#but as soon as i stopped second guessing it came a little easier

[inkedinshadows]

Bound by Secrets

Pairing: Azriel x Beron’s daughter!reader

Summary: When you get caught sneaking around the Hewn City, you end up in one of the dungeon cells to be interrogated by the infamous Spymaster. But things don't go exactly the way the General and the High Lord thought.

Warnings: mentions of sex, allusions to torture and scars

Word count: 6.4k

A/N: Okay sooo, I got a bit carried away with the first part and it came out longer than anticipated, with Az coming in at around word 1.7k. I know it’s a lot without him since it's his appreciation week, but the build-up is worth it (hopefully) and seeing how long the whole fic turned out to be, I hope you don't mind too much. There's still a lot of Azriel, I swear! (and I might have gone a little bit off-topic but shh it's fine). Anyway, happy @azrielappreciationweek everyone!

You knew being here was dangerous.

The Hewn City was not a place you could simply sneak into, and yet here you were, lurking in a corner of the throne room, waiting for the right moment to slip out and search for the treasury.

You had been sent there with a mission: find the Veritas Orb. How your father knew where it was, or what he needed it for, was not information you had been made privy to. But the High Lord of the Autumn Court had been clear: you were to steal the Orb as soon as possible. Knowing the kind of punishment he dealt when disappointed, you always did your best to comply. That left you with little time to prepare and, apparently, a huge number of problems.

Because just as you were about to make an unseen exit through the hallway you had previously selected, every single person in the crowd stiffened, and the chattering stopped abruptly, plunging the room into a silence so deep you could hear a pin drop.

As you turned to see what had happened, you realized everyone was staring at the entrance doors, just as they swung open. One look at the two tall figures slowly stalking in, and you knew you needed to get out before it was too late.

You blended into the shadows against the wall as the Spymaster and the General of the Army made their way to the dais on the other side of the hall. A smudge of red and gold was all you caught out of the corner of your eye when the Morrigan entered, just as you bolted down the hallway.

The High Lord and High Lady would be next. And if they caught you not only in their Court, but in their underground city as well, you'd be in serious trouble. You couldn't risk it. You needed to get out.

Yet you couldn't leave. Not without the Orb. Fear seized you for a split second at the mere thought of the pain you would suffer at your father's hands if you were to fail, and then you broke into a sprint—or as close to a sprint as you could manage with the high heels you had worn to blend in with the Hewn City inhabitants.

A thrum of power reached you despite the distance you had already put between yourself and the throne room, a clear sign of the High Lord and Lady’s arrival. You needed to hurry.

“Damn heels,” you muttered under your breath. You stopped long enough to take them off, gather them in your hands, and resume your run. At least your night-black dress was loose enough around the legs to allow you to move freely.

You had no idea where the treasury was. Your father didn't know, merely telling you the Orb was likely kept there—as if that helped. But you wouldn't consider where else it could be, instead choosing to focus on one thing at a time.

You wandered through the hallways, peering into every room you could find. Most of them were studies, sitting rooms, or smaller chambers for holding court. None of them what you were looking for.

Pushing a heavy wooden door open, you discovered a staircase that spiraled down. The basement. Or dungeons, you guessed, summoning a flame in your hand to light the steps as you began the descent. It made sense for the treasury to be on a lower level—harder to reach and easier to hide. That was where your father kept his most treasured possessions as well.

The stairs ended in a long hallway with many other tunnels branching off. You chose one out of instinct and kept going like that for a while, trying to remember every turn you took. The place was like a maze and there was nothing to, with nothing to distinguish the different paths. But eventually, your seemingly random choices paid off, and/because you found yourself in front of large, unguarded double doors. Upon closer inspection, you realized they were warded, hence the lack of actual guards.

With a smirk, you placed your palm on the knob and summoned more of your power. Your hand became a bright shade of orange, and a thin circle of fire spread from it, growing over the surface of the doors until it burned the spell protecting them. A little trick your oldest brother had taught you years ago.

Pulling your hand away, it returned to its normal color as you shoved the door open and walked inside.

Piles of gold lined the walls, jewels and weapons displayed in glass cabinets, and everywhere you turned, something shiny caught your eye. You delved deeper into the room, discovering beautiful pieces of artwork scattered around, but you couldn’t let them distract you from your task. You began searching the place instead, opening boxes and trunks, anything you could find, but there were no signs of the Veritas. The more you looked, the clearer it became.

The Orb wasn't there.

A frustrated sigh escaped you, and you stifled a groan as you made your way back to the tunnels, picking up the heels you had left by the door.

There had to be another room where more treasure was kept. You just had to find it. You were so sure it would be somewhere nearby that you made a stupid mistake: you didn’t count your turns, didn’t memorize when and where you had gone left or right or straight.

Maybe you should have asked for help before coming here. You had considered it, but you didn't want to endanger more people than necessary—or, even worse, have the truth discovered���and you honestly had thought you could do this alone.

You were wrong, and now you were lost. Like a damn fool.

Too caught up in your worries and rising anxiety, you did not hear the approaching steps. As you turned around the corner, you bumped into a tall, muscular body. A strong hand gripped your arm to keep you from losing balance, and the flame still flickering around your hand went out.

Now only the low gloom of the torches several feet down the tunnel illuminated the darkness.

“There you are.”

You didn’t recognize that deep, almost rough voice, but your heart jumped in your throat at sight of the leathery wings and the black scaled armor adorned with seven crimson Siphons.

You already knew who you were facing when you looked up and met the wary gaze of the General of the Night Court armies, his face half-hidden in the dark.

“There I am?” you repeated, putting on a sweet smile that didn’t reflect your internal turmoil. “Were you looking for me, General?”

His eyes narrowed as he took in your bare feet and the heels you still held in your hand. “What are you doing down here?”

You couldn’t tell if he meant down here in the Hewn City or in the tunnels below the palace. What if he knew the truth? What if he knew who you were? It could have given you a way out, it could have—

But Cassian’s grip on your arm tightened at your silence. “Answer me,” he growled. “We know someone broke into the treasury. And I know it was you.”

You shivered at his tone, at the fear that began to settle inside you, knowing you had been caught. As you tried to find a way out, you heard the words coming out of your mouth as if they were someone else’s: feigned shock at the news, deep confusion at the accusation, refined politeness when you addressed him. Hopefully, it was enough to let you off the hook.

“Why, if I may ask, would you think that was me, General?”

He didn’t seem impressed by your display of innocence. “There are very few redheads in the Hewn City, and none with fire powers. You’re from Autumn.”

Well, shit. You were so used to seeing red-haired Fae in the Autumn Court that you hadn't considered how recognizable your hair—or your powers, for that matter—could be outside of your home.

“I…”

You didn’t know what to say. You had red hair. You were suspiciously wandering in the tunnels. You had broken into the treasury using your fire. How could you find an excuse for all of that?

Your hesitation was confirmation enough for the General. His grip on your arm became almost painful. “Who are you? What were you looking for in the treasury?”

Maybe telling him the truth would help. If you revealed that you were in the Hewn City because you had no other choice, that you were not only Beron’s secret daughter but also his spy, his undercover agent, would he believe you? And if he did, would that make things better or worse for you?

Again, you thought about it for too long.

Cassian’s eyes narrowed even more. “You’re coming with me,” he ordered, nudging you along. “And you will talk, one way or another.”

You didn’t like where this was going. You didn’t like it one bit.

You could burn him, you supposed. Use your fire on him to create a distraction and run away. But you knew what kind of pain it caused, and you couldn’t bring yourself to hurt someone that way, not even him. And even if you did, where could you run? You didn’t know the place, didn't know where the hallways led or where the hiding spots were. But Cassian did. You wouldn’t get far before he found you.

You let the General lead you even deeper into the dungeons, following him without a struggle, even as the cold air bit at your skin and your gut churned in fear.

After a few minutes, you were escorted inside a small cell. There was nothing but a wooden chair in the middle of the space, right next to a grate on the floor from which hisses and growls rose up. You decided you didn’t want to know what was on the other side.

Cassian took your shoes, placing them next to the door as he gestured for you to sit. You obeyed silently and took a seat, waiting for the handcuffs, for the restraint, for the questions to start.

None of it came.

You just sat there, the General watching you intently from his spot against the wall, his stance relaxed yet alert in case you tried something. He said not a word.

You weren’t sure how much time passed before the door opened again and another male walked in. He was Illyrian too, a sword similar to Cassian’s was strapped to his back, and he wore the same armor. But his Siphons were a shade of cobalt blue, his black hair cut short, and he was surrounded by swirling shadows.

Your breath caught at the sight of the Spymaster.

Azriel’s eyes widened ever so slightly as they settled on you, his shadows frozen around his shoulders. He stood there, wings tucked tightly in, staring at you as if he could see right through your façade.

“Where is Rhys?”

The Spymaster didn’t tear his gaze away from you even as he answered. “He couldn’t leave.” His voice, cold as ice, sent a shiver down your spine. “This is the intruder?”

You held your head up high, reigning in your emotions. You wouldn’t let him intimidate you. You refused to. No matter the stories you had heard about the feared Shadowsinger of the Night Court, you wouldn’t cower. Not before him. You had suffered enough at the hands of your father to know how to deal with fear and pain.

“I found her wandering in the tunnels,” Cassian answered. “Not far from the treasury, hand wreathed in flames. She refused to say anything.”

The Spymaster assessed you, hazel eyes scanning you from head to toe. “Well, that’s about to change.” His hand lingered dangerously close to the black-hilted knife strapped to his muscular thigh.

Your brother's words echoed in your mind. “Tell him what he wants to hear.” “If you fight him, you'll only make it worse.” “Think of something nice, hold on to it, and it'll be over soon enough.” “Behave like the pliant little female he expects you to be.”

If Eris's precious advice had always worked with your father and his particular inclination for painful punishments, then maybe it would work now as well.

Azriel's gaze didn't falter as he stalked toward you, the dagger now clutched in his scarred fingers. You could have sworn his hand trembled for just a split second as he unsheathed it, but you were already looking down at your bare feet, letting your shoulders slump forward and your stiff back relax into a more submissive position.

A pair of black boots stopped right in front of you. Your heart pounded in your chest, your hands holding the armrests so tightly that your knuckles went white. The scent of night-chilled mist and cedar filled your nose as cold metal pressed just under your chin, urging you to lift your head.

You didn't fight it, meeting a pair of honeyed eyes that stared at you coolly. So close, you could see the tiny speck of green in them, even with his dilated pupils.

Cauldron, this male was beautiful. Painfully so. Bigger issues begged for your attention, but you couldn't help but admire him—the sharp features of his face, the perfect lines of his jaw, the plush lips, the way a few black curls hung over his forehead.

You didn't dare shift your position, but the urge to clench your thighs was almost overwhelming. The most inappropriate time ever.

Azriel seemed to somehow sense it, because his nostrils flared and the tip of the knife pressed a bit more under your chin, though still not enough to draw blood.

“What are you doing here?”

That voice, like silk and shadows and ice. Now you could understand why everyone feared the Shadowsinger of the Night Court.

“Why were you in the treasury?” he pressed, more demanding than before.

When you didn't answer his questions, he removed the dagger and took a step back. You glanced at the General, still standing by the door, but your focus quickly returned to the Spymaster, who had begun to circle around your chair.

Like a beast about to strike, toying with its prey before the killing blow.

“You know, this would be easier if you talked willingly.”

Shadows wrapped around both your ankles and wrists to prevent any possible movement. He was behind you now, his dagger trailing down your arm, sending all your senses on high alert.

“Or I'll have to resort to more… unpleasant methods.”

Your bindings tightened as if to prove his point and a small gasp escaped your lips. You had to say something, come up with some kind of excuse before it was too late.

“Tell him what he wants to hear.”

What did he want to hear? You couldn't very well give up the truth, could you? But maybe if you did, maybe if you tried…

Your eyes shot to the General. He was studying you with his arms crossed, nothing but distaste etched on his features.

Azriel, now on your left, noticed the direction of your gaze. He watched the other Illyrian for a few heartbeats before speaking in that low, quiet voice of his. “You know I work better when I'm alone.”

You stilled at the words. You, alone in a dungeon cell with the Spymaster? This changed everything—reshuffling all the cards, altering the odds of how this interrogation might end.

Cassian blinked, turning to face him. The two males stared at each other for what felt like ages, a silent conversation passing between them. Eventually, the General sighed.

“Fine,” he grumbled, fingers raking through his dark hair. “But alert Rhys immediately if something happens.”

The Shadowsinger seemed to hold back a scoff. “I know what I'm doing, Cassian,” he replied coolly. “I always get the information I want.”

You swallowed harshly, but Cassian gave a sharp nod and sauntered out of the cell.

As soon as the door closed behind him and his footsteps faded down the hallways, Azriel crouched in front of you, the dagger sheathed at his thigh once more. The shadows restraining you vanished.

“What the hell are you doing here, my love?”

~~~~~~

You and Azriel had met four years prior.

When you were born—the youngest and only female in a clutch of seven brothers—your father decided to keep you in the shadows. He never publicly acknowledged having a daughter, believing that no one would suspect a girl, thus raising you to serve as his undercover agent. Only your family knew of your existence, and if you hadn't gone mad over the years of confinement, it was only thanks to your sweet mother and Eris.

Beron had spent almost a century training you, molding you into his perfect little spy, and then sent you out into the world for just as long to do exactly what he had taught you.

You were attending a ball in the Day Court the first time you saw Azriel. You had already gathered the intel your father wanted about the honored guests from the Dawn Court, but you had no intention of going home earlier than scheduled. You still had until morning. And when the most beautiful male you had ever seen walked into the room as part of the Night Court delegation, you knew exactly how you wanted to spend your remaining time.

You watched him, taking in his muscular body, the massive wings, and the swirling shadows, until his eyes finally found yours through the crowd. You offered him a gentle yet unwavering smile, and your core clenched at the way he studied you as you approached him. Like he was already imagining pinning you beneath him.

It didn't take long for him to do just that. Within minutes, you found yourself in the room he was staying in, your dress discarded on the floor and his head between your thighs.

You had never felt so good as you did in those few hours.

It was almost dawn by the time you were both spent and sweaty, but you fought against exhaustion. You waited for Azriel to fall asleep, and then you slipped out of the room.

He woke up to an empty bed.

The next time you met him was a few months later. The High Lords and High Lady were all meeting in the Winter Court to discuss Prythian’s situation after the war with Hybern, but your father was paranoid. He ordered you to ensure the other courts weren’t plotting a coup against him.

You had just sneaked out of the suite reserved for the High Lord of the Summer Court and his entourage when shadows pooled at your feet, and your back was slammed against the wall. The air was snatched from your lungs at the impact, leaving you little time to take another breath before a dark dagger pressed against your throat.

Despite having spent just one night together, you immediately recognized your assailant by his scent alone.

“Didn't know you were into this kind of thing,” you drawled, looking up to meet Azriel's gaze. “Kinky. I like it.”

His eyes widened slightly as recognition dawned on him, the blade moving an inch away from your neck but no more. “It's you.”

You knew you should be bothered by the dagger, that this was a powerful male not to be trifled with, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Not when you could still remember how his lips tasted and how good he felt inside you.

“Strange way to meet again, uh?”

Azriel didn't return your smirk, nor did he step away. Instead, his voice was cold as death now that his surprise had faded. “Why are you sneaking into the suites?”

You had mastered the art of weaving lies so long ago that the answer flowed effortlessly from your lips. 

“Cresseida was wearing a beautiful necklace at lunch,” you replied with a shrug. “I wanted to see if she left it in her room.”

His eyes narrowed. “So, you're a petty thief?”

Better than the truth, you thought, though a small part of you longed to confide in him, to tell him everything. A deep, innate feeling of trust had somehow bloomed in your chest. You ignored it.

“I'm a simple girl.” You offered him your most charming smile. “I see a shining jewel, and I want it for myself.”

Azriel hummed, knife still at your throat. His eyes scanned your face and you felt like he could see everything you were trying to conceal, all the secrets you'd kept locked away for years.

“You went through the suites of every Court except Autumn,” he mused, the tip of the blade tracing your jaw. You went utterly still. “Why?”

You didn't know how to answer. You didn't even know how he knew that. You'd been caught red-handed, and you had a feeling that any new lie you concocted would be pointless. So you decided to trust your gut.

“Alright.” You took a deep breath—or as deep as you dared with a sharp dagger pressed against your neck. “I work for Beron. He thinks someone might stage a coup, so he sent me to gather information.”

His eyes, which had been roaming over your features and perhaps lingered a second too long on your lips—though that could just be your imagination—snapped up to meet yours. The blade pressed a fraction harder against your skin, a clear sign of his distrust.

“For Beron?” he repeated. Not a hint of surprise or disdain marked his tone, just that icy coldness, so different from the warm voice he'd used to talk you through it in the Summer Court. “And he fears a coup?”

You wanted to sigh but didn't dare. If only he would sheath that damn dagger…

“Yes, that's what I said. And honestly, if someone does, I'm not surprised. I hope it works out for them.”

Azriel's brow arched.

“I mean, the male's horrible. He deserves it.”

You were aware of the dangerous line you were crossing, speaking of your father—your High Lord—like that to an important member of a rival court. You'd never voiced those thoughts aloud to anyone but Eris, and yet here you were. Beron would punish you if he found out. You were first his subject, then his spy, and only then his daughter.

A scarred hand cupped your jaw, Azriel's face now only inches from yours. You could feel his warm breath on your cheeks. “Why do you work for him, then?” he snarled.

His grip on your chin made it impossible to look away, forcing you to meet his golden eyes. In that moment, you let him see your truth, the honesty and vulnerability you never revealed.

“Because I don't have a choice.”

A heartbeat passed, and then his expression softened. You stilled as his hand moved from your jaw to your cheek.

You had seen his scars months ago and immediately recognized what had caused them. Cauldron knew you always kept yours hidden with a glamor, allowing it to dissipate only in the privacy of your bedroom.

Thinking about all your father had put you through made the reality of the situation slam into you. What if Azriel told your father what you had just said? The Night Court and the Autumn Court were not on good terms, but who knew what political machinations were at play behind closed doors. Beron would consider your words a betrayal and punish you accordingly.

Your worry must have shown on your face because Azriel's thumb brushed over your cheekbone, gentle and reassuring. “Your secret's safe with me,” he said softly. He studied you for a moment, and whatever he saw in your expression seemed to convince him to finally put his dagger back into its scabbard at his thigh.

You took a deep, shaky breath, unsure whether it stemmed from believing him or simply from relief at no longer being threatened.

Now free, his fingers brushed over your throat where his blade had been. There probably was a thin pink line there. His featherlight touch sent shivers down your spine.

“I'm sorry,” he murmured.

Your voice was barely a whisper. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

You stared at each other, time seeming to slow down. His shadows peeked from behind his broad shoulders, a few tendrils swirling forward and weaving through your red locks, but your gaze locked on his, your heartbeat quickening. His other hand still cradled your cheek.

“I'm sorry,” you murmured.

“What for?”

‘For lying to you.’

‘For sneaking into your Court’s suite.’

‘Because I can't tell you the whole truth.’

So many easy replies, and all of them true. But one in particular pushed at the corner of your mind, one you hadn't been able to shake for months.

“For walking away right after you fell asleep.”

Something flashed in his eyes, there and gone in an instant, but you didn't recognize what it was. You didn't know him well enough to read every subtle change in his expression. Part of you wished you could.

You waited for him to say something—either to tell you he didn't care or that it wasn't a big deal—but as his silence stretched on, you debated whether you should change the subject or perhaps apologize for bringing it up.

Just as you opened your mouth, Azriel spoke again, but his words were not what you had expected.

“I looked for you the day after,” he whispered, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. “But you were gone.”

You couldn't help but stare, so caught off guard that you were completely speechless. You had thought about him often since that night, but you never imagined he might have looked for you in the morning. You were torn between feeling even worse about leaving him and the rapid beat of your heart.

A grin curled your lips as you rested your hands on his chest. Even with his armor on, you could recall the lines of the tattoos swirling across his golden skin, a sliver of black ink peeking from his collar. “I was that good?” you teased.

Azriel chuckled under his breath, the sound like a song to your ears. “You were that good.” He leaned in, his mouth brushing against your ear, teeth grazing your earlobe. “You felt that good wrapped around me.”

Your breath hitched at his words, and you could feel his hard length pressing against your thigh, igniting a desire that made you want to moan.

“Do you want to do it again?”

He barely gave you time to finish that sentence before his lips claimed yours, eliciting a surprised whimper. Your fingers tangled in his curls, his hands cupped your face, and there was nothing sweet or gentle about the kiss as his body pressed yours against the wall and you began to grind on him.

You parted only to catch your breath, but Azriel was already nipping at your neck, and you tilted your head to grant him more access.

When distant footsteps echoed from a nearby hallway, he didn’t even pull away as shadows wrapped around you both. In an instant, they winnowed you into a bedroom you didn't bother to register, too busy pushing Azriel on the large bed and climbing on top of him.

After that time, you began to plan your meetings. It was often a real challenge to find a moment when both of you could slip away from your duties without raising suspicions, but you couldn't risk your families discovering that you were regularly sleeping with a spy from a rival court.

Then, somewhere along the way, it happened. Sex slowly transformed into making love as you both developed feelings for one another, and around one year later, the mating bond snapped into place. You wanted to accept it, but you couldn't shake the dark cloud looming over your head. It was then that you decided to tell Azriel the truth about who you were, who your father was. He was gone for twenty days after your revelation, and you were left wondering whether it was because you had kept it hidden from him for so long or if he truly had a tight schedule and couldn't make time for a secret rendezvous. But when he finally returned, he assured you that whoever your father was wouldn't change or diminish his love for you. That very night, you offered him food, relief washing over you like a balm.

~~~~~~

And here you were, three years and countless secret meetings later.

“What are you doing here?” Azriel repeated, his voice carrying the usual softness he used when speaking to you, but with an edge of nervousness and impatience.

“My father sent me to retrieve the Veritas Orb,” you explained with a sigh. “I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I didn't want you to have to lie to your family even more. And… I thought I could do this alone.”

Azriel fell silent, his back stiff, his posture rigid. The shadows had retreated behind his wings. Finally, he asked, “What does he need it for?”

You gave him an apologetic look. “He didn't bother to share that information.”

He nodded, as if he had expected that answer. Rising to his feet, he offered you a hand to help you up from your seat. You took it, his skin cold against your palm, and stood with a frown.

“What do we do now?” you whispered, anxious despite Cassian’s absence. “I didn't mean to bring you into this mess, love.”

Azriel let go of your hand to cup your face, forcing you to meet his gaze. “Don't apologize. I know he didn't give you a choice.” He pressed his soft lips to your forehead. “But I can't let you walk out, angel. We need some excuse.”

Right, because letting you leave unscathed and without any information would only get him in trouble with his High Lord. But leaving without the Orb would get you in trouble. And yet, you would rather endure whatever punishment your father would concoct than let your mate deal with the consequences of your reckless actions.

You stepped back, out of the warmth provided by his body. You had a plan, one you knew he wouldn’t like, but it seemed like the only solution to get you both out of this mess with minimal repercussions. Well, for him at least. You doubted Beron would take pity and turn a blind eye to your failure, but it was worth a shot.

“I need you to hurt me.”

His eyes widened, but you went on before he could object. “You can tell Rhysand I was acting alone, that you made sure I won't be a problem anymore, and I’ll go back to Autumn and tell my father I was caught and tortured. But I need you to hurt me and I need you to make it look believable.”

Azriel was gaping. You had never seen him like this before. You knew how your idea sounded, but you needed him to understand the criticality of the situation and agree to it.

“Az, I—”

“No.”

You blinked. “No?”

Something ticked in his jaw, a subtle clench of his muscle. “No,” he repeated, voice firm and unyielding. “I'm not hurting you, love. You can't just ask me to do that. I won't. I can't.”

You studied him for a moment, but you knew he wasn't going to change his mind.

“Fine,” you sighed, extending a hand toward him, palm up. “Then give me Truth-Teller.”

He frowned, and the shadows swirled around him nervously, as if sensing the direction this conversation was taking. “And why would I do that?”

“You won't hurt me, so I'll do it myself,” you replied, as if the answer was obvious.

His eyes widened. “Y/N—”

“Just a few cuts here and there,” you assured him. “Nothing too bad. But my father has to believe it's real.”

Once again, Azriel stared at you, pale as if he had just seen a ghost. “You can't be serious.”

“You have a better idea?” you retorted. Without waiting for his answer, you reached for the dagger at his thigh. The sooner you could get this over with, the better.

Azriel easily sidestepped you, grabbing both your wrists to prevent you from trying to take his knife again. “I'm not letting you hurt yourself either,” he stated. His grip on you was gentle, but his tone was cold. It was the kind of tone that told you he wouldn't take no for an answer.

But neither would you.

“We don't have a choice, Az,” you countered, your voice steady despite the rising tension. Yet you didn't try to free your hands.

Something shifted in his eyes, in his expression. His thumbs brushed over your wrists in soothing motions, and a pleading note entered his voice when he spoke again. “I can't stand to see you hurt, my love. I don't care about the reason.”

For a few seconds, you just stared into each other's eyes. You were still tense and rigid, and fear coiled in your gut at the thought of going back and facing your father. But Azriel's gaze was soft, scarred fingers never ceasing their gentle caresses. In that moment, you realized that he would rather tell his family the truth than let you go back home battered.

And then it hit you. Though you loved the Autumn Court, it wasn't your home. No, your home was Azriel. He had been for years now. Your safe place, the person you could always count on, the one who knew you better than anyone else. Your mate.

“He won't let me leave,” you whispered, and you hated how weak and vulnerable you sounded.

“You're already here.” Azriel lifted your hands to his mouth and pressed a warm kiss on each palm. “You don't need to leave. You just need to stay.”

You shook your head, tears rising to your eyes. “He sent me here. He knows where I am, and he'll come looking or send someone to find me, or—”

“We'll deal with him,” he interrupted you. “But you'll be safe here. I promise.”

You couldn't hold back the tears, then. He sounded so sure, as if it could ever be that simple. As if you could just make the choice to stay and never go back. You wished you could. With all your heart, you wished it could be as simple as that.

“Az, I… I can't,” you murmured, voice trembling.

He let go of your wrists to cup your cheeks, wiping away your tears. “I will protect you,” he reassured softly. “My whole family will, once they know the truth. You will be safe in the Night Court. And if not, then… then we'll go somewhere else, somewhere far away where Beron won't find us.”

We. Us.

For how long had you wished to hear those words? Even after you two had met, you had never truly been a couple. You had stolen moments whenever you could, but it was always you and him—your duties and his. Never a ‘we’, never an ‘us’.

“Stay.”

You closed your eyes, unable to hold his pleading gaze any longer.

“Stay in the Night Court.”

You swallowed, the weight of the decision heavy on your shoulders as if it were a physical burden. “Az…”

“Stay with me.” His voice broke, vulnerability spilling into every word. “Please.”

What if it were that easy? What if you could make the decision and simply not go back to the Autumn Court? What if you could spend every day and every night with the person you loved with all your heart, with your mate, and not having to hide, to carefully plan every meeting, to weave lie after lie to everyone around you?

When you opened your eyes, Azriel was staring at you. He was still brushing away your tears, but even through their veil, you could see how beautiful he was. How desperate. How broken.

And you nodded.

“Okay,” you whispered.

His eyes immediately lit up. “Okay?”

“Yes,” you confirmed despite the quiver in your voice. “Yes, I'm… I’m staying. With you.”

You barely had time to finish the sentence before he pulled you into his arms, your face pressed against his chest as he held you tight. You let yourself go, surrendering to the tears and the sobs shaking your body, clutching his leathers to keep your hands from trembling.

“Thank you,” he murmured against your hair, over and over. “Thank you, my love. Thank you.”

You didn't know how long you just stood there. Minutes, hours, days—it didn't matter. You were together now, and you would always be from this moment on. You were home, and never again would you suffer at the hands of your father.

His shadows swarmed around you, caressing your back and arms, twisting in your hair as if they, too, were excited about what would happen next. You didn't know. For the first time in your life, the future was bright, and happiness was within your grasp.

You pulled back only when your tears ran dry. Azriel pressed a gentle kiss on your forehead, and you both smiled, brightly and lovingly, knowing you would not leave each other again.

“Let's get you out of here,” he said eventually, taking your hand and intertwining your fingers. “There's so much to do.”

Like meeting his family. Revealing your identity, who you were and what you did, and hoping they would understand and not hold it against you.

As Azriel stepped back to turn toward the door, you hesitated.

“Can you promise me something?” you asked, your voice quiet and still a bit hoarse from crying.

He stopped, worried eyes immediately searching your face for any sign of discomfort or concern. “Of course, love. Anything you want.”

“It's nothing too big, just…” You offered a small smile and squeezed his fingers. “No more secrets, Az.”

His hazel eyes softened, and his lips curled into a beautiful smile. He nodded, tugging gently on your hand to lead you out of the cell and into your new life. “No more secrets.”

2nd a/n: if the lines "Stay / Stay in the Night Court / Stay with me" reminded you of another very similar quote, you are correct. I had originally written "Stay in the Night Court. Just... stay with me" and it made me think of that quote, which is one of my favorite quotes from one of my favorite books and said by one of my favorite characters ever, so I decided to include it (a little easter egg, if you will). Kaz and Azriel 🤝 simping for the girl they like

General taglist: @mrsjna @navyblue-eternity @paintedbyshadows @highladyandromeda @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @azrielsmate3 @mollygetssherlockcoffee @mirandasidefics @tinystarfishgalaxy @cynthiesjmxazrielslover @anarchiii @readinggeeklmao @anneas11 @azrielslittleslut @lilah-asteria @aaahhh0127 @lorosette @azrielsrealmate @pey2618 @mellowmusings

Azriel Week: @fourthwing4ever

[javierpena-inatacvest]

Chapter 3- Easier Said Than Done

Summary: Frankie's been by your side through some of the hardest moments in your life. Three years have gone by, and now there's no one you want to see less when you find yourself at your lowest.

Word Count: 4.1K

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader (reader has a name/nickname)

Warnings: Angst, yearning, mentions of death, sick parent, descriptions of a panic attack, hospitals, teenage Frankie's back at it again making it impossible for us to hate him!!

A/N: Hello, my name is Madeline and I am unable to stop writing gut wrenching angst and yearning. (Hi, Madeline). Maybe one of these days I'll stop sobbing like an idiot when I write, but I fear that day may not be coming any time soon

All The Things We Never Said Masterlist

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

You, Spring of 2006, Age 17

Most people say it’s the smell of hospitals they can’t stand. For you, it’s the noise. The constant chaos of voices, monitors, sirens, carts clattering as they roll across the never ending linoleum floor drives you insane. Even when it’s quiet, it’s still never silent. There’s always an ever present reminder looming in the distance to not get too comfortable. The inevitable fear that something could go wrong, and have you wishing that all you had to listen to was the ambiance of continual pandemonium. 

That’s why it’s such a relief when you hear the quiet ping of your cell phone resting on the edge of your chair. It’s enough to drown out everything else for a little while. 

Frankie :)))))) 

Hey where r u?

Game starts soon and I cant find u 

Katie and Morgan said they havent seen u either 

R u ok?   

You

Yeah I’m ok. 

Dad passed out and hit his head. Mom wasn’t home so I had to take him to the ER. 

Called Coach K in the ambulance to tell her I won’t be there. 

It’s times like these that it takes everything in you to remind yourself that missing big events to keep your dad alive is better than going to big events without him being here. But when you’re decked head to toe in your soccer uniform, sitting on the edge of your seat in a crowded emergency room instead of getting ready to start the last game of your senior year, it’s hard not to feel a little bitter about it. 

You read back over Frankie’s texts as you wait for his response, doing the quick math in your brain before frantically typing back. 

You

Wait, didn’t you have to work tonight? Are you at the field? 

Frankie :)))))) 

Called off work weeks ago 

U really think I would miss ur last game? Cmon Kenz 

Guess its not a surprise anymore. Surprise! lol 

You hope the nurse passing by doesn’t notice the way you’re grinning like an idiot at your phone, biting down on your bottom lip to keep your smile from growing so wide it’ll hurt your cheeks. You re-read the last three texts over and over, your face growing warmer each time. You’re not sure why you’d expect anything less. It still never fails to make you feel like your heart is seconds away from bursting at the seams. 

Of course he came. 

So lost in your train of thought, you hadn’t seen a fourth text pop up across your screen, only the fifth text of “???” that preceded it. 

Frankie :)))))) 

R u at memorial or westwood hospital? 

??? 

You 

Memorial. Why? 

Frankie :)))))) 

Be there in 15 

You 

Frankie you don’t have to do that 

Frankie :)))))) 

2 L8! Already leaving! See u soon! 

The tears welling in your eyes were most definitely ones of relief, joy even, that Frankie cared enough to attempt to make it to a soccer game you weren’t even at, let alone forgo a night’s worth of pay to drive himself to the hospital to see you. 

Your momentary excitement comes to a sudden stop as onslaught of bodies rush into your room to examine your dad. You’re quick to realize you’ve once again been caught up in a stampede where you’re nothing but another person in the way. An invisible presences that means nothing to anyone in this room. It makes the once blissful wetness welling in the corners of your eyes start to sting with a vengeance. 

But you’ve come very quickly to learn that crying doesn’t help anyone, especially when you’re not the one dying. 

You try not to let it hurt when your mom doesn’t even acknowledge the fact you’re sporting the jersey of the team you were supposed to start playing with twenty minutes ago, like you had brought your dad to the hospital in your uniform because that and your cleats were the easiest thing to throw on before you called 911. It’s even harder to try not to scream at the fact she barely pays your presence any mind, not even so much as a ‘thank you’ for getting your dad to the hospital in one piece. What’s the most painful is that you’re positive that she, or anyone else, even notices you’re gone when you slip out the door.

You’re here so often that the hospital staff don’t mind that you pace up and down the rows of the waiting room. Sure, they’ll be sending you a bill for the hole you’re burning through their carpet eventually, but that’s not today’s problem. 

Right now, part of the reason for your frantic pacing is to cool off some steam so you don’t say something you’ll regret about your dad’s cancer having the audacity to ruin the most important soccer game of your life to date. 

You’re also here so often, the hospital staff know Frankie. So much so, that your favorite receptionist, Cassandra, has more than definitely broken several hospital rules to let Frankie stick around long past visiting hours when you’ve needed it most. That’s why all she has to do is give you that look to break you from your vicious cycle of pacing to let you know when he’s arrived through the sliding glass doors of the front entrance. 

Most times, he at least makes it a few steps inside before you notice him. Tonight, he’s barely halfway through the door before you’re wrapping your arms around him in the tightest hug you have to muster. He pulls you in even tighter. 

It’s then that the reality of it all starts to set in. Your best friend had to drive to meet you at the hospital because he’s the only one that remembers you have a soccer game tonight. Your dad is in a cyclical pattern of slowly dying that leaves you feeling like a terrible person for even wishing things were different. You’ve spent the past nine of your seventeen years of life only knowing a world that revolves around cancer. For nine years, you’ve never complained that this is the way your life has been. Tonight, you’ve decided that the weight of the world is un-fucking-fair. 

Tonight, you’re not the one dying, but crying seems like the only reasonable thing left to do. 

You should be embarrassed by how loud your sobs are, how quick the damn breaks once your body finally lets you give into the pain. These are the kind of tears that make your whole body shake, the ones that make your chest hurt because you can’t catch your breath, gasping for air like some poor, lifeless fish, begging to be thrown back to the sea. 

Frankie’s seen you cry before, but not like this. You should care about how your tears are staining the fabric of his t-shirt, how he’s the only thing keeping you standing while your body feels like it’s about to give out underneath you. You hadn’t said a word to each other before you’d collapsed in his arms in a sobbing heap, but right now you don’t care. You can’t. 

You’re sure words are exchanged at some point as he practically carries you out to his truck, at least giving you the decency to finish crying without unwanted eyes in the waiting room glued to you, but right now, you can’t remember. 

You’re not sure how long it takes you to get back to the point of being able to breathe at a semi-normal pace, but something tells you that Frankie will hold you for as long as you need him too, crying or not.

He gently strokes your back, his thumb tracing over the fabric of your jersey as it draws small circles over and over, a sweet and simple dance of his fingers that steadies you just enough to keep from flying away. 

“It’s okay, Kenz. It’s okay.” It’s melodic the way Frankie coos it in your ear, like he’s trying to hush a fussy baby fighting sleep. It’ll take time, persistence and patience, but lucky for you, he’s got all three in spades. “I promise you’re okay. I’m here.” 

“This fucking sucks.” It’s not elegant or graceful, but it’s the truth, and right now, it’s all your brain can process. 

“I know it is, Kenzie. I’m sorry.” 

“It’s not fair. I don’t wanna spend the rest of my life worrying that this is the last day I see him. I just want life to be normal. I just wanna go play my stupid fucking soccer game. It’s not fucking fair.” You ball your fists against Frankie’s chest, pounding into him like he’s the one responsible for your hurt and anger. He’s not the one you need to take it out on, but he’s all you have. You hope he knows it’s not his fault he’s become your emotional punching bag as he takes blow after blow, despite how weak your swings are. You’ve got no strength left to fight. 

“I know. It’s not fair. It’s not fair, MacKenzie.” 

He takes it all until you have nothing left to give. You’ve lost a game no one ever has a chance of winning. Defeat is the unwanted trophy life rewards you with, but Frankie stands at the podium with you. He’ll take the hits if it helps ease the blow. 

“Will you be okay if I’m gone for five minutes? Just five, I promise, and then I’ll be right back.” His question catches you off guard, breaking you from your agitated state, nodding your head just enough to give him the permission he needs to race back through the doors of the hospital as you climb into his passenger seat. 

His truck gives you the kind of familiarity the hospital doesn’t. It’s hard not to find irony in the fact you feel safer in his piece of junk car where the wheels could give out beneath you at any moment than you do in a building that is built for saving people’s lives. Maybe it’s because his truck is filled with the memories of moments in life that make you feel like things are going to be okay. 

With the way Frankie’s breathing as he jumps into the driver’s seat, it’s hard to think he’s not back in less than two minutes, rather than five. He doesn’t say a word to you as he cranks the ignition, only a little prayer under his breath that now’s not a time his engine has chosen to give out on him. He doesn’t let you ask any questions until you’re already on the road. 

“Frankie, what’s- Frankie what are you doing?” 

He’s got that crazed kind of look in his eyes he gets when he’s hellbent on making something happen. He always likes to say that you’re the stubborn one. It makes you wonder the last time he’s taken a good, hard look at himself in the mirror. 

“I’m taking you to your game.” 

He says it so matter of factly, like his response to nearly kidnapping you out of the Memorial Hospital parking lot shouldn’t warrant any questions. 

“What?! Frankie! I can’t just-” 

“The doctor in the room said he’s stable and he probably won’t be conscious for the next few hours anyways. Your mom said it’s fine. I’m not letting you miss out on this. You deserve to get to play, Kenz.” 

You’re not sure at that moment if you want to kiss him or slap him across the back of the head. Maybe it’s a little bit of both. 

“Frankie, I-” 

“I’ll turn around and take you back if you want me to, but I don’t think you want me to turn around.” 

God, maybe you do want to kiss him. 

“I hate you, Francisco, I hope you know that.” 

“I know. It’s okay, you play better when you’re angry, anyways.” 

It’s always the little smirk in the corner of his mouth. The one he makes when he knows he’s right. It’s the same smirk he makes when he greets you after you’ve scored two goals to help your team win the last game of your high school career. The same one he gives you when he buys you ice cream to celebrate with two scoops of cookie dough instead of one, because you won’t stop laughing at his stupid joke about your big appetite for winning. 

That night, you fall asleep on his couch, too tired to drive back to the hospital, too scared to sleep in your house alone. You’re not sure if you mean to doze off with your head resting against his thigh like some sort of makeshift pillow. It’s easiest just to blame it on the fact you’re too exhausted to get up. But as you close your eyes and drift to sleep, you’re almost sure that the only muscle Frankie dares to move is the one that pulls the line of his lips into that same smirk you’d rather die than live without. 

You, Present

You’re shocked your initial response to seeing Frankie Morales for the first time in three years wasn’t immediately slamming your front door in his face and telling him to fuck off. 

That’s what your body wanted you to do. For as badly as it did, your some part of your brain wouldn’t let you. 

It’s probably the same, stupid part of your brain that won’t let you stop staring at him, either. 

He looks good. Way better than you’d like him to. It doesn’t seem fair that he somehow manages to find a way to return home more handsome than when he left. It happens every damn time. You swear he does it on purpose. You don’t know how he could, but that’s what you tell yourself. It makes it easier to hate him. 

“I didn’t know you were home.” 

It’s probably the worst thing you could have said to break the awkward silence stewing between you, because you both know it’s a dirty lie. But at this point, you’re far past granting Frankie the privilege of being a part of the truth- you’ll give him your version of the truth that you want him to hear. You’re not letting him have the upper hand. 

“Yeah. I uh- got home this morning.” 

Good to know the best either of you could do was reduce your relationship down to nothing but lying. If that’s the game he wants to play, then so be it. 

“Drive was good?” 

“Yeah.” Lie. “You?” 

“Fine.” Lie. 

For as much as you know the lies hurt, it’s the curveball you hit him with next that you hope stings the worst. 

“I didn’t think you were gonna come.” 

Because that was the truth. The way his face drops tells you the guilt ridden punch you’ve socked him with hits exactly where you want it to. You want the truth to hurt more. You want it to hurt just as bad as the way his truth hurt you. 

“Of course I was gonna come.” 

It’s a poor attempt at a swing back. He showed up with a knife at your gun fight. He knows well enough you won’t show him any mercy. 

“Wouldn’t have been the first time you hadn’t shown up for something important, Frankie.” 

“Your dad’s fucking dying MacKenzie, what makes you think I wouldn’t be here?” 

“Well, he’s been dying for the past three years so I’m glad you’re deciding to show up when it’s convenient for you.” 

That one shuts him up real fucking fast. 

His jaw ticks as he takes a deep breath, staring up at the sky like there’s something written in the clouds that will give him instructions on what to say next. There’s not much he could say at this point that would shock you, but Frankie never ceases to be full of surprises, whether you like it or not. 

“I’m- fuck- I’m sorry, Kenz. I’m sorry.” 

That shuts you up even quicker. 

It shuts you up because you know he’s not lying. The truth is buried in the way his voice breaks at the start of your name, the way the “K” trembles off his tongue and shakes in the back of his throat. 

Your heart is mangled in your chest, hearing him say the two words you’d never thought you’d get and realizing you can’t accept it. 

“Sometimes sorry isn’t enough, Frankie.” 

Neither of you are sure what to say. It’s tough to tell if the fight is over because Frankie’s stabbed you to death and you’ve unloaded every last bullet you had, or if you decided to put your weapons down and walk away before any casualties have occurred. While it’s hard to deny it’s the latter of the two options, at least the first one would have been the honorable way to go. 

“Honey, is that Frankie at the door? Let him in, MacKenzie, don’t make him stand out there!” 

If there’s one thing you can always count on your mom for, it's that she’ll never fail to have impeccable timing, for better or worse.  

You don’t intend for the sigh you let out to be as loud as it is, but it certainly makes it clear to Frankie you aren’t happy about obliging to your mom’s request. You expect him to pass you like you don’t exist, entering your house to greet the two of the three family members who still care about him enough to not burn a hole through his chest every time they look at him, but he doesn’t. He waits for your okay, frozen on the porch until the subtle shrug of your shoulders signals you’ve given him the all clear to pass. He wants to know you’ll at least let him through unscathed for now. 

You follow behind him as he enters your house, trying to ignore the fact you’re entranced by the dark brown curls that still tickle the nape of his neck as he walks, or how the width of his shoulders nearly stretch from one end of the door frame to the other. You’re starting to regret not letting him follow you in  instead. 

You nearly bump into him with how quick he is to freeze once he sees the state of your living room. In the past few weeks, it’s made a terrible transformation from the space you once knew to a makeshift hospital room. The hospice workers had crowded your house with beds, oxygen tanks, and a wheelchair your dad refuses to sit in, an endless puzzle of enough supplies to let your father die in his own home, rather than the cold, sterile wasteland of the nearest hospital. 

You’d been able to ease yourself into your dad’s decline. You’d watched the months leading up to now as his body became weaker and sicker, reducing down to nothing but bones and deep, dark set eyes. You were a first hand witness to how cancer had greedily sucked every ounce of life he had left in him, taking and taking until he had nothing left to give. 

Last time Frankie saw your dad he was in remission. He looked good, healthy, even. That was three years ago. Frankie would have never imagined barely being able to recognize the man that was the closest thing to a real father he’d ever get. 

You want to scream at him that it’s his own damn fault he’s this shocked when he comes face to face with the shell of the man your dad used to be. But with the way you can practically see the guilt oozing out of Frankie with every step he takes towards the near lifeless body lying in the misplaced hospital bed in your living room, you can’t help but let your empathy get the best of you. 

“Hi Frankie, how are you? It’s so good to see you, honey.” 

Even though your mom knows you’re seconds away from wanting to dropkick Frankie off the face of the earth, there are few things she’ll ever let get in the way of her warm and welcoming demeanor. 

Frankie’s still borderline speechless as your mom grabs the tray of cookies he’s been awkwardly toting before she embraces him, arms still glued to his sides like he’s too afraid to move. The way she’s got him in the hug gives him no choice but to stare at the unsettling image of your dad over her shoulder, barely strong enough to turn his head to see what all the fuss is about. 

“H-hi, Mrs. Anderson. I’m okay. It’s good to see you, too.” 

“Is that my Frank the Tank? C’mere, kiddo. I was hopin’ I’d get to see you.” 

The past few weeks have made you shed enough tears to last a lifetime. Never once did you expect the thing that would make you cry the hardest out of everything you’d been through was hearing the long lost excitement in your dad’s voice upon Frankie’s return. 

It’s childish, the way you storm upstairs and slam your bedroom door behind you without a word, heat seething through your veins at the way your dad was so quick to forgive, welcoming Frankie back into his home like a day hadn’t passed, like he had been there right alongside him every step of the way through his descent. Your blood boils at the fact your father can’t be bothered to remember that Frankie had been nowhere to be found for three fucking years. Not a text, not a call, not even a “Frankie says hi!” through his mother four doors down. 

You can deal with the embarrassment of throwing a full blown temper tantrum later, but that’s more tolerable than spending another second in the same room as Frankie.  

“Well,” your dad huffs, his face grimaced with sarcasm as he looks back and forth between your mom, Frankie, and the empty presence you’d left behind, “that went well.” 

“Sorry about that, she’s um-” 

“She’s fine. Just stubborn.” Your dad grumbles, cutting off your mom with the best attempt he can make to raise his arm from the bed and wave her off. 

“No, I uh- it’s fine, I just- I should probably get going, don’t wanna take um- take up too much of your time.” Frankie’s heart sinks in the uncomfortable silence, quietly cursing himself for the mess he’s made. 

“It’s what, 8 o’clock in the morning? You got a bingo game at the senior center you need to get to, young man?” 

“No, I just-” 

“Perfect, no is the only word I needed to hear.” Your dad weakly smiles, gently patting the edge of the bed for Frankie to join him. 

Your heart winces hearing the heavy footsteps a floor below you from your bedroom, knowing the direction they’re heading is only further into your house and not back out the front door where you’d prefer him to be.

Thank goodness your dad has lost the ability to speak loud enough for you to hear the words that follow the thumps of Frankie’s feet. 

“Frankie, I’ve lived a very happy life. There are few things about it I’d change. But you know just as well as me that my daughter is the one who so lovingly inherited my stubbornness. Lucky for me, God knows I’m stubborn enough not to die until you and her figure this out. Unlucky for the both of you, that my time for stubbornness is starting to run thin.”

@chaotic-iguana @bbiophiliaa @pertinentpostmortem @angelofsmalldeath-codeine

@pedrobaby @fatima-marisa @beboldbebravethings @poodlebae @kittenlittle24

@3sriracha @jungchloee @perennialdoll247 @prettyinpunk85 @raspberrybesitos

@partyofone3413 @harriedandharassed @pedrohoe04 @theorganasolo

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@hopplessilse @mxtokko @its-nebuleuse @mandoisapunk @msmorningstaarr

@amyispxnk @honeyedmiller @mountainsandmayhem @picketniffler @burningnerdchild

@copperhalfcent @theoraekenslover @bloodyinspirationaldemon @vee-bees-blog

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@amanitacowboy @mystickittytaco @anoverwhelmingdin @greenwitchfromthewoods

@witchofthedeepwoods @ericamarie093 @readingiskeepingmegoing @whimsiwitchy @whoaitspascal87

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@harryscherrysugar @wonderpillar @sunnytuliptime @pasc4lfuzz @yesjazzywazzylove-blog

@javierpena-inatacvestnotifs

[so-mordor-itis]

Through Her Eyes

Synopsis: Ada observes you and Leon as you trek through the village and castle of Los Illuminados, only to realize he wasn't her little loyal pup anymore.

A/N: I wanted to try something different! I saw a lot of people writing jealous reader or jealous Leon, but I was like "No one has done an Ada POV yet, I could give it a shot. I might do a part 2 with the rest of the game if you guys would like!

Read the sequel here!

Taglist:

@izuniias , @spookluckpuck , @uhlunaro , @inaflashimagine , @amatxs , @aussiepineapple1st , @honeysoakedbandages , @boundinparchment , @tosuckmyweenis , @airanke

It was interesting, watching you two communicate. Leon had this way of shrugging his shoulders whenever he spoke, sometimes tossing his arms into the air to somehow solidify his point. You, on the other hand, were a bit carefree with your body language, Ada noticed. Quite the opposite to your companion. Perhaps it was because you were more comfortable with him, maybe you have worked with him for a longer time than she estimated. You two were discussing a plan, but Ada couldn’t get the absolute details. If she did, she would’ve most likely been seen–at least heard. The environment was rough and rocky, full of sticks and branches that easily could be broken or snagged against her outfit. She knew better.

Though she did catch a brief moment with you two when she was forced to get closer–she had grabbed her binoculars to observe some of the villagers ahead, they were carrying pitchforks and axes, glancing around like mindless dogs. How cute, such obedient little pups.

“We could split up, maybe we’d find Ashley easier that way.” You suggested, maybe adding a shrug of your own shoulders.

“No, I don’t think splitting up would be the best idea,” Leon said instantly. Ada felt her chest coil at the sound of his voice. It was deeper now, more scratchy, rugged. He had definitely seen more than what he was forced to at Raccoon City. She figured that would be the case, now being the President’s little weapon, being kept under his nose for his every beck and call. Wesker made sure to do some research on him, in case he would be a nuisance in the process of delivering the amber. You, on the other hand, were a new, unexpected addition. Perhaps another lackey the President kept hidden. But Ada couldn’t help wondering why only two people? The President’s daughter was taken here, wasn’t she? She would’ve thought Daddy would come to collect his little girl as soon as he could with an army of men at the ready. Or, he’s truly that worried for his image and was desperate to keep this under wraps because of what was at this location.

“Stuck to me like glue, huh?” You quipped. Ada heard Leon scoff, the sound of a gun being reloaded echoed throughout the area.

“I’d rather you be here than in the dirt somewhere I can’t see.” Protective, she noted. Interesting. You two must’ve been friends, at least. Then again, what did she know? He could’ve been like this with a lot of people. He definitely had a habit of being friendly, of asking questions.

“Hunnigan said the path to the lake was beyond a windmill, right? Then I guess that’s our destination.”

Ada cursed under her breath before launching herself off the roof of one of the houses. She would’ve been out in the open, easily spotted. She hunched over a barrel, checking her own guns. A few bullets had been used earlier when she rang the church bell. She didn’t know what compelled her to come back to the village area, but she found herself here, observing. Too late to complain now, the damage was done. She would book it for a different direction the moment you two were out of sight.

She poked her head out slightly, watching as your shadows came into view and then your figures. She had stopped paying attention to what you two were talking about, that wasn’t in her job description. Though she couldn’t help eyeing Leon for a second longer. His physique had certainly changed, too. He had more muscle, his eyes were tired, small gray circles under them. You were trailing behind him, holding your pistol with a tight grip. Ada noticed your eyes darting back and forth, now extremely cautious. From what she could note, you were the observer type and she had to be extra alert for anything that could cause a sound.

“Wait,” you said, stopping in your tracks. “There’s a path up ahead.” You started trekking towards it, footsteps were heavy with movement. You were in a hurry. Leon seemed to be startled slightly but quickly followed suit. Ada felt a smirk forming on her lips. He was following you so fast, like a lost puppy, just as he did with her. You had him wrapped around your finger and didn’t even realize it. Ada was convinced if Leon had a tail, it would surely be wagging. He was under your spell.

“Still a good boy, huh Leon?” Ada murmured to herself.

–

After saving Leon from nearly being crushed to death by a taller man–Luis called him the ‘big cheese’ of the village–Ada had lost track of you two by the time night fell across the village. This was good. It allowed her to carry through with the delivery of the amber with no trouble. No more distractions.

At least, until Luis found himself caught in between two messes.

From a rock, Ada discovered what seemed to be a battle for survival in a nearby, abandoned house. She noticed your figure and then Leon’s, and then her little carrier pigeon. You three were scrambling around one another, fighting off Gnado after Gnado, scraping by with the skin of your teeth. Ah, she would’ve helped, surely, but she had bigger priorities. She knew Luis could handle himself and if it truly was time for her to rescue someone she’d do what she needed to. She had at least one grenade she could spare if she truly had to.

It wasn’t necessary, you three pulled through somehow. Ada had told Leon he had some unique version of dumb luck, and it seemed it still carried through.

Luis found her later, desperate to catch his breath. She reminded him of the deal, of the amber. He was annoyed, clearly, but he knew what he had to do.

Once Ada arrived at the castle, she started to notice some little attributes of you and Leon. The both of you were a good team–you have saved him countless times, pulling him towards you when an axe was about to slice his throat, shooting over his shoulder when he couldn’t see an enemy. Ada had to admit you were skilled, and it was no wonder you two were there to protect little Miss Graham. The girl was petrified of the whole thing. She reminded Ada of a doe-eyed lamb, sheltered from the dangers of the world until only recently.

Before Ada encountered Leon in the castle, she had accidentally found you two–not three, the girl must’ve been taken away, the two of you probably running yourselves ragged trying to retrieve her again. Ada quickly hid in a spot she knew she wouldn’t be found. You had requested Leon stop for a second, sliding down the wall of a hallway to catch your breath.

“You alright?” Leon asked softly.

“Just peachy,” you snapped, gritting your teeth once first aid spray hit raw skin. You had an open wound, skin sliced open, red flowing to the floor. “Sorry, it just hurts like hell.”

“No, I get it,” Leon said he didn’t have much on him but guns and some herbs, but Ada watched as he grabbed a tablecloth from one of the stands. “Surely they wouldn’t mind if we borrow this?”

You looked at him with big eyes full of gentleness and wonder, of awe and inspiration, the same way he had to her, and she realized that it wasn’t just Leon that was under a spell. Though you immediately hardened your gaze when you realized he was now looking at you.

“There, that should hold you. For a while, I’d hope. Wouldn’t want you to bleed on their fancy carpet.”

“Oh, the horror.” You feigned concern.

Did you two even realize you were flirting? Did you even realize that when you were scourging through your bag, Leon had a softer look on his face? Was watching you with such intent, with such curiosity?

Ada sighed, loading her pistol. She wouldn’t be able to drag him with her this time, but that was fine.

She could find some other way.

[cherienymphe]

When The Party’s Over XVI (Rafe Cameron x Reader)

Warnings: NON-CON (+ mentions of), DUB-CON, ABUSIVE RELATIONSHIP, mentions of DOMESTIC VIOLENCE, forced pregnancy, mentions of abortion, forbidden relationship, violence, jealousy, stalking, underage drinking, drug use, manipulation, corruption, public sex, innocent reader, Heyward!reader

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies​ | divider by @silkholland​​

➥ series masterlist

summary: Manipulated into a secret relationship with Rafe Cameron, you’re finding it much easier said than done to do the right thing and walk away…especially when he refuses to let you.

~

You didn’t know if Pope did it on purpose or not, but you were grateful that he was sharing his location with Kie. They’d left long before you guys had noticed and were more than likely driving like a bat out of hell. As Kie sped down the road, you felt like you were on the verge of losing it.

This very thing was what you’d been trying to prevent.

You liked to think that if you’d been able to tell Pope in your own way, you could’ve talked him down. You could’ve kept him somewhat calm, but because Rafe was a smug asshole, he’d allowed Pope to figure it out in the worst way possible. Now, you were racing to stop your brother from doing something stupid, something that could get him hurt.

You would have to face Rafe again so soon, and the thought made your stomach churn.

Your gaze briefly connected with Sarah’s in the mirror, and you weren’t able to hold it for long, looking away. The look in her eyes told you that she was still thinking about what you’d confessed, and as much as she hated Rafe sometimes, you knew it broke her heart to learn that her brother was a rapist. That he was capable of something so heinous.

“Do they even know where to look?” Sarah wondered.

“They’re probably going to your house first,” Kie murmured, licking her lips. “Do you think he’d be there?”

You looked down, mind racing as you thought about how early in the day it was. It was possible he’d gone back home, but you doubted he would stay there for long.

“He’s probably with Kelce or Topper…at one of their houses. Or the club,” you quietly added.

You could feel Kie glancing at you in the mirror.

“That’s where we hung out a lot around this time.”

The atmosphere felt odd with the reminder of your history with Rafe. Not just your newly tumultuous one, but the fact that you’d been dating him, sneaking around with him for months. It had to be weird for them, especially Sarah, to be confronted with the fact that you, Pope’s little sister, knew Rafe well enough to accurately guess where he’d be.

“Can I see your phone?”

Sarah gave it to you, curiously eyeing you as you dialed a familiar number. Bunny answered on the second ring.

“Hello?”

“It’s me,” you told her, knowing she wouldn’t recognize the number, and her sharp gasp made you wince.

“Are you okay? We’ve been calling you all morning to make sure you got home okay,” she said, and you could hear Cam in the background. “I mean, Rafe told us you did, but we kind of wanted to hear it from you. You were so sick last night.”

You couldn’t find it in you to be too mad at them despite what happened. Rafe was their friend, and as far as they knew, Rafe was your friend too. Too many times he’d taken you home, looked after you. Too many times you’d actually asked him to, and you couldn’t blame them for thinking last night was no different. How were they to know when you didn’t tell them anything?

Rafe had simply tricked them too.

“Yeah, I did,” you struggled to lie, clearing your throat. “You said Rafe told you that? Last night or…?”

“God, no. He was here like fifteen minutes ago, barely stayed, only came by to get Topper and Kelce for something,” she told you. “They left, so we’re just hanging out at Kelce’s until they get back.”

“Did they say where they were going?”

“No, but I’m pretty sure to Topper’s place,” she offhandedly answered, and you got the feeling that she was distracted by something. “He mentioned something about stopping by there first.”

In the quiet car, Bunny’s voice could be heard, and Kie took a sharp turn, Sarah telling her where to go. You didn’t stay on the phone longer, and when Kie finally slowed near a familiar house, you bit your lip at the sight of a familiar truck.

“Well, now what? They’re not here,” Sarah commented.

“I don’t think they even know where Topper lives, so maybe they won’t even get here in time,” Kie assured you.

You liked to believe that, and you played with your fingers in the backseat. The car was quiet and oh so tense, and as you looked up at the house again, there was a part of you that wanted to go in there and beg Rafe not to hurt Pope. You knew he wouldn’t hesitate to, and again, you thought about his so called love for you. If he did, there was no way he could ever hurt Pope, knowing how much it would hurt you, and you swallowed down a sigh.

It was after a while when you frowned, a concerning thought popping into your head.

“Kie…”

Your gazes met in the mirror as she hummed.

“Do you and Pope share your locations with each other?”

There was a brief pause, both of the girls in the front seat coming to the same conclusion you just did. Kie cursed, quickly fumbling for her phone and hurrying to stop sharing it with Pope. You heard Sarah release a shaky breath, and you looked around, worried.

“Shit,” Sarah mumbled. “They’re going to know exactly why you’re at Topper’s, Jesus.”

The worry you felt before only increased as you accepted that this was happening. Sooner than you would’ve ever wanted, but Rafe and Pope were going to be face to face again, and this time it wouldn’t end as nicely as it had at John B.’s. Pope was going to get hurt, there was no doubt about that, and it wasn’t because you had more faith in Rafe or something.

While Rafe had more to lose than Pope did, he also had the security to keep it all. Anything could happen out here, and if both were arrested, only one was probably getting off Scott free because of his daddy’s money. If Pope was the one to seriously hurt Rafe, Rafe could tell the police whatever he wanted. Rafe was the only one in a position to walk away from this unscathed, and you blinked back tears.

Not to mention, you didn’t think Pope had it in him to seriously hurt anyone.

Rafe did. He’d proven that many times over.

“I think I should talk to him.”

The reactions at your suggestion were instantaneous.

“No!”

“Are you crazy?”

They were both looking back at you with varying degrees of fear and indignation on their faces.

“Y/N, you’re not going anywhere near my brother…ever again,” Sarah fiercely told you. “Not if I can help it.”

“Kie,” you softly said, looking at her. “Rafe has already hurt Pope because of me. He’ll do it again, and you know he will.”

She took a deep breath, shaking her head.

“Pope would die before letting you near Rafe ever again, and you know it-.”

“…and that’s what I’m scared of! How do you think I would feel if something happened to him because of me?”

“…and how do you think he would feel if something happened to you because of him?”

You sat back in your seat with a huff, attention drawn to movement. All three of you looked over as Kelce, Topper, and Rafe exited the house. You watched them pile into his truck, and you frowned slightly, wondering where they were going. As they pulled out of the driveway, you felt a sense of relief that Pope and the others wouldn’t be catching up to them today.

However, that relief died out when a familiar van drove by, following after Rafe’s truck.

“Shit,” Kie whispered, quickly starting her car and following the van.

You didn’t doubt that it wouldn’t take long for them to notice the van behind the truck, following them, and you seriously wondered if Rafe wanted to do this at The Island Club or something. John B. wasn’t picking up the phone, and Kie huffed when Pope followed the same pattern. Even JJ didn’t answer when Sarah called, and you knew they were determined to see this through, not wanting to be talked out of it.

When you realized that Rafe was heading towards the beach, your nervousness grew. You didn’t know what he had in mind, what he could possibly be thinking. Rafe was always unpredictable that way, something you’d come to learn, and it was partially why you were in the situation that you were in. It was a colder day, so not many people were around, but there was just a handful of people at the beach to make you worried.

Sarah gave you a look as they parked, and begrudgingly, you stayed put.

You worriedly looked out of the window, watching as Pope wasted no time before hopping out of John B.’s van. The absolute amusement on Rafe’s face as he turned to look at Pope worried you, and your stomach twisted painfully when Pope punched him square across the jaw. The reason for your worry reared its ugly head when Rafe slammed into your brother, and you sat up when they both fell to the ground.

It was hard to see with everyone crowding around, trying to break them apart or keep anyone else out of it, you didn’t know. When you looked around the beach, the few people on it were either walking away, opting to stay out of it, or watching from afar. You didn’t like this, sitting in the car while your brother and ex-boyfriend fought, having to rely on someone else to make sure Pope didn’t get hurt.

You could see Kelce and JJ fighting, now, and you swallowed when your eyes landed on John B. and Topper fighting too, Sarah trying to talk sense into them. You felt like things were getting out of control, and when you looked over to see Kie with her arm around Rafe’s neck, you realized why. Your lips parted as you realized he was on top of Pope, and with one harsh shove of his arm, Kie fell back onto the ground. You winced, and silently asking Sarah to forgive you, you stumbled out of the car.

You watched as Pope shoved Rafe off of him, forcing the blond to stumble to his feet, and you found yourself in between them just as he raised his fist.

Your eyes were wide as they met his, and you watched the anger in his blue eyes simmer down some. Your breathing was heavy, realizing just how close he’d been to hitting you instead, and Rafe’s nostrils flared as he stared you down. You could hear Pope groaning behind you as he struggled to stand, and to your delight, Rafe looked worse for wear too. You took in the blood on his face and the nasty bruising under his eye. If you hadn’t stepped in, you were sure they would’ve killed each other.

Rafe pulled his lip between his teeth as he looked you over, and you swallowed at the wide range of emotions that passed over his features. Pope was standing, now, and you could feel him touch your arm. Rafe’s gaze snapped to him over your shoulder, and you stumbled back just as Rafe moved forward, Pope at your back as you remained in between them.

You didn’t take your eyes off of Rafe, and when his gaze met yours again, he bitterly chuckled through his nose. Relenting, he dropped his hand, keeping his even stare on you. He tilted his head to the side, reaching up to wipe some blood from under his nose as he ran his eyes over you from head to toe. You didn’t miss the way they heatedly lingered on his shirt that you were still wearing.

“Beautiful.”

Pope tried to get past you, but you moved with him.

“Don’t call her that,” he spat from behind you, and you kept your hand on his arm.

Every time he tried to get in front of you, you prevented him from doing so. It didn’t make sense for Pope to take the brunt of what was meant for you. It was you that Rafe wanted, you who he was mad at, and you pressed your lips together. Rafe hadn’t even been bothered by Pope’s outburst, azure eyes on you the whole time.

“Rafe,” you hesitantly started, tone pleading. “Go home.”

He blinked, pink lips curving upwards just a tad.

“Why would I do that? I’m having too much fun,” he drawled.

“Rafe, please. Go. Home.”

His smirk fell then, and the cold look he gave you made you shudder.

“Make me,” he challenged, and you swallowed. “You know what’ll make me leave, right now.”

Again, you prevented Pope from getting around you at that, tears kissing your eyes as you and Rafe stared each other down. He looked at Pope again, and the glint in his gaze had your heart skipping a beat. You could still hear Pope’s friends fighting Rafe’s with the exception of Kie who’d been worriedly watching this standoff.

Before anyone could react though, Rafe’s hand had snapped around your wrist, yanking you against him with his other hand twisting into the hair at the nape of your neck.

You kept your eyes on him, but you could see Pope frozen out of the corner of your eye, too scared to do anything with you literally in Rafe’s hold. The sudden yelp you’d let out and the way Pope yelled drew everyone’s attention, but you and Rafe only had eyes for each other as he glared at you. You winced at the sting in your scalp, and Rafe frowned slightly at that.

“Rafe,” Topper called, tone nervous, clearly not okay with the turn of events.

“We’re just talking,” he loudly said, voice lowering a bit when he addressed you. “Right…?”

You blinked back tears.

“Go home, Rafe,” you whispered, and he let out a humorless chuckle.

“Yeah? What will you give me if I do?”

You took a deep breath, shaking.

“We broke up,” you reminded him. “…and everything you’ve done since then is show me why I should’ve broken up with you a long time ago.”

Rafe’s face fell a bit at that, and you watched him swallow.

“You were happy with me,” he murmured, too low for anyone else to hear. “You can be again.”

You started to shake your head, bit his tight grip had you flinching.

“I know I fucked up,” he said, leaning in. “I messed up-.”

“Too many times,” you choked out, reaching up to try and pry his hand off. “Rafe, go home.”

He finally let your hair go, but only so he could thread his fingers through yours, and you stepped back, trying to get away. Pope moved closer, reaching for you, and that was when Rafe snapped his gaze to your brother. They stared each other down, and if looks could kill, Rafe would be six feet under. You watched his jaw tick, and when he finally looked at you, he roughly let you go, almost flinging you away from him.

“Go,” he simply said.

Pope reached for you, and you took a step away from your ex-boyfriend. The glint in his eyes didn’t match the even expression on his face, and you hesitated. You watched him with a nervous frown as Pope to your arm.

“By all means,” Rafe said, gesturing with his hand. “Go…”

You couldn’t bring yourself to move, unable to trust him one bit, and you exhaled through your nose, gaze pleading.

“Rafe…”

“What?” he chuckled. “Go.”

He raised an eyebrow at you, and Pope finally spoke.

“It’s okay, Y/N. We’re gonna go, and you’re going to press charges against that son of a bitch.”

Pope’s voice was low, but Rafe heard him all the same. There was a sinister grin on his face as he looked at Pope before resting his gaze on you again.

“Oh…? Is that what she’s going to do?”

“Yes,” Pope spat.

“Rafe, please,” Sarah spoke up, begging him. “Stop this.”

“Is that what you’re gonna do, beautiful?” the blond wondered, reaching for your face when you slapped his hand away.

“Yes, she is,” Pope hissed, stepping past you.

Rafe didn’t even look at him, and your brows drew together as he stared into your eyes.

“You’re going to press charges against me?” he sweetly wondered, tilting his head. “Hmm?”

Pope looked between you two, growing more worried by the second. He said your name, but you didn’t respond, watching as Rafe’s expression shifted, a vicious sneer on his lips as he stared you down.

“I will bury you and your entire family, and you know it,” he nastily said. “When we’re done with you, you’ll be lucky if your dad can get a cent in this town.”

Pope shoved him, but Rafe didn’t care, staring you down with cruelest look you’d ever seen.

“Ward-.”

“Dad may not like me all that much, but he’s not going to let his only son go to jail,” Rafe drawled, cutting Sarah off as he chuckled at her. “You and I both know that. Especially with the kind of slander she’d be throwing on the Cameron name?”

He blew out a breath, shaking his head, and tears finally spilled over.

“Your sister’s a lot of things, Pope,” Rafe paused, licking his lips. “A lot of things, but dumb isn’t one of them.”

Pope had Rafe’s shirt clenched in his fists.

“Do not talk to her, do not even talk about her-.”

“It’s a little late for that,” he said, shoving Pope off of him. “Was it you who drove her to take care of our little bundle of joy? Or one of her dumb ass friends?”

You were frozen as Pope punched him again, John B. and JJ moving to break them up along with Kelce and Topper. You could feel Kie’s hand on your arm, but you couldn’t move, Rafe’s words bouncing around in your head. Even when they finally got them apart and Pope was pulling you towards the van, you couldn’t think about anything else but Rafe and what he’d said.

You looked over your shoulder, and you shuddered when his smug gaze connected with yours.

You hadn’t spoken all the way back to your house, deep in thought and feeling overwhelmed. You could feel everyone’s eyes on you now and then, especially Pope who hadn’t left your side. Rafe’s words just wouldn’t get out of your head, and you held back tears.

“You’re going to press charges, right?”

You blinked at Pope’s question, licking your lips.

“I don’t…I don’t know,” you honestly answered.

His eyes had bulged, looking at you like you were crazy before his face fell, gaze sympathetic.

“Don’t listen to him,” he whispered. “You know pop’s will be alright.”

Even he didn’t sound like he believed that.

Ward Cameron was the king of the Kooks, possessing the kind of money and influence that even other Kooks wished they had. His name went far around here, and Rafe was right. No matter how much they clashed, Ward wasn’t just going to stand by and let you throw dirt on his son’s name, on the Cameron name. No matter how true it was.

“I need to think,” you choked out, standing in front of the house, now.

It was late, and Pope had already called to tell your parents that you’d both been hanging out at John B.’s. You hated how happy your mom had sounded at that, pleased to see her children bonding. Pope glanced at Kie at that, the other girl driving you both home and opting to stay over. Your mom loved Kie, so there was no doubt in your mind she’d be okay with it.

Pope pressed his lips together at your words, and you could tell that he knew Rafe’s promise was getting to you. Promise, not a threat. When you dragged yourself inside, Kie spoke up about coming with you, but you assured her that you needed a moment alone. You could feel her worried gaze on you, no doubt thinking about what you hadn’t told Pope.

In this moment, more than anything, you wanted a shower.

Rafe’s essence was still on your skin, and you contemplated burning this shirt as soon as it was off. When your door clicked behind you, the tears finally spilled over, the events of last night and today catching up to you. You pressed your hands to your face, trying to quiet your cries.

You truly and utterly had no idea what to do.

When you made to grab some clothes, you glanced at your window, noticing it was unlocked, and you hurried to lock it back. You cursed to yourself, remembering your intent to sneak in last night after the party. Only, you never did, because you never came back.

As much as you needed to really think this over, it was too much. More than anything, you needed to shower and rest. Your problems weren’t going anywhere, and you could give yourself a night to forget about what was still going to be there in the morning. You could hear your mom welcoming Kie as they talked in the hall, and you sat your clothes down on the counter.

One look in the mirror had you gasping.

You hadn’t seen your face all day, and you were grateful more than ever that neither of your parents saw you come in. You frowned, staring at the dark coloring on your face in disgust. Hesitantly, you reached up, and you flinched when the tips of your fingers touched your skin. You were reminded of everything that happened last night, and you resisted the urge to cry.

After washing your face, you decided to search for some cream or something to put on it. You couldn’t find much that would help, and you contemplated leaving your room to ask Pope. You didn’t need either of your parents questioning your face, and you weren’t going to put on pounds of makeup just to leave your room for five minutes. Deciding that ice would have to do, you slammed the drawer shut.

…and looked up to meet Rafe’s gaze in the mirror.

All of your breath left you, and before you could get it back, his hand covered your mouth. His other arm snaked it’s way around you, and your fingers scraped at the counter as he pushed you forward. You could feel his heart beating as his chest pressed to your back, and his lips grazed your ear.

He softly shushed you, nose brushing your bruised skin.

“Don’t scream,” he gently told you. “You know…you know I’ll do whatever I have to.”

He didn’t need to remind you, blinking as you remembered him and Pope fighting at the beach. When Rafe took a step back, you were forced to follow, and your tears collected on his hand. He kept making sounds that you were sure was meant to be soothing, but they only made you shake more. When he neared your door, your worry grew, but you only swallowed when he softly told you to lock it.

Reluctantly, you did.

“You know I’m not a liar,” he whispered, guiding you towards your bed.

Your heart sank, and you shifted in his hold, but he held you tight.

“You know my dad will do whatever it takes to keep the Cameron name clean,” he murmured, and when he let you go, you reached back.

His hand fisted in the back of your shirt, and he pushed you down, one hand still on your mouth. You were shaking as he pressed himself against you, and the relief you felt at his loosening hand was only short-lived when it slid down to your throat, squeezing tight. You let out a choked gasp, reaching up, a struggle as Rafe was pushing his entire weight down on you.

“It doesn’t have to be like this,” he quietly told you. “I gave you chance after chance to come back to me…didn’t I?”

When it was clear he expected an answer, you nodded.

“Now…now I have to resort to playing dirty,” he sounded disappointed by the thought. “Now, I have to make sure you won’t get away.”

Rafe wasn’t making any sense, and if it wasn’t for the lack of the smell of alcohol, you would think he was drunk. There was the possibility he was high though, and one of your hands reached out to pull at the sheets, a sob leaving you as you felt him push his shirt up your thighs. You could hear him fumbling between you, and you tried to push yourself up.

Your nails tore at your bedding when he thrust into you, the action painful and making you attempt to move away. Your toes curled, and Rafe shushed you again, jerking into you as you fought to breathe. He leaned down to bury his face into the crook of your neck, and with every thrust, his hand grew tighter and tighter, pulling you away from consciousness inch by inch.

You hated how slick you could feel yourself becoming, and your nails dig into his hand as he pushed his cock into you.

“We both know you’re mine, beautiful,” he breathed, your hearing starting to fade. “…and soon enough, everyone in this town will know it too.”

[marvelettesassemblenow]

Wrong Number

Pairing: Steve Rogers x female Reader 

Summary: When Steve texted the wrong number, he started a friendship with you. Most of your talks are about your Corgi Bella, but then you find out who Steve really is 

Word Count: ~3.5k 

Warnings: body shaming for Steve (don’t worry, other people make sure to tell Steve how beautiful he is), if you don’t like garlic I’m sorry – just imagine it is something else, some swearing 

A/N: Texts in [ . ] are text messages 

[I’m just asking because Sam begged me to ask you to bring your garlic dip to the barbeque. He won’t shut up or else I wouldn’t be bothering you.] 

[I don’t know a Sam?] 

[Haha, I’ll tell him that] 

[No, seriously. I don’t know who you’re talking about.] 

[Good one, Nat. You could have just said you wouldn’t bring it.] 

[I’m not Nat... And tbh I don’t know who you are either. I think you have the wrong number 

At least I hope Sam gets the garlic dip, if it helps] 

You didn’t hear anything else from the unknown number and it had been a few days. When it was Thursday evening and you were bored and scrolled through your messages you saw the unknown number again and decided to send text. 

[I hope Sam got his garlic dip!] 

When there was no reply in the next minutes you put your phone aside and put more focus on the show running in the background. Then your phone was illuminated by an incoming text. 

[He was very sad he didn’t get it. And he did complain all the time while he was still stuffing his face with my apple pie.] 

[Wow, so I guess that dip must be very good then. Any chance I could get the recipe?] 

[I doubt it. No one has gotten it out of Nat so far] 

[What about your pie recipe?] 

[Who knows, I might share one day] 

[Well a girl can hope. I hope I didn’t bother you.] 

[No bother, I’m glad you’re distracting me from some paperwork] 

[Well then here’s something else to distract you] 

Steve wasn’t sure if he should open the picture or not. He heard stories, but in the end his curiosity won, and he was rewarded. He looked at the cutest little dog who was sleeping on a rather big pillow. 

He couldn’t help but gush about the dog and learned that she was yours, was called Bella and a corgi. You shared stories about her and he couldn’t help but ask more and more until he noticed that he should really finish writing his report. But talking to you was fun and so he decided to go to his room and call it a night. He would get up earlier in the morning to write the report. 

He messaged you when you were taking a walk with Bella, telling you to be safe. It became a daily occurrence to talk to each other. He messaged you in the morning asking how Bella was, although he knew that she wasn’t with you. It was easier under the pretend to ask about your dog than to ask directly how you were doing. But it was always the second question he asked. 

Talking to you was just easier – it might be because he was just Steve. No Captain America, no solider, just Steve who was talking to a nice woman about her dog. And your job, your family – you had been messaging for weeks now and he still learned something new about you. 

You still tried to bribe him with pictures of Bella in exchange for the recipe for the apple pie. It wasn’t like it was a big secret recipe, but he enjoyed the banter and the pictures that came in through the day. The latest one was of the dog with her head turned to the side and a crown that almost fell from her head. 

[I saw the crown and thought it was fitting as you always call her princess, but she seems to hate it 🙁] was the caption of the pic. 

[She doesn’t need a crown to be my princess. Will you go on your walk soon?] 

[Yup, just getting ready] 

That was the last message he received. He didn’t like you being out on your own at that time of the evening. You had sent him a picture and it was dark, so he always texted with you. But this evening he didn’t receive an answer so for the first time he did something he had never done before. 

The buzzing didn’t stop and you fished the phone out of your jacket, it showed an incoming call from Steve. It took you a second until you finally pressed the green button. 

“Hello?” you asked. You hadn’t realized that you had stopped walking until Bella nudged your leg. 

“You didn’t reply to my message, I wanted to make sure you’re okay,” you heard his voice – and the sound of it made you wonder - not for the first time - how he looked like. 

“Were you worried?”  

You didn’t expect him to answer with a clear yes. “I did, I needed to check in on my girls.” That did things to you, you weren’t able to handle yet. You played it off and talked about Bella instead, who was getting restless. 

“I guess you can keep us company, Bella just wants to keep going.” 

“Of course she is, she wants her mom home safe. She’s my good girl,” he said, and it was as if Bella heard his voice when she starred at you. Steve was on the phone with you until you told him you arrived home safely and put the phone on speaker where he talked to your dog while you took off your jacket. 

“I have to go now and play with a grumpy cat,” he told you when you were back on the phone. 

“You have a cat?” you asked astonished as he had never mentioned it before and only then did he admit that he had been at his best friend's place. You scolded him for talking to you instead. 

“As I said I was worried about you. The punk wouldn’t dare to say anything, but Alpine might bite me if I won’t give her some cuddles now. Have a good night, sweetheart.” Before you could reply anything he had ended the phone call and you could only stare at your dog on shock. 

“Well, that’s a new one.” 

Tuesdays you helped at your local animal shelter. And that day there was a lot of talking and surprisingly many people. 

“What’s happening?” you asked Amy when you signed in.  

“A lot of people are here today because of the photo shooting. A few Avengers came by to take some pictures for a campaign to adopt more animals. Pretty good idea, but the day wasn’t as good. The photographer was a bitch. There really isn’t a better word for it. She was complaining the whole time, demanding and then she was a real bitch to Captain America. The man came here to do something good, for free might I add, and she looked him in the eye and said “I thought superheroes were supposed to be perfect. This is going to take so long to photoshop these arms with these stretchmarks all over.” 

“She didn’t,” you gasped. “What did he say?” 

“That poor man excused himself. He said he was sorry and opted to put on some more clothes. Can you imagine? What a crime!” 

“Damn, now I wish I had been here. I would have ripped her a new one, this is no way to talk to other people. And especially not someone who risks his life for us. And who in their right mind would look at him and tell him he’s ugly?” You were getting upset and you weren’t even there. Amy asked you if you could take Daisy for a walk and let that information slip that she had been the dog that had been photographed with Captain America. 

Daisy had gotten her name because of a white spot on her butt that looked like the flower and you were surprised that she hadn’t found a forever home yet as she was the sweetest dog you had ever met (but you wouldn’t say that out loud when Bella was near).   

“I think I cheated.” Your heart stopped for a second before you remembered that he couldn’t be talking about you – as you weren’t a couple. 

“You think you cheated?” 

“Today I had – I saw a couple of puppies and I slipped and called the little girl princess and then I felt bad immediately when I noticed, and I just had to call and come clean and apologize to my princess. Of course, she’s the only one, but maybe she’ll understand if she sees her.” 

“Did you call to apologize to my dog for calling another dog princess?” you concluded. 

“I would have come over and gave her favorite treat and some cuddles if I could, so I hope this will be enough though.” There has never been a conversation about if the two of you should meet. An incoming picture distracted you though. 

And this time you were sure that your heart stopped, because there was no way! No way that this picture happened today and that you were staring at the same puppy that had been in your arms not 3 hours ago. And had been in Steve’s too. “I’ll just... I’ll put you on speaker so you can apologize to Bella. I have to use the bathroom, I think.” You put the phone on the floor, told Bella – who let out a whoof when she saw you walking away, but decided to stay near the phone and not move at all from her place. 

Your Steve was Captain America. Your Steve was Captain America. Your Steve was Captain America. You felt like a damn fool, but on the other hand – what was he supposed to say? Obviously he wouldn’t introduce himself as Captain America. And then you remembered what Amy had told you about that awful woman and you bet he had an awful day while you just let him alone with your dog on the phone.  

“I’m back, sorry for disappearing and leaving you with my dog.” 

“That’s alright, are you okay?” 

“I am! What about you?” You pressed the phone closer to your ear. 

“I’m okay too. Feel a lot better now that I’m talking to you,” he admitted, and you could hear that he really sounded more relaxed. “Okay, so I’m going to suggested something crazy here. How about we switch to a video call? You don’t have to show me yours, but you could see Bella if you want to. And me, if that’s what you want.” You must have been out of your mind to suggest that, but now that you knew who was on the other side of the phone, it just seemed fair. 

“Only if you want to, sweetheart.” 

“Let me change real quick, so I won’t be in my pj’s anymore. But I’ll put Bella on first.” You placed the phone in front of her dog bed and pushed the call button and when you could hear Steve’s voice again you quickly went to throw on a regular shirt and decided to stick with the pj pants. And you couldn’t do anything to hide the growing pimple on your face, so you wouldn’t be bothering about that either. 

When you came back and picked up the phone Bella looked confused, then lost and followed you towards the couch where you were headed. In the end Steve had a good view of your dog and a not flattering angle of you. “So guess this is me then,” you said when the other line went still and you saw the black rectangle in the corner. 

“Wow, I didn’t think you’d look like that.” You face must have shown you confusion. “It’s nothing bad, its better, but like you imagine how the other person would look like when you’re talking to them and it isn’t that at all, but you’re … beautiful. Seriously, I knew you’d be because of everything you told me, but seeing it with my own eyes. I wish I could show you myself, but today... isn’t a good day.” 

“That’s okay, I offered. You don’t have to do that, don’t feel pressured.” Bella made a noise as if she’d agree and a laugh was heard through your speakers in reply. 

Minute by minute his mood improved; you could hear it in his voice. He was telling you about the cute dog and you felt like you kept something from him when you didn’t tell him that you knew Daisy. But then you’d give away that you knew who he was and he wasn’t ready to share that. He had only told you he didn’t have a good day and that talking to you had made it better. You noticed that this was the first time he left Bella out. 

“So what, you can gush about one corgi all the time, but when I take you to a corgi party, you’re all pouty?” Sam couldn’t believe it. Steve had been in a mood for a few days and Bucky and he thought this would cheer him up. 

“Steve, did you see the one dressed up as Captain America?” Bucky was excitingly pointing somewhere in the distance. It seemed like he was having the most fun of the three of them. Steve couldn’t tell his friends that this made him kind of sad, because it made him miss you and your dog. The talking had fizzled out and you almost had no time to call or anything. You still sent him messages when you were on your walk (He just couldn’t reply in that moment because he was on a mission) and you sent him pictures of Bella, but it felt like something was missing since you had your video call. 

But how could he tell you that he wasn’t just Steve, he was Captain America too? 

“Steve, look at that one at your feet. It’s looking up to you.” 

Steve looked down and there sat a Corgi. “Hey there,” he cooed and bend down. “Aren’t you a cute one?” The dog waggled its tail and flopped on its back, so Steve started to rub the belly. “Are you lost?” he asked when he noticed the leash hanging loosely at the dogs side. “What’s your name pr- sweetheart?” He stopped himself, but he noticed the ears standing up when he almost let the petname slip. 

Two things happened at the same time: While Steve looked at the name on the dog tag at the collar, someone shouted for Bella and the dog got back on its feet. 

“Princess?” Steve asked at the same time you asked “Steve?” and then he said your name or more like breathed it. Bella let out some noises so no one would forget about her, while you and Steve were busy staring at each other, and he had stopped petting her. 

The moment was broken by a man approaching. “Sorry, but could I take a picture of you and Oliver? I can’t believe we met the real Captain America!” Steve looked briefly at you, but you offered to take the picture. Bella refused to leave his side and so you took a picture with her at his feet, Steve with a forced smile and a dressed-up Captain America Corgi in its owner arms. 

When the man left Steve looked apologetic at you. “I didn’t want you to find out like that!” he said sheepishly. 

“Oh, I already knew,” you admitted and looked at the two people standing behind him. After a quick introduction they asked if it would be okay to pet Bella and you told them that she would be disappointed if they didn’t. 

“Have you met Winter?” you asked Bucky who gave Bella the pets she so desperately wanted. 

“Uh no? I don’t think so?” 

“You have to meet her! I just met her and her owner and they are so nice! Winter is actually named after... well I guess you’ll find out. But I bet she would love to meet you! They wanted to get something to eat so you might find them there.” 

When it was only the two (three) of you Steve apologized for not telling you sooner about his alter ego.  

“It’s not like you need to walk around, telling everyone. I get it, Steve. I’m not mad! You told me about you and your friends, what you like and don’t like. You didn’t need to tell me about your job. And it wasn’t like I told you when I found out who you were either.” 

“Why didn’t you?” he asked when you stopped so Bella could sniff at a new friend. 

“I thought you’d tell me when you’re ready. And I heard about the photo shooting at the shelter, so I thought this wasn’t the day to bring it up. And I want to tell you again,” you stopped and, with a bravery you didn’t know you had, took his hand in yours and only continues when he looked at you: “Don’t listen to that horrible woman. You’re very handsome and you’re such a beautiful person, don’t let other people tell you otherwise!” 

A blush started to appear on his face, but he didn’t let go of your hand and in the end the three of you left the park with him texting his friends they shouldn’t wait for him. Talking to each other felt easy and you didn’t even know why you hadn’t really talked in the last weeks. Maybe it was because you felt insecure after that video chat.  

But your friendship with Steve grew and now he was even accompanying you on your evening walks, which often ended with late night talks in your apartment. If Steve couldn’t come it was Bucky or Sam and one time Natasha stood in front of your door and introduced herself (That same night you also found a little note with some ingredients on it in your kitchen). Bella loved all of them and especially the one-time Bucky had a little companion with him. 

“Interested in talking a walk with us?” he asked. 

“Us?” you asked confused as you didn’t see Sam. 

“Yeah, Winter and I were about to take a walk.“ Your eyebrows rose when you spotted the three-legged dog next to his side. “Just don’t ask, okay?” You promised but you would be asking Steve as soon as he was back from this mission! Walks with Bucky were kind of different, not as much was said as it would be with the other ones, but you somehow felt that in the non-talking you said a lot to each other. 

“So, when are the two of you making it official?” he said randomly. He didn’t look at you and was instead watching Bella and Winter intensely. 

“If Steve is interested in something more than friendship, he should make it known. I thought I had made it clear that I’m interested and if he isn’t taking the next step, I’m not pushing it into something it isn’t.” 

“I guess I need to have a chat with that punk then.” Winter and Bella were exhausted from the impromptu playdate and while Bella crashed immediately when you opened the door, Bucky picked up Winter without a struggle, told you good night and made his way back out of the building. 

The next time your doorbell rang you it was Steve in civilian clothes, but still with dirt in his face and his hair unkempt. “We need to talk!” 

You couldn’t help yourself and you had to take a picture! The sight in front of you was just too cute. “Don’t stand there and join us!” Steve’s sleepy voice suddenly said, and you should have expected that he had noticed you lurking in the doorway. You quickly walked over and laid in the arm that your boyfriend held out for you. 

“Did you like the picture you took?” he asked. 

“Love it, actually.” 

A few minutes later a notification popped up on your phone. 

[Steve Rogers posted a picture] 

This is real and even heroes aren’t perfect was the headline and it showed a picture of a shirtless Steve - stretchmarks and all - in bed with a corgi thrown over him and they looked at each other with love in their eyes.  

Steves Instagram post made the internet go mad. Theories about who that dog was, what made him post after such a long time and then something so extremely personal. And no one was prepared for the chain reaction that followed:  

Under the hashtag #HeroesAren’tPerfectEither and #AdoptDon’tShop followed pictures of the other Avengers. The Winter Soldier posted a picture of him standing in front of a dog with only three legs – and without his prosthetic arm. Many pictures more followed and the campaign, that wasn’t a campaign, was more successful than any other. More furry friends found their forever home, although Steve felt that in his case it had been Bella who had adopted him and showed him his forever home. 

Masterlist | Library Blog

Reblogs, comments, asks or just a ramble mean the world to me <3

[changingplumbob]

Foster Household: Chapter 9, Part 13

CW: Mental Health Struggles - Guide to content warnings

As soon as school was over Carson sped to the art room where Ariadne had been for the afternoon.

Ariadne: YES!

Scarlett: I knew it

Roger: Hey Carson

Ariadne and Scarlett broke apart and Ariadne turned to him beaming.

Ariadne: All set to go?

Carson: Yep, just need my date?

Ariadne stood giggling and went to follow him out of the room. Looking back Scarlett mouthed for her to text her afterwards and Ariadne nodded.

The pair walked through the centre of town catching up on the day and their classes. When they got to the shop snow began to fall and Carson began to laugh.

Ariadne: What’s so funny

Carson: I guess I'm just wondering if this is our first or second date. I'm a bit nervous

Ariadne: Hey don’t be nervous

She took his hands and Carson felt himself flush.

Ariadne: We’re just going to chat like we’ve done dozens of times via text. It’s in person sure but that’s great, I’m really glad you asked me. How about we say it's our second date, would that make it easier? Less worry?

Carson nodded and smiled.

The pair sat down and talked. Ariadne told Carson more about her life growing up. Since her parents left it was just her and her grandmother. Then of course her grandmother got arrested and she got put in the foster system. She’d bounced around many places but after meeting Alexander and James it felt like she had a place to belong again.

Ariadne: I keep wanting to say, thanks dad, but I’m worried James would have a heart attack

Carson: I’m sure they’d love to hear how you feel

Ariadne: Maybe. I’m worried they’ll just think I’m conning them like my grandmother did to... well... everybody

Carson: We’re more than our family right? We’re individuals

Ariadne: That’s true, we’re us

The afternoon sped along and before Carson knew it it was time to catch the ferry home.

Carson: See you tomorrow. I might be a bit in my head before the exams but-

Ariadne: Take me home at the end of the day then? We can chat when you’re not trying to remember ten dozen answers

Carson: Sounds perfect

Charlie: Don’t be so worried dad, he’s probably just on a date

Harvey: Isn’t he young for a date

Samir: I dated Reece when he was 15

Harvey: Yeah and then you- *eyes widen* oh... Kayleigh and I need to give him the woohoo talk

Charlie: Calm down dad. From the conversation this morning he’s clearly not there yet

Samir: We didn’t woohoo while he was here sir

Harvey: Sure you didn’t

Charlie: Dad, go fish or something. We’ll text when he’s back so you know he's alive

A little after 8 Carson made it back and headed straight for the fridge. Looking around for somewhere to eat he decided the safest bet was Samir, he was bound not to ask him probing questions. As he walked in the lounge Samir nodded his acknowledgement but didn’t stop eating, perfect. Siting on the couch he noticed for the first time how quickly Samir really ate, he’d finished half his plate before Carson had more than a couple of bites.

Reece came in just as he was finishing.

Reece: Hey loser, did you get lucky or what

Carson: *scoffs* None of your business moron, I’m going to my room

As he left and the sounds of guitar floated from his room Samir looked accusingly at Reece.

Reece: What?

Samir: *growls* You said you’d be on good behaviour

Reece: Now now, if I was well behaved all the time there would be no need for your special brand of discipline *kisses cheek* I’ll be a good boy tomorrow. Are you doing okay away from home lover? If you're too stressed we can-

Samir: If you’re with me, I'm more than okay

The next day was bright and sunny! The guests would be heading home while Carson was at school.

Kayleigh: I’m thinking best man, maid of honour, and four others in the wedding party

Samir: Shh, he could hear. Carson, change topics, please

Carson could see Samir was uncomfortable with whatever his mum was saying so figured why not?

Carson: Burgers for breakfast?

Samir: Reece made them

Carson: He’s awake this early?

Kayleigh: We’re taking a family picture before your ferry, you bet I’ve told him he has to be awake by now

*phone beeps*

Carson: Oh it’s a text, sorry

Charlie: How’d your date go then

Carson: Fine I think

Kayleigh: So she’s your girlfriend now? My youngest baby in a relationship?

Carson: I don’t know, is she? Is that how it works?

Charlie: If you’re not sure you should talk about it. You may not want to but trust me, she will. Don’t be an arse who strings her along okay?

Family photo!

Top row left to right: Samir Hadji, Reece Foster, Kayleigh Foster, Harvey Foster, Kaori Nishidake, Charlie Nishidake

Bottom row: Keira Romero, Carson Foster, Marta Romero

And of course we couldn’t say bye for now to guests Reece and Samir without them autonomously kissing like there’s no tomorrow.

Previous ... Next

[linkemon]

Troublemaker (Shouji Mezou x Reader)

Friendly reminder that English is not my first language. You can check my Masterlists both in English and Polish here. Consider supporting me on Ko-fi. You can also check out my commissions if you’re interested.

Other oneshots can be found here.

[ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ] ᴏꜰᴛᴇɴ ɢᴇᴛꜱ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴛʀᴏᴜʙʟᴇ. ʟᴜᴄᴋɪʟʏ, ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ'ꜱ ᴀʟᴡᴀʏꜱ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴏɴᴇ ɴᴇᴀʀʙʏ ᴛᴏ ʜᴇʟᴘ ʜᴇʀ…

[Reader] had always loved animals. Despite her lively nature, all the fluffy little balls were drawn to her. It was no different on that fateful rainy day when she was returning from visiting her parents to the Yūei dorm.

May came and Japan was making itself known with the beginning of the rainy season. Musutafu had been suffering from it for a week. The girl had forgotten her umbrella and was certain that her mother would not let her live if she called in the evening. Her sweatshirt had barely dried on the bus before it returned to its previous state as soon as she got off. The humid air made her clothes stick to her body. So she set off quickly, hoping that she would make it back before the sky began to drizzle again. Nothing could be further from the truth. She was forced to wait out the torrents of rain under a tree. So she pulled her hood tighter over her head and impatiently began to kick the gravel with her shoes. Surprisingly, one of the pebbles made a strange squeak. [Reader], certain that she had misheard something, resumed her work. This time the missile had clearly hit something. She looked around carefully and found a cardboard box in the wet undergrowth nearby and a rabbit inside it.

It twitched its nose a few times at the new arrival, then curled up into a ball, clearly frozen and covered itself with long ears. It had lovely [colour] fur but it wasn't covered in mud. She guessed someone must have left it there recently.

The girl looked around for anything that could help find the owner. Then she noticed a wet, sad note that said: "Leaving it in good hands."

There was no doubt about it — bunny was abandoned. She felt sorry.

It had stopped raining. The last rays of the afternoon sun could be seen from behind the clouds.

— Come on, little one — she lifted the animal out of the now-soaked cardboard box and wrapped it in her sweatshirt.

She could feel every gear in her mind working at full speed. Her parents were going to give their overgrown kittens to friends in a week. That meant an animal vacancy she could squeeze bunny into. If only dad hadn't been so angry about her recent exam results...

She knew it would be easier to catch her mother by the sweet eyes of the little furball but without the consent of the other parent she had no chance.

She had a test in [Subject] the day after tomorrow. Her lessons were going well and she was hoping for high scores. She knew that if she managed to get a good score, she could count on keeping her rabbit at home.

This meant she had to keep the animal until then.

She was left with one option: She had to smuggle little one into the dorm.

With that thought in mind and the rabbit under her arm, she headed towards Yūei.

— Shoji-kun, you have to help me!

[Reader] ran into the boy's room, out of breath.

— First of all, you should have knocked. Second, what kind of trouble did you get into this time? — The boy glanced at me suspiciously.

—Why are you emphasizing this time? I don't ask you for help... that often — she added.

It was true that not too long ago they had been studying for exams together, practicing fighting and leaving frogs in Bakugō's room and then she had forced him to do a few more favours but she had figured that if he didn't protest, then he clearly didn't mind being used like that.

— Aizawa-sensei is doing a search of the dorm. It just so happens that your room has already been searched but mine hasn't. I have a rather active rabbit in mine and it would be best if it stayed unnoticed...

— I won't ask where you got it but I take it you want me to keep it with me until the end of inspection? — He gave her a tired look.

— It would be wonderful if you could help me transport it here. — She folded her hands pleadingly.

Mezō sometimes wondered if [Reader] didn't realize he liked her and that was why she took advantage of him at almost every opportunity. There was another theory, one of those he had at night before going to sleep, in which he assumed that she simply wanted to be close to him and was infatuated with him but couldn't show it. But he knew her to be quite direct in everything she did, so he had to remind himself of that sadly every now and then.

— In that case, let's hurry up.

The boy started down the hallway only to be pulled back almost immediately by the girl. She had a lot of strength.

— Wait until he enters the next room because he'll see us and it'll be suspicious.

And so they did.

There was one problem, though. When they entered, [Rabbit's name] refused to let anyone catch him. The furry creature, irritated by the new arrival, scratched them both, knocking over the lowest items in the process. At the last moment, Shōji saved a tall lamp on one leg from breaking.

[Reader] was really starting to worry as she watched the mess grow bigger by the second.

Luckily the boy managed to tame the rabbit, though even with duplicate hands it was difficult to carry out the small problem.

The girl quickly threw all the items into a large box, just to make the battlefield look relatively tidy.

— Let's both go, or he'll start going crazy again. Then I'll come back here.

She peeked out from behind the door.

— Clean.

They weren't even halfway down the corridor when they heard voices:

— You should clean more often.

— I know, I know — Mina assured.

Action had to be taken. Otherwise, Aizawa could see the rabbit at any moment.

[Reader] did the first thing that came to her mind — she covered the pet by kissing Mezō.

She had to admit that she liked him and she could see that he liked her back. It was hard not to figure him out. But she hadn't wanted to make the first move yet. She had decided that he would be worth it if he dared to. But now she had betrayed her ideals in the name of a need.

The boy was glad his face was covered. If it weren't for that, he would definitely blush now, feeling all these emotions at once. The kiss was unexpected but he welcomed it with pleasure. After all, how could he not be happy when it was his dream girl kissing him?

In the background, they could hear Mina's squeal, already done with her inspection. Her feet carried her to the girls' rooms. She probably wanted to tell everyone the news.

[Reader] slowly moved away from the boy. She saw that the homeroom teacher had entered her room. She gently pushed Shōji towards the corridor.

The strangest of all was Aizawa, who after a brief inspection left without a word and headed to the next student. The girl didn't suspect that it would be so easy to trick him but she clearly had some advantage.

She immediately headed back to her friend's room, hoping to get there before her classmates caught up with her. She wasn't sure what she would say to them in a situation like this.

— We did it! — She entered the room unceremoniously, startling the fluffy ball. — But we have to explain the diversion in the corridor — she added more quietly.

Mezō took a deep breath.

— I really wish it could be more than that. You're a wonderful girl and I hope you'll go out on a date with me. — He looked at her with hope in his eyes.

They weren't fancy words but [Reader] appreciated them. He finally managed to work up the courage.

— I didn't do it just because of the rabbit. — She smiled. — I'd love to go out with you.

[Rabbit's name] walked over to her feet, clearly bored with no one chasing him, so she gently lifted it off the ground.

—I’ll text you details tommorow — She kissed him on the cheek.

The teacher of the 1A was sitting in the teachers' room drinking coffee when one of the colleagues sneezed next to him.

— I think I'll go for desensitization. What I wouldn't give to get rid of this...— she muttered. — Damn allergy.

— Fur? — He smiled.

— Yes. How do you know, Aizawa-san? — She glanced suspiciously, pulling out some tissues.

— I had to deal with a rabbit today...

[avastrasposts]

The Pilot and his girl - ch. 2

So, I have vague plans for this fic now but the first two chapters are just dabbles, trying to find a way to write a reader insert and to write Frankie Morales. I'll have to think of a good title for the fic as I get the story together, for now it's just a bunch of scribbled ideas in a notebook. I'll update and give more of a summery once it's taken shape in my head I guess? Until then, I hope you enjoy a second date with Frankie and some fluffy flirting with our sweet soft boy.

Edit: making this easier to navigate- Chapter 3

Waking up late the next morning you catch up on the gossip from last night in the bachelorette party chat thread. It’s filling up with groans and promises to never drink again as your friends wake up across the city. You’re feeling fine, you’d only had a couple of cocktails last night, and now you’re poking fun at your friends while Lizzy curses at you for letting her do too many tequila shots. 

Steve’s future wife: “Seriously, you should’ve stopped me, you were supposed to be my guardian last night!” 

“I stopped you from ordering Long Island Teas for the entire club at 1am, your head and your credit card should be very grateful, Lizzy!”

Steve’s future wife: “My head doesn’t feel very grateful right now…”

Your phone suddenly pings with a new message and as you tap out of the party chat you see Frankie’s name on your screen. You can’t help but feel a little jolt of excitement as you pull up his message.

“morning. i was wondering if youd maybe like to get some coffee today, seeing as i didnt get a chance to buy you a drink last night?”

Your mouth pulls up in an inadvertent smile as you see the text, you’d been hoping he’d get in touch soon.

“Morning, yes I’d like that, I definitely need coffee this morning! 

You hit send but instantly regret it, maybe that message sounded like you only wanted coffee and not that you were happy to see him again? You quickly type out a new message. 

“Sorry, I hit send too fast… I meant to say that I definitely need coffee. But I'd also like to get some with you.” 

The second you hit send you see the innuendo and bite your lip, fuck! 

…

Frankie can’t help but chuckle as he sees her message come through. He knows she means coffee but he sees her typing away as the three dots move on his screen and guesses she’s trying to back track from the “get some” innuendo. He waits while she types, still smiling to himself. He’d been nervous about asking her out for coffee so soon but he wanted to give her a chance to get to know him a bit before he asked her out for dinner, less pressure for both of them he figured. When her instant yes came back he’d felt heat flash through his body, he really wanted to see her again and she seemed to feel the same way. 

“Shit, ignore that last message completely, I mean, yes, I’d really like to get some coffee with you this morning, Frankie.”

Frankie chuckled again and typed his reply. 

“no pun intended then?”

“Shut up :)”

And then; 

“Where do you want to meet, and when? I’m free the whole day. My only plan was to recover from last night.” 

Frankie suggests a coffee shop in a part of the city close to downtown. The area is good for weekends and has lots of places to hang out under the trees that line the river that runs through the neighbourhood. She knows the place and agrees to meet there in an hour and Frankie gets in the shower to get ready. For all the flack Pope had given him last night about making him pay up the one hundred dollar bet he’d also seen that Frankie was really into this girl. He’d spent the ride home telling his friend to not worry, that he was a great guy and that this girl would like Francisco Morales if he only gave her a chance. 

“I know it’s a tired old line but just be yourself, Fish. You’re charming when you want to be and good looking, you know the girls always line up for you when we’re out, even with that damn cap shoved down your forehead. She’s into you so just relax and enjoy the company of a beautiful woman.” Pope had slapped his friend on the shoulder before getting out of the truck and now Frankie tries to force himself to feel some of Pope’s confidence as he scrubs himself down in the shower. “Just relax, he tells himself as his stomach flips at the thought of the way her lips had felt against his cheek last night. “You’ve got this, Frankie, you got her number, she replied, she wants to see you again, just take it from there.” 

…

The second you’ve confirmed to Frankie that you’ll meet in an hour you rush out of bed and into the shower. Butterflies are back in your stomach and you’re kinda surprised at the effect this guy is having on your nerves. It’s not like you to get so nervous about a guy you’ve barely spoken to, even if he was cute and broad as a barn door. Something about Frankie’s shy approach, the way his face seemed to soften when he smiled, made your heart melt a bit. But there was definitely something more confident lurking under the surface, you could tell from his teasing replies to your messages. It gave you the feeling that he was probably hiding a more assertive manner under his initial shyness and you couldn’t wait to make him comfortable enough to bring it out. You were looking forward to getting to know him better and so far it didn’t seem like you’d regret your snap decision to give him your number last night. 

The coffee shop Frankie suggested is right on the river and as you’re walking towards it Frankie texts saying that he’s got a table out back next to the water’s edge. You make your way through the building and see him sitting at a table looking snug in a dark green hoodie, the cap still firmly on his head. His unruly curls are poking out around his neck but it looks as if he’s made the effort to contain the ones around his ears, they are tucked in under the edge of the cap, still threatening to escape. He’s sitting relaxed, leaning back in the chair with his arms crossed, looking out over the river where two crews are rowing past. As you get closer he seems to spot you from the corner of his eye and his gaze finds yours, his handsome face splitting into a warm smile as he gets up. 

“Hey, good to see you,” he says, stepping forward to drop a kiss on your cheek before stepping back, still smiling. Your butterflies make themselves known as his warm smell washes over you, that same warm cotton smell from the night before, mint from his toothpaste and something that has to be his body wash. His lips are soft as they brush against your skin, a sharp contrast to the light scratch of his beard. He seems to pause for a second against your cheek as his hand lands on your waist and when he pulls back you feel the cool tip of his nose on your skin. 

“Hi, good to see you too,” you smile as you try to squash the butterflies, letting him pull out the chair opposite his at the small table as you sit down. He gets back to his own seat and leans on his forearms on the table, making it shift slightly as it takes his weight. You bite the inside of your lip as you suddenly feel very shy at the way his eyes are focused on yours and he seems to notice the movement, his eyes dropping to your lips as you worry at them. 

“You’re gonna draw blood, hermosa,” he says with a soft voice and you feel his thumb smooth over your bottom lip, making you let go of it. His gesture is gentle and calming and as he drops his hand back to the table you find yourself wishing he’d continued, your face leaning into his hand. His crooked smile makes your own creep back as he captures your fingertips between his own on the table, gently tugging them towards him, as he leans closer, dropping his eyes to your lips again. Your breath catches in the back of your throat as you watch the pink tip of his tongue dart out over his bottom lip as he moves closer. 

“Morning, early birds! Let me guess, some coffee to start off with to wake you up, huh? And then let me take you through our specials today. Ya’ll are gonna love our seasonal pancakes!” 

You all but groan when the server’s chipper voice cuts through the moment you’re having, Frankie immediately pulls away from you and your fingers slips through his as he clenches his jaw before picking up the menu card on his side of the table. The server continues to rattle through the specials and you scan the menu in front of you. 

“Do you wanna start with coffee, maybe?” Frankie asks, ignoring the server’s chatter. 

“Yes, please, that sounds good. I don’t know what I wanna eat yet,” you say and flip the menu over to look at the huge drinks menu on the back. 

“Black coffee for me, thanks,” Frankie says to the server who has finally covered all the specials. “Know what you want, hermosa?” 

“A double shot cappuccino, thanks,” you reply, looking up at the server who takes your orders and walks away with a nod. 

“Rude,” Frankie smirks as he leans forward again, capturing your fingers in his, his eyes crinkling at the corners. His shyness from last night seems to have disappeared in light of your own and his eyes are warm and soft as he gently tugs you forward, his gaze flicking down to your lips and up to your eyes. You feel heat pooling in the pit of your stomach as he gets close enough for you to smell his toothpaste again, his lips pulling up in a small smile as he gently strokes his thumb over your bottom lip. 

The sharp signal of a phone suddenly cuts through the air and Frankie actually drops his head on to his hands and curses in Spanish under his breath before he leans back and pulls the offending item out of his back pocket. 

“I’m about to toss this damn thing in the river,” he grumbles, throwing you an apologetic look. But looking at the screen his eyebrows pull together in a deep frown. 

“I’m really sorry, I have to take this, it’s work but they usually don’t call on a Sunday.” 

Frankie gets up and steps away from the table. You watch him retreat, realising you don’t actually know what he does for a living. You go back to studying the menu and after a couple of minutes Frankie sits down again, a disappointed look on his face. 

“I’m really sorry, but I have to go,” he says, his hand shooting up to the back of his neck in that same gesture from last night, his face looking crestfallen and apologetic. “There’s an emergency at work that I have to deal with, the guy who’s on call this weekend is stuck in traffic behind some big pile up and can’t get to the airfield.” 

“Oh,” you say, disappointment washing over you, feeling your stomach drop, and it must’ve shown on your face because Frankie’s hand shoots forward and grabs yours. 

“Please don’t think I’m trying to get out of our date, I was really looking forward to hanging out with you but,” Frankie’s fingers are rubbing across the back of your hand, his eyebrows knitted together over his worried eyes, “it’s a medical transportation, some transplant organ that I have to pick up from Mount Hope and fly over to General, it can’t wait.”

“Wow, I didn’t even know you’re a pilot. You fly airplanes?” 

“Helicopters,” he replies proudly as he pulls you up from the chair, still holding on to your hand. “I did it in the army for years but since I left I’ve been working at a local airfield, doing different transportation assignments.” His large hand feels like it dwarfs your own with how easily it fits inside the warmth of his and you hold on to him as he walks you across the patio into the coffee shop. “Maybe we can get the coffee to go?” he suggests, “And some pastries too? They do really good little hand pie things here.” He smiles down at you and you feel a bit better about the sudden end to your date, at least it doesn’t seem like he’s running off just to get away from you. 

When you get to the counter Frankie asks for your coffee order to go and pays for a couple of hand pies while you pick them out, cherry for you and Frankie immediately goes for the same one when you point it out. While he’s waiting for the pies he suddenly looks over at you with a quizzical look. 

“What?” you ask, his face suddenly mischievous. 

“Are you afraid of heights, hermosa?” 

“No, but I’ve never been in a helicopter if that’s what you're asking?” 

“Do you wanna go up in one today?” Frankie grins, his eyes definitely looking like he’s about to get you into trouble.

“Can you do that? I mean, are you allowed to take someone up just like that?” 

“You’re my new co-pilot in training now,” he beams, delighted with his idea. “I’ve got to fly from the airfield to Mount Hope, pick up the box, fly over to General and then back to the airfield. Shouldn’t take more than a couple of hours if you’re up for it?” His smile is infectious and the excitement in his body is palpable as you feel his hand squeeze yours, you can’t refuse him. 

“Sure, I guess I’ll sign up to be your co-pilot, Frankie,” you laugh and he pulls you in under his arm, dropping a kiss on the top of your head as he grabs the bags with coffee and pastries. “You’ll love it, I promise.” 

Frankie guides you out of the coffee shop and shows you to his truck parked across the street, taking you round to the passenger side door and opening it for you like a gentleman. It makes you smile at him as he gives you a hand up the high step and he grins back at you, making your heart flutter at the sight of his eyes lighting up. In the short time you’ve spent with Frankie, his eyes have definitely become your favourite feature, the dark brown irises changing as his smile comes and goes on his face. When he smiles they seem to soften, his eyebrows coming together as the corners crinkle, when he’s nervous or awkward he drops his head and looks up at you from underneath the peak of his cap and his eyes mirror the worry in his head, now they’re really sparkling with mischief and glee as he all but bounces around the front of the truck before pulling himself up into the driver’s seat. 

“Your coffee, hermosa,” he passes the take away mug to you before placing his own in the cup holder. The truck has been sitting in the warm sun and Frankie pulls the hoodie over his head, tossing it in the back before starting up the truck. The white t-shirt underneath does nothing to hide the sheer width of his shoulders as he turns in his seat, hooking his arm round the back of the bench seat as he manoeuvres the truck out from the tight spot at the curb. You try not to stare at how his chest flexes as he twists half way around in the seat, his muscular arm resting right next to your head. You follow the line of it up underneath the sleeve of his t-shirt, it’s ridden up high on his deltoid and you can see the dark smudge of his armpit as he grunts, twisting around again. 

“Admiring the view, cariño?” Frankie chuckles as he catches your eyes on his chest and you feel heat rushing to your face, quickly slapping your hand over your eyes, stifling a giggle. Frankie laughs loudly and pulls your hand from your face, tugging you closer to him across the wide seat. 

“Come here, hermosa, you can look as much as you want,” his chest is rumbling as he laughs but he pulls your hand up to his mouth and presses his lips to the back of it before setting it down on his leg, moving his hand to the gear shift and pulling out into traffic. 

“So, never been in a helicopter?” he asks, glancing over at you. “Ever been up in a smaller plane?”

“No, nothing like that, only regular commercial flights. Is it very different?” You’re slightly nervous about the idea but Frankie’s excitement is infectious, this is clearly something he loves. 

“It’s very different from a commercial flight but I’ll make sure to go easy on you, no loops or flying upside down.” He moves his hand on top of yours as the traffic starts to flow smoothly, lying warm and solid over your own. 

“I’ve never seen a helicopter fly upside down, you can do that?” Your limited knowledge of helicopters makes Frankie break out in a big grin. 

“Only on special occasions,” he glances away from the road for a second and gives you a wink and you roll your eyes as you catch on. 

“Ha. Ha. Very funny, you’re a regular comedian,” you pull out your hand from under his and punch him lightly on his upper arm, but you can’t help but smile as he chuckles and pretends to duck his head to get away from you. 

“A few helicopters can fly upside down but not this one, unfortunately, I’d like to see your face when I do it,” he laughs again and takes your hand back, placing it on his thigh but holding on to it this time. “Really, don’t worry, hermosa, I’ll take us up and down and fly straight as an arrow, no fooling around.”

“At least not in the air.” It slips out before you know it and Frankie immediately snorts loudly and you feel laughter bubbling inside you as he breaks out in a wide grin, shooting you a mischievous look. 

“At least not in the air,” he agrees, looking at the road again but his eyes are wrinkling at the corners as he smiles. “I’m gonna have to keep an eye on you, make sure you’re not touching any of my buttons.” 

“Ok, that one was too obvious,” you giggle as he tries to contain the way he’s chuckling at his own joke. 

“Yeah, I know but I couldn’t help it,” he smiles, tugging at his cap and looking over at you as the truck comes to a stop at a red light. His brown eyes are warm and happy, the sunlight shines into the car from behind him and his unruly hair has escaped from under his cap and is curling around his ears again. You hesitate for a second but the urge is too strong, you reach up and graze across them with your fingertips, feeling the soft strands brush against your skin. Frankie inhales deeply and the smile slips from his face, replaced by something more urgent. He leans in and the rich aroma of the coffee he’s been drinking washes over you. 

“I really want to kiss you,” he mumbles close to your lips, “but not in my truck at a red light, so please, hermosa, do that again when I won’t crash any vehicles we might be in.” He stays close for a beat longer and drops his gaze to your lips before pulling back with a small groan just as the light changes to green. 

You feel like the atmosphere in the truck is about to reach a dangerous boiling point so you try to calm yourself down by sipping on your coffee and reaching for one of the pies, handing the other to Frankie. 

“I feel like I'm tempting fate by eating a cherry pie with one hand while wearing a white t-shirt.” he says as his first bite drips cherry juice down his fingers. “This is so good though,” he catches the trickle down his pinky with his tongue which makes you swallow and quickly look away. 

He’s right, the pie is very tasty and you both fall silent as you try to capture every flaky crumb that falls from the pie as you bite into it. The filling is sweet and tart and gone far too soon. 

“Fuck, I wish we’d bought three each,” you moan as you swallow down the last bite. Frankie is still juggling the last of his as he turns the truck on to a smaller road on the outskirts of the city, steering with one hand and keeping the pie away from his, miraculously still white, t-shirt. 

“Here, have the rest of mine,” he offers, holding out his hand to you. 

“You sure? You’re not one of those people who offer their food and then get offended when I eat half your fries?” 

“No, I’m smarter than that, I always order a large fries when I’m eating with a woman,” he grins. “Just take my pie, I’m gonna need both hands here anyway.” 

“I’m gonna test you on that,” you say as you gratefully take the last bit of pie from him, “this damn pie really is too good.”

“You wanna share my fries, hermosa?” Frankie smirks, the truck now rumbling down a long straight road, air hangars in the distance. “That must mean I’m getting a second date out of this?”

“That still depends on how this helicopter ride goes, you make me airsick I might change my mind.” You scrunch up your nose as the hangers come closer. “I’m actually kinda nervous, I don’t wanna fuck up your assignment by throwing up in your helicopter.”

“Do you usually get carsick or seasick?” Frankie asks. 

“No, not usually.” 

“Then you’ll be fine, that kind of sickness has got something to do with the balance system in your ear so if you don’t get seasick you’ll be fine in a chopper.” He reaches over with his clean hand and squeezes your thigh, giving you a warm smile, “Don’t worry, hermosa, I’ll take care of you.” 

Frankie pulls up next to the hangar and parks the truck, grabbing his hoodie from the back, quickly coming round to the passenger side as he tugs it over his head and gives you a hand down.

“This is the place,” he says and waves in the general direction of the open hangar doors. “I’ll just get the paperwork from my boss and then we’ll be off.” 

With a hand on the small of your back he guides you towards the hangar where you’re both greeted by an older man who introduces himself as Denny, Frankie’s boss, as Frankie explains that he’s taking you with him on the assignment.

“Sorry to commandeer your date, miss,” he says with a friendly smile as he hands Frankie the paperwork and a set of keys. “But I’m sure you’ll enjoy the trip, Frankie is one of my best pilots.” 

You look over at Frankie who’s looking pleased about the praise as he flips through the paperwork Denny handed him. 

“Thanks, boss, I’ll remember those words next time we talk about my pay raise,” he grins and closes the folder. “Come on, cariño, let me show you the chopper and get you strapped in.”

Frankie’s warm hand rests on the small of your back again as he takes you towards one of the helicopters parked outside the hangar. He’s rattling off facts about it and the technical specifications, you’re trying to keep up but most of it means nothing to you, and he soon breaks into a chuckle as he sees your confused face trying to comprehend what he’s talking about. 

“Don’t worry about it, sorry, I get a bit carried away, even the guys in the army would tell me to shut the fuck up when I got too technical.”

“It’s really cool that you fly helicopters for a living but I genuinely have no idea what any of that means,” you smile at him, “I’m just happy you’re happy to let me tag along today.”

“Of course I am! It was my idea after all, I’d feel too shitty about ditching you before I even got you a coffee.” You’re at the chopper and Frankie unlocks it, sliding open the door and helping you up into the passenger seat. He picks up the seat belt but pauses, looking at your torso. 

“You’re gonna be cold in just that t-shirt and jacket,” he says. You’re wearing the same jean jacket you had on last night with a fresh t-shirt underneath and as you watch he tugs his hoodie off again. “Put this on, I’ll run over and grab something from the locker room.” 

You take the hoodie from his outstretched hand, “Thanks, Frankie,” and he gives you a quick smile before turning and jogging back towards the hangar. 

You slip his dark green hoodie over your head after shedding the jacket and tossing it on to one of the seats in the back. The smell of him overwhelms you the second you pull it over your face, still warm from his body. It smells clean, like fresh detergent and something woody and spicy that might be his body wash. You stop for a second to inhale the scent that seems to be inherently his before pulling it all the way down. The hoodie is far too big for you and you have to roll up the sleeves just to have your fingertips showing. 

You’re wiggling into the seat belt, hooking your arms through on either side, when Frankie comes jogging back with black hoodie on. This one is decidedly more well worn, the fabric fraying at the edges around his arms where he’s pushed it up to his elbows. Down by his hip you can see the white of his t-shirt shining through a hole that looks like something burnt through the hoodie. 

“Comfy?” he asks as he steps up into the cockpit on your side, checking your seat belt and clipping you in securely. 

“Yeah, very. Thanks for lending it to me,” you smile up at him. He’s very close suddenly, as he bends down and pulls on the straps, you feel the tension locking your body into the seat. Frankie looks down at you as his hands still on your waist, you’re holding your breath, his eyes seem to be fixing you in place as much as the seat belt and you hear him slowly exhale, almost in a shudder. 

“Remember what I said about not crashing any vehicles?” he asks, his voice dropping into a low whisper, dark and rich. You nod slowly, the hoodie suddenly feels much too warm. “Please remind me about that when we come back here.” He stays locked on you for a few more breaths until he finally pulls away, caressing your waist as he lets his hands slip over you.

As he steps down and walks around the chopper to the pilot’s side you slowly exhale, trying to calm your racing pulse. That’s four times you’ve been close to kissing and the tension is building inside you to the point where you just want to grab his face and pull him down to your lips. Frankie’s presence is both comforting and rousing, his easy smiles make you feel happy and warm, but the tension that builds when he comes close is exhilarating and almost paralysing. 

Frankie swings into the pilot’s seat and straps himself in, starts going through the pre-flight checks and hands you a pair of headphones to put on. He slips a pair over his own ears and soon you hear his voice coming through them as the helicopter's engine roars to life. It’s loud, much louder than you expected, and you’re glad for the headphones protecting your ears. 

“You ready?” Frankie’s voice comes through the headphones with a slight distortion and you give him a nod and a thumbs up and he smiles back. His face shifts into a more serious look as he looks over the instrument panel and readies everything for flight before he pulls back on the stick in front of him and the helicopter slowly rises off the ground. You feel your stomach plummet as the tarmac drops away beneath you, the cockpit of the chopper seeming impossibly small. It makes you feel like you’re sitting on a tiny chair with nothing but sky around you as Frankie makes the helicopter climb higher. You focus on a spot on the floor between your feet to get your nerves under control and only throw quick glimpses out the window as the surrounding buildings fall away and are replaced by blue sky.  

“Hey, you ok?” Frankie’s voice comes through your headphones as his warm hand lands on your leg and you glance up at him. His eyebrows have knitted together and he’s got that sweet worried look again. 

“Yeah, I’m good, I think I just got a bit of vertigo as we took off,” you huff, drawing a deep, slightly shaky breath. 

“We won’t be climbing anymore, I’m just gonna keep us straight and steady to Mount Hope now. Just keep breathing, hermosa.” He rubs your leg a few times and smiles before he grabs the stick with both hands again. You watch him as he checks the instruments, hailing Mount Hope Hospital to let them know his ETA and then corrects the chopper’s course slightly with a small movement of his hand. He’s moving with an easy confidence that makes you relax, he looks so comfortable in the pilot’s seat, so sure in every move he makes, never hesitating as he checks the instruments and manoeuvres the helicopter. This is the most confident and assured you’ve seen him yet. You trust yourself to sit up a bit straighter and start looking around, carefully glancing outside and actually admiring the view. 

“Feeling better?” You look over at Frankie as his voice comes through your headphones again, he’s smiling as you nod and smile back. 

“Everything looks so different from up here, I can’t even pick out any landmarks,” you remark, looking out over the city again. 

“That’s city hall over there,” Frankie points at a large domed building in the distance. “And there’s General Hospital where we’ll drop off the cargo. And there’s the river,” he points at the long watery snake that glints like silver as the sun hits it from above. 

Frankie continues to point out landmarks to you as he pilots the chopper towards the first destination and pretty soon you feel comfortable enough to lean closer to the window and let your gaze drop down below the chopper. Your stomach clenches at first but then you get used to the view and start enjoying yourself and Frankie’s easy company. He seems so happy flying, so in his element, that it’s hard to not get affected by his good mood. The shyness from your first meeting last night is gone and when he looks over at you it’s with bright eyes and a big smile. 

“I love that I’m the first one to show you all this,” he grins as you get braver and turn in your seat to get a better view out the window. “Your very first helicopter ride, it’s a big deal.” 

“I see why you love it so much, it feels addicting, to be able to fly above everything like this.” 

“Yeah, I always knew I wanted to be a helicopter pilot, used to watch the traffic reports on the news, just to get to see how the pilots flew, even when I was just a kid.” He chuckles at the memory. 

“And then you did it in the army you said?” 

“Yeah, I joined up with the intent to train as a helicopter pilot, I was in Delta Force for years before I left the army.” You see his face change into something darker as he seems to fold in on himself a little. “It wasn’t exactly the experience I thought it would be, it…it was maybe…it left me a bit..I don’t know…” he falters and you see the light go out in his eyes as looks down on his hands for a brief second. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry, you don’t need to say anything if you don’t want to,” you regret bringing it up as you see how it changes his mood, but Frankie shakes his head, giving you a small crooked smile. 

“Don’t worry about it, it’s just…I wanna tell you about it but not now, it’s maybe something for a date much further in the future, if you still wanna have me around then.” He says the last thing with a look over at you that melts your heart, that soft smile that transforms his face. 

“We’ll see,” you smile back at him, “if you stay true to your word about sharing your fries with me.” 

He chuckles and takes your hand, giving it a quick kiss, before grabbing the stick again.

The radio crackles through your headphones and you hear someone from Mount Hope hail the chopper and Frankie responds, starting to prepare for the descent down onto the landing pad outside the hospital. It takes a few minutes and your stomach flips a few times as Frankie steadily brings the helicopter down towards the ground. 

When you’re on the ground a hospital worker in scrubs and a jacket walks over to the helicopter holding onto what essentially looks like a big cooler with a red cross on it. Frankie quickly unbuckles himself and jumps out to slide the door to the back seat open. The middle aged woman with grey hair grabs his hand as she climbs into the back, giving you a quick nod, while Frankie checks that she’s safely strapped in and gives her a pair of headphones.

Soon you’re up in the air again, this ascent was much easier to handle, and Frankie turns the helicopter around and radios to General Hospital to let them know the ETA of the transport. With a stranger in the back of the chopper, the woman has the cooler on her lap the whole way, your conversation with Frankie is minimal. You keep looking out the window, trying to spot places you know, and at one point Frankie nudges your shoe with his boot and points down at a building ahead of the chopper. “The Outback Bar” is painted in large letters on the roof and he gives you a quick grin as you spot it and smile back at him. 

This trip is longer but time still passes fast and soon Frankie is bringing the helicopter down towards the bigger hospital. This time the landing pad is on the roof of a tall high rise and Frankie’s eyebrows are knitted together in concentration as he parries the side winds and slowly makes the descent. You watch him from the corner of your eye as he gently shifts the stick and works the pedals to correct the position. You can’t help but wonder how different this must be from his experience in the army. You try to imagine doing this while at the same time being under threat of enemy fire, but you can’t even picture it. 

When the helicopter touches down on the landing pad you barely feel it, just a slight sway. The lady in the back immediately unbuckles herself as Frankie gets out and slides open the door. You hear her yell a thank you to him over the roar of the rotor blades before walking with brisk pace towards the medical team waiting for her. Frankie swings himself back into the pilot’s seat and straps himself back in. 

“That’s it, mission accomplished, back to the airfield for us.” he says through the headphones and gives you a bright smile before pulling back on the stick and making you rise into the air again. 

“I feel bad,” Frankie suddenly says. “I just realised I never asked what you work with? I’ve just been going on about helicopters.”

“Don’t worry about it,” you laugh, “My job is nowhere near as exciting as helicopters, if I took you to my office you’d fall asleep in a corner before long,” you smile back at him.

“I doubt it, I’d be stealing snacks in the break room, isn’t that what office work is all about?” he smirks back at you. “What kind of business do you work in?”

 “I work in publishing, with academic books mainly.” 

“Really?” Frankie says, his eyes widening as he looks over at you. “That’s pretty damn impressive though, sounds like a job you need to be really smart to do.”

“I don’t know about smart, often it feels like I mainly baby sit grumpy professors who don’t understand why their thirty year old dissertations can’t be printed unedited as a text book,” you sigh, “my people skills are very often tested to the max.”

“But still, you’ve got a college degree right?” he asks, as you nod he continues, “I went from high school to the army and then on to this. I know nothing about anything except flying choppers.”

“That’s still pretty impressive to me though,” you smile at him. “If we had one of those Deep Impact situations, you know, where they have to select the important people to save to keep the human race going? Book editors would not make that cut but I’m pretty sure pilots would be needed.” 

Frankie chuckles, “I fucking loved that one, with Elijah Wood and Morgan Freeman, right? I liked that the meteor actually hit earth, and they showed the destruction and the panic, most movies build up to it but then disaster is avoided at the last second..” 

“Yeah, I really liked that too, in a messed up kinda way,” you say, ”and how they showed how that kind of event brought out the worst in the human race.”

 “What kind of movies are you into?” Frankie asks as he corrects the chopper and sets a course towards the airfield.

“Uuhm…most of them, I guess? I love any kind of historical drama, makes me feel like I have a time machine. And although I’m not crazy about superhero movies I love all Spider-Man movies, really looooove,” you emphasise the love, pulling out the o while Frankie chuckles. 

“I didn’t take you for a Spider-Man girl but that’s good to know.”

“What about you, what are your favourites?” you ask him. 

“I’m pretty predictable, I love action movies, and superhero movies,” he laughs, “and any good horror movie, especially at home with all the lights out, really scare the shit out of myself.” 

“Oh no, I can’t handle horror movies, Frankie!” you protest. “I get so scared I can’t sleep after them. I saw Gremlins when I was like nine and it scarred me for life, I haven’t watched anything scary since I think.” 

“You never watch horror movies?” Frankie asks, his eyebrows raised, looking shocked. 

“No, never really, I avoid them if I can.” 

“Not even classics like The Shining, Psycho, Halloween?” Frankie’s looking over at you, rattling off horror films you’ve heard of but would never dream of watching.

“No, nope, never ever, absolutely not,” you shake your head firmly, you know exactly where Frankie is going with this. 

“I think I need to plan a movie night for our second date,” Frankie chuckles. 

“That’s one sure fire way of not getting a second date, Frankie,” you warn, crossing your arms and pressing your lips together in a firm line, “absolutely not happening.” 

Frankie giggles and leans over, tugging at your arm, trying to uncross it, “Come on, hermosa, I’ll protect you, keep you safe from all the monsters, I’ll let you hide behind me when you get scared.” 

“Why would I even wanna get scared in the first place?” you protest, his giggles making you smile as he tugs your arm free and pulls it over towards his seat. 

“Because then you can hide yourself in my arms and I can feel like the brave guy protecting you from the imaginary monsters,” Frankie smiles and does that thing where he pulls your hand to his lips for a kiss while his warm brown eyes stay locked on you.

You smile back at him, his lips are warm and soft against your skin, and you wish you were back on the ground already. “I’m happy with you just being the brave helicopter guy who’s great at keeping me calm during flying.” 

“Yeah, really?” he smiles and you recognise the way his eyes shift to something more mischievous, “wanna try something scary up here?” 

“Uhu, what do you have in mind, Frankie?” you ask cautiously, “no crashing any vehicles please.” 

“Just hold on to your seat belt, like this,” he lets go of your hand and motions you to grab on to the straps just below your shoulders.

“Why, Frankie?” you ask nervously. 

“Just hold on,” he grins and you grab hold of the straps, watching him intently. He hails the airfield on the radio and tells Denny you’re almost back but that he’s going to try out something before landing. “We’re just gonna have some fun up here,” he says to his boss while grinning over at you. 

“Frankie….” you plead, but you can’t stop yourself from giggling too as the all clear comes through the radio from Denny. 

“Alright, here we go,” Frankie grins and you suddenly feel your whole world tipping sideways and you all but scream as the chopper suddenly tilts, Frankie pulling hard right on the stick. After a few seconds he straightens up again, only to bank hard left as you squeal, squeezing your eyes shut. Your stomach drops as you feel gravity pull you down, only the seatbelt keeping you in your seat. Next to you Frankie is chuckling happily as he pulls the chopper back up horizontal again. You press your head back hard against your set, trying to catch your breath. 

“You alright, hermosa?” Frankie’s voice comes through your headphones, you can hear his grin and you open your eyes and look over at him. “I fucking hate you, Francisco Morales,” you huff but you can’t hide your smile creeping up. The rush had been exhilarating and Frankie laughs at you. “Wanna do it again?” he asks and when you nod, he looks delighted, “knew you’d like it. Hang on then, cariño.” 

As Frankie puts the chopper through a number of skilled manoeuvres, the world around you tips and tilts until your head is spinning, adrenaline flowing through your system. It’s like being on the world’s best roller coaster and you can’t help giggling and squealing as you’re running out of breath. Until suddenly, out of nowhere, the air sickness hits and you feel nausea crash over you. 

“Frankie,” you cry out, “please stop, please stop.” 

Frankie immediately brings the chopper up to hover steadily and leans over, one hand on the stick, the other on your shoulder. You breathe in and out of your nose and try to control the panic in your chest. 

“Just breathe, hermosa, just look at the horizon and keep breathing.” He rubs his warm palm over your arm, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done so much, I’m so sorry, hermosa.” He keeps rubbing his palm up and down your arm and the warmth from his hand and his calm voice in your headphones brings your breathing under control and the nausea dissipates slowly. Eventually you can look away from the horizon and over at Frankie, he’s still leaning over as far as his seat belt will let him, his eyes worried and guilty looking under the cap. 

“Feeling better?” he asks, moving his hand up from your arm to gently cup your cheek, his thumb stroking over the soft skin. “I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to make you air sick, cariño.” 

“I’m feeling better now,” you give him a small smile, “I don’t know what happened. I was having fun and then it just hit me all of a sudden.” 

“I think I went a bit overboard on the banking, I should’ve been more careful with you, I’m really sorry.” Frankie’s pained expression tugs at your heart and you reach up and put your hand over his on your cheek. 

“It’s fine, Frankie, I really had fun, it was like being on the best roller coaster. I guess it just got a little bit too much suddenly.” 

Frankie looks a little bit less guilty and gives you one of those warm, soft smiles that makes the corner of his eyes crinkle, his thumb still caressing your cheek.

“I think I’ll get us down again now, get some solid ground under your feet, hermosa.” 

“Sounds like a good idea,” you smile back at him, thankful for his calm way of getting your freak out under control. He leans back into his seat, reluctantly letting go of your cheek, and starts the descent. 

As the helicopter smoothly descends towards the airfield tarmac you see Denny approach from the hangar. Shielding his eyes from the dust whipped up by the rotor blades he waits until Frankie safely puts the aircraft down and turns off the engine, the silence almost deafening after the constant roar in your years. Frankie gets himself out of the pilot’s seat before coming round the chopper to help you out, gently taking the headphones off your head and unclipping your seatbelt. 

“Easy there,” he says, taking your hand and helping you to find your footing. Your legs are surprisingly jelly-like after being in the chopper, a bit like stepping off a boat when the ground still moves under you. “Don’t want you falling over, hermosa,” Frankie tucks his arm around your waist as Denny comes over. 

“Thanks for handling that, Morales,” he says as Frankie hands over the paperwork and the keys to the chopper. “Head on out of here, I’ll finish up, go enjoy your date.” The last thing he says with a smile at you, still safely tucked in with Frankie’s arm around you. 

“Thanks, boss, I’ll see you tomorrow,” he gives Denny a nod and guides you back towards the truck. You’re fine on your feet now but Frankie’s arm feels good around you, so you let your hand slip around his waist and with a little tug Frankie pulls you closer, you catch his smile as you glance up at him. 

As you get back to the truck Frankie walks you over to the passenger side door but doesn’t open it. Instead he moves so that your back is against the side of the truck, with him standing close in front of you. You feel a shiver run through your body as you see the look in his eyes, his brown eyes almost black as he leans closer to you. 

“Remember what I told you to do again, back when we were at the stop light?” he asks, his voice dropping low and dark. 

“Yes,” you breath out, pulse racing so fast you can feel it in your throat. 

You lift your hand and caress your fingers through the unruly dark brown curls poking out around his ear. Frankie inhales and briefly closes his eyes before opening them again as you let your hand slip down his neck, caressing the soft skin behind his ear. You stroke your thumb over his jaw, fitting your thumb against the bare patch. 

Frankie steps in closer, his hands coming up to cup your cheeks, slotting them around your face. The pink tip of his tongue pokes out, wetting his bottom lip briefly. 

“Can I finally kiss you now?” he whispers as his eyes flick down to your lips before looking up at you again. 

“Yes, Frankie, please,” you whisper back at him. 

His lips are soft, warm, supple, as he gently presses them against yours, his thumbs caressing your cheeks and his scent fills your nose. You wrap your arms around his waist and pull him closer and he steps in eagerly, pushing you up against the warm metal of the truck. His tongue darts out and runs along your lips, making you open up and taste him willingly. He deepens the kiss, tilting his head to savour more of your mouth as you feel his tongue slide along your own. A small moan escapes you and in response Frankie slides a hand behind your head, tangling his fingers in your hair, pulling you closer. 

You’re bunching up the sides of his black hoodie with how desperately you’re hanging on to him as he licks deeper into your mouth, the gentle kiss quickly turning into something a lot more eager. Frankie’s pressed up against you fully and as he shifts his stance you feel the ridgid thickness between his legs press up against your stomach. The sensation sends a jolt of electricity through you and heat pools at the apex of your thighs as Frankie moans into your mouth, shifting his weight again. With a groan he pulls away from your lips, both of you panting, out of breath. 

Frankie drops his forehead against yours and closes his eyes, you can feel his chest rise and fall against yours. 

“You drive me crazy, mi hermosa,” he whispers, “wanted to do that since I first saw you last night.” You smile up at him even though his eyes are still closed. 

“Probably would’ve let you do it last night too, Frankie,” 

“Should’ve asked Pope for a bigger bet,” he grins, opening his eyes and looking down at you. You smile and reach up for his lips, he meets you eagerly and you lose yourself in how soft he feels as lets his tongue slip into your mouth again. 

Chapter 3

[deblklesb]

[Let's get physical! Pt. 1 — Abby x Reader]

[established relationship, fem!reader, fluffy but gets kinda nsfw by the end, jocker!abby, modern!au, MDNI]

cw: flirty times, nsfw memories, hip trusts

a/n: this was a request sent by @cottagecheese340! thanks for the request, i had the most fun writing this. i plan to post part2 as soon as i can! hope you enjoy it! (ps.: not me projecting on the reader about the social awkwardness)

not proof read (eng is not my first language, if something is wrong y'all can let me know!)

reblogs are highly appreciated!

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

You almost didn't enter your apartment as your leg keeps pulsating with pain. Not only because of the physical difficulty, but also because you could already imagine your girlfriend's reaction: concern, and then she would help you carefully and spoil you for the rest of the night because you're hurt. 

It didn't sound bad - it didn't feel either -, but you couldn't help but feel embarrassed anyway. Embarrassment got you there, in the first place.

Being a socially awkward person wasn't easy like some people think. Actually, it's hard to find ways to escape social situations just to feel a little more comfortable. Gym was an example of that: you've always had a hard time concealing with that environment because of the amount of people and the state of mind you'd have to get into - which was harder precisely because of the people around. So you didn't know much about gym exercises, despite needing to go there and do them. 

But, hey, it could be easier since your girlfriend is a major gym goer, right? 

Absolut, fuckingly wrong. 

Asking her to help you was a hard time on its own. Abby was the most caring, sweet person with you, but… You're embarrassed. And not that you never announce your needs and wants, but that specific topic was difficult. 

Well, that sore leg would do the work, uh? 

Breathing deeply, you unlocked the door and carefully entered the illuminated apartment, trying your best to walk properly and not limp. 

"Babe?" Her voice came from the kitchen, she was probably making dinner. 

"Hi, love", you tried to sound chill and super not painful. "What are you doing?" 

"Just some pasta and beef, thought we could use a proper dinner since I got out of work earlier today", her tall figure appeared on the hallway, reaching you in a second to kiss you once, twice. A small smile adorned her lips as she looked at you. "How you doing?" 

"I'm fine", you smiled too, kinda using the hug to not lean on the sore leg. "And you?" 

"Better now", her tone was so caring and flirty, it took a chuckle from you. "Were you at the gym?" 

"Ah, I-...", you couldn't deny when wearing the same clothes from earlier, but you looked away and your brain malfunctioned for a second. "Uh- yeah! Guess I could try some gym time, y'know?" 

"Oh, how was it?" Abby parted the hug, grabbing your bag to help you to the room. 

"It was… Interesting", yeah, getting hurt it's very interesting. 

You both started to walk to your shared bedroom, and as much as you tried not to look at her with guilt and walk properly, Abby stopped on her tracks and made your heart skip a beat. Fuck her sharp eyes. 

"Babe, are you okay? Why are you limping?" Her hand rested on your shoulder, warm and careful as she was with you. 

You hissed with pain when learning on the right leg to prove her wrong, ruining all the effort to hide the situation. Then you sighed, finally looking directly at her and supporting yourself on the wall. 

"I kinda may have hurted my leg a little", her eyes widened at that, your bag being left on the table as Abby came closer to help you stand properly. "doing some movement. I think it wasn't exactly well done…"

"Shit, babe, come here", you leaned on her until reaching the couch, where you sat with your back against the arm of the furniture, stretching the leg. "I'll turn off the stove, be right back", she patted your thigh, running to the kitchen. 

The seconds she was away were used for you to sigh again, trying not to feel too anxious. You didn't like to think that you were disturbing or something, even though you knew that was a crazy idea - the intrusive thoughts were troublesome sometimes. 

"Now tell me how this happened", she held an ointment whilst sitting with your leg on her lap. 

Abby didn't seem annoyed or anything, obviously. She just started to spread the mint-smell substance on the place you pointed when she asked. 

"I was… trying to work my leg on one of those machines and then it started to hurt, I don't know exactly where I messed up." Your breath were a little bit short with nervousness. 

"It's okay, it's normal. Especially since you aren't accustomed to gym props", her voice was so calm while the strong hands massaged the sore muscle. "Why didn't you ask me to help you?" 

"Because I was kinda embarrassed", you revealed after some seconds, face blushing a little since you still had a hard time opening up. Well, if someone were there to support you and listen to you without judgment, that would be your girlfriend, right? Her and your closest friends were those people. "I don't like going to the gym, but I need to. And it's frustrating enough, I didn't want to feel like I was asking too much, or something, especially because… I have absolutely no idea of what I'm doing and it's even more embarrassing" 

"Okay", Abby nodded carefully, locking eyes with you while her hands kept working. She remained calm, not wanting to alarm you in any way. "Well, I want you to know you wouldn't be asking too much. And that I will tell you if I can't help you with something, but I'll be here supporting you regardless and I'll do my best. Alright?" 

The feeling of her palms on your leg were starting to relax you, as you nodded and breathed deeply for once.  

"And look, I'm a grown woman. I think I can handle helping you and establishing my limits. What do you think?" She smiled to reassure you. 

"I think you're right, grown woman", you both chuckled as she finished the massage. You held a hand of hers and kissed the back of it, caressing her skin as you rested the head on the furniture then. Your heart was calming itself gradually. "Thank you. I love you"

"Love you too, kitty cat." The nickname made you laugh. She started to call you that way after finding a picture of you dressed as a human-size cat for your cousin's birthday. The costume had orange fur and your face was painted and all. You felt funny but your cousin loved it. 

"Will you ever let go of this?"

"Never", the honey-blonde stood up and rested your leg on the couch again, kissing you on the lips briefly, her braid falling to the side when she leaned over. "Now let me finish the dinner. We'll eat and then go bath"

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

A week later you both decided to go to the gym together. Abby said that it would be empty on earlier hours, and so you got out of bed with difficulty due to the diminished sleeping time. 

It started to be a routine: three times a week Abby helped you choose the machines to work on and then she'd indicate the right way to use it. The woman would supervise and then go to work on her own series, still watching you carefully from where she stood. 

You had to admit, with that silence around and just the two of you there, the environment didn't seem that bad. The rays of sunshine would start to enter the place more brightly, as the morning advanced. Only you, Abby and the receptionist were at that entire gym.  

But, on top of that, there was another thing that kept you coming to the gym all those days. 

The vision of Abby concentrated, pulling weights in different positions and machines, made you quiver. And even more: her care and delicacy while teaching you the movements and explaining the machines… That was something else. 

You were a major simp for your girlfriend talking about stuff she liked and was dedicated to, but it didn't help how she looked and behaved inside the gym. Knowing how your body comfort was in her hands created a responsibility, a commitment to lay all the information necessary in the most clear way. 

First, she'd show you the machine in general. Explain how it worked and the purpose, show you the gadgets, all of that constantly looking back at you to be sure of your understanding. Then, Abby would have you positioned on the machine and would instruct how to work on it, slowly and attentive to your posture. 

"Your back needs to be straight, babe. Yes, just like that"

After her blue eyes crossed over your body to catch in every detail she could, while you did a series, Abby would smile and say "that's it, you're ready to go, pretty girl"

And you didn't wanna say how absolutely sexy that was. 

How you needed extra effort to concentrate on her words, because the overall situation threw you off so easily. How her gestures and indications with her hands made you hold back enamored sighs. Or how her light touches on your body, to guide you through the first few movements, or just get your attention to the correct position, created little heat spaces on your skin. 

That whole situation unlocked a new amazing thing to notice about your girlfriend, and you felt like a blessing fell into you. The sore muscle was worth it. 

"Understood?" Her voice called you back from a daydream. 

Putting to the side the thoughts that came from her so eloquent speech, you nodded and thanked Abby, before the woman went to carry some weights. 

Looking from afar, you tried to concentrate on your series, working your legs. The image of Abby pushing up with the arms on her sides, going up and down next to her head, biceps flexing and abdomen and chest moving with breath. Skin getting flushed red and sweaty with effort. 

You tried so hard not to notice too much, not to make your sights explicit, but then the minutes passed and Abby finished her series. And the blue eyes rested on you, a fact you took longer to understand than you were proud of. 

Looking away and finishing your own series, you tried not to blush under her attention and cleared your throat, grabbing the bottle of water. Your legs hurt a bit, heavy muscles. 

"Okay, what now?" You asked, resting a hand on the hip. 

"Now rest a little", the blonde suggested with a smirk while using the shirt to dry her sweaty face, your heart skipped a beat or two at the vision of her abs. Damn her for still getting you on your feelings. "Wanna help me out?" 

"M'kay. Let's see what you got", she chuckled, going to a horizontal bench now. 

You put the bottle to the side, and when you looked at her again she was seated on the floor. 

"What you want me to do?" Abby looked up when you stood next to her, propping herself with her back against the bench, hips out of the ground and legs separated. 

"Sit on me"

You blinked once and twice, gulping. Phrasing like that you might as well do it anyways. 

"Excuse me?" 

"Sit on my hip, babe. Rest your feet on my thighs", she kept instructing you, but your mind wasn't really caring about the indications. The implications were on stake here, as you straddled as she told and felt your face getting hotter. "You can put your hands on my shoulders to balance", and you did so, her warm hands holding yours carefully. "Ready?" 

Before you could nod, Abby lowered her hips and then trusted up.

You couldn't remember a time when you got that flustered around her, trying not to think about what that looked like, what would happen if someone got in the room, how fucking hot was the fact that your girlfriend could sustain your weight on her hips. Without permission, your cunt throbbed. 

For sure you had an unbelieved expression, staring at Abby's face in order to avoid the sight of where your bodies met lower.

"Keep still, okay? You're doing good", you couldn't talk. Any words were thrown away from your mind right now, at least the adequate ones.

She kept doing that and you kept trying not to pathetically moan over that situation alone. 

Her body was so firm and hot. 

What the fuck was happening? 

Abby rested, sitting on the floor for some seconds with you still on her lap, hands gripping her shoulders. "That was awesome", her voice was excited but also with a hint of something else as she tenderly touched your hips and continued. "We should try it more frequently" 

"Yeah", your voice cracked, demanding you to clear your throat. "Absolutely" 

And then the silence was too loud and consuming, just the two of you there in that position. 

Her features caught your attention; blue eyes and freckled skin, beautiful lips and nose, cheeks and chin you loved to kiss. All of her seemed to call for you. 

"Babe", her voice, the velvety tone that could take you to the stars, drew you back again. "Ready for another one?" 

"Go for it", you smiled with effort to not fall into more fantasies right now, in a public space. "Let's see how much you can take it"

Abby's smug sent chills through your spine as she adjusted and then trusted the hips again, eyes locked on your with the most consuming determination. You held back a whine, breathing deeply with her. 

"Fuck…", you whispered at another trust, moisturing your lips. 

"What, babe?"

And just like that you mind flew to that time when she fucked you with her strap. When you cried her name and let out incomprehensible words under your moans, having Abby asking "what, babe? I didn't catch that" as the silicone object were pushed and pulled into your wet cunt. You remembered her panting and smirking as your tits bounced in front of her, as you tried to move your hips along because you were getting more and more heated. 

"Abby…", your hips moved once without you noticing and then you froze, the foggy memory fading as she trusted again and you recalled where you both were. 

"Yes?" A shit-eating grin denounced all. She knew exactly what she was doing. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

[divider by @froopis]

[riise-my-anngel]

Idk i just think theres something to say the brothers all realizing what time period you are trapped in and the way they fall apart.

Lucifer and Belphie understand the others fear. Both of them came close to, or succeeded in killing you and they know that time period they WILL try again and thats terrifying. They've done a lot to personally grow from their actions towards you.

And they both have nights where they sit in Lucifers study, drinks in their hand, discussing if they could live with themselves if you are killed by their past selves. And also what happens if you come back, but sre scared or lost trust in their present selves.

Its the most honest the two of of them have been in a long time. Their unique out of the brothers. Their violence towards you was unforgivable but yet you not only forgave them but now love them. Lucifer and Belphie are powerless to protect you from their past selves and they hate themselves for being such violent demons that they know hurting you is probable.

Satan, well, no one understands. He barely does. His room is a wreck. He hasn't been like this in centuries. He has no idea what his past self is capable of towards you all he remembers is his hate for his brothers and no amount of magic would spare you from his wrath tearing your body into peices.

Everyone at RAD is terrified of Satan, everyone who isn't the brothers, angels, or the royals refuse to bring your name up. He's already had to pay for damaging quite a few walls and doors because lesser demons would comment to him about him "finally losing his dumb little pet".

It isn't lost on Satan that the very fact that you're trapped in a time period where his wrath is dangerous and unpredictable, and that has led his present self to cope by being dangerous and unpredictable. He just isn't himself without you anymore.

Levi is lost in a fantasy world. Its easier to pretend you're just in your room if he hides away to his anime and his video games. He can just pretend everything is fine but the second he remembers your not there? Well the HoL isn't the only place that has had issues with Lotan being summoned. A lesser demon made a comment about the "human finally moving on from the lord of losers" and whoops guess that demon and quite a few others drowned to death. Over and over again until Diavolo had to step in and make Levi stop.

Beel can't figure out if he's ravenous or if he never wants to eat again. He fluctuates, some days he destroys whatever kitchen he's in, be it HoL, RAD cafeteria or just whatever restaurant he happens to be nearby. Other days he spends hours in the kitchen making your favourite devildom food, trying to recreate the human world food you two made together, but once its done he feels sick to his stomach that you can't just be there cooking with him and he can't see that shy smile you hide behind your hand when you have something you love. So he just tosses them onto the dining table for the brothers and goes to Fangol practice instead. At least he is more allowed to be aggressive there.

This is worse then losing Lilith, because he might never know what happened to you. Protecting people was his JOB and if he couldn't protect you, then its worse then having to choose betwern siblings lives. It means Beel failed before even trying, in his eyes.

Asmo doesn't recognize himself. He didn't realize how much time his vanity was actually spent with you in his chair and him draped over you behind him constantly doting on you. He buys things he thinks you'd look stunning in or things with your favorite scent and as soon as he gets home? Well not much gets kept. He throws the bottles at his tub until its a scattered mess of liquids that needs to be cleaned and clothes he bought you get torn up. Why should he keep them if you never come home, they would just be a reminder of what he can never see again. He doesn't recognize his reflection without you. You love him for who he is not what he looks like, but all alone he can never see the good you saw in him and he hates that all is left in his reflection is a bitter, miserable demon who lost the only person who loves him for his inner self.

No one even tries to sleep with him, he didn't fool around once you two shared your feelings but now hes offended at even being propositioned. These demons, succubus and incubus, they all just see his face and body and want a peice. You looked him in the eye and fell in love without any charm or magic. Who do these people think they are assuming they could ever live up to you? Many nights he goes out, he ends up physically attacking people who dare get too touchy with him.

Mammon tried. He really did. He wanted to keep his brothers together, but it just isn't working. No one knows if you're alive anymore and Solomon has stopped bothering trying to send word through time to update on your status. Once Solomon stopped? The brothers couldn't stand listening to Mammon being calm and rational anymore. No one knew if you were ever coming back and Mammon didn't know how to make them believe otherwise when he didn't know himself.

He's not in the house a lot anymore. He spent too much time with you in that house he can't stand the sight of it. Ironically he's never been richer. He doesn't see the joy in schemes or ploys without you to scold yet indulge him, you're not around to spend it on, so he just gambles. Wins more, has nothing to do with so he gambles.

In a winning streak, he'd either pull you right to his side or just haul you onto his lap to show off his pretty little good luck charm. Now he's winning all on his own and he doesn't give a shit about any of the people around vying for his attention or time. They ain't you, but he'll take their money cus what else is he going to do. You're not there and no one has the right to even think they could replace you.

They all know one thing though. If you never come back, Solomon better never come back either because they'll take out every single bit of pain on him for as long as the sorcerer could survive it.

[powderblueblood]

BEAUTIFUL!

ronnie ecker recounts the last first day of the worst of her life or i wanted to rewrite beautiful from heathers the musical, hellfire and ice version. warnings: first person narrative (ronnie's pov), swearing, era-typical misogyny, bullying and slurs, mention of eating disorders, everyone's a dick, everyone's kind of gay for lacy doevski. wc: 3.8k

September 1st, 1984. 

First day of the end of your life. It’s hard not to get a little intro-outrospective.

If I was a diary keeping person, which I’m not because I don’t like to leave a paper trail outside my own goddamn academic brilliance, I’d write something like this. 

Dear diary, I believe that I’m a good person–y’know, relatively speaking, if you don’t count that one time I bit that one kid for catcalling me. But, here we are! First day of senior year! And I look around at these kids I’ve known all my life and I ask myself–what happened?

We’re in the hallway, bottlenecking toward the cafeteria. It’s right around lunchtime, so everyone’s getting a real good look at everybody else, categorizing who they hate, who they hate more, who got boobs over the summer. God, do we ever stop slinging shit at each other, even when we think no one’s listening? There’s a constant cacophony in the hallways of Hawkins High.

Freak! Slut! Burnout! Bug-eyes! Poser! Lard-ass!

And no one does anything about it. 

It’s pretty sad, considering where we came from. 

We were so tiny, happy and shiny, playing tag and getting chased.

Freak! Slut! Loser! Shortbus!

Singing and clapping, laughing and napping, baking cookies, eating paste. Especially me. I was crazy for that shit.

Bull-dyke! Stuck-up! Hunchback!

Then we got bigger, that was the trigger, like the Huns invading Rome. “Shit, my bad!” That underclassman I just walked straight into looked terrified. And for good reason.

Welcome to my school, this ain’t no high school. This is the Thunderdome. 

Trailer trash!

For the very first very last time, I crane my head around the swamped hall and try to recall where my new locker is. First star on the right, and I wiggle in my combination and dump my books inside. I take a second, shoving my head inside the cool metal darkness (voluntarily, for once) and mutter, “Hold your breath and count the days, we’re graduating soon–”

“–Christ. College will be paradise, if I’m not dead by June.” 

I crane my neck out. Two lockers up from me, elegant fingers pull open an identical door to mine except hers, of course, already has a vanity mirror hung up inside. She checks her reflection, not like it ever needs checking. One of her faithful little redheads stands beside her, smacking bubblegum so loud it makes my ears pop.  

“You are so melodramatic, it’s crazy.” 

“What was that?”

“Nothing…”

It sucks how the chrysalis of adolescence has made most of us completely obnoxious. I try not to be a sucker for nostalgia, but I can’t help but remember how much easier this was in middle school. Waking up on a weekday didn’t have to be like living in a segment of Creepshow. 

I know, I know, I know, life can be beautiful. No plastic Jesus on my dashboard (or… handlebars, I guess) but I pray, I pray for a better way. If we changed back then, we could change again… 

Then I get a whole shoulder of dork, right to the face. Bubblegum snaps between snorts, I can see that he’s been shoved my way. Yeah, we could be beautiful…

“Ow!”

Just not today. “Hey, are you okay?”

This Jansport sporting asshole twists his face up right in mine. “Get away, nerd!” Jesus Christ.

The choir of angels go on–I’m just trying to make it to the cafeteria and grab a fucking chicken pot pie. I’m starving, and I could use a little less soundtrack.

Freak! Slut! Cripple! Homo! Homo! Homo! 

But, listen. It’s not a total nightmare. There’s light at the end of the tunnel. Things will get better soon as my letter comes from Harvard, Duke or Brown–

–or, NYU, if we’re being really serious. 

“Wake from this coma, take my diploma–” God. This chick’s voice seems to cut through the din of the hallway like a bell, “Then I can blow this town. Dream of ivy covered walls and smoky French cafes…”

“Sooo uber pretentious!”

“Watch it, freak!” I don’t even need to turn around to figure out who that’s directed at. But, I’m a little preoccupied with singing my own tune, here! Muscling through to the lunch line, grabbing a tray while I–

“–fight the urge to strike a match and set this dump ablaze. Hey, Ronnie!” 

Dude, shut up! I swing around, trying to spot the owner of that very different, very familiar dulcet tone when some duckbill hat wearing dickwad upends my lunch tray. Dressed in Hawkins Tiger green and gold, this is one of many prize dickwads. 

Bear with me, I’m trying to place him.

“Ooops.”

Andy Sweeney. Indiana’s worst point guard… “whose true talent lies in being a huge dick.”

Did I mention before about that lack of filter between my brain and my mouth? I patch it up pretty good most of the time, but sometimes…

“What did you say to me, skank?” Andy demands of me all darkly and shit. It’s scary. Even if I’ve got a foot and a half on him.

“Aaah!” I recoil, looking at his flexing fists, “Nothing.”

I back up from him, way way up, leaving my mess of a lunch tray on the ground. Even though that makes me feel shitty–when did I become the guy who left stuff for the already harangued janitorial staff to clean up? 

We were kind before; we can be kind once more… 

Head down. Stalk through. Find the Hellfire table. But, not before someone chucks me lightly on the arm. 

“Agh!” I holler before I register him. I am totally on edge. “Hey, Eddie.”

“Hey,” he grins in a sardonic way that says I cannot believe we’re putting ourselves through this again. 

Eddie Munson. My best friend since pre-pube. The closest thing I’ll ever have to a brother, unless Granny finally lets me get that gecko I’ve always wanted. I’m almost eighteen, for Chrissake, I should be allowed. 

Anyway, Eddie rocks. We know this. Look at him. 

“We still on for movie night?” he asks.

I beam. Our first day of school comedown tradition. “Shit yeah, you’re on Jiffy Pop detail.”

Eddie’s got a little pep in his step and it jangles his wallet chain. Dude can’t help but attract attention– almost all of it unwanted. “I rented Evil Dead.”

“Hohoho, again? Wait, don’t you have it memorized by now?”

“What can I say?” Before I can even warn him, Eddie’s backstepping straight into– “I’m a sucker for a gory ending.” 

“Eddie Munson, king of the trailer park! What, you didn’t qualify for free lunches this year?”

A hand comes down hard on the age-old tin lunchbox Eddie’s carrying. The clatter it makes against the lino makes me want to cover my ears and hide, especially when I see Eddie’s face. Total resignation. It’s humiliating. 

This guy?

Tommy Hagan. He’s the smartest guy on the basketball team, which is kind of like being the tallest dwarf.

“Too goddamn easy, man!” he guffaws, and I would try to figure out what farm animal he most resembles, but apparently I’m too busy–

“Hey! Pick that up! Right now!” –being the hero.

“I’m sorry, are you actually talking to me?” Tommy also tries to tower over me, but I’ve got a decent number of inches on him too. 

My cheeks blaze.

“Yes, I am. I wanna know what gives you the right to pick on my friend. You’re a high school has-been waiting to happen. Tell me, Tommy, do you actually have a personality outside of sticking your nose right up Steve Harrington’s ass?”

Tommy gets closer and closer. So close that I can see the nose hair move as he huffs through his freckly nostrils. His finger points right between my eyebrows.

“… you have a zit right there.”

Cue rapturous laughter from the peanut gallery. 

Dear diary…

Why do they hate me? Why don’t I fight back? Why do I act like such a creep? Why won’t he date me? Why did I hit him? Why do I cry myself to sleep? 

Somebody hug me! Somebody fix me! Somebody save me!

Send me a sign, God! Give me some hope here! Something to live for!

The doors of the cafeteria burst open and Tommy’s attention is thankfully wrenched away from me. Everyone’s attention is wrenched away from me. Because we’ve all been waiting for this.

They enter the caf in a solid formation, so solid that people part for them. Some gazing, some gawping, some glaring. The name calling ceases, the bullying pauses. 

This is the royal court. They float above it all. 

Tina Burton, head cheerleader. Her dad is loaded. He sells engagement rings. 

Heather Holloway, runs the yearbook. Badly. No discernible personality, but her mom did pay for implants. 

Even the lessers are notorious. Carol Perkins has been having sex since, like, seventh grade. Cass Finnigan’s been pretending to save it for Jesus but giving a backdoor key to whoever buys her peach schnapps. Nicole Summers invented three new slurs last year alone. 

And finally, Lacy Doevski. 

The Almighty. 

She is a mythic bitch. 

These girls, they’re solid Teflon. Never bothered. Never harassed– 

“I would give anything to be like that.”

And I know I don’t sit in that thought alone. Glancing around the tables, the coagulation of cliques, I can hear the desire coming from my classmates. 

I’d like to be their boyfriend. If I sat at their table, guys would notice me. I’d like them to be nicer. 

“What’s the over-under on one of those harpies getting kidnapped, taken to some abandoned warehouse to be photographed naked and left for the rats?” Eddie mutters into my ear as we slam ourselves down at our regular table. 

I roll my freakin’ eyes. “I told you that your Barb Holland theory was insane.”

Eddie shrugs, flipping open his recovered lunchbox. “Just sayin’... They never found a body. Anyway, my money's on the ice queen. If everything they're sayin' about her dad is true, she is prime ransom material.”

“You are so unnecessarily twisted.” But my eyes are still following the crown jewels. I notice that Lacy, Tina and Heather all rise to the girl’s room immediately after they finish their minimal lunch. 

I interrupt Eddie and Gareth’s too-intense-for-lunchtime debate about the morality of posthumously publishing The Silmarillion. “I have to take a leak.” 

As I gently push the door of the bathroom open, I can see Tina standing nervously at an open stall door. Heather is ralphing like her life depends on it. The reptilian arch of Lacy Doevski is bent towards the mirror, touching up her lipstick. 

“Grow up, Heather,” Lacy says in this voice that could weirdly be misconstrued as concerned,  “Bulimia is so sophmoronic.” 

Tina grimaces. “Maybe you should see a doctor, Heather.”

From inside the stall, Heather’s voice echos. “Yeah, Heather– I mean, Tina. Maybe I should.” 

I’m about to open my mouth, say something about ginger ale or peppermint tea, but Mrs O’Donnell enters behind me. I dive into a nearby stall, pretty confident I haven’t been spotted. But, I leave just enough of a crack in the door to watch everything that unfolds out there.

“Ah, I should have known–”

Heather vomits again. Damn, how can she pull trig so much on so little?

“–the witches from Macbeth always travel in a trio.” Her heels click over the cracked, yellowing tile, but the way Lacy turns from the mirror gives even O’Donnell pause. “Perhaps you didn’t hear the bell over all the vomiting. You’re late for class.”

Hey. Idea. I dig around in my backpack and scribble on a piece of paper, leaning against the bathroom door.

“Heather wasn’t feeling well.” Lacy says. Again, confusing enough to sound kind! “We’re helping her.”

O’Donnell chuckles all airly. Like she’s any match for her. “Not without a hall pass, you’re not. Week’s detention.”

That’s my cue. I scurry out of the stall, presenting O’Donnell with–

“Um, actually, Mrs O’Donnell, all four of us are out on a hall pass.” I gulp and glance at Heather, who’s finally hauled herself off her knees. “Yearbook committee.”

It’s super hard to breathe as O’Donnell inspects my handiwork. It hits me that this could go horribly, horribly wrong, and I can feel Lacy’s eyes boring into a hot spot on the back of my head.

O’Donnell arches her eyebrow. “I see you’re all listed. Hurry up and get where you’re going.”

She goes to hand the note back to me, but Lacy intercepts. Once the coast is clear, she takes her time looking it over. 

“This is an excellent forgery,” she tells me. A drop of freezing sweat runs down my back. “Who are you?”

“Uh, Ronnie– Veronica Ecker,” I stumble. “We were lab partners last year?”

Lacy’s eyes narrow. She doesn’t remember taking the lead on coolly dissecting a frog in front of me, it seems.

“Doesn’t matter. I crave a boon.”

She holds her glare on me. Jesus, why do I feel like I’m about to have my throat slit? “What boon?”

“Um. Let me sit at your lunch table. Just once. No talking necessary. If people think that you guys tolerate me, then they’ll leave me alone…”

What? It worked for Nancy Wheeler. Even if she had to boink Steve Harrington to do it, but I can't quite stretch that far.

The girls all chorus in laughter at me. Oof. 

“Before you answer, I can also do report cards, permission slips and absence notes.” Dude, I cannot tell you where this boost of bravery (or foolhardiness) is coming from.

“How about prescriptions?” Heather asks.

“Shut up, Heather,” Lacy cuts. 

“Sorry, Lacy.”

Then, she zeroes in on me. Takes slow steps toward me, just like Tommy Hagan did. But her stare is tearing strips right through me. I even freaking hunch as she gets closer.

“For a greasy little nobody,” Lacy says, her voice dropping low so I have to strain to hear her, “you do have good bone structure.”

Tina and Heather must already be tuned into this Lacy-only frequency.

“And a proportional body,” Tina adds. “If someone didn’t catch you during a basket toss, you’d probably only kind of fracture your spine. That’s very important. 

“Of course, you could stand to de-hobo your wardrobe.” Heather goes so far as to flick the flappy pocket on the front of my overalls. “Salvation Army much?”

“And ya know, ya know, ya know…” the shiniest jewel in the crown hums, tapping her lipstick tube against her cheek, “This could be beautiful.” Her painted fingers pinch my chin and turn it down toward her–because I’m fucking tall. “Mascara, maybe some lipgloss and we’re on our way. Get this girl some blush– and Heather, I need your brush. Let’s make her beautiful.”

A manic looking Tina produces a vanity bag out of absolutely nowhere. “Let’s make her beautiful…”

“Let’s make her beautiful?” Heather snarks, but Lacy shoves a hand in her face. 

Her eyes turn on me again. Dark and sparkly and… and… smiling. At me. “Okay?”

“Okay!”

Then, whaddaya know, smash cut, it’s the next freaking day. I don’t know how that works, but I don’t see another goddamn narrator so pipe down. 

The halls are their usual shitshow– Billy Hargrove shoves the new Hellfire freshman, Gareth, into a locker. Eddie hauls him up by the collar and they run headlong into a gaggle of girls, who all scream because every nerd that plays a fantasy game is contagious. 

“Don’t you dare touch me!”

“Get away, pervert!”

“What did I ever do to them?” Gareth yelps, exasperated. Hard not to feel bad for the kid.

But Eddie’s sage about it, even though he knows it’s as unfair as I do. “You’ll get used to it, freshman.”

“No, dude!” Gareth pushes back, verging on a panic attack, “Who could survive this! I can’t escape this–I think I’m dying!”

O’Donnell, hot on the tardy check, appears behind the both of ‘em. “Who’s that with Lacy?”

“Damn. Someone got a welfare increase,” Nicole Summers hatefully snarls.

“Who’s the babe?” says Andy Sweeney.

But Eddie Munson, oh-ho, Eddie Munson settles his eyes into slits. Anytime, any place, he’d know–

“Veronica?!”

“Veronica?” Cass and Carol caw.

“Veronica?” Steve and Tommy mimic. 

And Lacy Doevski… she looks to her dutiful right, and smirks. “Veronica?”

And you know, you know, you know, life can be beautiful! 

My whole life, I haven’t had a choice but to be one of the boys. My best friend’s a boy. I’m in a band with all boys. I’m surrounded by boys all the time who make gross boy jokes and do stupid boy shit. Nobody, not even my Granny, even though she fucking rules, ever asked me if… if I wanted to put on a skirt and get my goddamned nails painted. And it’s not as if I mind being on the more masculine side of things but, shit, is it so wrong to want something? Even if I believed what I was pretty much dragged up to believe, by all my friends and the world at large around me–that being a chick was totally dumb. Couldn’t I try it on?

You hope, you dream, you pray, and you get your way! 

Lacy beckoned me into her walk-in closet, which was about as big as my bedroom and smelled of gardenia, and put me in a pleated skirt set that she said didn’t fit her temperament anymore. ‘But it’d work for a novice.’

Ask me how it feels, lookin’ like hell on wheels–

“You gotta be fucking kidding me,” Eddie seethes as I pass, carried on the cloud of Lacy’s perfume.

‘My god, it’s beautiful!’ I’d said, spinning around in the stupid, flippy skirt. 

“Those bobbleheads totally morphed her!”

‘I might be beautiful!’ I mumbled, fingering the diamond studs she put in my ears that she made Heather pierce.

“She looks like–like–” Gareth chokes.

And when you’re beautiful…

“A girl!”

… it’s a beautiful fuckin’ day!

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

Now, at first, I think I’m fucking flatlining, expecting to wake up with goddamn tubes down my throat and shit– but I’m not. I’m in my regular old bed, with my regular old alarm clock screaming at me. I smash my hand down on it and jerk up, out of the covers.

First place I go is my wardrobe. 

I feel the physical sensation of my heart dropping like a lead kite when I flick through my old thrift store samesies and Granny Ecker hand-me-downs to find no such minty plaid skirt set. 

Just a dream. 

Which is such a bullshit conceit. Sorry to break it to you. 

I admit defeat and pull on my overalls, scrunching my ballcap over my head and muscle out the door. I’m already late, for me. 

But–then, there’s an apparition hovering at my mailbox. 

Someone who excitedly takes notice and waves when she catches me staring, arm stretching out of her fur-trimmed peacoat–which is looking a tiny touch shabbier than it used to these days. 

“Happy early acceptance day, asshole!” Lacy Doevski sing-songs. Sing-songs. Which is… something I have to readjust to, given the liminal version of her I just experienced.

“Oh.. jeez,” I mutter, feeling dazed still, “I forgot that was today.”

Lacy’s brow gets all pinchy. “You okay? You look like steamed dogshit.”

“Thank you so much,” I drawl sarcastically, “It’s nothing, I slept funky. Where’s Eddie?”

Lacy shifts in herself a little, tucking hair behind her ears and avoiding my eyes. “How should I know?” Right. That. The daylight version of this little tryst they pretend they’re not having. Honestly, if the two of them would just bang it out– well, maybe things might be worse off and this weird little platonic ménage à trois of ours would be totally ruined forever, but at least I’d have to stop tiptoeing around them. “Come on, are you gonna open it or what?”

Oh, right. There’s a whole gravity of a situation supposed to be happening here.

I kind of feel the saliva gathering at the hinges in my jaw, you know the way you do when you’re about to puke your guts up? But then, I remember. Bulimia is so sophmoronic. 

I yank open that rusty mailbox and a thick, thick envelope with a New York University imprint sits inside. I yank it out.

Lacy stares at me like I’m the dude holding the thing the Ten Commandments were written on. 

I’m not drawing this shit out. I am not teasing myself, dude, you couldn’t pay me to–savagely, I rip the envelope open, which makes Lacy cringe. She probably has a little knife for these sorts of things, knowing her. 

Dear Veronica,

Congratulations! I am delighted to inform you…

“Holy fucking shit.”

“Well…?”

I thrust that hot, heavy paper right into that pretty girl’s face. “Full. Goddamned. Ride.” 

Lacy gasps, grasping the letter so hard it leaves claw marks. Her eyes shake back and forth, reading and re-reading the whole acceptance ream. It’s weird, and I know it’s weird, but I’m standing there, looking at her and trying to make her make sense with the Lacy that showed up in my dream. That girl existed, and she was mystifying, in a horrifying way. A total reign of ice cold terror. But now, I’m staring at Lacy, who’s all short, weird angles and specific enthusiasm and… it’s hard to see how those two girls ever lived in the same body. 

She’s a little Whitman. She’s got those multitudes. And, actually, so do I.

“I knew it!” Lacy hisses, “And I want you to know that I’m not at all bitter. While I should be celebrating early acceptance with you, I’m glad–”

I grin at her. “You’re a little bitter.”

“Fine, I’m a little bitter, but I’m mostly excited. New York City, Ron! That’s transformative!”

“Yeah… speaking of. Lacy?”

“Yes?”

Dreams are meant to be prophetic and shit, right?

“Doyouwannagivemeamakeover?”

She cocks her head at me. She still hasn’t let go of that acceptance letter yet. “What?”

“Do you.” I take the envelope from her hands. I know she’s capable of identity theft. “Want to give me. A makeover.”

“Huh?” Her fingers stay curled around imaginary paper. Oh, my god.

“You heard me! And I hate repeating myself!” I flail a little. I get like that, quick to bug sometimes. “Look, you said it, New York is gonna be… transformative. I’m going to be a freaking lawyer, dude, fingers crossed, all going well.”

Lacy nods, not a hair out of place, with perfect confidence,“You are.”

“And when was the last time you saw a lawyer wearing fuckin’ overalls?! Huh? The people vs Howdy Doody?”

“I like your overalls.” I know she’s saying this because it’s the right thing to say, and she’s been practicing doing that really hard. She also might like them now, after repeated exposure, in a Stockholm syndrome sort of way. 

“But they don’t scream esquire,” I impress upon her. And it’s true. I truly do believe that I can’t set foot in New York fucking City looking like I just fell off the back of a turnip truck–nor do I want to. 

It takes a big fat beat, but her face changes. Lacy looks almost dastardly–dark, sparkling eyes like Lacy from the dream. She looks me right over, making the calculations of how to reupholster tragically unfashionable me in her mind. And then she arches her eyebrow.

“Well, remember… you asked, Veronica.”

[skibasyndrome]

Fingers crossed for a productive day and these as a little carrot for afterwards:

✑ (for your first YR baby), ✦, ♡ (for It's in the water, baby)

Now go be awesome and ace that thesis!

Joooo 💜💜💜 This one has been sitting in my askbox for a while, so sorry about that, but hey! I guess you can take some credit for being one of the dangling carrots that got me through it 💜 no we're not thinking about how that sounds

For It seems a place for us to dream:

✑ PROCESSING: pick a fic and I’ll tell you what it was like to write it!

kind of like... a very high-emotions-induced frenzy? 😅😅😅 No, but for real. I saw that first (three second? five second?) clip of s3 and it completely took hold of me to the point where I was like.... what is this strange feeling... I have nooooot felt this way in YEARS???? Am I about to..... write again!?!??!?! And after I'd realized that, well... clearly this isn't going to leave me alone anytime soon and I already have portions of sentences flying around in my mind I sat down and wrote half of it, then wrote the second half the next day (I think we got the rest of the clip the next day?). I was wildly typing away on my google doc in a way I hadn't done in yeeeaaars and it was like I was possessed by those couple seconds, lmao.

It's not necessarily a fic I still like a lot, but I'm glad that it was my way back into creative writing, so that's cool!

✦ what was your easiest fic to write & your hardest?

Hmmm, easiest is kind of hard to say! I think writing Close, Closer was easy in the sense that I just... started typing and didn't really stop and never looked back and it was a fic(let) that I wrote with the knowledge that it didn't have to be perfect, because it was so spontaneous and short. I general I feel like all those shorter snippets (like the not-5-sentence-fics) are easier for me because my inner critic isn't quite as loud for those. But another one that came to me like in a frenzy and felt very good while writing was Lavender Haze, my forever beloved. I wrote that one soooo quickly and I genuinely had so much fun doing it.

Hardest to write was without a doubt Never Letting You Go for a couple of reasons that made the process very difficult, frustrating and not a great time for me and my trust in myself. Took quite a long time to get back from that one.

For It's in the water, baby (I don't know which one of the heart asks you meant, so I'm answering both, haha)

♡ pick a fic and I’ll pick a comment that made me really happy

Easy! @purplehoodiesandclementines complimenting my Wille POV and saying "It all feels so THEM! So much so that I'm taking all of this as canon for now, until proven otherwise" made me smile for days and weeks and still makes me smile whenever I randomly remember it 💜

♡ SMALL THINGS: pick a fic and I’ll tell you my favorite minor detail from it!

Idk if this necessarily counts as a minor detail, but I like the way Wille still briefly thinks about the video and how it affected Simon, but Simon then proves to him that right there, with him, he feels safe.

“It’s just us,” Simon says gently, and shoots Wilhelm a smile as he unbuttons his pants. Wilhelm briefly wonders when everything turned out this way, when they arrived at this level of comfort and confidence. Wonders when Simon started being able to exist so freely again, out here, no curtains, no doors, no walls. “Are you worrying about me or is this you being uncomfortable?” Simon asks, reaching out his hands to grab Wilhelm’s. Wilhelm suspects Simon's got some sort of psychic abilities that he hasn’t come clean about yet. Or maybe it’s them . He sighs, feeling a bit of the tension leave his shoulders as soon as Simon touches him.  “Because I’m fine, you know? No one’s been here all afternoon.” Simon smiles warmly.

Ask me questions about my fics if you feel like! <3 here or here

[ejzah]

A/N: This took me entirely too long to finish.

***

Collateral Damage, Part 7

Every breath Kensi took sounded like a freight train barreling through as she tried to stay as quiet and still as possible. It must have taken just a few seconds for the truck to pass by where she hid, yet it seemed like an eternity. Only when it was completely out of sight did she cautiously crawl out of the weeds.

Another wave of dizziness rocked her, and she grabbed onto a spindly tree until is passed. She needed to find some kind of shelter soon, preferably with a phone, because she was fading quickly. The desire to sit back down and rest for a few more minutes was overwhelming.

She had the babies and Deeks and Rosa to think about. They needed her to keep going. Pushing past her exhaustion, Kensi imagined Deeks’ smile, then two tiny faces with blonde curls to keep her feet moving as she climbed back onto the gravel road.

Somehow trekking through woods in adverse conditions, with injuries had been a lot easier a few years ago.

“Don’t even start,” she said to the imaginary Deeks in her head.

She blamed her dizziness and mounting headache for her lack of awareness. She never heard someone approaching from behind.

“Move another step and I’ll shoot your kneecap out,” a low voice growled from somewhere behind her. She recognized that voice from earlier at the house. Stilling, she quickly slid the knife in her hand into the cuff of her sleeve and held her arms out to the side.

Stopping within touching distance, he ran his hands down her sides and ankles, the muzzle of a gun dragging along her clothes.

“I knew I saw something out here when drove by,” he said with a smug voice that made Kensi want to break his nose. “Looks like you’re not so smart after all, Special Agent.”

Kensi nearly snapped then. She was tired, she hurt, and he was mocking her.

“Before you do anything you’ll regret, you should know that I’m pregnant,” Kensi told him, working to control her anger. It had worked with the last guy, though he was obviously younger and less experienced.

“Yeah, and I’m a Nigerian Prince. Turn around slowly and if you try anything—”

“You’ll shoot my knee out. Yeah, I heard you the first time,” Kensi interrupted. She should be terrified, or at the very least worried, but instead she felt a kind of fury induced focus come over her.

She turned, taking in the man’s dark blonde hair, about six feet tall, and glasses concealing his upper face. He grabbed her arm, pushing her in front of him as he began leading them back the way she’d come.

They went maybe a few hundred yards before the truck came into sight, and she knew she needed to act now or lose her chance. On the next step, stumbled forward a step, letting the knife slide backinto her hand, and as he reached to grab her, she spun, aiming for his ribs. She knew she made contact when he reared back with a roar of pain.

Kensi jerked the knife back out, adopting a fighting stance as he pressed his hand to his side, coming away with blood.

“You’re going to pay for that,” he promised.

***

Deeks had two choices: take one of the vehicles and backtrack along the gravel road, or head into the woods on foot. He didn’t know how severe any of Kensi’s injuries were, but he couldn’t see her heading into the open where she’d be more vulnerable.

Working mostly on instinct, he made a snap decision, and headed for the woods. A few feet in, he found a clearly defined boot print in a patch of mud. Deeks bent to examine it. He instantly recognized the familiar pattern of treads and the shape of the outline.

“Thank god you wore boots today, Kensi,” he murmured, rising. There was another less obvious print a few more yards, and he followed it along with the signs of trampled foliage.

The path deviated a little here and there, which concerned Deeks slightly. Based on the depth of the boot prints, she hadn’t been running, meaning she hadn’t been chased. Or at least he hoped.

A few times he had to guess that Kensi continued straight when the signs dropped off for more than a few yards. Eventually though, the trees began to think, and he knew he’d was reaching the other side of the woods. He knew Kensi wouldn’t have stopped unless she was seriously hurt, but he still felt his stomach sink in disappointment when he stepped out onto a gravel road and found it completely empty.

He started jogging along the road, hoping it wasn’t taking him farther from Kensi. He’d made it about half a mile when he heard a distant, yet piercing cry coming from the same direction. He broke into a full out run, shoes skidding on the gravel in his haste. A couple more shouts filled the air as he got closer, and then he drew even with a dust-covered truck, and two people on the ground.

Kensi was sprawled on the ground, fighting a man who just have been Ricky Dorton. She landed a punch squarely in his face, and she managed to crawl a few feet away before he grabbed her again, forcing her down with a rough movement, and pinning her down with his body.

Rage and fear filling him, Deeks ran the last few feet and jerked the man off Kensi, throwing him off balance. Not giving him time to react, he slammed his fist into the guy’s head repeatedly until he collapsed to the ground with a pained exhalation, his eyes slipping shut. Deeks unceremoniously cuffed him and tossed his weapon out of reach, then rushed to Kensi’s side.

“Kensi,” he breathed out, his voice trembling. She hadn’t moved. He touched her shoulder, and she groaned, rolling onto her back, blinking slowly.

“Deeks.” She sat up far more quickly, and threw herself against him, arms tightening around his shoulders. Fine shudders ran through her entire body. He could tell she’d fought hard from the dust and dirt covering clothes and the scrapes covering what’s kind was visible.

“Oh my god, baby. Are you ok? Your head.” He brushed her hair back from the temple not tucked into his body, cradling her skull with the other hand as he checked for injuries. Blood crusted along her hairline over a nasty bruise.

“I think I have a concussion, but I’m ok,” she said into his neck. “We’re ok.”

“Oh my god,” he repeated. “You scared me, baby.”

“Me too. But it’s gonna be ok. You found us.” Her fingers bit into his sleeves, clutching at him, and he held her just as tightly. Relief filled him even as he thought that he’d almost been too late.

***

A/N: Yay, everyone’s ok!

[nexttrickanvils]

If you're still taking the writing prompts, 19 with plunderbunnies?

19. "You're the Love of my life, of course I came."

This uh... this got away from me.

Enjoy!

====

It’s just Guybrush’s luck to get ambushed and tied up on his honeymoon AND NOT IN THE FUN WAY!

And it was just his luck that this happened right after he got into a very stupid argument with Elaine. Geez he can’t even remember what it was about…

Then again that could be just brain damage from all the blood rushing to his head thanks to being hung upside down for who knows how long.

It’s not like he’s letting these jerks get away with this. He’d been trying to swing himself over to something to take the ropes off. That sharp looking torch holder or even the flames from the torches. But that was easier said than done.

“Oi would you stop swingin’ around? That darn squeaking is driving me crazy.” One of Guybrush’s captors shouted at him

Guybrush briefly thought of swinging twice as hard to annoy the guy. Maybe he'd accidently cut him down to end the squeaking noises… or maybe he'd grab that flintlock on the table and shoot Guybrush in the head… so yeah let's not risk that.

The annoyed pirate turned to his buddies, “How long we gotta put up with this moron?”

“Told ya before, we’re holding onto him until we get a hold of King Andre. Sent out Shmitty and his bird to deliver the message.” Said who Guybrush assumed was the muscle and leader of this little group

“Apparently this bilge rat got on the King’s bad side by stealin’ something reeeal ‘portant.” Said another pirate as she gleefully poked at Guybrush’s head

Ah so that’s why. Guess Guybrush should have expected King Andre to not just write the diamond off at a loss.

Ugh by the time King Andre or his goon showed up to pick him up, Guybrush wasn’t sure he would be able to speak in full sentences.

If Guybrush could sigh, he would (the gag in his mouth kind of put the kibosh on that.) He couldn’t help but think of Elaine. She either hasn’t found out that he was captured or she’s so angry at him that she won’t bother helping him.

Honestly he couldn’t blame her on that second one. It wouldn’t be the first time he disappointed her.

Suddenly a loud squawking rang out through the cave.

“I thought you said Shmitty was gonna deliver the message? He can’t have gotten a response that fast!” Said the pirate who yelled at Guybrush earlier

There was a pause…

And then someone was thrown from the darkness and landed in front of the captors.

“What the!?”

Guybrush assumes from their reactions that this was Shmitty.

The leader grabbed maybe-Shmitty by the scruff on his shirt. From where he was hanging, Guybrush could see that the guy had seen better days… or any days at all if that black eye was any indication.

“What the hell happened Shmitty? All you were ‘sposed to do was send the stupid bird out.”

“We’ve been caught, boss! She knows what we’re doing and she’s real angry!”

“She? She who?” asked the annoyed pirate

The pokey pirate pointed a sword toward Shmitty.

“Shmitty, you blabbermouth, you ratted us out didn’t you?!”

“I swear I didn’t say anything!”

Another sound rang out, a whistle.

The four (and Guybrush) looked down the cave.

Someone stepped into the torchlight and Guybrush would recognize that bright red hair from anywhere.

“Elaine!?”

Indeed there she was, Elaine Marley-Threepwood, sword in one hand and… parrot on her shoulder?

She smirked at Guybrush’s kidnappers.

“Oh don’t worry, your friend was quiet as a mouse. His friend on the other hand…”

At that, Elaine took a cracker from a pouch on her hip and gave it to the parrot on her shoulder. The parrot happily gobbled the cracker up and spoke.

“Awk! To King Andre! Awk! We captured the thief Guybrush Threepwood! Bwak! See us in the big cave on the outskirts of Tackle Isle! Awk!”

“Animals can be so helpful when you figure out how to get along with them.”

From there it was chaos as the kidnapper leader dropped his buddy (who ran off as soon as his feet touched the ground) and he and the remaining captors charged at Elaine. The parrot flew off as Elaine immediately parried the first strike.

Between all the blood in his head and his position, it was a little hard for Guybrush to tell what was happening. But he refused to let Elaine do all the work herself.

Thus he began swinging again but this time in a different direction. Maybe he could swing himself off the hook and-

“OI! What’d I say about that infernal squeaking!?”

Before Guybrush could offer a (muffled) witty comeback, Elaine took the opportunity while the pirate was distracted and struck the back of his head on the back of the head with her sword grip.

Okay, one down!

Guybrush continued swinging just a little higher and higher each time. The pokey pirate backed up as Elaine overwhelmed her… just close enough for Guybrus to swing right into her and knock her to the ground. Elaine immediately struck her on the head

“Ha, I can always count on you to make the best of a situation, Guybrush.” Elaine remarked

Guybrush smiled as best as he could with the gag in his mouth as he continued swinging back and forth. He swears he can feel the ropes starting to come off the hook, just a littl-

And he nearly instantly found himself sailing through the air and crashing right on top of the Captor’s leader.

“Uh… hi there…” Guybrush muffled

The leader growled as he pushed Guybrush off and stood up with his sword at the ready.

“King Andre didn’t say anything about turning you in alive…”

Oh crap…

Wait maybe if he moves in a certain way, the guy would just slash his ropes or the knot or-

*CLANG!*

-Or Elaine could just smash some pottery on the guy’s head and knock him out along with his buddies. That works better actually.

Now with all of Guybrush’s captors either knocked out or far away, Elaine could finally kneel down and start freeing Guybrush. First thing to take the gag out of his mouth. Guybrush took a deep breath and spit out any remaining gag taste as Elaine started cutting the ropes with a knife.

“Are you alright, Guybrush?”

“Dizzy… head hurts…”

“Sounds like I’ll need to carry you.” Elaine replied with a bit of a laugh

Soon enough, the ropes were cut and Guybrush was free. Elaine helped him stand up on his wobbly legs and eventually picked him up into a bridal carry. With that done, she made their way out of the cave.

“Sur-surprisd you came...”

“You’re the love of my life, of course I came.”

“But… you wer preddy mad earle-er…”

“Well yes but every couple has their arguments right? I was actually going to apologize when I found out you went missing.”

Oh.

Between finding out that Elaine still cared and the blood in his head slowly going back through the rest of his body, Guybrush felt a little lightheaded but happy.

“I’m gld we married, plndbunin…”

“Hee, hee, I’m glad we’re married, too.”

[rainmustfallts4]

Project Pisces ◇ Wu G1, Part 8

⊶⊰Information⊱⊷ ⊶⊰Chronological (all)⊱⊷ ⊶⊰Chronological (Wu)⊱⊷

─────────────⊶⊰⊱⊷─────────────

It’s Darnell’s turn to appease the gnomes. The pool gnome is watching him closely.

He pulls out a police car toy and…

He loved it! Good job, man.

Darnell is on the football team and he needs to practice. He couldn’t find his brother, so he asked a certain someone instead.

Again, Darnell is the only person in the house that she can stand so she agreed.

Something tells me she regrets this decision.

I present to you: a tragedy in three parts.

Jolene came outside looking for Porkchop only to find Todd with his horse.

Todd was panicked and rightfully so. “Listen, Jolene – “

“Why would I listen to a hypocrite? You screamed at me for buying my babies but then you go out and buy a HORSE?!”

“I am an adult, you are a child -“

“Bullshit! You can’t condemn me for doing something then turn around and do the same thing! My babies are tiny and easy to care for. They’re not a fully grown horse!”

“First off, she’s not fully grown, she’s still just a filly! And second, how could you know they are easy to care for? You haven’t done a single thing for them since you got them! Me and Darnell have been taking care of them!”

He had her there, but Jolene is a stubborn child. “T-That’s not true at all! I’ve totally taken care of them!”

“Oh yeah? When did you feed them last?”

“Um -“

“Brush them? Pet them? Look at them? You can’t answer because you bought them and then forgot about them. Since I bought Chestnut, I’ve done nothing but care for her, like a responsible person, would.”

“Ugh, forget it!” Jolene screamed at him before turning and stomping back inside.

When he went inside, he found Runt once again drinking from the toilet. Runt seemed happy to comply and didn’t growl at him like he had done to Darnell.

As if to spite him, Jolene started making a mess as soon as she saw Todd.

“Stop that!”

“No! Why should I?”

“Because Saya will have to clean up after you!”

Jolene snorted. “You think pretending to care about her will make her suddenly love you? Give me a break.”

Saya cleared her throat as she stepped closer. “Perhaps we should calm down a little -“

“Shut up! Don’t you dare try and act like my mom!”

“I wasn’t trying to -“

“I said shut up! Do your ears not work?”

“That’s enough, Jolene!” Huffed Todd. “Saya, you’re dismissed for the night.”

“Yes, sir…”

As soon as the woman was gone, Todd turned to his sister with a sigh. “Listen, Jo, no one is trying to replace mom. I know things have been tough since they died and I’m not exactly the best older brother… but things will get easier, alright?”

“I don’t believe you…”

“I know, but I promise it will. You just have to give it some time.”

“Not like I have any choice…”

“I’m sorry for yelling at you.”

“I guess I can forgive you…”

“Good, now get to bed, it’s late.”

[lakesparkles]

LiS True Colors fanfic (prologue)

Terrible title, I know lmao, but it doesn't have an actual title yet. I'm finally ready to start sharing my fanfics, this being the first one here.

The main idea was "what if Alex had Max's powers too?" because I wanted to write a time travel story, basically. It starts after the ending of the game, but not an official one, I guess? I kinda mixed two of them. The beggining of the fic will be more Alex/Steph but there are a lot of mentions of Alex/Ryan in this prologue too.

Last thing is that English is not my main language so sorry for any mistake! Here's something I drew for it:

You can read it on this google doc or under the cut: (1424 words)

Prologue

.

.

.

Alex doesn't understand how doing exactly what she wanted can be so scary

Or

What if Alex had Max's powers?

---

  The bus gave a sudden lurch, and Alex had to catch herself from falling off the seat. For that measly second, her mind returned to the real world, looking around. Beside her, Steph was going through the same thing, cursing under her breath as she returned to her previous position.

  Then it ended.

  Her attention immediately returned to the window, her cheek resting on her hand. Outside, the trees and mountains were farther apart. Different. Quite different from Haven Springs. The realization of that knocked her over again, making Alex swallow hard as she began to think about how her own decision hadn't made her as satisfied as she'd hoped.

  Maybe it was because she didn't think it would happen so soon. I mean, Alex was never an optimistic person. Far from that. Because optimism never made her life easier. However, part of her had found small hopes just a few weeks ago, when she'd been on a bus much like this one: seeing Gabe again could be weird, but could also be good. She could find connections, comfort, and everything else she'd lacked before. She could make Haven Springs her home.

  She would be lying if she said that things didn't turn out the way her more unrealistic self imagined.

  And again, even that hadn't gotten her anywhere. For there she was, heading towards the opposite side of the country, just as she had started.

  Alex sighed, burying her face in her hand.

  "Look," Steph's voice made her reluctantly focus on something that was not her thoughts, "you might be the one among us who reads minds... Buuuuut something tells me you'd have a blue stain around you right now ... It's blue, right?

  A second sigh came out of Alex's throat, but this time, she too turned her head and smiled slightly. A sad smile:

  "I am really sorry. I think I'm kind of tired."

  "But already?" Steph didn't seem convinced, "It's the first hours of our incredible journey! When we're in Pennsylvania you won't even be able to stand up then!"

  There was a certain good humor in her voice, which Alex appreciated. She was already tired of all the disguised judgments she had received in the last few days in that city.

  "You're really used to traveling, huh!?"

  "I prefer to believe that I wasn't born for only one city!" Steph closed her eyes in a dramatic pose, pointing at herself.

  It was lovely. Alex's smile rose a few inches, until she noticed the blue stain start to appear around the other one. It was small and lasted a few seconds. Alex even tried to avoid reading Steph's thoughts, but it was almost involuntary: as none so far made me feel like I should.

  "I'm with you on this one!" Alex laughed awkwardly.

  She knew her thoughts would take over again. So she didn't even turn her face to the window. Instead, she slowly laid down on Steph's shoulder, giving the other woman enough time to stop her if she wanted to. But of course Steph didn't move a muscle, just resting her head on Alex's.

  The contact was still awkward. Something she knew she would need more time to get used to. It was just one of the many consequences of growing up with little affection. She now avoided and begged for it in equal measure. It was like that when she hugged Gabe for the first time after meeting him again: awkward, out of place and strangely nice.

  She felt her brother's affection in unusual ways, being when she discovered that he had bought a guitar as a gift, days before she arrived; or when everyone in town spoke to her with a certain familiarity during her first week there. "Gabe couldn't stop talking about you!", Ryan confessed one afternoon that he spent at her apartment, "He guaranteed that everyone would love you! He said that you could form a band with Steph. That you wouldn't even complain about watching the boring documentaries I liked. Scary how right he was... And now I understand why he thought that...".

  Every time she talked about Gabe with Ryan, she felt a warm feeling in her chest, in a way she knew she wouldn't feel with anyone else. The two understood each other and expressed their love for Gabe through each other as well. It made that anything but real, as if they were just two old friends reminiscing about stories and would soon see Gabe again.

  Affection for Alex often took that form: being able to pretend everything was fine with someone else.

  At that very moment, Alex had her legs on top of Ryan's. He gently placed his hand on her knee, lightly caressing the area. Something so small and ordinary and…weird. She didn't know if she liked it, and it made her uneasy.

  She wanted something real and different from the feelings she'd stolen from someone else. And she knew reality was always a little scary, so she seemed to be on the right path.

  It intensified when she handed him the rose at the festival, her heart beating a mile a second. Even worse when she kissed him for the first time, the gold and purple mingled in him as well as her. She was close enough to feel everything that went through his mind. It was always a mixed bag, just like it was with Alex. Confused. Scary. New. Comfortable.

  Maybe all that fear wasn't so bad after all.

  Purple certainly followed her through the rest of that short relationship.

  She saw how Ryan was paralyzed as she confronted his father. Or when he himself yelled at her, telling her to stop it.

  Ryan didn't believe her.

  It wasn't the anger she was so used to that washed over him as he refused her touch, almost as if he was disgusted with her. Or when he started avoiding her for the next few days, his guilt prevented him from even getting close.

  No. It wasn't anger. Or sadness.

  It was fear.

  Now Alex couldn't help but think of everything from the start. At all the other times that emotion was present.

  Maybe it wasn't as normal as she wanted to believe it was.

  "It's like this in the beginning!" Steph's voice again brought her back to the real world.

  Alex needed a few seconds to even understand what was said:

  "Huh?"

  "This weird bus adrenaline! It's always kind of sad, at least it was like that for me too" She said while practically rubbing her face against Alex's, "But let me tell you a secret: Salem will never be the best part! We have many places to visit even before there!"

  "Is that talk about 'the true treasure are the friends you made along the way?"

  Steph lightly punched her arm, even though she was laughing:

  "I'm serious, okay? The good part is that we'll never know if Salem will really be our final stop. Maybe we'll walk into a hotel in the middle of nowhere in Ohio and decide that's where we belong."

  "Is that what happened when you stopped in Haven Springs?"

  "No..." She admitted, "But that hope always wanted to get me out of there."

  Alex still appreciated how much the other tried to cheer her up, so she decided to shrug her shoulders, giving up:

  "Who knows, right? We might not even stop anywhere! Let's just keep traveling. We just need to get temporary jobs to buy a van."

  "Then we can make a short list: ‘places to visit before death'! We will travel the country!"

  "And then we'll go down to Latin America. Somewhere has to be our place."

  "Or no place will ever be our place!"

  "You make it look like a good thing." She chuckled.

  "You understand me, Alex."

  That simple sentence cut the conversation short. Alex lifted her head from her shoulder, then made eye contact with Steph. She had said the last sentence simply, as if she was joking. However, the way she was looking at Alex now, it was as if she had confessed to something much bigger, which she had been keeping inside for a long time.

  The color purple washed over Steph.

  Alex smiled.

  Maybe she wasn't so wrong about affection and love.