vowed his heart and soul to Hawk. Things had moved slowly between them, both reacclimating with the other. Pope tiptoed around Hawk, needing to be reassured that he was fine and that his presence was wanted.

“No,” Pope answered as walked out of the bathroom fresh from a shower with a towel wrapped around his waist. Hawk wiggled her eyebrows at him and checked him out very obviously, causing a furious blush to travel from his chest, up to his neck, then flushing his cheeks. Pope rolled his eyes knowing that was the reaction Hawk was going for, but she still saw the tilt of the corner of his mouth nonetheless.

Pope did not inherently seek attention. He avoided it at all cost, but he did secretly love it when Hawk threw it at him in the intimate confines of the house. Just to be a tease, he dropped the towel coyly as he stepped into the closet, giving her a show of his perfectly sculpted ass and muscular back.

“Watch it or I’m liable to start howling at the moon.” Hawk called out to him as she flipped the comforter over her legs. She heard Pope laugh, ever so lightly, from inside the closet as he fumbled around for a pair of pajama pants. He was typically a nude sleeper, but when Lena was in the house he made sure he was appropriately clothed at all times. Both of them did after Lena tried to climb into their bed after she had a nightmare.

It had been over two months since Catherine left, or went missing. Hawk leaned on missing considering the fact Pope said Lena was left alone in the house the night that Cath disappeared, but he also mentioned that she stole cash from Smurf -ten grand. That wasn’t chump change, but it also wasn’t enough to just disappear without a trace. The thought of disappearing was one of the scariest things Hawk could think of.

Lena was the light of Cath’s life. She lived for her daughter and even Hawk knew she would’ve never left without Lena. Something didn’t add up with any of it, and Hawk spent more time than she’d like to admit dwelling on it. On the other side of things, Baz wasn’t equipped to be an actual father to a child (ironically). Cath did all the nurturing -school drop offs, doctors appointments, feeding, and all around caring for Lena with minimal help from Baz, so that left the young girl in the hands of Smurf when this whole catastrophe started.

The interesting turn of events for Hawk was when Pope casually asked her one morning over breakfast if it was alright to bring Lena over occasionally. “Just to get her out of Smurf’s.” He said, like he needed to convince Hawk. He still considered himself a guest in the house they both essentially shared, and he wasn’t the type of person to assume anything under someone else’s roof. Pope had taken to his niece like a house on fire and it was genuinely endearing to see him interact with Lena. They were kindred spirits of a sort, an unlikely pair, but they connected with each other when the remainder of the family neglected them.

Of course, Hawk was perfectly fine with Lena coming over and so “occasionally” turned into “most of the time”. Taking care of Lena brought a spark to Pope that Hawk didn’t know he had and it was refreshing to see someone who lived such a tortured existence let go.

Hawk’s heart hurt for Lena. The first couple of weeks without her mother were trying on everyone at Smurf’s, according to Pope. Hawk wasn’t around the house during that time for obvious reasons, but Pope made sure to tell her what was going on between the family.

Lena had a lot of questions, as a young child who was attached at the hip to her mother would, and she didn’t get many -if any- answers back. Baz was short with her, Pope said when he brought up the idea of Lena initially coming over. Baz’s annoyance and short temper at having to actually parent was actually baffling to Hawk. Lena was well mannered, quiet, and liked to express herself in ways that mostly involved some kind of coloring utensil and a coloring book. She was a dream kid if Hawk ever saw one, considering who her father was as a child. Smurf, on the other end of the spectrum, let the kid run amok eating whatever she wanted, staying up as late as she wanted, without a single rule in the house. Not that Lena was bad by any means, but structure, even a little bit, was needed for any kid as they grew up. Hawk learned that very early on with J.

After a couple weeks of Pope bringing Lena around, she became attached to Hawk. Hawk was maternal in a way her grandmother wasn’t and she latched onto any kind of comfort she could -and that happened to be Hawk. Lena didn’t smile often anymore, reserving herself after being told to stay quiet by her father time and time again, but with Pope and Hawk, she was as happy as she could be in the absence of her mother. Pope also told her about how Baz would yell at the little girl and how Lena would act out in ways that weren’t destructive, but just annoying enough to get a reaction out of her father. She needed attention, nurturing, and love - things that children were owed, and Lena wasn’t getting any of that from Baz. Hawk almost blew a gasket when Pope mentioned Lucy’s presence in all of this. She told herself that if she ever saw Baz in the street, she’d hit him with her car first and ask questions later.

In her own way, Hawk also became attached to Lena. It was a familiar feeling she remembered having when J was little. J and Lena were similar when J was her age. Both were kids with easy temperaments who just wanted to matter to the people who brought them into the world, and both had been let down spectacularly.

Lena was kind, smart, polite and as cute as a button. She had an adventurous streak to her and she also had a very peculiar sense of humor when she wanted to come out of her shell. Pope, out of everyone, seemed to be one of the only people to be able to get her comfortable enough to do that.

The spare bedroom that Pope had occupied when he first moved in was turned into a bedroom for Lena so she could have her own space. Sage walls made way for a pastel lavender that Lena picked out herself one weekend when Hawk and Pope took her shopping for some things to call her own, and the queen sized bed was swapped for a twin canopy bed that Pope was all too happy to put together the same afternoon they bought it. Pope paid for it, all of it, even when Hawk argued to just split. He insisted that Lena was his responsibility and that letting her stay in the house was more than he could’ve ever asked of Hawk.

Childrens clothes, shoes, toys, and books slowly started to fill up the pastel room. Dress up costumes had their own rack that Pope mounted to the wall. Then came a little desk so Lena could color and draw in the comfort of her own space. Hawk’s mind imagined what it would’ve been like to have Pope here while she was raising J and she wondered if he could’ve ever loved J as he very openly loved Lena. How different things could’ve been for all three of them.

Before Hawk knew it, she couldn’t imagine Lena and Pope not occupying the house with her. Pope, in turn, had moved into Hawk’s bedroom -now their bedroom. Lena spent nights over frequently, more frequently than Smurf would’ve liked. At one point, about a month after Hawk and Pope made up, the hatchet between Smurf and Hawk was finally buried. Hawk still kept Smurf at arm's length, but Smurf was all too happy to have her back in the circle.

Pope padded back into the bedroom after finally finding his chosen pair of pajamas for the night. They were blue with little birds on them and they hung dangerously low on his hips -low enough to show off the v-cut of his lower abdomen that disappeared beneath the waistband. It was distracting, and as Pope got more and more comfortable in his own skin around Hawk, the saucier he’d get around her. This was one of the things he knew drove her crazy.

“My eyes are up here.” Hawk barked out a laugh of surprise at Pope’s deadpanned joke.

“Your eyes may be up there, but mine are down there.” She motioned with her eyes to where she was looking before, then rolled them back up to meet his. Pope crawled up the length of the bed until he reached her. His hand immediately attached itself to her waist as Hawk pulled him up to meet her kiss and toyed with the waistband of his pajamas with a single finger, letting it slide just under the hem to get his blood pumping.

“Not while Lena’s here,” Pope mumbled against her lips, knowing she was teasing him.

“I know, but who’s to say we can’t make out like a couple of horny teenagers?” Hawk challenged with a grin that told Pope she was up to absolutely no good. She wiggled her eyebrows once more for good measure and that was it for him. “Make up for lost time.”

“Can’t say no to that.” His mouth captured hers once more, both of them pawing at each other.

please comment & reblog :)

and just like that, we've transitioned to season two. there's plenty more to come for hawk and pope.

#pope cody #pope cody x reader #andrew pope cody x reader #andrew pope cody #pope cody imagine #shawn hatosy #animal kingdom #animal kingdom fanfic

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trippinsorrows · 3 days ago

Text

lessons in love

authors note: here we are with yet another au...i don't wanna hear it. 😭 friendly reminder that this story is set in 2004, or this is where it's kicking off, at least. thus, some of the dialogue and pop cultural references may read as dated and/or cringe. that's because it is. i'm writing it to reflect the time back then, friends.

faint hint of pride and prejudice as well as the move 'ever after' influences if you turn your head to the side, close one eye, and squint the other.

words: 6k

warnings: angst, violence against women, scenes of abuse. also, roman is a dick. that needs its own tw.

September, 2004

“Naw, you crazy as hell man,” Jey’s voice is much louder than it should be considering where they all are. Not that it makes a difference. The conversation at hand demands to be had, at least, according to the twins. “You’d really choose to bang Melyssa Ford over Esther Baxter?”

At being presented with the question once more, Jimmy sucks his teeth, Naomi, his longtime girlfriend since high school, with one arm over his shoulder, a wry smile on her pretty face. If she’s bothered by the conversation at hand, she’s doing a fine job not showing it, even though Roman knows she’s not. It’s why she’s one of the few people he likes, more tolerates, outside of a select few people. She’s just chill.

“Dawg, have you seen the Big Pimpin video? Thong Song?” Is Jimmy’s rebuttal as he shakes his head, whistling lowly. “That’s a fine ass shawty.”

“Have you seen Esther’s juggs?” Jey shoots back, leaning in his seat, rubbing his hands together. “You trippin, man.”

“Why can’t they both be fine?” Bayley asks, the only one of the group halfway paying attention to the lecture being taught. Roman would also pay attention but not for the fact that he couldn’t give two shits about this class. He’ll do a quick review before the next exam and pass it with flying colors, as per usual.

“Exactly,” Naomi agrees, her brown eyes falling onto him as she lifts her chin. “Roman, what do you think?”

It's an easy question, thus his answer is almost instant, as it came to him the minute the conversation started.

“Why choose one when you can have both?”

His response earns a round of whoops and “ohh’s” that are somehow loud enough to snag the attention of a few nearby students but not the attention of Professor Guerrero. Again, not that he cares.

“You a dog, uce,” Jey laughs, reaching for his hand as they share the secret handshake they’ve had since they were kids. “A straight up dog.”

“Tell me about it,” Bayley mutters, as Roman just smirks and rolls his eyes. He’s always been 50/50 on her. Best friend of Naomi since middle school, her admission into their tight friend group is something he’s always gone back and forth on. Some days she’s tolerable, others, she’s an insufferable, judgmental bitch.

“Babe.”

Roman’s eyes shut.

Speaking of insufferable…

Samantha props herself down in one of the empty seats in the row in front of theirs. The row that’s always kept empty, because it’s a known fact that Roman likes his space. Not to mention his security detail sits not too far, incognito but also not, because everyone knows who Roman Reigns is.

Whether they want to or not.

He sighs, ignoring the snickering of the twins. “What?”

She rolls her eyes, clearly either uncaring or ignorant to the fact that he really doesn’t want to be bothered right now. Or, ever.

“Let’s go out this weekend,” she proposes. Smacking her gum obnoxiously, she twirls her fingers around her chestnut ringlets, Roman’s eyes falling to the beaded, silver Bebe written across the chest part of her sleeveless shirt. Her tits look nice in it. He’ll give her that. Not much else. “I wanna see that new Residential Evil movie that just came out. The one with that girl. Milla Jolly, or something like that.”

“It’s Milla Jovovich,” Bayley corrects, muttering something in Spanish that Roman is pretty sure was an insult. It makes his smirk return just a bit.

“Whatevs,” Samantha scoffs, smacking that damn gum even louder, focusing back on him. “What do you say?”

“I have a game this weekend.”

“Yeah, on Saturday, but what about Sunday.”

“I'm going to Church.”

Jey snorts. “The closest uce ever has and will get to a church was that lil’ preacher kid he was banging junior year.”

Naomi shakes her head. “She was a nice girl, too, until she got caught up with your ass.”

“You know what they say about nice girls,” Jimmy smirks, leaning over to kiss on her neck, prompting Naomi to fight back a smile as she playfully pushes him away.

“Whatever.” Samantha sounds even more annoyed. Good, he thinks. Maybe she’ll leave me the fuck alone.

But, she doesn't, instead crossing her arms. “Roman, I’m really getting tired of this.”

“Tired of what, Sam?” Not that he cares, he really doesn’t, he’s just needing to know what delusion about “them” she’s telling herself this week.

She motions between the two of them with them ugly ass duck nails. “You acting like this with me.”

“How is it any different than he’s ever acted with you?”

Roman has never been one to tell people when they’re right, but Bayley hit the nail on the head. His cold, stoic, almost cruel disposition has been the same since they first started messing around with each other during freshman year of high school. He’s never lied to her about what “they” are. She just hears and believes what she wants. To a detriment.

Samantha turns her glare to Bayley. “Was I talking to you, chica?” The disgust in that final word is enough to get Bayley sitting forward in her chair.

“No, but you’re in my space getting on my nerves, puta.” And without missing a beat, Bayely translates, “that means bitch, bitch.”

Roman readies to tell Samantha to shut the fuck up and go the fuck away when another party enters the space. Another unwelcomed party.

“Excuse me.” Professor Guerrero’s irritating ass voice is added to an already irritating conversation as she stands in the walkaway, arms crossed, the overhead lighting highlighting her thick ass mustache. “Is there something you’d all like to share with the rest of the class?”

Roman sits unbothered, as Naomi, the good girl of the friend group, offers an unnecessary apology. “No, Professor Guerrero. We’re sorry about the noise.”

“Are you?” She challenges, prompting Roman to sigh loudly. “Because it seems all your little group has done in my class this semester is cause disturbance.”

“You still teaching, ain't you?” Roman shoots back in a bored tone, pulling out his Blackberry to check for any unread texts, feeling Samantha’s heated gaze on him. Again though, not that he actually fucking cares. “Can’t be that much of a disturbance.”

Naturally, his smart ass retort earns chuckles from around the room, Jimmy and Jey dapping him up, which only further irritates the professor. “Mr. Reigns, I will not tolerate that kind of flippancy in my classroom.”

“So do something about it,” he challenges, still not matching her fiery gaze. When nothing is said, or done, he scoffs, “exactly.”

Because at the end of the day, she’s not going to do shit. Roman is untouchable, and everyone knows it. Including Vicki Guerrero.

As the noise continues around, she steps closer, leaning far too into Roman’s personal space, earning a vicious glare from the nineteen year-old. “I may not be able to remove you from my class, but I can certainly make this experience as unpleasant as I possibly can for you.”

At that, Roman finally lifts his gaze, voice as nonchalant as the expression on his face. “Good luck with that, Vickie.”

If he didn’t dislike this bitch as much as he does, Roman might be impressed by how she doesn’t back down. But, the hate is too strong for an acknowledgement. She straightens up, clearing her throat, voice projecting, “the next unit will require a semester long project that you all will complete in groups of two. Pairings that I will put together.”

At that, the entire atmosphere shifts, sounds of grumbles and protests. Roman sucks his teeth. He already hates people enough as it is, but to be put in a group with someone he doesn’t know and won’t like is only going to make this wack ass class that much more unbearable.

She walks away, down the steps to head back to the podium, right as Samantha opens her mouth.

Thus, he promptly puts her in and reminds her of her “place” in his life.

“If I’m not filling it, I don’t want to hear it.”

Her cheeks burn bright red from obvious embarrassment as the twins are fight for their life beside him.

“She must really like your ass, Roman, cause ain’t no way…” Naomi trails off, shaking her head.

She might have a point, but also, that’s Samantha’s problem. Not his fault she’s a dumb bitch who can’t accept the fact that he only likes what she can do for him sexually. Nothing more. Nothing less.

“Alright, listen up everyone,” Guerrero starts, and Roman actually pays attention this time, because he has a strong feeling he’s not going to like what she says. At all. “This next unit will be focused on Pride and Prejudice, arguably, one of Jane Austen’s best books.”

“Damn,” Jey curses. “Can’t we just watch the movie?”

“You all will read this book and work together with your partner over the semester to create a presentation touching on a variety of subjects and literary tenets.”

Roman shuts his eyes, already dreading this shit. It’s not that he hates reading. He doesn’t mind it at all. He just hates reading classics. That shit gives him migraines. “Now, the groups will be as follows….”

Naturally, he tunes her out, uncaring about any of the other pairings except the one this bitch has put him in.

“...Jey Uso and Sami Zayn.”

Beside him, Jimmy, Naomi, and Bayley are in fits as Jey angrily throws down his pencil. “The water boy? Man, this some bullshit!”

“Jey!” Sami, the man in question, the actual equiptment manager from their football team, stands from where he sits, turned around and waving wildly like a fucking groupie. “Hey, my dog! We’re partners!”

“I’m about to drop out,” Jey mutters, completely ignoring an ecstatic Sami. “She done put me with fuckin’ ginger Jesus Christ Superstar.”

“Be nice,” Bayley scolds, looking among the guys. “He idolizes you all.”

“And? I ain’t ask for that shit.”

“....Jimmy Uso and AJ Lee.”

At that, Jimmy and Naomi lose all sense of humor, Naomi the first to protest, “oh hell no.”

AJ looks over her shoulder and happily waves to Jimmy, clearly celebrating in her seat. Naomi points to her, while speaking to Jimmy, “she got one goddamn time, and the minute she do some shit I don’t like, I’m beating that ass.”

Naturally, Bayley lifts her hand for a fist-bump, the two in obvious agreement.

Roman chuckles. This’ll certainly be interesting. AJ is known across campus as the psycho/obsessive cheerleader, and for good reason. Her last breakup with some dick from the baseball team resulted in her disappearing all last semester and randomly showing back up for this one like nothing happened. Like everyone doesn't know she had some sort of psychotic break and was in the nuthouse.

How the fuck did she get let back in?

Roman tunes out the sound of Bayley and Naomi now rejoicing as their names were listed together, making them partners. Expected, but also not. Guerrero’s issue has primarily been with Roman and his twin cousins, not necessarily the women.

Sexist bitch.

“....And finally, Roman Reigns and Solana Miller.”

He frowns, intrusive thought/question escaping the confines of his mind.

“Who the fuck is Solana Miller?”

“The Miller's daughter.”

Laughter from not only beside him but the students in hearing distance of Jimmy’s dumbass response, prompting a borderline lethal glare from the young Tribal Chief that has everyone quickly quieting down and the twins coughing.

Still without an answer, Roman sits up in his seat and looks over at the women, knowing if anyone would know, it’s Naomi. “Who is she?”

Naomi opens her mouth, looking around the classroom, moving her head past the bodies up and moving around, familiarizing themselves with their partners. “Umm….” She stops, making a face. “Oh.”

“Oh?” Roman mocks. “Oh, what?”

Discreetly, Naomi points down, Roman following her finger to see it’s landed perfectly on a back. A back that’s draped in an oversized sweatshirt, dark hair pulled back in what he’s pretty sure is considered a “messy” bun. Naturally, her back towards them, he can’t make out a face.

His frown shifting into a scowl. “That her?”

Naomi nods. “She’s also in my math class. I don’t know anything about her. Just that she’s super quiet,” Naomi answers. “Like, I don’t think I’ve ever heard her talk. Here or in math.”

“Damn, you got Helen Keller for a partner.”

“Jimmy!”

“Now that everyone knows who their partner is, make sure to exchange contact information, as you’ll be working together closely for the rest of the semester.” Roman’s dislike for this woman just reached level 10, cause why the fuck would she put him with a mute bitch? “And, I’d highly advise you all to take this project seriously, as it’s worth half your final grade.” She then moves to hand out the packet with all the necessary information to the front row, starting with this Solana person, as it gets passed around to the rest of the class.

“Damn,” Jey groans. “Now, I actually gotta try.”

Roman ignores him as Guerrero goes to dismiss the class, some packing up to leave, others still talking to their partners. He waits until he gets the packet with the project overview, before standing up and slinging his backpack over his shoulder.

Jimmy offers a lazy warning of sorts, as Roman starts to move down the steps. “Don’t be late, or else Coach Booker gon’ have all our asses.”

“I know,” he mutters, seeing Sam stand up out the corner of his eye, clearly hellbent on following him.

“Roman—”

“Fuck off.”

The sound of her scoffing diminishes with each step he takes, and the closer he gets to this girl, the more he realizes just how tiny she is. He practically towers over her.

“Hey.”

She jumps, turning around, unintentionally dropping some of the folders in her hand that she was hurriedly trying to stuff into her backpack. “S–sorry.” Comes a voice that’s quiet and soft, a perfect match for the girl in front of him.

Roman sighs, eyes lifted to the paneled ceiling as she moves to pick up the dropped items. For a second, he considers doing it for her, but she’s fast, already on the move.

“I’m s-sorry.” Another apology as she stands before him, lifting her eyes to his, finally meeting his annoyed gaze.

Huh.

Roman takes a second to take her in. Despite the homeless themed outfit she has going on, baggy ass sweatshirt, sweats, and some creased Nike’s, she’s not ugly. At all. Big, light brown eyes, full lips, her face shape on the rounder side, but it works for her. Makes her look….angelic almost. She’s pretty. He won’t deny that, but everything else though….is annoying.

She’s annoying.

“I—” He sighs, yet again. That damn stammering is irritating as fuck. “I—I don’t—you don’t have to help me, ya’ know.”

At that, he pauses. “What do you mean?”

For whatever reason, her cheeks start to flush red, as she drops her gaze, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. “I–I can…I can do the project by myself, and just—”

“Do you think I’m fucking stupid?” He rebuffs, voice harsh and criticizing. “That I can’t do a dumbass book project?”

Her eyes widen, as she shakes her head. “N–no, that—that’s not what I meant.” She winces, voice softening even more, gaze back on the ground. “I’m sorry…”

For the briefest second, he feels something. Something…different at seeing her reaction to his spurning. Something close to…guilt?

Whatever.

He shakes his head, pulling out his phone. “What’s your number?”

The floor, or her sneakers, no longer have her attention. He does. “Wh–what?”

“Your number,” he says it slowly, like talking to a child, lightly shaking the phone in his hand. “So we can work on the project.”

Truth be told, he’d much rather do all the work himself, slap her name on it, and let her have a few talking points during the presentation portion. Or, none. Something tells him that damn stuttering will cause them to get points deducted, and he can’t have that shit.

As long as he’s been in school, he’s always been an A student, and that’s not about to change because of some girl who can’t even maintain eye contact for longer than two minutes.

She opens her mouth. “Umm—” Another push of her hair behind her ear, as she chews down on her bottom lip. He makes and takes note of that. Her lips. They’re even nicer than he realized. “My—my phone isn’t working right now.” His eyes narrow. The change in intonation. Higher. Inconsistent eye contact. She’s lying. “But—” He watches as she turns slightly, not missing the almost wince on her face when she does so.

Huh.

She pulls out a black composition notebook, small hands turning to a blank page as she uses the pen on the table to scribble something down. She rips the page out, turning it over and handing it to him. “That–um–it’s my school email.” He frowns. Email? “It’s—it’s the best way to contact me.”

Maybe, but it’s annoying as fuck. Text would be a lot easier. Hell, even talking on the phone. Nevertheless, while she’s lying about her phone not working currently, he doesn’t believe she just, for whatever reason, doesn’t want him to have her contact info.

Maybe she doesn’t have a phone? He wonders, but regardless, it doesn’t make a difference.

Taking the piece of paper from her, their fingers brush against one another, and he can’t ignore that something. Not a spark. Not anything to write home about. Just…something. She must feel it too, because she quickly retracts her hand, going to return her notebook in her backpack.

“You work?” He asks, folding the paper into a square and shoving it in his back pocket.

He’d ask if she plays any sports or anything, but something tells him he already knows the answer to that.

She nods. “Yeah, umm, Borders.” The bookstore. Of course. “Only—only part time, though. I–I can work around your schedule.”

“Good.” That’d be significantly easier considering he’s almost certain that his is significantly busier than hers. “I’ll email you….” Damn. What was her name again?

“Solana,” she answers for him, a trace of an accent in the middle portion.

“Solana,” he repeats, realizing that it fits her. He doesn’t know how, just that it does.

And then, the faintest hint of a smile. “O–okay.” She looks at him, and he looks back, neither of them saying anything for a solid minute before she opens her mouth, as if preparing to to say something when her gaze fixes on something behind him. “Oh no.” He frowns, turning to see the only thing she could be looking at. The clock.

“I have to go,” she says, clearly in a rush. But, something else. Panicked. She sounds panicked.

“‘I’ll look for your email,” she offers, as he naturally steps to the side, allowing her to pass him. His eyes shut as the scent of her perfume or body spray invades his nostrils. Sweet. Again, it fits her.

Roman says nothing else as she dashes out of the room, clearly late for something.

But, what?

—----------

“You’re late.”

It’s the first—and last—thing Solana wants to hear, but that’s exactly what she’s met with the minute she hops into the passenger seat of her brother’s BMW.

Swallowing, her lips suddenly feel dry, her stomach doing those flips in preparation for what she already knows is coming. “I’m sor—”

Thud.

Her eyes slam shut from the pain that shoots all throughout her head. Pain that’s a result of Wesley slamming it into the windshield. Naturally, she goes to feel for any sort of cut or blood, relieved when her blurry vision reveals blood-free fingers.

“Stupid bitch,” he mutters but says nothing else, just continues to drive them home in silence. Solana curls herself into the corner as much as she can, eager and almost needing to put as much distance between them as possible. Not that it makes a difference.

None of it ever does.

The first thing she notices upon pulling up to the house is the black SUV parked in the driveway along with the two men, large, burly, dressed in black suits in black sunglasses standing near the vehicle. Watching, almost.

It doesn’t necessarily make her take pause, but it does heighten her already shot nerves. Her father is usually temperamental on most days, but that temper only seems heightened on days when he has business meetings. Especially those from home.

“Hurry up,” Wes shoves her from behind, Solana having to catch herself from falling as they walk up and past the men to head into the home. Naturally, she does her best to keep her head down and mouth shut.

It’s just always worked better that way.

However, stepping into the home, dropping her backpack near the door, knowing it's going to be inspected, what she doesn’t expect is the sight of her father standing near the entryway with another man. It’s unexpected, because he usually does his business in his office down the hall. Except, the handshake between them seems to signify the conclusion of business. A deal made.

That helps her anxiety a little bit.

Maybe he won’t be in such a bad mood.

Except, the anxiety that was just settling spikes once more when the man opposite her father turns his attention onto her. He’s about what and what in height and build with her father, barely pushing 6’0, stomach a bit rounded from what she’d guess is a lifestyle full of bad habits and poor decisions. The hair on his head is full and almost certainly a piece. His dark blue eyes pierce into her, his thin lips, surrounded by an unkempt beard and mustache, unsettle her.

He unsettles her.

She drops her gaze to the ground, naturally moving to the side and out of his way as he starts to walk in her direction. She’s prepared for him to pass her up, to ignore her like almost everyone else in her life has outside of when she’s upset them, but he doesn’t.

He doesn’t, because he stops and turns in front of her. His thick, clammy finger moving under her chin and forcing her to look up.

She can only stare back at him, his almost musty body odor invading her senses, the same way his hand on her face violates her personal space.

And, then he smiles, “perfect.”

Frowning, Solana does her best to remain quiet, though her confusion runs abundant as he finally walks out and takes his leave.

What was that about?

However, the slamming of the front door reminds her that a man’s strange gesture to and with her matters little in the face of everything else.

Very little.

“Solana.”

Instantly, she’s straightened, back against the wall behind her. Eyes shut, she swallows, murmuring, “yes, sir?”

Xavier’s intimidating voice and frame move to stand before her, his hands clasped behind his back. “Your brother told me you were late today.”

The tremble in her belly is matched by the falter in her voice. “Y—yes, sir. I—I was.”

“Hmm.”

It takes everything in her to not break down right then and there. “I’m s–sor—”

One minute she’s attempting to plead for mercy, the next her eyes are wide, her fingers grasping the hand around her neck.

Wes’s dark cold eyes bleed into her. “Did he say you could speak?”

No.

Never.

Solana feels her sense of reality draining away when he finally releases his tight grip, her body crumpling to the floor as she coughs violently.

“Where were you?” Xavier asks in a bored tone, completely unaffected or bothered by the scene before him. Not that she expected anything other than indifference, or maybe even excitement.

It’s just always been that way.

Solana sniffles, doing her best to keep the tears at bay. “My—my class ran over.” She’s about to share the portion about the project, but quickly decides against it. He’ll ask questions, questions about her partner, and that’s the last thing she needs. For her father to find out that she’s been assigned to work with Roman Reigns, of all people, for the rest of the semester.

It’s something she’s still trying to sit on.

“I don’t believe you.”

Damning words that can only mean one thing.

“No,” she whispers, eyes widening in horror and terror at what she knows is about to commence. “Pl–please.”

“Wesley,” Xavier’s deep voice cuts through her begging and the sound of her sniffling. “Remind your sister what happens to liars in this house.”

“No, please!” Tears run down her face. There’s no use or even ability to hold them back anymore. She’ll get on her hands and knees to beg, if that’s what it takes. Even if she knows better. Knows that no matter what she says or does, it won’t change the outcome. Won’t change what’s about to happen.

She shouts in pain when Wes grabs her by her hair and begins to drag her away. “Please! I’m sorry! I’m not lying!” Pleads for mercy from men who possess none. Cries that fall on deaf, uncaring ears. Always have.

Always will.

—--------

The water raining down on her body provides the perfect blend and cover for the tears that cascade down her reddened cheeks. Eyes swollen from crying so hard and heavy, Solana hugs herself only to wince from the aches and pain that radiates throughout her body. A body covered in bruises, some new, some old, all holding a story, a tale that tells the story of unimaginable pain and torture.

A story that’s been hers as far back as she can remember. It’s all she knows. If it wasn’t her brother, it was her father, and if wasn’t her father, it was her brother. Though, over the past few years, it’s been more her brother enacting the punishment her father always believes her deserving of.

While he just watches. Watches and ignores her screams and sobs, the way she’s begged for Wesley to stop, for Xavier to help her, only for the brutal beatings to continue, sometimes until she’s rendered unconscious, waking up bloody and bruised hours later.

Like tonight.

Having to drag her battered body into the shower to try to rinse and wash away what can never truly be destroyed. The scars on the outside pale in comparison to the marring etched on the inside. Tattooed onto her soul.

A healing she’ll never be able to attain.

No matter what.

It’s a bit of a wash/rinse/repeat routine. She eventually cleanses her body, hands moving gently over the more tender areas. Pops the Tylenol she keeps in the medicine cabinet in her bathroom and applies the Vicks VapoRub over certain areas. The areas where the rub will make some sort of difference.

Not much.

Nothing ever really does these days.

Stepping out of the bathroom, dressed in the dark blue soffee shorts and thin sleeved camisole, Solana holds onto her side, sore and aching from the brutal kicks Wes delivered. It’s a miracle he didn’t crack one of her ribs.

Wouldn’t be the first time.

Moving into her bedroom, she carefully closes the door behind her, knowing better than to lock it. She learned a long time ago the beating sustained from that kind of disrespect wasn’t worth the false sense of security the action brought. It didn’t make a difference, anyway. One way or another, they’d get to her.

They always have.

She takes a deep breath and rubs at her head, wincing, remembering the impact it made with the car window. A small knot on her scalp. Another reminder of a the never-ending cruelty she’s been subjected to her entire life.

An inescapable hell.

Not wanting to spend too much time dwelling on what she cannot control, Solana walks over to her desk where her desktop sits, the screen already turned on, as she’d hit the on button and started the dial-up before getting in the shower.

Sitting down, her eyes briefly fall to the framed photo that sits beside her computer. Miraculously untouched and unscathed despite countless violent encounters that have taken place in this very space.

A trembling hand lifts to grab the frame she still remembers picking up that day so many years ago. One of the few times they were able to go out together and just have fun. A cheap little $5 frame from Goodwill, purple with colorful, positive words and groovy flowers. In it, one of her favorite photos of the two of them. Her mother’s protective arms wrapped around her, Solana with a toothy smile, beaming up for the photo as Nina kissed her daughter’s cheek.

Solana’s eyes shut. If she tries, really tries, she can still smell the scent of her mother’s perfume. Light and floral. It’s one of the few, positive things she can recall. The sound of Nina Miller’s voice left her years ago, and for every time Solana tries to remember, she’s only met with her mother’s screams and pleads for mercy at the hands of her heartless father.

Similar to her own experiences.

And, if she thinks too hard, then different kinds of memories haunt her. The kind, no matter how hard she’s tried since that day, she can’t seem to fully erase.

“Mommy!” Solana’s tears partially blind her from the horrific sight before her, both a blessing and a curse. A face disfigured, a partially nude body violated, left bloody and broken. An innocent life taken at the hands of evil. “Mommy, please wake up.” A child pleading on ears that will never hear and focused on eyes that will never blink, forever damned to a vacant, lifeless expression.

“Mommy, please don’t leave me.” The cries of an innocent child, clutching and holding onto the limp body of the one person who’s ever loved her, who she’s ever loved. “You said you’d be okay!” She cries, laying her head on the still chest, uncaring of the blood that stains her little hands and body. Uncaring of the heat of the flames around them and the smoke that intrudes her tiny lungs.

Uncaring if it consumes them both.

“I won’t leave you, mommy!” A vow, a promise to stay with her until the end, even if it means the end for two instead of just one.

Solana takes a deep, necessary breath, free hand over her heart, as she reorients herself. Remembers where she is and not where she was, even if some days, it’s hard to tell the difference.

“I miss you, mommy…” She feathers her finger over her mother’s face, choosing to remember her as that, as the happy mother who was delighted at being able to spend the day with her only daughter.

Not the last day she spent with her only daughter.

Swallowing, Solana places the frame back on the desk and refocuses on her monitor, seeing a ‘1’ icon on her AOL email shortcut on the desktop.

It brings up a frown as she navigates to click it, opening her inbox. A tiny gasp leaves her mouth at the unread email and who it’s from.

Shock quickly wearing away, she hits open on the message.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: Meeting

Solana,

The sooner we get started on this, the better. I have practice every day essentially, along with a lot of other things, but I have a gap on Wednesdays from 4 to 6. Could you make this work?

Roman

She reads over the email at least two, maybe three, times, still stuck on a couple things, really. The main one being just how this is supposed to work. How she’s supposed to work with Roman Reigns when it’s obvious he already hates her. It’s unsurprising though. It’s a widely known fact that Roman hates most and likes few, the few mostly being his inner circle that’s comprised primarily of his family members.

Beyond that, it confuses her to no end how she’s supposed to act like he’s not who he is. Like, he isn’t the Tribal Chief. Like he isn’t the Head of the Table. Like he isn’t the, for all intents and purposes, the, for lack of better term, king of Kingston.

He runs this whole city, the state, really. And, maybe it’s less him and more his family, more the Bloodline. One of the biggest crime syndicates in this hemisphere. At nineteen, the world is in the palm of his big hands. Everything revolves around him. With just one word, life and death are dependent upon him.

A part of her is intrigued, but a larger part is just terrified. Terrified as to how this is all going to work.

In the moment, she’d told him she could work around his schedule, because that seemed like the smartest thing to do. Solana might live a sheltered life, but she’s not so with her head in the sand that she doesn’t know who Roman Reigns is.

That she doesn’t know if there’s one thing she can do to help herself, it’s to stay on his good side.

Or, whatever less volatile side of him exists.

But, in actuality, working around his schedule would actually be a lot harder than she was thinking in that moment. Because she lives her life based around the schedule of her father and brother, mostly, Wes, as he’s finishing up his last year at Kingston University while she’s just started her first year not only a month and some change ago.

However, it seems like, for once, life is on her side.

Because Wes’s schedule on Wednesdays is pretty booked, resulting in her having nothing to do but hang around campus for a few hours due to his back to back schedule, including an evening class.

It….it should actually work.

Solana moves to type out a response, editing it once, then twice, before hitting send.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: RE: Meeting

Roman,

That will work for me.

Thank you.

Solana

Not expecting a response tonight, she moves to shut down her computer and rises up from her chair. But, not before turning to hit the on button for her boombox. Already having memorized the order of tracks on the CD she burned a couple weeks prior, she skips to track 18, music quickly filling the room.

Young girl, don't cry

I'll be right here when your world starts to fall, ooh

Young girl, it's alright

Your tears will dry, you'll soon be free to fly, ooh

Eyes watering from the lyrics that never fail to evoke a visceral, emotional response, she walks over to her bed, powering through her pain as she lifts the mattress up just enough to grab it.

Her diary.

Pink with ballerinas on the cover, it’s the latest addition to her growing collection that fills the bottom of her closet. But, this one, something about this one has quickly risen to the top of her favorites. She knew she had to have it the minute she saw the stack of them pulled out of the box while working inventory a few months back. And when her 18th birthday rolled around this past July, she did just that. Picking up the journal as her sole and only birthday gift.

Solana moves over to her nightstand, grabbing the key taped on the underside. The key needed to unlock said diary. Pen in hand, she slides to the floor, back against the edge of the bed, lyrics continuing to provide a hope she’s not sure she actually believes in anymore.

When you're safe inside your room, you tend to dream

Of a place where nothing's harder than it seems

No one ever wants or bothers to explain

Of the heartache, life can bring and what it means

Her eyes closing, a strong attempt to fake it, to pretend, to briefly try to act like this is temporary. That this life she struggles to call a life is actually hers. That better days are ahead.

That someday, maybe, just maybe, she’ll finally be able to feel it again.

Happy.

That she can be happy.

Unlocking her journal, she moves to an empty page and starts it out the same way she’s started every entry since then. Since that day.

The day she died.

The day they both died, really.

Dear Mom…

#roman reigns fanfic #roman reigns fanfiction #roman reigns fic #roman reigns #arisnotebook

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waynes-multiverse · 2 days ago

Text

Oh God, I loved this! I was rolling on the floor and cackling like a maniac throughout most of this 😂😂😂

🥧 Dean:

Ah yes, classic man with his "I'm fine." He'd probably still say, halfway through bleeding to death 😂

"You're not fine," you testily reply. "You're not even 'Winchester fine.' You wanna know how I know? I'm driving the damn car right now!"

Hahaha such a good point! Hard to argue with that 😆

That's because he's more of a "pour some whiskey on it," patch it up, and forget about it kinda guy.

Yup, and have Sam stich you up with tooth floss, right, big boy? 😂

You detail his history and current symptoms to the best of your ability, and you make sure to jot down certain visits to free clinics in his past that he'd probably gloss over.

While she's filling out his form, I had Ross and Joey in my head, too 😂

The doctor informs Dean that he likely has a kidney stone.

Come on, I had to...

But underneath the embarrassment, the shit, I'm getting old bit cropping back up again, and the Dean Winchester quirk of not wanting to be fussed over, not wanting to be seen as weak or ridiculous — what finally surfaces past all that is you.

Awww, yeah ❤️‍🩹 But that's such a good point! Since Dean survived the finale and nothing ever happened in that barn, he has to face his mortality in a way. The "Fuck, what happens when I'm old and wrinkly" phase 😅

The ending was so wholesome! And I imagined the reader from Midnight Espresso. She was so warm, caring, stubborn, and sassy, too. Totally gave me the same vibes! 😭💜

Beau:

Oh, Beau... Not the prostate exam 😂🫶 Btw, I loved how you switched up the different doctors for each of them! The kind of doctor fit their personalities so well too and made it even funnier 🤣

"You know what, my throat still feels weird on the left side, especially when I swallow. Feels scratchy and, uh, kinda hurts. You think I should get it looked at? What if it's laryngitis, or pneumonia, or God forbid, throat cancer. I mean, throat cancer, honey! That's nothin' to laugh at."

Aaaah, I love that you incorporated this!!! Totally sounds like something he'd do too. Probably Jenny, Denise, and Cassie heard the same thing. He went on about it for days lmao

But when it comes to one exam in particular, he's your typical male of a certain age.

Ugh, so true... Been trying to get my husband to go to one (and also been trying to get him to have a weird mole checked out for ten years. The argument: it hasn't changed in all that time, so it's probably fine 🙈😂)

"You're just teasin' the cave. You're not looking for coal."

Dead 💀🤣🤣🤣 (And on a side note: that aspect should be more featured in fics lol)

"All right, fine. I'll go," he says. "But I don't want to hear a damn peep out of you when I get back."

Oh, I'd make so many jokes when he comes back. Probably buy him donuts and other hole-shaped treats 😆

Soldier Boy:

Fuck, Alex... Ben fucking killed me! The fact that you picked a therapist was just hilariously delicious 😂

"I'm fucking crazy, is that it? That what you're trying to say?" His voice raises, notch after notch. "I don't need a goddamn shrink!"

Oh, of course his argument is the "Only crazy people see shrinks." Classic (like him) lol

It's hard not to match his volume, but you manage to stand your ground while he huffs and puffs and eventually storms out.

So true! I imagine it's hard staying level-headed with this man-child when he throws a tantrum. You almost have to talk louder to get through all of his white noise 🙈

He volleys back with empty words. "Fine, fucking leave."

*sighs* Benjamin! 🙄 But completely agree. He'd do and say all of these things – as frustrating as that is lol

"It's different now. You know that, right?" you say quietly. "If we're going to do this, you and me together, then I need you to protect us. Protect us from you."

That broke my heart a little, although it's so true 😭❤️‍🩹

("What kind of quack fucking doctor goes by his first name, anyway? Christ.")

Pffff 😂 Reminds me a little of that Rick & Morty episode where Rick refuses to go to therapy. I already feel bad for that psychiatrist 😆

He has a willing (heavily paid) audience for all of his stories from "the good old days." Every gushy detail.

Like I said – I feel bad for that poor doctor, but oh my God, he so would! He found a sounding board for all his stories 😂

Russell:

And of course Russell, much like Dean, is too "tough" for a doctor. A bullet wound you say? Nah, totally heals itself lol

"Hey, baby," he greets you tiredly, even tries to kiss you, but you're too busy running gentle hands over his arms and chest. Searching."Hmm, someone's missed me. Miss Handsy-yy-ahhh..." His playful quip dies the moment you find it.

Hahaha I fucking knew she was checking him for injuries! Would've done the same thing 😂🫶 (Also, Russell, what did you expect? Sex? In this condition????)

"Ehh, yeah, but no biggie. I've got some tools in the car—"

You need a hospital not a hardware store, you big idiot!!! God 😂🙈

Only now does he begin to realize just how fucking unfair that is.

Yes, honestly, please quit. I wouldn't be able to sleep dating that man. What if he never comes homes from a job? 😢😭💔

And I'm really curious what her punishment would've been. I'd make him eat veggies only for a month. That would break him 😂😜

These were all so wonderful and so effing funny, friend! You nail these HC every time!!! ☺️💜

HEADCANON: Doctor's Appointment

HC: How would Dean Winchester, Beau Arlen, Soldier Boy (Ben), and Russell Shaw react when you try to take him to the doctor?

Pairings: Dean x Reader || Beau x Reader || Soldier Boy x Reader || Russell x Reader

AN: This one is a request from my lovely friend @spnbabe67 over on Patreon! 💜

Tags/Warnings: Established relationship, literal man children, medical stuff, angst, mentions of PTSD, hints of spice, fluffff

Dean Winchester

"I'm fine."

Ah yes, the same two growly words you've heard for an hour already.

"You're not fine," you testily reply. "You're not even 'Winchester fine.' You wanna know how I know? I'm driving the damn car right now!"

Dean shoots you a warning look.

One, you can tell he wants to say watch it on how you talk about his Baby.

Two, he doesn't want to admit that you're right.

He shifts in his seat with his arms crossed, trying to cover up a wince. It's the only tell that he's uncomfortable, even in pain, other than the fact that you've managed to hijack his car and take him to this damn doctor's appointment.

Dean can count on one hand the number of times he's been in a doctor's office for a genuine ailment, and not just trying to fish for information while impersonating some form of law enforcement.

That's because he's more of a "pour some whiskey on it," patch it up, and forget about it kinda guy.

And if we're talking about hospital stays, then that's usually a "one step away from death's door" kind of visit.

But when you first noticed something was off with Dean (confirming with Sam on the side of your suspicions), you did your damnedest to convince the man that he should see a doctor.

You even make the appointment for him as convenient as possible, around midday, so he doesn't have the excuse of it being too early to disturb his morning, or too late to mess up his afternoon.

Dean is a grumbly grizzly bear who only rolls his eyes in the waiting room when you offer him the clipboard to fill out his medical history.

"This is stupid," he says. "It’s probably just gonna clear up in a week or so anyway."

"You don't know that," you say. And you heave a sigh. Sometimes this man requires every last ounce of your ever-thinning patience.

You reclaim the clipboard and do this part for him too, filling out his fake-ass insurance information with his fake-ass name.

You detail his history and current symptoms to the best of your ability, and you make sure to jot down certain visits to free clinics in his past that he'd probably gloss over.

When the nurse opens the door and calls him back to see the doctor, Dean still glances over at you, mostly annoyed. But underneath, you sense his hesitation.

You slip your hand into his and get up with him. You grace a kiss over his knuckles — a moment of solidarity — and you go with him to one of the back rooms.

You later have to bite your lip against the vindicated urge to say I told you so.

The doctor informs Dean that he likely has a kidney stone.

If possible, Dean is even more sour the whole car ride home. He's convinced all the vegetables you've been trying to get him to eat are the culprit.

"This is what I get for eating fucking rabbit food," he grumbles. He levies a finger at you. "See? I told you. Nothing good comes of it."

"Right," you snort. "Zucchini is what's got you're, uh, pipe all blocked up."

But seeing the disgruntled look on his face, you remember just how much pain he's been trying to cover up for the past week. How many times you've found him hunched in the bathroom, dreading a piss.

You reach over and try to soothe him, gently stroking his thigh.

"It's okay, baby. We'll get the official test results soon. In the meantime, just keep drinking lots of water and get some actual rest."

"Whatever," he mutters.

Specifically, how much you push him to take care of himself.

Besides Sam, you're the only one who manages to keep him in check, the only one who cares that much, that you'd literally try to steal his car.

Yeah, I love you tends to cut through pretty much all the other bullshit.

Dean might not always express it words, but he does it now, taking your hand off his lap and pressing a kiss to your wrist, right over your pulse point.

You briefly take your eyes off the road to glance over at him, smiling. He's going to be out of commission for a while until this little problem clears up, in more ways than one.

The great Dean Winchester.

Beats Death itself, too many times to count.

Felled by pebble in his...well...proverbial shoe.

You try to hide your amusement, if not your affection. You bite your lip hard.

"Shut up," he warns, even though his lips twitch upward.

Your snort of laughter escapes before you can reign it in.

Beau Arlen

Beau is resistant at first, but he's probably the easiest to wrangle into seeing the doctor, whether it's yearly checkups or a man flu gotten out of control.

("You know what, my throat still feels weird on the left side, especially when I swallow. Feels scratchy and, uh, kinda hurts. You think I should get it looked at? What if it's laryngitis, or pneumonia, or God forbid, throat cancer. I mean, throat cancer, honey! That's nothin' to laugh at.")

You wish he'd have that "proactive" mentality with other areas of his health too, like not overworking himself at the precinct.

But when it comes to one exam in particular, he's your typical male of a certain age.

No matter how many times you remind him and write down the appointment on the calendar stuck to the fridge so he doesn't forget, he conjures some excuse for why he couldn't make it.

At first it's begrudgingly amusing, but by the third time, you're concerned, and even annoyed that he isn't taking his health more seriously.

"Look, I know it's not exactly pleasant, but this stuff is important. You gotta take care of yourself," you say.

You know you don't have to remind him that he has a daughter, but you will pull that card if you have to.

"Yeah, I know. It's just, uh..." Beau trails off, hands on his hips. He doesn't know what to tell you to make you understand how much he'd rather not go to this appointment.

"It's just a prostate exam, babe. I'll bet it's not half as invasive as a pap smear," you say wryly.

Beau shakes his head at you. "That very well may be, but believe you me, no man wants a latex finger up his..."

You raise your brows and tilt your head with a smile. "Well, you know. Some guys actually—"

Beau waves a hand at whatever you were going to say next.

"You know what, forget I said anything. I'd rather just live my life not knowing what's down there. Really, I'm good."

You utter a laugh, but you sidle up to him and grasp the open edges of his jacket. You turn your face up to him with a more sensuous smile.

"You don't mind when I do it," you tease.

Beau actually blushes. His cheeks and the tips of his ears tinge pink.

He clears his throat, his hands settling on the curve of your waist.

"Well, that's different," he says. His voice pitches lower, his green eyes taking on a slight mischievous gleam. "You're just teasin' the cave. You're not looking for coal."

Laughter bursts out of you like a gut punch. Your forehead falls against his chest as your entire body shakes with giggles.

Beau wraps you up in his arms. He tries and fails to temper his grin, even though his cheeks are still burning.

"All right, fine. I'll go," he says. "But I don't want to hear a damn peep out of you when I get back."

Soldier Boy (Ben)

(Oh, good fucking luck on this one.)

Ben rarely, if ever, gets sick. Of course, he's also nearly invulnerable.

However, you've been trying to get him to see a different kind of medical professional.

"Excuse me?" he growls. The first time you suggest it, he dismissed the idea with a roll of his eyes, thinking you were just trying to get a rise out of him. He doesn't appreciate you bringing it up again. "You better be fucking kidding."

"Ben..." You try to ply him with a gentle hand on his arm, but he shrugs you off, too irritated to curb the impulse.

"I'm fucking crazy, is that it? That what you're trying to say?" His voice raises, notch after notch. "I don't need a goddamn shrink!"

"I didn't say you were crazy!" you say. It's hard not to match his volume, but you manage to stand your ground while he huffs and puffs and eventually storms out.

You get discouraged and frustrated yourself, but you cling to every scrap of patience you can muster up for this man.

It's gonna take a few tries.

You start to suggest that maybe he should start easing up on the weed and the booze too.

Any time he snaps at you, you remind him that for as much shit as you've put up with him so far, this is the kind of shit that'll send you packing. Leaving his ass. For good.

He volleys back with empty words. "Fine, fucking leave."

You know they're empty, because every time you've called his bluff and packed a bag, he stops you.

"All right, enough. You've proved your fucking point."

After that, he tries to cut back on the booze, at least. He watches you pour out the Grey Goose and the Patrón.

Fucking fine by him. He's lost the taste for vodka, let alone that frilly French shit, and the cheap tequila.

But choking off the vein of one vice just makes another twice as strong.

Ultimately, it doesn't fix the problem either.

There's the time Ben blows a hole in the roof of your house (after a nightmare, he refuses to admit).

And there's a second time too. A third close call, and Ben pushes you clean off the bed so you won't get hurt.

If that didn't do it, he finally gets the picture after the second pink line appears on that white stick.

It now lies on your nightstand while you and Ben lay tangled together, bare skin against bare, flushed, sweaty skin.

A celebration, if you will.

His big hand lies splayed over your belly, protective, possessive, and deep down...grateful.

You glance up at the patched ceiling. Ben follows your gaze. His contentment fades into a frown, just like yours.

Both of you are thinking the same thing, if in different flavors of concern. Anxiety. (Guilt.)

"It's different now. You know that, right?" you say quietly. "If we're going to do this, you and me together, then I need you to protect us. Protect us from you."

At this point, you know he won't see a psychiatrist for his PTSD; not if it's to help himself (God forbid he admit that he needs it).

But if it's to protect you and your child, his own child...

Ben swallows a few acidic ounces of his pride.

Despite every cell in body that fights against it, he gets in his car the very next day and shows up for the appointment you made for him with Dr. David.

("What kind of quack fucking doctor goes by his first name, anyway? Christ.")

After the first couple of painfully awkward sessions, it's not so bad, Ben discovers.

He has a willing (heavily paid) audience for all of his stories from "the good old days."

Every gushy detail.

Russell Shaw

Russell is always quick to give reassurances, to downplay, to tell you that he's good.

But the day he comes home from a job with his bag hanging from his fingertips, almost dragging on the floor, his movements stiff as a rail — your heart sinks into your stomach.

"Hey, baby," he greets you tiredly, even tries to kiss you, but you're too busy running gentle hands over his arms and chest. Searching.

"Hmm, someone's missed me. Miss Handsy-yy-ahhh..." His playful quip dies the moment you find it.

Under his jacket lies the shoddy patch job on the bullet wound in his arm, located a few inches below the shoulder, just barely hidden by his sleeve.

"What the fuck is this?" you snap, half in anger, half in worry as tears spring hot in your eyes.

Russell immediately goes into damage control, soothing a hand down your arm and meeting your gaze.

"Hey, I'm okay. It's just a graze."

"Yeah fucking right. You're still bleeding!"

"Ehh, yeah, but no biggie. I've got some tools in the car—"

"No! We're going to the hospital."

"Sweetheart—"

"Right now! Let's go."

The man doesn't have the heart to argue with you too much after that. He knows he should've taken proper care of this before he got home. He really just wanted to, well, get home. To you.

But he regrets scaring you. He regrets making you worry.

He brushes the tears from your eyes and is grateful you don't ask what happened. He can't really tell you, even if he wanted to. His contract work with Horizon keeps his lips sealed for your safety, above all other reasons.

Only now does he begin to realize just how fucking unfair that is.

It really hits him when you sit with him for an hour and a half in the Emergency Department, waiting after the guy who fell off his moped, a kid with a little green army man stuck up his nose ("Hey, retro," Russell whispers to you), and a lady who can't seem to stop hiccuping.

Russell takes in a deep breath. He leans over to your ear.

"You know, we could just fix this up at home. A little needle and thread and some alcohol. Perfect First Aid kit," he says.

You narrow your gaze at him. "We're waiting to see a doctor. And don't think I'm done with you. When we get home, prepare to get punished."

A little smirk tugs at his lips. He brushes said lips across the back of your ear. "What am I, a little kid?"

You smile slightly as well.

"Well, if you're not going to tell me when you're hurt and try to cover it up like a little kid, that's how I'm gonna treat you."

Russell chuckles. His hand slips over your thigh.

"Gotta say, I'm kind of liking the sound of punishment. What'd you have in mind, sweetheart? Gonna spank me?"

And he's willing to give you more ideas.

You roll your eyes. Despite wanting to remain strong, his touch, the sensation of his lips brushing your ear sends a shiver curling down your spine.

"Oh, you just wait."

AN: lol I always have so much fun writing these. Let me know which one was your favorite this time! 💕

@waynes-multiverse You gave me another perfect little tidbit for Beau on Man Flu that made it into this one. 😂

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Dean, Beau, Soldier Boy + Russell Tag List (Part 1)

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#wayne reads #fic rec #amazing writers 🤍#the awesome alex tag 💜#headcanon: doctor's appointment #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #beau arlen #beau arlen x reader #soldier boy #soldier boy x reader #russell shaw #russell shaw x reader

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sacrificiallane · 1 day ago

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HUSBAND.ᐟPERCY ( beautiful boy )

― about you find Percy taking care of your crying baby

warnings ! i need him. fluff. baby daddy / husband ! Percy

"There you go ... no need to cry ..."

Your ear pressed to the door of the nursery , you could hear pitiful sobs turn into small little whimpers. At the care of his father , your baby boy was slowly calming down again. And Percy , oh , he was a natural at it , wasn't he ? Percy ( normally a force to be reckoned with / a restless ball of energy ) was so careful and calm when it came to tending to your newborn baby boy. You could barely hear his voice through the thick wooden door by how soft he was currently speaking.

Normally , you would wake up long before him , stirring at even the slightest threat of a whine chiming through the baby monitor. You were always so quick to soothe him , too , that Percy would tell his mom that strangely , your baby boy was already sleeping through the whole night. Well , until he caught you one night , sneakily crawling out of your shared bed to repeat the cycle ...

In fact , Percy had scolded you that night that you should've just woken him up , because he wanted you to take the time at night to recover from literally giving birth not too long ago. You were already doing so much , being a new mom and all ! It was literally the least he could do. He thought himself capable enough to get your son back to sleep. And you didn't doubt him , of course , he was a good father ! During your pregnancy , he'd been more than eager to learn all there was to know about taking care of a newborn.

He just really didn't want to fuck this up , like his own dad who'd been a no show ( he was a god ... , but still ! )

And you ... , you just really didn't want him to lose sleep over something you could easily handle yourself. Much to the obvious disagreement of your loving husband.

This time , though , you must've been really deep asleep , so that the little cries of your baby boy didn't wake you , but his father instead. And being the lovely man he was , he hadn't even bothered to shake you awake.

You needed the sleep , more than he did.

The floorboards of your beach home creaked slightly when you leaned a little closer , trying to hear what he was saying.

"I know you're a little scared," Percy coed , when whimpers escaped the small boy. His large hand ( almost the size of his baby ! ) was gently rubbing up and down his back , covered by the soft fabric of the pastel jumper that had the words 'daddy's little sea star' sewn into the front. His other hand supported the little one's butt , so he could tightly hold him cooped up against his chest for warmth and comfort. You've told Percy before that babies liked to be swaddled , and so he had taken a mental note of that. "It's okay , i'm a little scared too ... but you don't have to be. I'll always make sure you're safe."

"I really don't know what i'm doing ..."

Being a first time father and all.

But the Baby didn’t know that , right ? Despite still being so small , he seemed to be listening intently to his father's words , no longer crying. "But i hope i'm doing a good job ... , it still scares me sometimes ..." Percy looked down at the small bundle , watching him self-soothe by nibbling on his tiny fist.

But he was quiet , calm ... , and his father smiled softly , knowing he did something right. "Your mommy keeps telling me that i'm good at it , she's actually quite good at reassuring someone , you know ..."

Soft sniffles followed , and Percy was quick to gently shush the baby boy again. "Oh i know..." as though he could understand him , he softly brushed a finger over the little one's freckled nose. His small sea green eyes blinking tiredly at his father. "You want your mommy , i know , i shouldn't have mentioned her , hm?" He sighed and pressed the baby a little tighter against his chest. "She needs the sleep , sweetling , she's really tired. Your mother is actually amazing , she brought me a little wonder and still wouldn't let me get up at night ..."

Percy smiled at the thought of you , hair a mess , knuckles white as you practically broke his hand while giving birth to your son. You'd been so beautiful then , despite the sweat coating your face , despite the thick tears of happiness when the babies first cry was finally heard ...

Percy might've cried a little , too.

Knowing that your sweet baby boy was in caring hands , you smiled and turned back to your bedroom , finding comfortable sleep once again. Even in your bed , under the warm covers and consumed by the smell of Percy still clinging to the sheets , you could hear the soft voice of your husband through the baby monitor , talking about seahorses , and dolphins , lulling your baby and yourself easily back to sleep.

You could only imagine that the little one would dream of great adventures under the sea tonight ...

i hope this does well?? pls. i didn't want to give the baby a name ... ideas ? :( maybe something like neri which apparently means 'ocean spirit' but idk , maybe i'll just leave him nameless so you can imagine whatever name you want

#HUSBAND.ᐟPERCY x reader #˙ ✩ lanes writing ⋆｡˚꩜#husband!percy x reader #percy jackson x reader #percy x reader #percy jackson x you #percy jackson x you fluff #percy jackson x reader fluff #pjo x reader #husband!percy x reader fluff #baby daddy!percy x reader #baby daddy!percy

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xmissrogersx · 21 hours ago

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I just know it, darlin’ | Joel Miller

tags: reader is pregnant, ellie and Joel being protective, joel being a daddy’s girl of course.

my writing is entirely my own. Any adaptation and/or copy is forbidden.

i hope you are enjoying my stories! U help me a lot if you give me a ♡! All the love.

Ellie was in her room with Dina. Both were reading old comics.

-Hey, it's great that you're going to have a sister…—the brunette said with emotion.

-Or brother, this people doesn’t wanna know it yet. But yes, it's great and everything... the wait doesn't end anymore —Ellie sighed.

-Why do you say that? María told me that a pregnant woman is sometimes more sensitive, but I don't think Paris is like that, is she?

-Well... -Ellie said under her breath, not wanting to sound too obvious. She loves the blonde very much, who looked like a motherly figure for her in every way possible.

▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔

-Hush little baby don't say a word, papa's going to buy a mockingbird!

Paris entered the kitchen singing with a microphone, that on Maria's recommendation, the baby could hear the voices of her parents.

Joel was having his morning coffee when he heard his wife enter, and then snorted under his breath and brought his right hand to between his brows.

Ellie was having her cereal for breakfast, raising both hands to her ears and resting her head against the table.

-And if the mockingbird won't sing, papa's going to buy a diamond ring.

-Papa is going to buy 10 diamonds just to shut up that fucking bird —the girl whispered to her father, who silenced her, not wanting Paris to listen.

-What do you want for lunch today? —the young woman asked both of them.

-Whatever you want, darlin’ —Joel replied, stroking her hand, which made the girl start tearing her up.

-Oh, not again —Ellie begged. When Paris started with the "hormonal crying" session it was difficult to stop her.

-You're so sweet —between hiccups and small tears that went down her cheeks.

-Okay, I'm going, I’m late to meet Jesse.

Getting up to quickly go to the door, the blonde stopped her so she wouldn't forget her lunch.

-Thank you.

-I put you a chocolate with extra peanut that I bought the week before, you deserve it for your great first patrol, baby.

The girl hugged her as best she could because of the woman's big belly, who was already starting to cry again.

-It's okay, I'm leaving —Ellie ran to the door.

-I have to go with Tommy, beautiful —Joel announced while hugging her from behind. Paris sighed.

-It's okay... I guess you have to go, you have no choice —she walked away to start climbing the stairs slowly.

-He wants to show me the plans for the new houses...

-I know, I understand. Well, then I'll go upstairs, to our room...

While the young woman said those words, she began to unbutton her shirt, and lower her skirt, revealing a set of black lingerie with lace that made Joel not remember how to breathe.

-Do you think I should lie down and take it out? I'm feeling a little hot.

-It would be a mistake if I say no. You're beautiful, baby girl —he exclaimed with a dark look.

The blonde smiled under her breath.

-So, do you have to go with Tommy?

-Fuck Tommy.

Joel take her in his arms to go up to their room.

▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔

Paris sat on the couch next to her husband, who was reading an old construction manual.

-Officially there are only 2 months left to meet him —the blonde exclaimed excitedly to Joel, who approached her to place a kiss on his lips, and then another on his bulging belly.

-Don't you want to the baby hear your voice? Maria said he must listen to the voices of both parents.

-Baby, I think she already listens to me without needing that thing, don't worry, the baby will know our voices.

-¿she? ¿how do you know is a girl? —Paris raise an eyebrow.

-I Just know it, darlin’ — and he relaxed, believing that he had ended the subject.

The woman nodded taking his hand, and then took the microphone again.

-Twinkle twinkle, little lamb! —Joel was startled by his girlfriend's scream.

-Paris, please don't sing anymore -he speak as wisely as I could.

-Why? —she asked surprised.

-Because... you don't sing very well, baby...

-You finally told her —a voice roared behind them.

The blonde opened her mouth in indignation, looking at her partner and daughter, to get ready to answer the accusation.

-Calm down, we don't want the baby to hear us fight. Come, let's go for an ice cream.

-How dare you, you..

-Hey, we said no fights in front of the baby.

-That's ridiculous, I'm always in front of the baby, Joel —she pointed to her big belly.

-Paris just calm down, okay? When all this is over, we will laugh at this —Ellie appeased.

-Your out-of-tune songs, your nocturnal cravings, your incessant cries... we love you, but it's already getting very unbearable —the girl listed.

-You're going through something huge, baby, it's normal. It will be over, soon —Joel finished.

The woman saw them with a grimace on her face, and then smiled falsely.

-You are two tiny little man to me right now — she approached slowly making a gesture of crushing with his fingers.- and you must leave this house to return with more respect, and a pizza!

Father and daughter were stunned, they didn't expect Paris reaction.

-Pizza sounds good —he said, cutting the silence.

-Yes, I'm hungry for pizza —Ellie replied.

Before leaving, they both walked to the blonde to kiss her on each cheek, who was with her arms crossed and with her eyebrow raised.

-With double cheese —the young woman demanded.

-Yes, darlin’ —Joel replied, and then went out the door.

▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔

-Wow —said an amazed Dina to her friend.

-Yep, althought I partly understand her, it must be horrible to carry that heavy —the girl moved her hands to her belly.

A knock on the door made both girls scream their heads, seeing a blonde hair.

-Girls, I don't want to ruin your fun, but it's already past 10; and tomorrow you have training. Go to sleep. Ellie, you already know how your father gets.

-I already want him to be born —Ellie settled inside her sheets, to which the young woman wrapped her.

-Just like me, I can't stand not being able to see my feet anymore —she exclaimed, causing the girl a laugh.-Good night sweetheart.

-Good rest, ma —the girl replied, causing a jump in Paris heart.

Paris went out the bedroom door to see her man lying on the wall, who smiled to see her emotion.

-It's already the third time she tells me "ma" -she sobbed with joy, to which Joel took her face to bring their breaths closer and merge into one.

They moved away for lack of air, but without ceasing to look at each other with the same love they had seen for 3 years.

-You are, baby. You're her mother.

Paris felt blessed. The world would be chaos, but his world was perfect.

Hello baby girls!

I hope you have seen the references of Modern Family! Personally MF is my fav comedy series.

If you help me by sharing my story on your profiles you would help me a lot, I love writing very much, I feel that great things are coming. And with you reading my stories, the more I want to do them.

Thank you for reading!

Priscila🌸

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13tinysocks · 22 hours ago

Text

My Dead Girlfriend

Angstrom Levy plays his hand. You fuck it up. [Invincible Variants x reader]

[Part one] [Ao3] [5]

6 * Bad Dog [5.5k]

"Since all those lost years when I thought I was the monster,

It turns out I was really the prey

Masturbating and waiting for the raid,

And hating every little thing about you all the way!"

The Ruminant - Go Hang

The acrid breeze makes his blue curtain of a mask flutter. "Give us our shit." You almost don't think it's Mark talking, his voice is so different, so stereotypically New York native.

The man standing on solid air ignores him. Good eye sliding from one Mark to another. "You're down one."

"We're down a lot more than that, numbnuts." Mohawk throws his arms out. Gesturing to the empty space where other Marks could have been, but weren't.

"To be expected. This reality is much more resilient than most." At that, the men surrounding him bristle.

"You meant for us to die." Baldie accuses, crossed arms tensing with the need for violence. "You were never going to deliver."

The man, Angstrom, though you don't quite know it yet, laughs. Holding a scarred finger out to point at you. "I have though, haven't I? More than half of you wished to see this one again."

You are slack in the arms of your savior. Conscious but head spinning with the sudden change of atmosphere. It was a good thing none of them could see your face behind the mask, see that you were awake and biding your time.

But he knows you're awake. The one holding you, the warrior raised on Viltrum from birth. He feels your pulse pick up under his hands, hears the skip of your heart, the faint smell of fear induced sweat under your armor. The others aren't close enough to sense it, you hide your feelings well, play dead good as a possum, but he knows. And he tells nobody.

"You've all had a turn, so I think my end has been delivered." He finishes.

The one with a bare face looks at Angstrom, confused. "I have no idea who that is. Where's William?"

"Yeah." Backs up the long masked one. "Like I'd even give a fuck about some... whatever." he waves his hand, uncaring to find a word for some insignificant bug.

Despite the backlash, Angstrom smiles pleasantly. "I'm aware in your realities, you didn't know or care for (Y/n) (L/n). That is perfectly acceptable. Don't think I've forgotten about the deals we've all made. But to fulfill them, I'll need you to find this dimensions Mark Grayson and bring him to me."

Eyes twitch. Lips curl.

"No," Scars finally says. He looks to you in the arms of that straight-laced Viltrumites arms and barely contains a smirk. He's going to enjoy ripping you out of them. Tearing his arms off for touching you. "I've got what I want. I'm done with this place."

"You are aware I could leave you here or somewhere worse, correct?" Angstrom doesn't sound the least bit concerned regarding the mounting tension. The cracking knuckles. The nasty grinning-snarls, thirsty for a little more blood.

"You won't." Lensless hums, "We'll kill ya before you get the chance."

"Then we'd actually be stuck here forever, dumbass." Mohawk barks. "We'll just torture him instead, duh."

Angstrom rose a brow. "There's only one of her left in all existence, remember that before you threaten me."

You are consumed by crackling green light that seems to statically stick to your armor. You are falling, then not, draped over Angstrom's arm like a coat. Still trying to play knocked out. "I have the perfect reality ready for her if any of you move." He says before you're settled. "Pit of man-eating octomen I've been starving for months, waiting right here." A ring of power encircles your body, not touching you but threatening with its presence. "Move and she's there."

"I don't care, man." Long Mask says.

Angstrom ignores him. "Get me Mark Grayson."

"You've got ten of him right here," Emperor says. "And if you know what's good for you, you'll drop it."

Angstrom laughs, nastily. So hard he shakes you in his grip. "Am I dog now, Mister Grayson?"

"You're no better than one," Emperor replies.

"Look at you all- looking at me like you want me to die. After everything I've given you." Spit flies off Angstrom's lips, landing on your visor. "I met so many of you with snot dribbling out your noses over this thing," he jostles you in his grip as you grit your teeth, "this worthless animal who in so many dimensions joins your conquest. Just some regular human who adds absolutely nothing to nearly every timeline. I don't get the appeal, but I don't have to. Do as I say or she dies."

You observe the Marks. Ready to pounce. To throw caution to the wind. Some are hesitant, actually using their brains but enough of are ready to fucking shred you think you might get eaten by whatever an octoman is.

It leaves you with no other choice. It was just a bonus it'd get him to shut up. You were dead tired of hearing this guy's voice. Hearing any guy's voice.

You let out a weak, groggy groan. Catch Angstrom's attention, which is all you need. Watch the grin spread across his busted face. "Look who's awak-"

"Bite off your tongue." Blood comes out of your nose in such a rush it splattered against the inside of your helmet. Power ripped from you all at once, used on this guy you didn't know, but definitely didn't trust.

Drip, drop atop your helmet. Then came the rivers of blood down his chin. Weaving through his beard. Tongue stuck all the way out his mouth, teeth grinding down, down, down. Sawing, squelching. He blinks, tongue half removed from his mouth, when your hold snaps. A scream that was more a gargle, splatters more blood across your visitor. You're thrown, ass over heel.

His words are thick with pain and a brand-new lisp as he says, "Bad dog!"

The sickly green light surrounds you as a portal opens up behind your back, snapping shut before the closest version of your ex could reach you. The last thing you saw was him smiling with blood bubbling over his lips.

Your landing was surprisingly soft. Skidding to a slow stop on silky tan sand. Scrambling to your knees to see where the portal was. Gone. No green, just a cloudless, hazy sky. Sun fat in the sky. Beating down harsh on the black metal of your armor. Around you there is nothing but more sand and ruins of a society long forgotten.

You don't know what happened. Don't know how to process what happened. Calling out to the nothingness, "Bring me back!" To no reply or help at all.

***

"You-!"

Biting off your own tongue was something the deeply deranged and suicidal did. Despite that criteria, Angstrom Levy had never wanted to do such a thing, but there you'd been- making him do it.

He was in acute shock. Slow. Unable to dodge the hands grabbing him, the fists beating him, not with his tongue dangling half-cut out his mouth. Threats came pouring in quick as they were delivered. Ribs broken. Ligaments torn, good eye gone red with burst blood vessels.

It'd lasted thirty seconds, maybe less, but a voice cut through the violent haze. "We can't get her back if he's dead." Said the boy who killed his father and wore his cloak. God, if Freud were still around.

The words didn't calm them, but soothed the blows like a balm. Mohawk had him by the collar, choking him with it. "Open the portal, cocksucker."

Angstrom rose a hand, the only one he had left after that Viltrumite loyalist chopped the other off. He let it open slow, teasingly so. Power roiling under his skin, revenge on the mind. They'd thought they'd had him down and out, but he was nowhere near dead. He never planned to keep them along for the full ride. The plan was always to betray them. This was much sooner, and much bloodier, than planned. So be it.

"There." He heaved. They turned, looking into the opening to a new world. A world so dry it'd evaporate the marrow out of your bones.

Phantom didn't speak. Just shot his black and blue body through. One down, nine to go.

"That world," he begins, tongue awkwardly flailing over the bottom of his mouth, blood spilling down his throat just to be hacked out, "-that world has major time dilation. She could be very far from the origin point by now. Miles. It'll take him too long to find her... I can't-" He let the portal waiver, looking unstable, "I can't hold it long."

"You can and you will." The ex-prisoner grabbed him by the balls. Through Angstrom's pants but still. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes.

If guilt tripping wouldn't work, he had no other choice. "Wait... I can.. I think I've found her." More portals zap open all around him. Nine in total. "Do you see?" They turn, just to watch the portals shoot closer, swallowing them all whole before snapping shut. Leaving them to fall in the sand and Angstrom alone to his devices.

***

You'd tried it all. Screaming. Looking for an exit. Digging. Trying to call someone, anyone on your phone that had not a bar. All while the sun beat at your back. You didn't give up, not really, just resigned to moving somewhere else. Powers, you knew, were stupid. Angstrom could find you again even if you'd left the dropoff.

You walked. Migraine gnawing at your temples. Power stores drained out. Boots dragged in the sand, prints sifting away as soon as they were made. Moved from wreck to wreck for the tiniest slivers of shade. Baked inside your helmet until you popped it off, wiping at the drying blood with your gloves. When there was a breeze, it felt like a hairdryer, making your eyes water.

Two hours, you'd walked to find nothing.

The sun moved slow, the sky fading to a dull purple, but you knew the second it dipped below the dunes, you'd be dead without a fire. Deserts don't stay hot without sun. Planks were easy come by, old wood waiting to disintegrate into the sand. You rooted through the tool belt attached to the body armor. Tear gas, a high-powered taser, a flare, a knife, ammo for a gun you didn't have, and a to-go first aid kit.

You tried the taser on the wood. It made the old thing crumble in your hands. You tried again to the same result. Again and again as the sun crossed the sky and the heat began to ebb.

***

He flew through the desert, combing it in a gird. Square mile by square mile, searching. Growing more desperate by the second. Head filling with what if's.

It's faint, a mere vibration in his left ear. He banks hard. Following. Forcing his hearing to it's limit- catching grains shifting below his flight path. Then it comes again. Audible this time. Bzzt. Lil more to the left. Bzzzzt! Not long now. He starts to slow right as the sound pinged from below. BZZZT!

"Fuck you, motherfucker." Came out from a line of beams fallen together to make a concrete tent.

He landed gently, trying not to make a dust cloud and scare you away. Watching your back as you tried to light a plank ablaze with a taser. It crumbled in your hands. You scoff, kicking debris into a cloud that makes you violently cough.

You could turn and see him. Husky purple dusk not yet camouflaging his blue-black body suit. But you don't. Instead, you keep trying to tase the remaining sawdust into flames. It doesn't work.

He floats above the sand, slowly rolling into your view.

***

Chaos. Total, absolute, chaos.

Nine of them in the middle of some desert planet, tenth fucked off God knows where. No Angstrom to take them out. No (Y/n) to soften the blow. The rage settled in like a beat behind their eyes, a thrum under their fingerpads. They wanted to choke each other for existing.

Their personal genie had betrayed them, left them for dead.

He wasn't the first to blast off into the desert. Searching for a way out, for you. He was, however, first to shoot into the sky for a birdseye view. The atmosphere thinned, going from an ugly yellow to the familiar dark of space. Above the sphere, he hovered, seeing only sand. Around the planet he went, hoping, then finding those hopes were something juvenile.

The search extended into space. For other planets. He noticed then, flying through the cold dark there were no stars or gas giants or distant worlds. Only the planet they landed on and the too-close sun.

As if Angstrom Levy had found the one reality in all of existence with one dead world. One big, sandy, uninhabitable world. The perfect place for them all to die. The search could be expanded later, with more of them looking, but he doubted even their Viltrumite bodies could reach any planets if he couldn't see them.

He was angry, but couldn't fault the guy. He was going to rip off Angstrom's balls after all. He'd find a way out of this, the same way he'd found a way out of that hell of a Viltrumite prison. Scarred beyond recognition. Coming home to find the love of his life dead and long buried.

Except that now you were down on that sandball, somewhere. Hopefully alive. So why was he angsting up in space?

***

The taser shot out, connecting thick prongs to his suit. Electricity traveled fast through the carbon fiber, penetrating to his skin. He didn't seize and drop. He took it like he was nothing but thin air, like you were imagining him in a wave of heat induced hysteria.

The prongs retracted and he took that as cue to step down into your concrete hut. Coming closer, slow, hands up over his chest like he wasn't going to hurt you- as if you'd believe that.

You hear it. Something moving so fast the air splits around you.

You don't know what you're going to do. Shout? Duck? Gasp? You don't get to decide because he's on you. Holding you hard against himself, feet inches off the ground, hand pressed firm over your mouth. Head tracking the sonic spec in the sky as it passed over. When the coast is clear, he sets you down and backs off. Not leaving your nothing of a camp, but any space willing given by these freaks was noticeable.

"Leave." Power doesn't even bother to tickle your throat. You had jackshit left. Wouldn’t have jackshit for days if your luck stayed bad. You'd only blown yourself out like this one time- that day at the beginning of the end of your life. You'd never used your power on someone else powered before. Barley used it period. Only on little, meaningless, petty things. Until you used it all at once to save his life. Then on him. Blowing out you out like a tire. Failing.

Now you were here. Staring at a fully masked version of him, unable to control him or your life again.

Yet you try, "Go." The taser finds its home in your belt, replaced by the tear gas canister held over your head. "Or I'll set this fucking bomb off if you get any closer." It's a lie so obvious you couldn’t put your chest behind it. "I'll kill us both, I swear to God."

He doesn’t move. Your helmet sits on the ground at your feet. You wonder how fast you could set the tear gas off and put the thing back on. If the GDA-enhanced tear gas would make you go blind.

As you fingered the pin, he pulled something from his belt. A short, metal pin. He approaches the pile of wood you’d made. You back up, knowing he'd catch you if you ran. Knowing you didn't have energy for any more running. He cracks the metal against a shred of concrete. Sparks rained down on the dry material and then there was fire. Small but as he stepped back, blaze growing.

Technically, you knew what he was doing. Starting a fire so you wouldn’t freeze to death, the breeze as the sun went down already cool. But mentally? You had no idea what he wanted. You knew that he was one of the ones that asked for you, that knew some version of you and decided thousands dead was worth it. Even though he was the first to your side on multiple occasions, you couldn’t know what he wanted. If he wanted something in exchange.

The sky had gone a deep gray. Cold settling in between the sand dunes like an old bone's ache. You could leave, but the growing fire was your one and only shot of living. Just a guess, but the taser thing wasn’t going to work.

"What do you want?" You asked, shuffling closer. Still gripping the tear gas hard, reared over your shoulder like a weapon. "Tell me or I'll set it off."

"I'm not going to hurt you." Through that demon of a modulator, you catch a softness, Mark whispering a secret he hadn’t told anyone else. More genuine than you’d heard from any of these alternates.

"How do I know you're not lying?" But there is no reply, and you don’t think he is. He's done talking and you're done fighting.

He sits first. On the edge of an uneven slab, leaving plenty of room for you. You watch him carefully. Sure he's going to lunge, a lurking predator luring you into a false sense of safety. So you lean against the wall instead, watching him and the fire.

He does lunge eventually, ten minutes later. Dashing forth to stomp out the fire as another body streaks across the sky. Tense as you both watched it go by. Waiting until there’s nothing but the night. Then he was back on his knees, cracking the stick onto new planks.

"What is that?" You're still standing. Arm lifting the canister overhead once again.

He looks up from the fire at you. Black going brown in the light. Tentatively, tortuously, and against every nerve in your body, you sit. Slip the tear gas canister back into your belt. Hoping he'd talk if you seemed a little less hostile.

"Tell me where I am. Who the fuck was that?"

You’re not shocked when he says nothing, only annoyed by your acceptance of it. He can’t bring himself to ruin this moment with you, finally alone. Hearing your voice, even angry, was like an angel’s song for the damned. Your face like something out a dream. Any nervous tics, little movements, shifts in your weight, was studied and tucked away to categorize and compare to what he knew.

You at seventeen, nervous and shy and sweet. Could you have become this bitter thing had you lived? Surely not. He'd have made sure you were taken care of. Made you into a wife with nothing to fret over. He hates him. The Mark of your dimension. Wants to turn him inside out for letting whatever happened to you- happen.

You watched him right back with no knowledge of what his gaze meant. None of the same interest, but watching for the same things, instincts of being prey. Wondering when the slowly stalking fox was going to pounce, if the gaze was a challenge. In the thickening night, he was starting to blend in. You could still see his outline and the dark lenses reflecting back your stare. You try to look past them but can't, can't read anything from the blank, dark slate. You look away, wanting a momentary reprieve, backing down from the challenge. Movement. Your gaze right back, tense all over. Hand on the taser holster.

The mask is off. Chin up, he is bare. There is stubble dark on his jaw, skin paler than you recalled Mark ever being, his hair a shaggy mess that hung past his ears, eye bags deep, nearly purple. He was Mark, no surprise there, the surprise was the slate blue of his eyes. Just like his father's.

You pull the taser out, but not wanting to escalate further, voice almost a whisper after you’d grown used to the quiet. "What do you want?" He looks up at you under dark brows and long lashes. It reminds you so much of your Mark you want to strike him, but think better of it. "Answer me."

It comes out breathy, hardly audible. "I just-" Two syllables and his voice breaks. Cracks right down the middle. He shuts his mouth, hand going to his throat, thumb massaging. He swallows, tries again but all that comes out is a hoarse sigh. His brows knit in frustration. He’d talked more than he was used to in the past few days, and with the dry air and nerves, what was left of his vocal cords wasn’t going to cooperate.

You don’t know what’s wrong with him, but now you understand why he wore that modulator.

The mask goes back on. He's given up trying to talk, trying to show his belly like he wasn't a threat. You suspect violence, harassment, almost get up anticipating it, but it doesn't come. You're about to settle down when the ground shudders just outside your camp. You don't get the chance to check what it was because it steps inside between the concrete pillars.

"We've been working together to find a way out of this shithole and here you two've been, love shackin' it up." His mask flutters in front of his face as he talks. Sand stuck to his tracksuit where blood had wet it. "Jesus, yer lucky I found you. Those other dudes have been losing they's fuckin' minds."

Phantom rises, dashing the small fire away. He'd know his alone time with you would be short. They'd find you both eventually, but he was glad to have had it. Even if you looked at him with such disdain. For so many years, that's all he wanted. His voice failing him was punishment for letting you die, for letting this version of you get stuck in an unending desert. He'd make it up to you. Find a voice to say what needed to be said.

He steps towards the other. Long mask, long face, you don't quite know what to mentally call him yet- steps back. Making room for Phantom to exit the ruin.

"I'm not leaving." You tell the newcomer, though you grab the helmet. To throw at him? To cover your head from the cold now that the fire couldn't ward it off?

"You dunno if I've found a way out or not and yer just gonna act like that?" His laugh is humorless, "Glad we weren’t a thing in my world."

Behind him, Phantom jerks his head, a 'come' gesture. Wind, not a breeze, cuts through the dunes and sends winter cold through the cracks in your armor. Settles under the fabric, making you shiver.

"Do you have a way out?" You demand.

"Would'a left your ass behind if I did." He says, stepping further back. Annoyed but understanding you wouldn’t come within a certain distance; despite how fast he could liberate your head from your shoulders. "Come on," he lifts inches off the ground, "the longer you're gone the edgier those shitheads get. I can't take it anymore."

You really, really, really did not want to see any of them. You look back to your concrete shack. But. Survival is easier in groups, right? You know what else is easier in groups? Mass murder. The second you got your powers back, you were taking them out like you'd set out to do. Sure, you'd probably only kill one or two more of them but it'd be enough to kill Mark Grayson four times before you went to hell. Only then did eternity of torture sound bearable.

You also couldn't make a fire, it was freezing, you had no food and you'd be starving soon, and you had nothing to drink but codeine, which was a bad idea.

Phantom waited for you on the ground. Tracksuit, ah there's that convenient nickname, hovered low in the sky waiting. "Let's go already." You can't fly and something tells you Tracksuit isn't willing to walk however many miles it is back to camp.

Phantom taps his masked cheek. At first you're disgusted, thinking he wants you to lay one on him but realize, he's telling you to put the helmet on. You'd seen those old stories of superhuman and regular-Joe-human romances going bad because their lover flew too fast and all the human's skin was flayed off. You didn't want to go to the others, but you really didn't want to go without skin.

You put the helmet on and he moves towards you. Slower than the first time he scooped you up and took you to the sky. He definitely felt bad about dropping you. Elbows move under knees, strong hand supporting your back. Lifting off gently this time. Accelerating slowly enough for Tracksuit to scoff and shout, "Dude, move it!"

You'd never been flying like this. Before, it was too quick to process, too much adrenaline. Now you were burnt out and empty enough to actually process the passing dunes. To feel your body relying on his for support. You would have liked it, really, if it wasn't one of the crazy Marks- which was pretty much all of them. Horrified at any time he'd drop you or dangle you by an ankle until you cried, "Uncle." He hadn't seemed the type, but he also ripped off Psychopomp's arms the second time you met him. He wasn't as forward as the others, which made him less predictable.

The whole flight you were scared shitless, because the second it was over, things were only going to get worse. The bright side was, things were always awful before they got better. Thinking about killing Mark calmed you down a fraction.

Even in the distance, you could see the camp. No mountains to hide its orange glow. The only thing of note for miles upon miles.

Tracksuit sighed with relief, "Thank God." He shot forward, gone, leaving you and Phantom to meander along. You'd noticed he'd significantly slowed. Sucking up all the remaining alone time with you he could get. Hovering hundreds of feet over a massive bonfire. Figures below, waiting with baited breath.

Phantom contemplates the success rate of leaving. Running with you. Surviving alone together. His black boots touch down on the sand. He sets you down, keeping a hand at your back as you wobble to your feet. Unaccustomed to flying. Human heart fluttering in your chest.

You get no peace or relief.

Just Mohawk flying forward and almost knocking you over "Dickhead," he hissed before his fist sent Phantom careening into the desert night. Phantom catches himself, but stays further back, hidden in the dark. It was chilly but this planet was nothing compared to the vacuum of space. To what his life had been before seeing you again. The fire, here and there, were for you. Warmth and signal. He would keep watch from the shadows.

The perpetrator turns to you, sand stuck in his mohawk. "You good?"

You don't meet his eye. Opting to stumble closer to the bonfire, trying to avoid eye contact with the Marks standing around.

"I thought you'd need it," Omni-Wannabe says.

"Where are we?" You stare into it. Hoping they don't notice the answers aren't forced out of them. That they don't piece together the only reason you're not going batshit is because you're powerless.

"A desert," Lensless kicks at the sand, "Duh."

"What desert?" It's hard to keep the venom out of your voice.

Emperor stretches his legs over a rock. Leaning back in his low earthy chair, looking like he meant to be stranded. "You tell me. You're the one who got us trapped here."

You don't bite the bait. You can't fight back, so opening your big mouth is the last thing you should do. But he's looking at you like he wants to chop you to pieces. You go for fawning but not too out of character. "Wasn't expecting anyone to end up here with me."

Under the yellow fabric, his brow twitches. "After all the chasing and defending, you didn't expect backup?"

"I didn't ask for backup." You say, "I have no idea what's going on. One second I'm working, the next this guy," your arm gestures to Mohawk who grins, "is beating the shit out of my boss."

Emperor's muscles tighten. You'd said the wrong thing. Towed the line too willy-nilly. He says, "You really must be dumber in this world if you haven't figured it out yet. Don't speak to me until you do." And goes back to watching the fire.

Crisis averted.

Somebody thinks it's a good idea to rest their fat, meaty hand on your shoulder and say, "Are you okay?"

When you turn it's the bald one. Wearing an expression you think is concern.

You can't help moving away and snapping, "Get off."

"D'aww, somebody mad their geriatric handler didn't pick them up?" Scars is right behind you. Not close enough to touch, but too close for comfort. He could push you into the fire and you'd be roast dinner. "Not expecting to deal with the consequences of your actions, were you?"

This time, for real, you hold your tongue. Stuck straight to the roof of your mouth. You are not fucking with this guy.

He touches you the same place Baldie did. You're scared to shove him off. Baldie was a mistake, one that could've gotten you killed. Scars would be a mistake that would get you killed.

"Hey, look, she's afraid of me!" He announced like it was an honor. "That's a smart girl, but where's that fighting spirit? Come on, I wanna see you try n' hurt me again."

You don't reply. Don't move. Don't breathe.

"Your heart just skipped a beat, there, Dregs. Don't tell me you're gonna avoid me by killing yourself again." His fingers tighten on your shoulder. Nearly bruising. "I won't let it happen again." He's masking his anger being here with nine of himself by playing with you. Relieving stress.

"You're wasting your energy antagonizing her." The grip lightens immediately, someone else to play with. Scars' violent attention turned toward the bare baby-faced version of himself.

"You telling me what to do?" Tension cracked off his split lip.

"No." The other says evenly, "But we're stuck in an alien desert. Now's not the time to pull some master-slave dynamic bullshit on some girl you don't even know. Be smart."

Scars slipped around you, prowling toward the sat man. "And how do you suggest I 'be smart'."

He started counting off on his fingers, "Get more firewood if you don't want her to freeze to death. Search ruins for something that could get us out. Look for food. Rest, conserve energy, because we don't know how long we'll be stuck here. My guess is until we get ourselves out because there's no way Angstrom is coming back for us."

"He will," Lensless says with unwarranted confidence. "He has to know we'll find him and kill 'im. It's dumber to let us be mad n' stuff."

Maskless shakes his head. "He chose this planet because he expects us to die. I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm not fighting you guys over some human I don't know. If you're smart, you'll do the same." He slides off the rock and lies himself sideways in the sand. Head propped on his elbow like a pillow. "At least shut up or go to sleep so you can kill echother quicker tomorrow."

Scars took two steps toward him before an arm jutted out, stopping him. Omni-Mark stood between the two like a wall. "He's right. We should sleep while it's cool. Search more tomorrow."

"Who said you're in charge?" Emperor snipped despite being deeply unhelpful.

"I'm not trying to be," he said, "it's just a suggestion."

One you take. Moving away to the other side of the blaze while their bickering went on and on. You sat on a rusted pipe. Maskless a few feet to your right, brow furrowed but eyes closed. The Viltrumite to your left, arms folded behind his back. Posture painfully straight. His eyes flick over to you, head not moving.

You don't see it, but he's content with the situation at hand- for now. He could take the others. Savvy enough to survive in the harshest conditions where the others surely weren't. He'd conquered harsher planets than this without help. Atop of all that, you were choosing to be by his side. That is enough for him, for the moment.

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