#so only two more and Annie finds out I promise

[twpsyn-who]

Soulmates AU in which when your soulmate is in a situation that can result in their death you get to see through their eyes. Like, I don't know how to explain this- it kind of flashes between what you see and what your soulmate sees. You know those edits where there's a scene going on and there's another one faded in the background happening at the same time? Similar to that. The idea is that you get to see what your soulmate sees too, on top of what you're seeing.

Now, this AU but JeanMarco. With Marco asking the others where's Jean, just for him to start seeing a corpse right in front of his eyes not even a second after asking. Seeing through Jean's eyes as he's trying to get hold of that gear and stuff. And once Jean's safe, once it clicks that you know his best friend is his soulmate Marco can't wait for them to graduate so he can you know tell him that.

Then, you know. That happens. And Jean is so fucking confused because he keeps seeing Annie crying, looking down on him. Only when Annie starts getting off the gear, when his soulmate starts moving around trying to get away he starts panicking, starts moving around faster than before. And maybe he's too late. Or maybe he shows up in time and kills the titan. I don't know. That's not where I'm trying to get, but to the second option AKA Marco pulling an UNO reverse on Annie because he's a smart sneaky bastard like that and being like 'Hey you can't kill me, my soulmate will know it was you' which makes her stop trying to take off his gear. Reiner keeps telling her to do it, Bertholdt keeps yelling about that titan coming closer, but Annie... she has seen things, at some point. Flashes of moments that weren't hers, happening right in Trost- right in that moment. And she didn't give them too much thought until that moment, until it got confirmed that it has nothing to do with her titan powers.

'What do you mean by that?' she asks, because she needs to know more. Because she wants to know more. And Marco starts explaining how it works. Tells them that he has found his soulmate, that they will put all the blame on them for his death. Reiner doesn't believe him, keeps insisting that he's playing them around - he, and anyone born and raised on Marley, has never heard of something like that before, it doesn't exist - but Annie tells him to shut up and to let Marco go. Cue to the plot of any fic in which Marco doesn't straight up die after finding up their secret.

Anyway I don't know man, just,,, We need more soulmate aus for JeanMarco. That's an order.

[rosyblooom]

a in anniversary is for apple pie! | cl16 smau

PAIRING: charles leclerc x wife!reader SUMMARY: charles and y/n return from their wedding anniversary dinner to find their daughter still awake and adamant about wanting the apple pie she was promised tonight! A/N: tysm for 500 followers🥹 pls accept this entirely sweet & happy fic as a token of my appreciation🫶

creds to @classiclitfreak for proofreading <3

⋘ 𝑙𝑜𝑎𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑎... ⋙

charles_leclerc

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charles_leclerc Happy wedding anniversary to my beautiful wife, Y/N. You hold my heart in the palm of your hands, but I couldn't imagine it safer anywhere else. I'm excited for more, mon cœur 🙏❤️

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username wake up babe new photos of charles and y/n's secret wedding just dropped

username these crumbs are actually such nasty work smh😩 they're sick! username can't wait to see to finally see the whole wedding in 60 years🥲

username IS THIS TOO MUCH TO ASK FOR OMFG

yourusername iIy baby🥰🥰

charles_leclerc ❤️ username y'all are too cute 🤧 username I LOVE YOU GUYS SM!!!!

username still can't believe charles has a wife and it isn't me😭

username oh to be called mon cœur by charles leclerc...

username if you zoom in on the 3rd pic you'll see me face down in the ocean😔

username omg that makes two of us !! TWINNING😜

charles_leclerc posted to his story!

[ caption: Wow. ]

yourusername posted to her story!

[ caption: mon amour ❤️ ]

[ tagged: charles_leclerc ]

Fumbling, you struggle to insert the key into the lock, a task made unexpectedly difficult by your husband's impatience. His gentle kisses land on the nape of your neck, his soft whispers proving to be an unwelcome distraction. "Stop it! Can't you wait until we're inside?" you scold, attempting to maintain focus. But his arms remain securely wrapped around your waist, his affectionate gestures relentless. "Remember, we have to face the babysitter the moment we open the door."

"Mhm," Charles hums against your skin, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine and a suppressed smile to your lips. You curse silently at the six-inch heels you foolishly chose, your knees growing weaker with each passing second, the shoes only exacerbating the situation.

With a soft click, the door swings open, a rush of relief flooding through you as you silently thank your lucky stars. But before you can fully absorb the scene, the familiar sound of footsteps, accompanied by a beloved voice, reaches your ears.

"Maman!" Your daughter's enthusiastic embrace threatens to topple you as her tiny arms envelop your thighs. The warmth of Charles beside you momentarily dissipates as he steps back, a look of surprise crossing his features.

Running a hand through his beard, he gently tousles D/N's hair as he asks, "What are you doing up so late, love?"

Annie, your babysitter, interjects with a sheepish grin. "I'm sorry, I tried to get her to bed, but she insisted you guys were making apple pie tonight." She scratches the back of her neck, shrugging apologetically. "I did my best, but this little one is quite determined, as I've come to learn. Right, D/N?" Annie redirects her attention downward, addressing your daughter.

“You promised me apple pie, Maman!” D/N's insistent plea rings out, her small fingers grasping the fabric of your dress. “And I want it now! I want it now! I want it now!”

Kneeling down to her level, you gently place a finger to your lips. “Alright, D/N, I can hear you, but not so loud. Remember, at night-time, we use our inside voice, okay?” Tenderly, you intertwine your hands with hers, tracing comforting circles on the back of her hands.

D/N nods solemnly and whispers, “You promised me you’d make apple pie, and I want it now. Papa,” she turns her pleading gaze to Charles, releasing herself from your grasp and wrapping her arms around him. “I’ve been waiting all day for this, please, Papa.”

Motioning for you to handle the situation with Annie, Charles scoops D/N up, settling her on his hip before disappearing down the hallway and into the kitchen.

You straighten up, offering Annie an apologetic smile. “I’m so sorry about that,” you say, reaching into your bag and retrieving an envelope labelled ‘Annie’s pay’. With a gentle gesture, you extend your arm, offering it to her. “This covers today, plus a tip, of course.”

Annie shakes her head, pushing the envelope back towards you. “I can’t accept this. I mean, I failed at getting her to sleep.”

“What?” You try to keep your voice steady, but frustration seeps through. “No, absolutely not.” Determinedly, you grasp her hand, pressing the envelope into her palm before folding it closed. “This is your money; you showed up today and did amazing, as usual. I promised D/N something, so that’s on me, really.”

She tilts her head, her brows furrowing slightly. “Are you sure, Mrs. Leclerc?”

You let out a hum. “How many times do I have to tell you? It’s just Y/N. None of that Mrs. stuff in this house, please,” you chuckle, “you're making me feel old.”

“Right, sorry, Y/N,” Annie quickly corrects herself.

Satisfied, you nod. “We’re getting there… But yes, I am absolutely sure. You deserve every single cent. Seriously,” you emphasise, “you’re a huge help to my family.”

"Alright, thank you, Y/N," Annie retrieves her bag from the hook on the wall and opens the door. "Have a good night."

"You too, Annie. Thanks again."

With a sudden slam, the door startles you for a moment before you release a long breath. You kick off your heels, relieved to be free of the "death traps" as you call them. As your feet meet the cool marble floor, a wave of calm washes over you, releasing the tension from your shoulders. It's exactly what you needed. Feeling much better, you slip off your coat and hang it beside the door before making your way into the kitchen.

A short while later…

"Alright," you lean over the counter, your forearms resting on the cool top, a warmth spreading through your heart as you watch Charles holding D/N in his arms, gently swaying side to side as they dance.

"That's what your mum and I were doing after we finished eating," he whispers.

D/N's high-pitched giggles fill the room, her tiny hand gripping a couple of Charles' fingers. "I want to come next time," she says, turning her head towards you. "Please, please, can I come next time, Maman?"

"Yes," you smile, "of course. Next time, you'll join us for our little anniversary date, okay?"

"Yay!" your daughter raises her hands in excitement, her face beaming.

Recalling the original plan, you clap your hands together. "Alright, D/N, are you still sure you want apple pie tonight? Not tomorrow or the day af—?"

"No, no, no!" she interrupts. "I want apple pie now!"

"Okay, okay… Time to wash your hands then, honey."

D/N squirms in Charles' grip, and when he finally releases her, she races for the sink in the corner of the room, immediately flicking the tap on.

Charles chuckles at the sight before turning his attention to you, stepping closer. You straighten up from the counter just in time as his hands envelop you, trapping you between the counter and his body.

"Looks like our plans will have to wait until later, huh?" you whisper, your voice taking on a sultry tone as your fingers trail up his broad chest, halting on his black tie, starting to unravel it.

Charles leans down, his warm breath slipping into the gap between your parted lips, the sweet tinge of red wine coating your tongue. "Looks like it… But I can wait, mon cœur," his voice resonates breathily as he closes the remaining distance between your faces, his soft lips meeting yours, hungry yet gentle. The kiss is brief, barely lasting long enough for you to savour the moment, though he captures your bottom lip between his teeth, tugging at it slightly before releasing his hold and pulling away.

Remembering your husband’s earlier impatience when you were struggling to open the front door, you fold his tie and set it aside before raising a single brow, asking, “Oh, can you now?”

Charles nods with a sly smile, but before he can respond, D/N beats him to it, diverting your attention as she waltzes towards you.

“Hands are washed!” she exclaims, shaking her hands dry.

"Good job, darling." You slip from Charles’ embrace, grabbing the kitchen roll off the counter and passing it to D/N. "Here."

Once you and Charles have washed your hands, you begin assigning roles. "Baby," you address your husband, pointing, "You’ll chop up the apples, and D/N…" You tilt your head down at your daughter standing in the middle of the kitchen, her smile brimming with excitement. "Do you want to make the shortcrust pastry with me, honey?"

To your surprise, D/N shakes her head and rushes to Charles’ side, her cheek pressed against him. "I want to do what Papa is doing. I don’t want to work with you, Maman."

The admission elicits laughter from you and Charles, his chuckles resonating loudly through the room as D/N pulls open a few drawers and retrieves a butter knife and a chopping board before settling down at the dining table, her back turned to you.

As you turn around, you feel Charles’ strong arms enclose around your waist, his warm hands settling onto your stomach as he whispers into your ear, "You heard the little lady. Everything's just so much more fun with her dad, you know?"

“Shut the fuck up” you quip, jabbing him with your elbow.

“I heard that!”

D/N's words cause you to pivot, fixing your gaze on the back of her head. “I’m sorry, D/N, I shouldn’t have said that,” you concede, shooting a discreet glance at Charles. “It’s just that your father has a knack for being an annoying sh—” You cut yourself off before the insult fully forms, forcing a tight-lipped smile as Charles's laughter reverberates. “Let’s just say, he can be an annoying husband sometimes, you know?”

“No! Papa is never annoying, you’re wrong,” she counters, shooting you a reproachful look before redirecting her attention to Charles, waving. “Come on, Papa, I really want apple pie. Hurry up, I’ve already started!”

“Coming, my love,” Charles murmurs softly, turning back to you and lifting your chin with a gentle touch. He places a tender kiss on your lips, then rests his forehead against yours. “So, I’m an annoying husband, huh?”

You smile and give a nonchalant shrug. “I could've said worse, trust me.”

“Papa!” D/N's voice rings out.

Charles barely flinches at your daughter's outburst, only chuckling softly and shaking his head as he moves toward the dining table, grabbing a cutting board and a knife along the way.

“Guys, we only need about eight to ten apples!” you call out from across the kitchen.

Charles winks at you. “Perfect, we have nine.”

Without further delay, you gather the ingredients for a shortcrust pastry and begin to mix them together.

Some time later…

As you finish rolling out the second dough, D/N rushes over, balancing a large bowl of sliced apples in her arms, and exclaims, “Here, Maman! We finished!”

"Thank you so much, my love," you reply, guiding her to settle the bowl onto the counter before heading towards the oven to turn it on.

Charles lifts D/N onto the counter, and you reach into the cupboard to retrieve the cinnamon, salt, flour, and sugar, handing them to your daughter. With a few instructions, she sprinkles the ingredients into the bowl of apples and begins stirring eagerly.

As D/N continues, you feel Charles' arms wrap around you, and he mischievously pinches the side of your waist, prompting you to shriek and swat his hand away, shooting him a playful glare. "Stop that!"

Once everything's mixed together, D/N eagerly assists you in assembling the pie while Charles holds open the oven door for you to slide it in.

"Perfect," you exclaim, clapping your hands together. "We did really well."

D/N squeals with excitement, jumping up and down before extending her hand towards you, palm facing up. "High-five, Maman!"

You promptly oblige, meeting her hand with yours before she moves on to Charles.

Two hours later…

"Two scoops of vanilla ice cream on your slice?" you inquire, arching an eyebrow at your daughter, who struggles to keep her head up, her eyes fluttering closed momentarily before snapping back open.

"Huh?" she mumbles, rubbing her eyes. "Yes, I'm starving, Maman."

You share a knowing glance with Charles, his dimples appearing as he smiles.

With a nod of understanding, you heap two scoops of ice cream onto her slice of golden apple pie, pushing the plate towards D/N.

Both you and Charles observe quietly as she struggles to eat even a single forkful before conceding defeat with a sigh.

Looking up from her plate, D/N's eyes flit between you and Charles, a sheepish smile playing on her lips. "Actually... I'm not hungry anymore." Before you can respond, she hops up from her seat, declaring, "I'm tired. I’m going to bed now."

She gives Charles a goodnight hug, then comes to you, avoiding eye contact as she quickly embraces you. "Good night, Maman."

In the blink of an eye, she vanishes from the kitchen, her footsteps on the marble floor echoing faintly as she races down the corridor, until they're drowned out by the resounding slam of her bedroom door.

You and Charles share a glance, both of you unable to contain your laughter.

After the laughter subsides, you stand up, holding D/N’s plate, and remark, “I’ll pop this in the freezer.”

As you finish storing everything away, Charles rinses the final plate and settles it onto the drying rack. Patting his hands on a paper towel, he fixes you with a tender gaze.

Though you know it's irrational, a wave of insecurity washes over you, making you acutely aware of all your perceived flaws.

"I love you. Happy wedding anniversary to us, mon cœur," Charles' sweet words halt your anxious thoughts as he closes the distance between you, burying his face into the crook of your neck.

Your breath catches as his tongue traces patterns across your collarbone, his teeth gently nibbling at your flesh.

It takes considerable effort to suppress a moan, but you manage to respond, "I love you, baby. Here's to at least eighty more."

You feel Charles' smile against your skin before he raises his head, eliciting a whimper as the cool air grazes your now raw neck. Before the sound can fully escape, Charles silences it by pressing his lips firmly against yours. The tension that had built up earlier floods over you like a tsunami, his hands exploring your body as your tongues dance, vying for dominance, until he breaks away abruptly.

Both of you are left breathless.

Once he catches his breath, Charles extends his hand to you, which you grasp eagerly—you need all the support you can get to avoid collapsing onto the floor; your legs feel like jelly.

Noticing your predicament, Charles' lips curl into a proud smile, prompting an eye roll from you as he effortlessly scoops you into his arms, bridal style, and plants a tender kiss on your cheek.

"I think we should continue this in the bedroom, mon cœur," he whispers, carrying you down the hallway, anticipation making your teeth capture your bottom lip.

yourusername

liked by iamrebbecad, charles_leclerc, francisca.cgomes, and 599,042 others

yourusername I've loved you three six summers now, honey, but I want 'em all... 💕

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username not taylor's 'lover' omg stoppp😭😭😭

username aww there's something so special about seeing childhood friends turn into lovers🥹🫶

username dear lord... i see what you've done for others🧎‍♀️

username lool🤣

charles_leclerc Sounds like a beautiful plan ❤️

(liked by author)

username alright that's enough internet for today🤧

username AHHH THE 3RD PIC WITH D/N??? I'M CRYING

username if they ever break up, I'll stop believing in love cause wdym

username girl don't speak that shit into existence !! username wait you're right SRY I TAKE IT BACK PLSS

1:11 ───ㅇ───────── 3:25

[cranberryjuice-posts]

GIRLIE I LOVED YOUR ATHENA DAUGHTER READER ‼️

also guess who’s back can i ask for a athena!daugter reader where it’s kinda like Annabeth trying to tell the reader that “hey clarisse is bad she tried to fucking kill percy she’s evil” and the reader us kinda tries to convince her that Clarisse really isn’t that bad😔

(i love your work girl and your end memes please do more 🔥‼️)

She’s the only one I got

Pairings - Clarisse La rue x daughter of Athena reader

An- fun-fact clarisse loves Dr Pepper It’s cannon Go read the sea of monsters. She’s literally perfect I can’t

An pt 2 - I Hope this is ok i wasn’t really sure what to write but it’s ok bc I’m just a girl

Pt 1 — Pt 2

Palestine aid link

“Are you serious?!” Annabeth yelled, a few of your other siblings backing her up.

You however were standing infront of the full length mirror inside your cabin fixing your outfit which was a pair of bellebottoms and a camp sweater. “Look Annie i get your our counselor and your the smartest out of us all but your not the smartest when it comes to relationships”

“And now she’s starting to sound like an Aphrodite kid” Malcom your brother rolled his eyes before returning to his book. You shot him a hateful look. “All right fine Your right I don’t get relationships like you but I do know clarisse”

“Really?” You sarcastically spoke just wanting the argument to be over. Grabbing some hoops you were deciding between the two different pairs. “Yeah, Clarisse is a hateful arrogant and rude person. She makes fun of our cabin with her siblings and didn’t she use to make fun of you to”

Deciding on the star shape hoop you put the earring in. “Fine! Fine ok I get it but I promise you clarisse is not like that ok she’s sweet, she loves me Annie why don’t you get that” you sighed facing your sister.

The shorter girl crossed her arms, leaning against a desk inside the studious cabin. “Because she’s a bitch”

“Language!”

“I’m 12 why are you giving me shit for cussing you cuss”

“Because I’m 16 you’ve still got two years before you morally can curse now stop.. damn about to make me get Luke” you sighed shaking your head. Facing back to the mirror you analyzed your look.

Annabeth rolled her eyes looking away for some time before facing you once again. “I still don’t trust you being alone with her..”

After finally having enough you turned towards the wiser girl. “Know what fine you can spy on us during our date today, then you’ll see she’s not such a terrible person and you’ll finally get off my ass… deal” you crossed your arms looking down at annabeth.

Your younger sister looked around for a moment feeling somewhat threatened by you before nodding in defeat. “Great” you sighed stepping back, grabbing a small drawstring bag and a book on the stars, you threw on your shoes before leaving.

——

You were sitting in a clearing in the woods, a blanket set out with some strawberries and a pack of Dr Pepper you bought from the Hermes cabin. Annabeth was positioned behind a tree with her cap of invisibility on.

Eventually clarisse showed up. “Five minutes late” you jokingly chastised her.

“Shut up I’m on time” she scoffed sitting down beside you on the blanket. Pulling you into her some she kissed you softly. Her hands finding themselves on your waist

Bringing yourself back you leaned over grabbing a soda, handing it over to the curly haired girl. “Mmhm so how was running around like a fool for the entire morning?”

Clarisse rolled her eyes taking the drink In a harsh joking manner. “First of all its called training and secondly it was actually alot of fun, how was staying up all night to just watch some stupid dots in the sky”

Scrunching your nose at the girl you gave her a sarcastic look. “Yeah you think your so funny huh”

“Yeah I do”

“Mmhm” you knew clarisse was looking at your lips— she wasn’t subtle about it. Tired of her just imagining it you leaned in kissing her again. The playful banter between you two faded away while clarisse deepened the kiss

As much as you wanted to makeout with your girlfriend you weren’t doing it infront of your sister. Pulling back you placed a hand on clarisses arm while darting your eyes to some trees around you with a smile.

The girl furrowed her eyebrows but made a signal to her head almost mimicking a hat. Nodding you knew clarisse understood annabeth was spying on you two.

“Whatever this is stupid” clarisse gave you a teasing look. “What being on a date with your girlfriend? Yeah it’s so stupid” you responded in the same tone.

Clarisse rolled her eyes. “You know that’s not. What I meant” shaking her head you watched as clarisse reached over to her spear grabbing a plastic bag.

Handing it over to you you looked inside. “No way clarisse did you”

“Yeah I did. Your not gonna embarrass me about it if I own up to it” she continued to mess with you. Opening the bag you smiled as your girlfriend made you chocolate chip cookies with the nymphs in the kitchen. “Your the sweetest you know” you becoming flustered while you looked at the treats.

She just rolled her eyes with a smile, laying down clarisse moved around to lay her head in your lap. “Woah careful clarisse you might admit you actually like me a boring Athena kid remember”

“Mmhm Same can be said about you what was that about me being a bitchy ares kid?” She bit back. Flicking her forehead lightly just to get back at her.

You smiled while playing with one of the girls curls. You loved clarisse, wanting to proudly say it but worried you’d scare the girl off so for now you’d settle on just this.. cute dates with her, sneaking into her cabin to spend the night with her and just enjoying the silence with her.

After some time you knew annabeth had left after all she had gotten all the proof she needed. Clarisse knew it to.

“I love you” it finally left your lips. You noticed clarisses body tense making you regret the decision immediately. Clarisse however grabbed your hand kissing your knuckles. “I guess I love you to”

“Shut up”

“Why You Said you loved me”

——

Annabeth - Fine she’s not a bitch

Y/n - ANNABETH!

—

Clarisse - *having a Stare off with annabeth*

Clarisse - do we have a Problem

Y/n - dude..

[avoxrising]

The Feral One • Ch 11

Finnick x Y/N

Series Masterlist Link

I had such a hectic day but decided I wanted to stay up late and upload anyways. Prepare yourselves for a plot twist!!!

Content Warnings - Mentions of suicide/torture

How long had you been here? Weeks? Months? None of that mattered to you. You were happy here.

The capital doctors had fixed you. No more meltdowns over people touching you; no more urges to kill. You were finally healed.

You don’t know why they took the route of healing you while they tortured the others, but who were you to complain? They had made you whole again. Maybe they thought that making you realize the stability you had lived without for the past five years would be a form of torture. Maybe they thought it would make you sad. It didn’t. It made you the happiest you had been in a long time.

The only thing that would make you happier would be seeing Finnick. You know he’s not in the capital. Peeta said he saw him on the screen the other day while he was doing an interview, so you know he’s alive. You just hope you’ll be reunited soon.

Hopefully he will come here and they can fix him too. He may not show it, but his games and the years after have left him with a lot of scars. If he comes, you’ll make sure he gets the same treatment you received.

The power here keeps flickering out. Peeta says it’s cause the dam in District 5 was destroyed. Apparently Finnick and Katniss are in District 13 and the capital sent bombs. Peeta warned them and got extra torture because of it.

Johanna is silent outside of her screams. Whatever they’re doing to her sounds horrible. You don’t want to find out.

��Y/N!” Peeta whispers loudly to you. His room is across from yours and you can hear each other under the door.

“What?” you respond.

“I overheard them talking about you,” he states. “The peacekeepers were talking about your treatment.”

“What about it?” you ask.

“I didn’t hear all of it,” he explains, “and it’s hard for me to know what’s real nowadays, but they said something about a timer going off and how they would make you crazy again. We have to get out before they hurt us.”

“What are you talking about?” you ask him annoyed. “They won’t hurt me. Snow promised.”

Just as Peeta goes to respond, the lights cut out again and peacekeepers enter the hall. They usually set up extra guards when the power goes out in case anyone tries to escape. Why would you escape? You like it here.

It must be an hour later when panic sets in. You hear a hiss coming from the hall and what sounds like people falling over. You don’t have time to think, however, before your door is opened and a canister of smoke is thrown into your room. Peeta was right. They are going to hurt you.

“Did you always love her?” Katniss asks Finnick as they wait for the rescue team to return. All communication had been cut off but the two were still holding onto hope that they would return safely.

“No,” he chuckles. “I guess she snuck up on me.”

“How?” Katniss asks.

“After her incident in the capital Snow killed her family,” he explains. “I moved in with her because she wasn’t stable enough to live on her own. We were scared she was going to kill herself and selfishly I couldn’t let the one victor I had brought home at that point die.”

Katniss nods her head in understanding and Finnick continues.

“I don’t know if I’d even call us friends when I first lived with her. She wasn’t thrilled I moved in and found me annoying, yet I was the only one she would talk to. She wouldn’t even speak to Mags,” he states. “Before Annie’s games my nightmares got worse. I would wake up screaming in the middle of the night completely disoriented. Instead of running or turning violent she would stay. Whenever I woke her up she would come to my room and sit near me till I fell asleep again. Something just clicked at that point and I knew I couldn’t live without her. I still can’t.”

“I never even told her I loved her,” he sadly says to Katniss.

“She knows,” Katniss responds. “And I know she loves you too.”

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[geminiwritten]

i’m yours ; billy butcher

fandom: the boys

pairing: billy x reader

summary: you find out that butcher slept with maeve, and attempt to ignore your feelings by going m.i.a. and going home with a complete stranger, only to awake the green-eyed monster living inside of butcher

preface: this isn’t set in canon timeline, it’s basically just using the bit where butcher sleeps with maeve as a bit of a jealousy catalyst

notes: this man has a hold on me... and i feel like this got a little rushed at the end but i still kind of like it, please let me know what y’all think! (also, i’m sorry all my stuff has the same formula, i promise i’m trying to mix it up!)

warnings: a lot of swearing, the ‘sewer-slide’ word, google-translated french, sexual content, and some soft smut

word count: 5315

Things are good, too good, but you’re doing your best not to look a gift horse in the mouth. Hughie and Annie are happy, MM is content, and Frenchie is excitedly creating new methods of blowing up Supes almost daily. Butcher is… well, Butcher. He’s grumpy and brash, but seems to be feeling a little more positive lately, focusing more on recon and intel rather than running in with guns blazing.

For the first time in what felt like a lifetime, you had managed to go grocery shopping without anyone stumbling home bloody and bruised. Frenchie is humming along to the song that had been playing on the radio, carrying most of the plastic bags while MM carries one with you on his back. You were all in such high spirits that he had let you jump on his back at the bottom of the apartment stairs, carrying you up four flights as if you weighed no more than a hiking backpack.

Frenchie chuckles at the two of you as he unlocks the apartment door, entering first and pushing it open all the way. You have to duck a little, giggling and holding on to MM for dear life as he starts jogging toward the couch. He drops the bag on the floor before falling into the sofa, and you squeal as he squashes you.

“Hey,” you exclaim, still laughing, “what the fuck? Steeds don’t sit on their riders!”

“You want to ride me next, petit ange?” Frenchie calls from the kitchen.

You writhe until MM moves, standing up with a satisfied grin across his lips. You flip him your middle finger as he turns away, ushering Frenchie out of the kitchen so he can put the groceries away. You find the TV remote buried in the couch cushions, and just as the old screen flickers to life, Kimiko emerges from the hallway. She looks at Frenchie with a small smile, signing hello before her nose crinkles, and she signs another sentence you struggle to catch as your attention is called toward the master bedroom doors.

Frenchie frowns curiously, “She says that it smells in here.”

“Yeah, ‘cause you lot are stinkin’ up my fuckin’ apartment,” Butcher says, running a hand through his hair.

He looks like shit. His shirt is wrinkled and the buttons are fastened crookedly, his hair is standing up in all directions, and the circles beneath his eyes are several shades darker than usual.

“It is our apartment, Butcher,” Frenchie states, “it is the least you can after making me blow up my last two places, eh?”

Butcher rolls his eyes before dropping into one of the dining room chairs, holding his face in his hands as he takes several deep breaths.

Frenchie looks to Kimiko again before translating, “She says it smells like alcohol and sweat, and a perfume that she has not smelt before.”

“I don’t wear perfume,” you note, “every time we have to haul ass and run, the bottles end up broken or missing, so I gave up.”

MM raises his hands in defence, “Don’t look at me, I haven’t seen anyone but you lot in the past twelve hours.”

“Perhaps it is something we picked up at the shops,” Frenchie shrugs.

Kimiko signs again, and you watch her to listen.

“You can smell a stranger?” you ask with a frown.

“To reiterate,” MM says, “I stayed at a motel alone last night, I was too tired to drive all the way here after visiting Janine.”

“I stayed with Annie,” you point out, “is that who you can smell?”

Kimiko shakes her head, and your heart begins to race anxiously. Neither she nor Frenchie stayed here last night either, opting for one of his old hideouts after scouring the city for any possible missed traces that Vought could use to find you all.

MM turns to Butcher, “Was there someone here last night?”

“Why would you not tell us that there was a break in?” Frenchie demands, his face a mixture of irritation and concern.

Butcher sighs, “There wasn’t a fuckin’ break in, calm down.”

Kimiko pads quietly around the room, subtly sniffing the air around MM and then Frenchie before moving toward you. She inhales above your head and grimaces, before moving to the side and taking a deep breath over the couch.

You shoot up from your seat and stumble toward the kitchen, “Me or the couch?”

She points at the sofa.

“Butcher,” MM says, his voice demanding, “explain before I slap your hungover ass.”

Its only then that you notice the two empty bottles of whiskey, one on the coffee table and one laying on the floor. You back up slowly toward the kitchen, a fresh wave of panic washing over you.

“Someone stopped by,” Butcher mutters into his hands, “that’s all.”

You reach the kitchen bench at the same time Kimiko does, still sniffing like a police dog, and her face twists into a disgusted frown. You startle again, jumping back from the bench as if it had burnt you.

“Care to elaborate?” MM presses.

Butcher sighs, and you can feel a lump growing in your throat.

“We all sleep here too, Butcher,” Frenchie states, “and we deserve to know if it is still safe to do so.”

“‘Course it’s fuckin’ safe,” Butcher says, finally turning his head to face the room. “Maeve came by, alrigh’? Just her, ‘n’ she had some information, so we had a chat and a drink. Is that alrigh’ with you nosey bastards?”

A weight drops in your stomach, anchoring you to the floor as moisture begins to blur your vision.

Kimiko stops sniffing when she reaches Butcher, cringing and stumbling several paces back until she is beside Frenchie.

“You slept with a Supe?” MM gasps.

Butcher huffs and pushes himself up from the chair, “No fuckin’ privacy with you lot, is there?”

MM raises his hands again, “Hey, I’m not judging, just shocked.”

Frenchie’s concern melts into taunting smirk, “No need to be defensive, Monsieur Charcutier, we all have our needs, and I am surprised that you managed to woo such a beautiful woman.”

“Fuck off, Frenchie,” Butcher sighs, dragging his feet toward the fridge.

Their voices blur into white noise as you focus on the slow inhale and exhale of your breath. You wriggle your toes in your boots, forcing yourself to feel your physical body instead of the whirlwind of emotions swirling through your head. It feels like your skull is fracturing with the effort that it takes to contain the storm, but you refuse to let your feelings win. You find a bottle and push them inside, jamming the cork in just as Frenchie snaps his fingers in front of your nose.

You blink, “What?”

“Are you okay?” he asks, a soft crease between his brows.

“Yeah, sorry,” you blink again to quell your watery eyes, “what’s up?”

“Are you hungry?”

You glance over his shoulder at Butcher, his head in the fridge as he ignores MM’s demands to get out of the way.

“Not really,” you reply, “I was actually thinking about going back over to Annie’s, I think I forgot my… my socks.”

The concern between Frenchie’s brows deepens, “You forgot your socks?”

You nod, “My favourite socks.”

“Didn’t know you had favourite socks,” Butcher mumbles as he steps out of the kitchen.

“You don’t know a lot of things,” you state, plastering on a smile that you know doesn’t reach your eyes.

You can feel their curious gazes on you as you turn, retrieving your wallet and keys from the couch before striding out of the apartment door without a second glance. You pull your phone out of your pocket and text Annie to let her know that you’re on your way before switching it to ‘do not disturb’ and zipping it inside your jacket pocket, determined to forget about it until you’ve got a handle on your emotions.

The sun is setting by the time you reach the familiar street on which Hughie and Annie’s apartment is located, and you’re rather proud of the fact that you managed to focus on nothing but your steady steps the whole way here. You look up at the brick building on your left, but instead of turning toward the front steps, your feet carrying you across the street toward the park, not stopping until you’re standing in front of an empty bench.

“Something wrong with that one?” a voice asks, and you startle toward the source of it.

A young man is standing beside you, clad in running shorts and a tight exercise jacket. He doesn’t look menacing, but your whole body tenses as your fight or flight instincts battle for dominance.

“I’m sorry?”

He chuckles, “The bench, I mean. You’re frowning at it as if it’s diseased or something.”

“Oh,” you look back at the moss-ridden seat, “no, I just- I don’t know.”

“Are you alright?”

He buries his hands in the pockets of his jacket, and you let yourself relax, deciding that he isn’t a threat, just an overly friendly stranger.

“I’m fine, sorry,” you sigh, “just had a weird day.”

“That’s nothing to apologise for,” he says, sitting on the bench and looking up at you. “I know the feeling.”

You sit beside him, watching his side profile and slowly realising how attractive he is. His hair is cropped short, shorter than you usually liked, but his eyes are a stunning green and the faint shadow of stubble across his jaw is definitely something you can appreciate.

“Do you often approach strangers in the park?” you ask.

He laughs again, his eyes sparkling under the orange sky, “No, not really, especially not strangers as gorgeous as you.”

You blush at the ground, deciding to focus on your fraying shoelaces rather than the handsome stranger.

“But I figured,” he goes on, “that if I didn’t ask this pretty girl if she was okay, I might not be able to stop thinking about her for the rest of my life.”

You actually giggle, immediately cursing yourself for being so easy, “That’s a long time.”

“I know, right? I didn’t fancy the risk, and hey,” he smiles at you, “looks like it might have been worth it.”

“Maybe,” you smile back, “I’m Y/N, by the way.”

“Nate.”

You’re not sure if you’re an idiot or if you’ve just given up on your own personal safety, but you sit and talk to Nate until the sun is well below the horizon. You learn that he’s a journalist and a dog person, and lately he’s been more afraid of Supes than comforted by their presence. You tell him you’re a freelancer, because it isn’t technically a lie, and that you’re in between gigs at the moment but questioning whether you’re really doing what you want to be doing. Also, not a lie.

“I know that this is probably very forward,” he says, his knee bouncing nervously, “but did you want to come back to my place for a drink? I would suggest a bar, but I’m not really dressed for it, and I just get this feeling that as soon as we say goodbye, you’re going to disappear forever.”

You frown, “You’re a real long-term guy, aren’t you?”

His cheeks flush pink, “I don’t have to be.”

As you walk alongside the man you met mere hours ago, you come to the conclusion that you must be suicidal. In the current state that the world is in, who in their right mind goes home with a complete stranger? You, apparently.

His apartment isn’t far from the park, which is a little comforting, knowing that you will have a speedy escape to Annie’s place if this guy does end up being a psycho serial killer. The buildings all look the same as you approach a row of tall brick blocks, climbing the few concrete steps up to the lobby doors before scaling three flights to reach his apartment door.

It’s surprisingly well decorated inside, and you can eye a few expensive items that make you wonder if he really is a struggling journalist, or perhaps a shady underground arts dealer. You take a seat at the kitchen bench as he babbles about how crappy his landlord is and how much money he’s had to spend on the place to make it liveable. The glass of wine he places in front of you is gone within two gulps, and he happily pours you another.

“I feel like I probably should have asked this a few hours ago,” he says with a sheepish smile, “but you aren’t with anyone, are you? Engaged or married, or anything like that.”

You choke on your mouthful of cheap wine, coughing the burn away while he hurries to get you a glass of water.

“No,” you finally reply, “I’m not, at all.”

“Good,” he replies, his earnest grin returning, “I mean, it’s surprising because you’re incredible, but I’m glad.”

You offer him a smile that you hope appears coy and not at all forced before drinking down the rest of your second glass of wine. He moves into the lounge room, and you take the opportunity to pour yourself another generous glass, quickly swallowing the two mouthfuls left in the bottle while his back is still turned. You gingerly place the empty bottle in the sink before following him, dropping onto the soft leather couch as he turns on the television.

A news broadcast lights up the screen, and fiery images of a truck collision flash behind the breaking news banner that reads: ‘QUEEN MAEVE SAVES THE DAY’. Your stomach twists into a knot as the bottle of emotions you had managed to almost forget about begins to break, the glass fracturing and threatening to send you into a full-blown mental breakdown.

“Damn,” Nate sighs, “I know the Supes are pretty sketchy these days, but Queen Maeve is just gorgeous.”

With one last burning gulp of wine, you turn to the man beside you and take his head between your hands, crushing your lips against his. He gasps, but responds quickly, his hands finding your hips and guiding you onto his lap.

The rest of the night is a blur as you attempt to give all of your attention to this stranger that you barely know instead of confronting the green-eyed monster roaring in your belly. He finishes once on the couch, pretty quickly, but you’re not one to judge, before you drag him into the bedroom and away from the incessant news broadcasts of Queen Maeve’s heroic act.

It isn’t your alarm that wakes you, or the sound of Frenchie and MM arguing about how to cook eggs, but rather the unfamiliar scent that douses your breath. Your body trembles with anxiety and your eyes snap open, darting around the strange room as your thoughts scramble to remember how you got here.

“Fuck,” you sigh at the sound of someone snoring beside you.

You gently roll over and slip out of the sheets, cold air immediately nipping at your naked body. You find the nearest item of clothing and slip it over your head before tiptoeing out of the bedroom and into the lounge room. Nerves and hunger mingle inside of your stomach, making you overwhelmingly nauseous by the time you find your jacket thrown over the back of the couch.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you mutter as you retrieve your phone from the pocket.

Dozens of missed calls and text messages fill your lock screen, several from Annie and Frenchie, a couple from Hughie and MM, but the majority of them listed under Butcher’s contact name, ‘Big Willy’. You thought it was funny a few days ago.

You quickly text Annie that you’re okay, you’re incredibly sorry, and that you’ll fill her in as soon as you see her. You find your jeans and wriggle into them before finding your panties and tucking them into your back pocket. You scoop your bra and your shirt off the floor on your way to the kitchen, and check your phone again for a reply from Annie. Nothing yet.

You drink the glass of untouched water from the kitchen bench before splashing your face and trying to calm the vibration of nerves coursing through your body.

“Hey.”

You startle at the sudden voice, turning to find Nate in nothing but sweatpants as he emerges from the bedroom.

“Hey,” you murmur.

He frowns, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I-I’m fine, just- uh, my friends have been calling me,” you gesture to your phone, “and they’re pretty worried.”

“Oh,” he lets out a long breath, “I didn’t even hear it ringing last night.”

You smile weakly, not bothering to explain that you were intentionally avoiding your phone all afternoon.

He steps forward, “So, did you-”

The apartment door bursts open, splinters of wood scattering across the floor as you squeal and Nate jumps away from the blow. Your heart is racing, but your body reacts as it was trained to do, and you dive for a knife from the block beside the stove before freezing as you recognise the figure stalking through the broken door.

“Butcher,” you say, “what the fuck?”

His head snaps toward you, the crease between his brows softening and his eyes looking almost vulnerable as realises that it’s you.

“I’m sorry, but who the fuck are you and why did you just break my door?” Nate speaks up.

Your stomach sinks as Butcher’s attention is turned toward the shirtless man, murderous intent returning to his face.

“Who the fuck am I?” he spits, “Who the fuck are you?”

Nate looks tiny compared to Butcher, his narrow frame absolutely dwarfed by Butcher’s broad height and intimidating stance.

“I-I’m Nate,” the smaller man says, “and this is my apartment, that’s my door that you just destroyed.”

“Yeah?” Butcher taunts, stalking forward, “An’ what’re you gon’a do ‘bout it?”

Nate looks at you, his eyes frantic and begging for help.

“Butcher, calm down, he’s-”

“Calm down?” he whirls toward you, “You want me to fuckin’ calm down?!”

“Hey, man,” Nate says, “we can talk, you don’t have to-”

“Nate,” you put your hand up, “I’m sorry, but please shut up.”

“Nate,” Butcher repeats mockingly, “if you value your life, I’d listen to ‘er.”

You drop the knife on the bench, “Butcher, can we just leave, please?”

“You don’t get to make any requests right now, sweethear’,” he says, taking a heavy step toward you, “not after the shit you put me through for the past twelve fuckin’ hours.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he drawls sarcastically, “maybe ‘bout the fact that you fuckin’ disappeared! You didn’t answer your damn phone, didn’t tell anyone where you fuckin’ were! I got a call from Hughie askin’ if you were back home, ‘cause you texted Annie ‘n’ told her you were comin’, but didn’t fuckin’ show up!”

A pebble of guilt drops into your stomach, but you ignore it, squaring up to him with a scowl.

“So?” you shrug, “I’m an adult, I can do as I fucking please.”

“Not without tellin’ me!” he exclaims, “Not if I don’t know where you fuckin’ are or if you’re even fuckin’ alive!”

“You’re not my fucking father, Butcher!” you shout back, feeling another fissure in the bottle of emotions. “I don’t belong to you, I don’t have to ask you for permission to live my own fucking life!”

His jaw twitches, a tidal wave of emotion crashing through his eyes all too quickly for you to try and discern any of them.

“A-Are you Y/N’s boyfriend?” Nate asks timidly.

You and Butcher turn to him in unison, exclaiming at the same time, “No!”

A beat of silence passes, and Butcher’s glare doesn’t falter. You take a deep breath to try and sooth the storm of frustration threatening to consume you.

“Butcher,” you say softly, “can we please leave?”

His head snaps back toward you, his eyes scanning your body as they fill with realisation.

“Did you fuck her?” he asks, turning back to Nate.

He doesn’t respond, his mouth hanging open as he takes several steps back.

“You gon’a answer me?”

“Butcher,” you say again, “cut it out.”

He takes another menacing step toward Nate, “I asked you a question.”

“W-We slept together, yes,” Nate stammers.

The laugh that leaves Butcher’s lips is chilling, sounding almost mad.

“Oh, pardon my French,” he says, “perhaps I should’a asked if you made sweet fuckin’ love to this gorgeous woman right ‘ere.”

“For fuck’s sake!” you shout, “Stop it, stop whatever the fuck this is, and let’s just fucking go!”

“You’re tellin’ me that you fuckin’ disappeared so you could hide out with this fuckin’ twat?” Butcher exclaims, “You let me worry myself fuckin’ sick so you could get a lousy fuck?”

The bottle explodes, shards of glass cutting you from the inside and sending white hot waves of frustration and anger, and despair rolling through your body.

“I can fuck whoever I want, Butcher!” you scream, startled by the volume of your own voice.

His eyes narrow, but his lips don’t move.

“And you can fuck whoever the fuck you want,” you spit, “obviously.”

You snatch your phone off the bench and stomp toward the door, turning to Nate with an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, about… this.”

You continue down the hall and the three flights of stairs, not bothering to check if Butcher is following until you’re outside. The temperature is significantly lower than it was yesterday, but your stubbornness doesn’t let you show it as Butcher strides past you toward the car haphazardly parked at the curb.

You climb into the passenger’s seat, sitting as close as you can to the door and hugging your clothes against your chest as you stare out the window. Tears fill your eyes, your nose growing hot and your cheeks undoubtedly red as you use every ounce of self-control you still have to stave of the inevitable. All you need to do is make it home and make it to your bedroom, and then you can cry. You can curl up with your face in your pillow and sob, and admit that you’re jealous, that you’re hurt, and that you love a man who doesn’t even understand the meaning of that word anymore.

“You look like shit,” he grunts.

You sniffle, keeping your face turned away from him, “So do you.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t get much fuckin’ sleep,” he says as the car comes to a halt, “I was up all night worryin’ ‘bout whether or not you were fuckin’ alive.”

“Well, I didn’t get much sleep either,” you retort, before pushing the passenger door open and stumbling out.

You hear the car door slam as you hurry up the stairs and into the building, taking the steps two at a time until you reach the apartment door. To your great relief, it’s unlocked, and you let yourself in before Butcher has even made it into the hallway.

“Oh, my goodness, mon amour,” Frenchie gasps, “you’re alive! You’re okay… are you okay?”

You don’t realise your crying until you try to look at him, your vision blurred by heavy tears as they fall in fat droplets down your cheeks.

MM steps forward, “What happened?”

“Nothing,” you wipe your eyes with the back of your hand, “I’m fine, I was with a-a friend.”

“A friend?” Butcher echoes, the door slamming behind him.

Your blood sizzles in your veins, heated by the overwhelming frustration coiling in your chest.

“How the fuck did you know where I was?” you demand, spinning around to face him.

He doesn’t answer.

“Do you have my fucking phone bugged?”

Butcher blows a long breath out of his nose, the thick vein in his neck throbbing under his red skin. “Look,” he says, “I know that whatever the fuck just happened wasn’t ideal, but why can’t you fuckin’ see this from my point of view?”

“Our point of view,” MM corrects, “we were all worried.”

“I get that!” you exclaim, “I fucking understand that, but what I don’t understand is why Butcher is still acting like such a fucking cunt. You can see that I’m fine! I’m alive, so what’s your problem?”

“What’s your problem?” he snaps, “Why didn’t you answer your fuckin’ phone? Why didn’t you tell anyone where you fuckin’ were? And why the fuck did you go home with a complete fuckin’ stranger?”

“Oh, shit,” Frenchie murmurs.

“Maybe I just needed a fucking break.”

The room falls quiet, the only sound being Frenchie’s soft footsteps as he backs away. You use the clothes in your arms to wipe the fresh fall of tears from your cheeks and try to ease your shaky breaths as you wait for another onslaught of reprimands.

Butcher sighs, “Go shower.”

“What?”

“You need to shower,” he says, stepping forward.

You frown, “Why?”

“You look like shit, and you sm-” he stops himself, pausing when you take a small step back.

“I look like shit and I smell,” you finish for him, “thanks, Butcher.”

You drag your feet toward the bathroom, dropping your clothes on the floor and staring at your wrecked face in the mirror. Your hair is a mess and your face is blotchy and red, with streaks of black painting your cheeks. The shirt hanging loosely from your shoulders is unfamiliar, and something akin to disgust settles in the pit of your stomach.

“Give me your clothes,” Butcher says as he appears in the reflection behind you.

“Why can’t you just fucking leave me alone?”

He sighs, “I’m tryin’ to help.”

“I don’t want your fucking help,” you turn to him and lean against the vanity, “go offer it to someone else. I’m sure Maeve would love to see your fucking name pop up on her phone.”

His frown disappears, and you can feel the air shift. Fuck. Now you’ve done it. The shards of glass sticking you from the inside have cut right through your chest, slicing it open as your ribcage cracks and unfolds, presenting your pathetic heart to the man who already held it in his hands.

“Fuck,” he mutters.

Tears sting your eyes, but you blink them back with determination.

“I-Is that what this is-” he struggles for words, running his hands through his hair, “for fuck’s sake, Y/N.”

Your breath comes and goes in short gasps, the lump in your throat crushing your windpipe as it demands to be felt.

“For fuck’s sake!” he exclaims, before taking one step forward and slamming the bathroom door shut.

Fear sparks through you, and you whimper, “Butcher, please don’t-”

Before you can finish, he pulls you against his chest, his arms wrapping around you in a vice hold as he rests his chin on the top of your head. You sob into his shirt, tremors wracking your exhausted body as every bit of fear and frustration tears you apart from the inside. You’re not sure how you let yourself get this emotional. Maybe it’s the fact that the world is falling apart, and you’re supposed to act like you’re ready to save it? Or maybe it’s because you’re fucking tired of having everything you love ripped away from you, every chance you think you might have at happiness taken from you by the cunts in the sky who call themselves ‘Superheroes’.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, “I’m so fuckin’ sorry.”

The turbulence inside of you quells simply because you finally acknowledged it, and you manage to swallow the lump in your throat.

“Butcher,” you croak, looking up at him through tear laced lashes, “kiss me?”

He hooks a finger beneath your chin and tilts it up, leaning in to meet you the rest of the way before his lips brush yours. It’s hesitant and soft, barely a touch, and he pulls away too soon.

“You need to shower.”

“Oh,” you try to wriggle out of his arms, but they’re too strong.

“I can smell that fuckin’ twat all over you,” he growls, “an’ it’s makin’ me fuckin’ sick.”

Realisation slaps you across the face, giving you the strength to remember how to hold yourself up as he pulls away. His fingers curl into the material at the neck of your shirt, ripping it apart right down the middle before pushing it off your shoulders and tossing it on the floor.

Another growl rumbles through his chest and the air in the room shifts again, now thick with a tension that has your heart throbbing in anticipation. Your mind races, your thoughts riding rollercoasters as you struggle to catch up with his fast hands. Your jeans are unbuttoned and pooled around your ankles in less than a second, and he takes another moment to devour your naked body before moving to turn on the shower.

You stumble out of your jeans as he quickly sheds his own clothes before wrapping an arm around your waist. He pulls you under the warm stream of water and holds your body against his, the feeling of his bare skin making your head spin. He takes the bottle of bodywash from the small shelf and pops the cap with one hand, turning it upside down and squirting a ridiculous amount all over your chest and his.

You giggle and he grins, returning the bottle to the shelf before crushing his lips against yours. The soap makes your skin slide against his in the most delicious way and you can feel your core clench, eliciting a wanton moan from your open mouth. His tongue swipes across your bottom lip before pushing into your mouth and claiming you with hungry, sloppy kisses.

“Didn’t think you’d be jealous,” he murmurs against your mouth, “didn’t think you fuckin’ cared about me.”

You slide your hands across his bare shoulders and behind his neck, finding purchase in his wet hair and tugging gently as you kiss him with every ounce of passion that you have.

“I do care,” you sigh when his lips leave yours to lap at your neck, “I am fucking jealous.”

“Sweethear’,” he whispers, his hands moving to your breasts, “you’ve got nothin’ to be fuckin’ jealous ‘bout.”

His mouth leaves your skin as he turns you to face the wall, pressing his body against your back before pushing you into the tiled wall. You gasp first at the sudden cold, and then at the feeling of him grinding himself against your ass.

“I’m yours,” he growls, his lips against your shoulder, “always fuckin’ have been.”

You still manage to speak despite the pleasure of him threatening to overwhelm you. “Then why?”

One hand wraps gently around your throat while the other splays across your lower belly, teasing the place just below that aches for his touch.

“‘Cause I never fuckin’ dreamed that I’d have you,” he says, his lips at your ear now.

You reach back with one hand, holding the nape of his neck as you turn so that your mouth can meet his in a messy kiss.

“You’ve always had me,” you murmur, “I belonged to you the day I met you.”

His hips buck against your ass, pressing you against the wall and making you whimper.

“You’re mine,” he says, moving back just enough for you to turn around.

You nod as you lean down to kiss his neck. Your tongue laving at his wet skin before your teeth sink in and he hisses, one hand squeezing your hip as the other smacks against the tiled wall.

“All yours.”

You place your hands against his chest, pushing him back enough for you to drop to your knees, your hands trailing down his body until they reach his hips. You dig your fingers in and look up at him through your wet lashes.

“Show me who I belong to.”

END.

[fluentmoviequoter]

Do You Want to Keep Another Secret?

Part 2 of Do You Want to Keep a Secret?

Pairing: Dominique Luca x fem!reader

Summary: After the team finds out about Luca's secret girlfriend, he invites them over to share another secret involving a ring and an important question.

Warnings: more of the "book club" joke, Street's a good friend, Duke's a good boy, this is pure fluff

Word Count: 1.6k+ words

Picture from Pinterest

Masterlist Directory | Luca Masterlist | Request Info\Fandom List

“Are you sure this is okay?” you ask. You look down to smooth your new outfit and miss Street’s dramatic eye roll.

“You look amazing. Duke thinks so, too,” he replies.

“But-“

“Future Mrs. Luca, it’s dinner with Deacon and Annie Kay, not an audition for the next season of The Bachelor.”

You chuckle before thanking Street. Since you met, he’s become a good friend, and you’re thankful for all he does for Luca. The nerves aren’t only about spending time around people you don’t know well but extend to your upcoming anniversary. You’ve been with Luca for a while, and although you’ve never been happier, you aren’t sure if you show him enough.

“Hey. Wow, you look beautiful!” Luca exclaims as he enters. “Ready to go?”

“Yes, she is,” Street answers, glaring at you. “Don’t let her change again.”

“There’s nothing to be nervous about; you’ve met Deac,” Luca soothes. “And Annie is just as kind.”

You nod and lean against Luca’s side. With a wave to Street and a quick pat on Duke’s head, you follow Luca to his truck. He’s a gentleman, so he opens the door and leans in to buckle your seatbelt.

“I won’t tell you how to feel, but you look amazing, and I’ll be with you the whole time,” Luca promises.

Dinner went just as well as Luca and Street said it would. Deacon is kind and funny when he can talk without his team drowning him out. Annie complimented you and your outfit and made you feel like part of the family. There really was no reason to be nervous.

Returning to the truck, you’re in better spirits than when you arrived. Your smile is wide and bright, and Luca can’t keep his eyes off you. He kisses you before shifting the truck into reverse and backing out of Deacon and Annie’s driveway. You watch Luca drive and decide to do everything you can to stay by his side for the rest of your life.

As you walk into Luca’s house, Duke greets you happily, and Street is in the same spot as when you left. Street shakes his head when he sees your smile and murmurs something suspiciously like, “Told you so.”

“I’ve got an early morning, so I have to go,” you say apologetically. “Thank you, Luca. And thanks, Street, for the-“

“Common sense? No problem,” he interjects.

“Sure. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Luca asks.

“Our weekly coffee date,” Street answers. “We have to have a little privacy to talk about you.”

Luca looks between you and Street several times before shrugging. “Okay.”

You kiss Luca before walking out of the door. He ensures you’re safe in your car and on your way home before he returns and sits on the couch.

“Streeter, are you up for two more book club meetings?” he asks.

“For what?’ Street inquires. 

“Reading.”

“Welcome,” Street says as he opens the door. “This better not be a waste of our day off.”

“It won’t be,” Hondo answers. “What’s the word, Luca?”

Luca raises a velvet ring box and smiles. “You said we had to talk about it.”

“Then let’s skip to that,” Deacon agrees. “No more period romances.”

“Except for Luca’s. Modern day is still a period,” Street argues.

“That’s enough out of you, playboy,” Hondo jokes. “Lay it out, Luca.”

Luca joins his team in the living room and takes a deep breath. He has their support no matter what, and he knows the plan is good, but he’s nervous.

“Duke’s going to help me,” Luca begins. “I’m going to take her to a scenic overlook in the hills. We went there for one of our first dates and we still use it as an escape. With Duke’s help to carry the ring, I’m just going to wait for the right moment and ask her to marry me.”

“I don’t know, man,” Tan replies. “It could be bigger; like-“

“It’s perfect,” Deacon interrupts. “It means something to you, and her, and your relationship. That’s what is important.”

“She’s going to love it,” Street agrees. “And she will say yes, so stop stressing.”

“There’s just…” Luca says before shrugging.

“If not for you, she’ll say yes to Duke,” Chris teases.

“That wouldn’t surprise me,” Luca says. He finally smiles again, and Deacon decides that you’re the best thing that has happened to Luca.

“Wait! You said two book clubs,” Street remembers. “What’s the next one?”

“I’ll let you know after she says yes.”

“A picnic with Duke?” you repeat.

“Uh, yeah, unless you’re busy,” Luca answers.

He’s glad he decided to call you rather than ask you in person. He shifts his weight from foot to foot, and his nervousness is visible. If you could see him, you’d hold his face and ask what was bothering him, and he’d probably tell you everything.

“That sounds perfect, Luca!”

Luca sighs in relief before offering to pick you up later. He doesn’t want to wait another day to propose; he needs you in his life, even if he does have a minuscule fear, deep down, that you will say no.

“Luca, this is too much!” you say as you climb into the passenger seat. “How are we even going to eat all of that?”

“Why do you think I brought Duke?” Luca jokes.

“Where are we going?”

“The overlook. We haven’t been in a while, and I thought, since it’s a nice day, it’s the perfect picnic spot.”

You smile and lean back in the seat. Duke lays his head in your lap, and you stroke his fur as Luca drives. When you arrive at the overlook, you take Duke’s leash as he bounds out of the car. Luca refuses to let you carry anything except the leash as he takes the oversized picnic basket out.

“I’ll trade you,” Luca says after he lays the blanket down.

Luca covers your hand as he takes Duke’s leash. He has a lot of energy to burn off before he sits (Duke and Luca both). You get comfortable on the picnic blanket and peek into the basket. There’s plenty of delicious food and two books. You chuckle at the long-lived book club joke but close the basket before Luca and Duke return.

“Street said he knew your favorite book, but I listened to your recommendation,” he says as he lowers beside you.

“Doyle,” you murmur as he hands you a book. “You do love me!”

“Open it.”

You obey, and when you see ‘I love you. Life is better with you. – Luca… and Duke’ written on a hand-painted card inside, you look up quickly.

Your surprise at the note disappears as you drop the book. Luca is on one knee, and Duke sits at attention beside him.

“Yes!” you blurt out.

Luca smiles and shakes his head but begins speaking despite your advanced answer. “I love you. Every moment with you makes me love you more, and I don’t want to go back to a life without you. Will you stay by my side now and forever? Will you marry me?”

You move onto your knees and wrap your arms over Luca’s shoulders to hug him tightly. You nod against his neck and repeat your earlier answer as his arms wrap around your waist. Duke barks excitedly and kisses your cheek.

“Hey, that’s my job, Duke,” Luca says playfully before pushing you back enough to kiss you.

When he breaks the kiss, he moves a hand from your waist to retrieve the ring box from Duke’s collar. You gasp when you see the ring; it’s beautiful and perfect, and you know that every time you see it, you will remember Luca and the love between you.

“I love you,” you whisper. “And I can’t wait to marry you.”

“I love you,” Luca replies. “But could we eat first?”

“I guess,” you say, feigning disappointment. “As long as you and Duke stay by my side.”

“Forever,” Luca promises.

“There she is!” Hondo exclaims. He hugs you before he sits for the last and most important book club meeting.

“Congratulations,” Deacon tells you.

“Let me see the ring!” Chris requests before taking your hand.

“I already threw them a party, but I guess we could do another one with their second-best friends,” Street says tiredly.

“I don’t actually know why I’m here,” you admit. “But thank you, all of you, for welcoming me into your family and all of the congratulations.”

“Of course,” 20 Squad says together.

“You deserve it for putting up with Luca and Street,” Chris adds.

“Enough,” Luca calls. “You’re here for those.”

He points to the boxes on the table: one for each person, with their names written on the top. They stand before their personalized boxes and look at one another before opening them slowly.

“Will you be… my groomsmen?” Hondo reads. “Luca, man, of course.”

He moves to hug Luca, and you walk toward Chris.

“What do you say? Please don’t feel pressured to say yes because of Luca,” you say.

She doesn’t answer as she pulls you into a tight hug.

“About time there was another girl around here,” she mumbles before agreeing to be in your bridal party.

Street pushes Chris out of the way to hug you, and you laugh as Deacon, Hondo, Tan, and Chris join him. You are part of their family, and you can’t imagine being any happier than you are now.

“Does this mean I don’t need to keep anymore secrets?” Street asks.

“No secrets to keep,” you answer. “Just make sure you save the date.”

Duke barks and Luca pushes his way past Street to hug you. He takes your hand and taps your ring before he kisses your temple. You’re happy here, and it will only get better as you plan a wedding and spend forever with Luca. 

[billybutcherrtrash]

It’s a Cover

Requested by @bohemianblasphemy

You sat beside Billy, shifting awkwardly as you looked around the room. You hadn’t expected to see so many familiar faces who didn’t even remember you. Billy smirked as he nudged your arm.

“S’matter love, none of these fucks are even paying attention to us.” He asked.

You scowled at him, “I can’t breathe in this dress.”

The dress Annie has picked out left little to the imagination and felt like it was squeezing your ribs. It was an emerald green that she said matched your eyes. That paired with the ridiculous shoes Kimiko had chosen were going to be the death of you.

“But ya look like a treat.” He winked at you.

“Can we just do what we came for?” You asked, as he slid his arm around you. “And stop staring at my boobs.”

His touched sent chills over your skin and caused you to tense.

“Gotta keep up appearances.” Billy grinned.

“My boobs are not for your entertainment.”

“Can ya blame me?” He smirked.

He guided you down a hallway, arm holding you tightly against him.

“Must be nice covered neck to toe.” You said, still annoyed you were the one showing so much skin.

“Well, take it off and we can switch.” Billy teased.

You elbowed him, more annoyed now.

“Should be right back here somewhere.” He said, his hand squeezing your hip.

Nothing in the tower was familiar, not having been on this floor when you worked for Vaught. Annie has told you exactly where to find Ashley’s office to plant devices. Sure enough you’d found the door you’d been promised was there. You pushed the door open, Billy close behind and headed straight for her desk. You bent down and picked up her pencil cup, placing one under it while Billy placed a few more around the room.

“These cunts are terrible at security.” Billy mused as she stepped closer to you.

“You’d think not, but it’s mainly on the lower floors. Mostly at check in and the doors.”

Your eyes move to meet Billy’s, only to find him staring at your body. You shifted awkwardly, not sure what to say. You hadn’t noticed before but he looked good when he was cleaned up and in a suit. His hair was slicked back and he had trimmed his beard for this. You shivered as you realized you were feeling something other than anxiety as he continued to stare.

“I, um…uh…should…” You stammered to think of a sentence, causing Billy to smirk.

“What’s wrong, little Dove? You enjoying the idea that I’m enjoying the idea of you?” He asked, stepping closer.

You swallowed, completely braindead at the words he’d just spoken. His hand slid around your waist, pulling you closer. You hadn’t realized you were even freezing until you felt his warmth pressed against you.

“We’re on a mission.” You said, barely above a whisper.

“Yeah, technically.” He agreed.

His face moved to be inches from yours, your heart pounding in your chest.

“This couple…thing is just a cover.”

“Doesn’t feel like a cover.” Billy shrugged.

You barely had a chance to think before Billy pulled you into a kiss just as the door flew open and Ashley barged in.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?” She yelled, gawking at the scene before her.

“Oh, fuck. Sorry, love. This little lady couldn’t wait until we got home.” Billy grinned smugly.

“GET THE FUCK OUT!” Ashley yelled.

You giggled a little and headed for the door. Billy followed as you headed for the nearest elevator. You spammed the button, as if it would make it come any quicker. The two of you fell into the small box, giggling. Billy pressed the lobby button and turned to you.

“Well, dodged that bullet.” He smirked.

“How did you know she was coming?” You asked.

“What? I didn’t.” He raised an eyebrow.

“I thought that’s why you…?”

The ride down was quiet as you realized he didn’t kiss you because he knew Ashley was coming. You made your way outside and to the car, getting in quietly. Neither of you spoke the whole way back to the flatiron apartment. Billy let you in first, following you in. You quickly rushed to the bathroom to change out of the dress, careful not to damage it. Finally you emerged in your street clothes, finding Billy had undone his tie and it hung loosely on his shoulders. You couldn’t help but think how handsome he was. Had he always been this attractive?

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” You asked softly.

He gave a weak smile and nodded, “Course, love.”

You started for the door, ready to be home and process what had happened.

“You looked beautiful tonight, really.” Billy called after you causing you to stop and turn.

A small smile played at your lips, “You look pretty handsome yourself.”

“Tomorrow. Let me know you got home safe?”

“Or you could walk me.” You said as you took a few steps back.

“I can definitely do that.” He grinned.

[gladerwolfstarkimagines]

Other Parts: Part Two, Part Three (short version) Part Three (long version) and Part Four.

You were the younger sister of Johanna Mason from District 7. You were her only remaining family and were put in the 73rd Hunger Games as punishment for your sister's behaviour after she won her games. They thought killing her only remaining family member would convince her to behave and stop being so reactive. It of course didn't work because you won the Hunger Games.

They'd underestimated both you and your sister. Johanna had suspected they might do something like this so had been quietly training you and teaching you survival skills since she got out. Then when your name was called and she became your mentor, she put every fibre of her being into making you win this. She taught you how to play the game, how to appear pretty, charming and get sponsors. Caesar commented on how unlike Johanna you were. "You're a lot more likeable than your sister" he said plainly and you smiled, pretending you weren't visualising pulling his tongue out through his teeth. You were exactly like your sister and proud of it, you just had to play a different game to her.

When you won and were let out Johanna was right there waiting for you. It was the first and only time you saw your sister cry and the trauma brought you both closer. You managed to form some life for yourself, you became friends with the other tributes and tried to keep your head down but you weren't good at that and neither was Johanna. Then Snow announced his stupid spin on the games and you were reaped...and Johanna volunteered as tribute instead of you.

There was nothing you could do as you watched your sister be submitted for the games again and you were furious. So it was of no surprise that when the rebels contacted you, you jumped at the chance to sign up with them. That's how you found yourself in District 13 at the end of the quarter-quell games. You watched Katniss, Beetee and Finnick come in but not Johanna. She'd been captured and while Katniss was freaking out about Peter you wanted to scream because nobody was bothered about your sister, nobody except Finnick.

He came to you as soon as he was able. "Y/n I'm so sorry" he told you "I went to look for her, I tried to find her I really did, I promise" he told you and you nodded "I believe you Finnick". He was the first person you cried with over your sister.

You found out after that, that Finnick had lost Annie. Apparently, she'd had a breakdown from all the stress and the drugs they gave her were too powerful. She'd overdosed the first night Finnick went into the games according to Heavensbee. You had no idea and hadn't heard anything about it but that was the capitol and you had been distracted with a rebellion. With your mutual loss, Finnick and you bonded. You'd always gotten along but you'd never been close which didn't make too much sense.

As soon as you became a victor Johanna introduced you to her victor friends and you hit it off with Finnick immediately. You were both social butterflies who could charm and flirt with pretty much anyone however after a few parties where the two of you clearly were the centre of attention, you felt him pulling away. You asked Johanna about it but she'd just shrugged and said she didn't know anything. So you'd remained civil but never been that close again, until now but in a completely different way.

You responded to loss a lot differently to Finnick, but then again your sister was alive while his love was dead. You could've argued your sister being alive and tortured daily was worse than being dead but didn't think that would help Finnick. The second he found out about Annie he fell apart. He had to be hospitalised and was a shell of himself. You'd responded to your sisters's loss by throwing yourself into work but everyone grieves differently.

You heard sobbing as you passed the medic bay and knew immediately who it was. You unlocked Finnick's door and he turned away before he saw it was you. He wiped his face and sat up. "It's okay" you told him "you don't have to stop". Finnick looked at you and shook his head "any news?". "No but that's not why I'm here, I'm not great at comforting people but I'm here for you Finnick. My sister would want me to look out for you". Finnick paused and then smiled. It was a sad smile but it was a smile. "It's funny" he said "because she said if anything happened to her, I had to look out for you". You smiled sitting down on a chair at the end of his bed "well funny how things change huh? Now, when was the last time you showered, ate or went for a walk?". Finnick shrugged "I don't remember for all 3". You nodded "well that's where we'll start".

And that's what you did for the first week. You visited Finnick for every meal between shifts. You took him for walks around the corridors and made him shower. You stood outside with a towel and clean clothes for him. You figured if he started acting more human it would make him feel like one again and it slowly worked. His appetite increased, he dragged his feet less, he cried less. There were still down days, one day you walked in to find doctors with him and heard he'd cut himself having nightmares so you spent the next few nights asleep at his bedside, ready to hold him down if he tried to hurt himself. Your life revolved around making him get better and you weren't even sure why, neither was Finnick.

"Why are you being so kind to me?" he asked one day when you revealed the sugar cubes you'd snuck into the kitchen and stolen for him. You passed him the cubes and looked at him "because we're friends and you'd do the same for me". He nodded "I would have but you aren't the most touchy-feely sentimental victor". You smiled, pleased Finnick was feeling well enough to poke fun at you. "That's true but I have a soft side to me, Johanna and I both do". Finnick shot you a look "see you I can believe but Johanna?" and you laughed.

It was nice to feel happy and you felt a sharp jolt of it, before remembering where your sister was. It suddenly hit you she was somewhere being tortured as you spoke. Finnick saw the look on your face and didn't have to ask what you were thinking. He gently took your hand. "It'll be okay" he told you "we'll get her back". You nodded and squeezed his hand "I thought I was supposed to be the one comforting you?" you said. Finnick shrugged "we're friends remember?" and for some reason that made you smile like a goofball.

Once Finnick was discharged from the hospital he began taking an active role in District 13 and you helped him settle in. He was moved to a room just across from your own for stability and even though you didn't work together, you sat together in the cafeteria and spent most evenings together. One of the main perks of being an ex-victor/murderer was you got special training with fun toys courtesy of Beetee. You were down there every free minute you had but you felt like Finnick wasn't using this to his full advantage.

"Can you give me tips on how to throw?" you asked Finnick one day after work. He blinked and looked up at you "as I recall, you have a pretty good arm on you already" and you smiled remembering the time you accidentally hit him in the face thinking he was Joanna. It was at a Capitol party, one you'd actually enjoyed and the memory was a good one. "Yeah short range but not long-range, I want to know how to throw a spear or maybe a trident. Know anyone who can teach me". Finnick did not look in the mood but you gave him your best smile and he couldn't resist. "Fine" he pouted getting onto his feet stroppily "but not for long, I'm shattered". You grinned "yay thanks Finnick!" and gave his arm a squeeze before pulling him down to the toystore of weapons.

You saw Finnick's eyes twinkle as he saw the trident Beedee had made for him and smiled. Finnick swirled it effortlessly around himself looking very hot as he did it and he knew it. He turned to you, his shoulders lifted and confidence risen "so, let's get started".

Finnick had you throw a few spears first and after observing he began to adjust your posture and angle. You got better with the spear but couldn't seem to get the trident anywhere near the target. "You've got good power which is no surprise" Finnick smiled "but this isn't an axe, it's bigger and heavier. That's why your aim needs to be better for the trident to find its mark". You nodded before a thought occurred to you "have you ever thought you could be pitch Pitchfork Boy instead of Trident Boy? I mean a trident and pitchfork are basically the same thing". "What? No they not! They're completely different!" Finnick said utterly flabbergasted by your claim and taken-aback by your sudden declaration. "But they are!" you argued continuing the fight "long stick, 3 spiky bits at the top!".

Your bickering escalated and your arguments became sillier until finally, Finnick couldn't stop laughing. You weren't sure if it was because of how strange your argument was, he actually found you that funny or a semi breakdown but either way, it was the most you'd heard Finnick laugh since this all happened. He had tears streaming down his face and he was laughing so hard he had to sit down. You sunk down beside him also laughing and when you both caught your breath he smiled at you. "Thanks Y/n". You looked at him "for what? Being so hilarious?" and he smiled again. "For reminding me there are still things to live for like having a laugh with you". There was a lot of weight in those words and you could tell Finnick had really been contemplating if there was anything worth living for. You should've suspected it but you hadn't and you were suddenly so thankful Finnick was still here. So much so you did something you never did...you hugged him!

Finnick was also surprised and tensed as you pressed up against him and wrapped your arms around him. "Thank you for staying here with me Finnick, I'm glad you're still here" you said into his neck and then Finnick relaxed and hugged you back. "Me too" he agreed.

Time settled and you stayed in the embrace before pulling back feeling slightly flushed. You were searching for something to say when Finnick spoke "I'm glad you got me to come down here and train, can we do it more often?". You nodded "as often as you want".

Finnick started smiling more after that and he was beginning to get back to his charming jokey self. Katniss commented on it one day when you and Finnick teased her for daring to change her hair up. Finnick smiled when she said how much better he was doing. "Well it's thanks to Y/n, she's the one who nursed me back to health and dragged me out of bed each day". You shrugged "nursed is a strong word but I did drag him around a lot". "Well good work" Katniss said "I'll tell Prim you might try out for nurse too yeah?". You showed her a finger and the 3 of you laughed. It was nice to hear your 2 friends laugh together.

Finnick kept you to your promise of training as often as he wanted and you tended to go every other evening after work. It was a stress relief in many ways but you also just enjoyed hanging out with Finnick. He was skilled and you learned a lot from him, as well as helping him master a few skills yourself. It felt productive, fun and you loved that you had something in your control. It was honestly the highlight of your week and Finnick agreed.

You'd had a really good training session so for the last part you got a little cocky. You were sparring with Finnick and decided to use the trident. You'd gotten a lot better at using it but still Finnick smirked as you picked it up "really?" he asked "baby you really want to use my weapon against me?". You felt a little fluttery when he called you baby but didn't let it show. You stood up taller and twirled it in one hand, the exact way you'd seen Finnick do "I certainly do pretty boy". The grin Finnick had on his face was delicious, so much so it was all you could think of for the first few seconds of your sparring match.

Finally your brain came back to you and you nearly knocked Finnick over with the staff of your trident but at the last second, he caught it. You knew the second his hand connected with it, it was gone and sure enough, he ripped it away from you. Finnick did it with so much momentum you stumbled into him and couldn't help but smile at how impressive he looked when he did that. Finnick grabbed your arms to stop you from falling and noticed the look on your face "why are you smiling I won?". "Did you?" you asked honestly thinking the situation you were in was pretty victorious. Finnick Odair standing over you, his hands firmly on your body while he stared at you with his brooding smoulder. Finnick chuckled as he got your point "I guess we're both winners then" he replied and let you go softly. "So that's a draw right?" you asked and just like that the two of you were back to bickering playfully.

After you talked at him until Finnick agreed it was a draw you headed to the showers for a quick wash before bed. You were only allowed a shower once a week so this was another reason you were both in such high spirits. "The way you hit the target without even looking was so cool!" you told Finnick as you entered the co-ed bathroom. Finnick shrugged "well I try, I've lost a lot of muscle mass over the past few weeks". "Well it looked pretty good to me" you smiled hanging your clothes and towel up. You pulled the shower curtain around you and got undressed. Finnick did the same in the cubicle next to you. You enjoyed your 5 minutes of warm water and totally forgot you'd not brought your towel into the cubicle with you. You peeked out of the curtain and sure enough, it was hanging across the room. You sighed, shut the water off and walked across to grab it.

It was late so there was nobody around and you had the towel in your hand and were about to wrap it around yourself when Finnick opened his curtain and saw everything. His eyes quickly took in your body before he looked away and you turned around. "Dammit Finnick" you commented and worked on getting the towel around you. You looked up and realised you were now in front of the mirrors and Finnick was staring at you through them. When he saw you'd spotted him he turned his back and you chuckled. You tied the towel and turned to him "if you wanted a look Odair all you had to do was ask" you smiled at him. Finnick's usual swagger had gone so you let it drop to not make it awkward.

You both dried off and gathered your stuff. You made conversation about how nice it was to be clean and Finnick gave you one-word answers. You said goodnight and stepped into your room. Your first thought was, it wasn't a big deal. You were friends and friends saw each other naked all the time! But then you thought about the way Finnick had been looking at you and there was no way of denying he was turned on. He liked your body and was attracted to you. You'd thought the two of you had chemistry back when you first met him but knew with Annie nothing would ever happen. However she wasn't here, it was just the two of you and Finnick could do whatever he wanted and judging from his eyes when he saw you naked, that was you. You debated your next move, should you just let it go? Wait for Finnick to approach you? Leave the moment and see if there was something there tomorrow too and build on it? You were never good at waiting so you decided to shoot your shot. You'd always wanted Finnick so why not go for him at the end of the world?

You crossed the corridor in nothing but your towel and knocked on Finnick's door. He opened it and looked at you "Y/n?". "I saw the way you looked at me when you saw me naked and I'm just going to be honest. I think you're hot and I want to sleep with you and I think you want me to. Want to do something about it?".

"Yes" Finnick said pulling you inside way quicker than you expected. He didn't even give it a second thought telling you he'd also been pacing his room thinking about you.

Finnick was just as eager once you were inside. He kissed you the second the door was shut and was so needy it was beautiful. He took control initially but as he got more and more heightened and his hands started pawing at you, you started to tease him. You pushed him down on his bed and held him down with one hand "hmmm is someone impatient?". Finnick made a noise reaching for you but you trapped his other hand with your leg "nope, I want to hear you say it. Tell me what you want honey". Finnick made a gorgeous moan and looked at you dead in the eye "I need you to drop that towel, jump on top of me and make that workout earlier look like child's play". You leaned back and loosened the towel "done" you said and let it fall to the floor before completing Finnick's other steps happily.

***

The next morning Finnick woke up and knew something was different before he opened his eyes. Then he did and he saw you laid next to him. You were facing the other way from him with your back to him and he started to panic. What had he done? Annie hadn't even been dead a year and he'd slept with another woman! He'd betrayed her in a way he knew she wouldn't have done to him. He felt like the worst person alive and then you turned around and he got it.

Finnick saw your face and couldn't help but smile. You looked so calm asleep. Awake you always had some guard up but asleep you looked so peaceful and naive. The lines the games had left on your face were gone and Finnick realised he felt happy just seeing you. You'd become the face he got most excited to see and it was almost instinctive now. He enjoyed seeing you peaceful and happy like this because he liked you. You were also so fucking hot. When he saw you naked yesterday his mind had nearly exploded! Your body was incredible, you had abs and your muscle-to-curve ratio couldn't be more perfect. So when you appeared at his door he realised he acted with sanity and clarity. He hadn't slept with you on a whim, he did it because he liked you and genuinely wanted to. He thought Annie would understand that and so he turned towards you.

He pulled you closer so you were resting against his chest. "Finnick?" you asked sleepily and he nodded rubbing your arm "yeah, don't worry is early. Go back to sleep" and you nodded. "Who knew your abs were so comfy" you sighed nuzzling into him and he chuckled. He kept his arms around you protectively and fell back to sleep.

So guess who saw The Ballad of the Songbird and Snakes, went home and rewatched all the HG movies and fell in love with Finnick again?

This will be a four-part series and I'll be posting two more parts next week!

[jeankirsteinsgrlfrnd]

how about poor reader asking friends for help about how to confess to their crush... only for said crush hearing them "confessing" to their nemesis (all gets fixed later I just want to laugh a bit 🙈) feel free to ignore if it's not something that speaks to you it's ok. hope you find some inspiration soon 🥰

eren jaeger overheard you ‘confessing’ to jean. he wanted to shrivel up and die but most of all, he wanted to beat the shit out of jean. he bursts in, fists clenched and you have to explain to him just what’s going on so he doesn’t kill jean.

armin arlert wants to cry when he hears you telling someone else just how much you liked them. he was sure there was something between you two. he’s confused when you do end up confessing to him, when he realized what was happening, he was flattered you had to rehearse.

mikasa ackerman’s heart crumbles when she hears you. she decides to not say anything about her feelings to you and instead tries to convince herself she doesn’t have any towards you.

jean kirstein is furious, that jaeger has ‘stolen’ something from. ‘out of all people, EREN?’ he yelled. you had to calm him down as eren laughed. jean felt super embarrassed about it, turning bright pink.

sasha braus just kind of thinks ‘oh.’ her heart sinks and she decides to go on with her day, despite how sad she was.

connie springer overhears you confessing to jean. he’s more concerned in your taste of men than he is heartbroken. he lectures you on why he’d be a better match than jean. everytime you try to tell him you like him, he just keeps talking.

reiner braun heard you admiring ymir. he’s so furious, devastated, and alone. he doesn’t understand how ymir gets all of the girls. ymir, of course, doesn’t tell him that he’s the one you actually like. she decides to keep him in the dark until you tell him.

bertholdt hoover isn’t the confrontational type. he lets it be, trusting things will work out when they’re supposed to. he’s baffled when you gave him the same speech you gave another. you tell him you were just practicing and his cheeks flush.

annie leonhardt shrugs her shoulders when she overhears you telling someone the depths of your heart. she gives you the cold shoulder until you muster up the courage to tell her but she doesn’t believe you. you really have to convince her.

ymir doesn’t fret when she hears you confessing your love for reiner. she’s not worried about him; she knows she’ll get you, one way or another. she’s not easily deterred.

historia reiss fights the tears coming to her eyes. she tries so hard to keep being her usual cheerful self but she’s so upset, you take notice. she explains to you and you laugh which causes her to punch you in the arm. then, you tell her the truth.

levi ackerman is going to straight up murder zeke. there’s no if’s, ands or buts. goodbye, zeke.

zeke jaeger knows levi is humanity’s strongest soldier but he’s not the best looking one, so he’s confused. he interrogates you head on about your ‘crush on levi’ and you want to smack him in his face for eavesdropping.

erwin smith feels deeply betrayed overhearing you confess your love to his enemy. somehow, he thinks he deserves this and that he didn’t deserve you. he’s awed when you reveal the truth and he curses himself for being so silly.

click here to read my jean fic, i promise you’ll like it

[pisupsala]

Of All The Stars in The Sky | 20 | Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw

Summary | War looks different from high above in the sky. But when Bradley finds himself on the ground, far behind enemy lines, it becomes a race against the clock to get out. And try not to look back at what he’s leaving behind.

Pairing | Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x fem!reader / Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x fem!oc (no use of y/n)

Warnings |Mature content | 18+ only[WWII AU] swearing, war, violence, death, explicit smut

Words | 9.2k

Index | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18 | Chapter 19 | Chapter 20

Library

Chapter 20 - The Way West is Long

You’re sitting in the ambassador's office, nervously wringing your hands. They feel clammy — the sweat on your palms is not cooling, the salt prickling on your skin making you feel even more uncomfortable. You’ve wiped them on the skirt of your dress so many times, but it’s a miracle you haven’t worn through the fabric yet. You’ve never sat here as a guest, only flittered through while cleaning. It feels strange. You shift on the plush seat, ill at ease, out of place. Bradley is standing in front of the ambassador’s desk, back to you, pulled up to his full height, tone commanding. He cuts an impressive figure as he argues with the ambassador. You’re only half listening because you are more fascinated by the sight before you.

Of course, you knew he was an officer, but he never really behaved like it? He was a little too casual, a little too laissez-faire, taking a few too many liberties. Maybe because he was a lieutenant back then, younger, more reckless. Maybe because he thought he would never make it out. Maybe because you practically kept him caged in that small room and played boss. Or it just never clicked for you because you never saw him in full dress uniform like that, so in control of the situation — all eyes on him, perfectly at ease.

You lick your lips nervously. 

But he looks so natural now, and it makes so much sense. It suits him in every sense of the word. Captain Bradshaw. Rooster. He came back for you. Your breath hitches softly at the realization — no matter how many times you repeat it, it keeps catching you off guard, and your heart hasn’t stopped thundering in your chest since you laid eyes on him again. It’s like every lonely night, every moment spent pining, every tearful breakdown in private rushes through you, being torn from its roots by high winds. By him, just from a look over his shoulder, the smallest quirk of his lips. It’s making your head spin. All those tears carried the hope of today.

“Captain Bradshaw, we should really ask the lady what she thinks of all this.” The ambassador suggests politely. Both turn to look at you. 

You try to keep the surprise off your face under their gaze — you haven’t been listening to the conversation, so you have no idea what is actually being asked. Your mouth feels dry. You idly wonder if you could ask for a glass of water.

“Miss Sha-” The ambassador still struggles with your name. He abandons any attempt at it, tone unbothered, although you hear a skeptical edge. “Annie. Captain Bradshaw tells me you met during the war, and he owes you his life. He promised he would return for you.” 

You stay silent, tense, your eyes moving nervously between the two men before you. Bradley is looking at you, all too calm, all too confident. The ambassador clears his throat.

“The captain is now… suggesting, strongly, that I issue you an emergency visa.”

Your breath stocks as you look at Bradley wide-eyed. He meant it—really, really meant it. He wasn’t lying. Bradley is smiling now, delighting in your evident surprise. You’ve never been this happy to be proven so wrong.

“Now,” The ambassador looks at you pointedly. “Annie, please pay attention; this is important.” 

You look back at him again, holding your breath — it’s the only possible way to keep up the slightest facsimile of a charade that you are calm.

“The fastest way to do this is if you get married.” He scrutinizes your expression as he speaks slowly, with purpose. The moment the words leave his mouth, you look over at Bradley — you forget everything and everyone else in the room, the whole world around you. You only see him. Bradley seems hesitant for a moment, shoulders dropping just a fraction, his eyes roaming over you, trying to gauge your reaction. 

Breathing deeply, closing your eyes for a moment, your hand immediately digs into your pocket, clutching the bracelet. It gave you strength all these years; it’s been with you every step of the way. From bad to worse to rock bottom. Give me strength one more time, you plead as the metal winds around your fingers—one final time.

This is everything you wanted.

For Bradley to still want you.

Even though you are not really you anymore — the thought is like a stab in the gut. You feel like a fraud, sitting in a too-nice room with a too-handsome captain looking so lovingly at the ghost of you.

The ambassador opens his mouth again to say something.

You need to take the final step.

It’s now or never.

“Yes,” you sound out confidently, looking at Bradley determinedly. His eyes widen, trying to process what you just said, before a big smile replaces his shocked expression. Immediately, he is in front of you, on one knee, radiant and dazzling, grabbing your arm and pulling your hand out of your pocket. 

“Sweetheart, had I known, I would have gotten you a ring.” He breathes in wonder as he presses a kiss to your knuckles. Bradley is elated, his thoughts a mess, desperately trying to comprehend the roller coaster of the past hour. He had all but given up on finding you, and now, just like that, you agreed to marry him. “I would have-”

You shake your head, putting a finger to his lips. Leaning forward, you rest your forehead against his and simply open your palm.

“You still have it.” Bradley sounds surprised. It’s so strange to see his bracelet again — is it even his anymore? — he knew you had it, but it’s catching him off guard how touched he is that you’re still carrying it with you now. All those years, you never let go. You held fast until the last day, until today. The thought warms him; your unwavering loyalty makes him feel undeserving.

“I carried it everywhere with me.” You admit, smiling softly. Bradley carefully takes it out of your palm, running the chain between his fingers. His thumb caresses your wrist—it feels so intimate, so sensual, you have to remind yourself you’re sitting in the ambassador’s office. He presses another kiss on your pulse point before effortlessly clasping the bracelet around your wrist again.

“It’s only right you keep it,” He smiles up at you. “As Mrs. Bradshaw to-be.”

You kiss Bradley softly on the lips, your hand cupping his face. He’s still holding on to your wrist, his thumb moving in soothing circles over the sensitive skin before sliding his hand into yours and squeezing lightly. You don’t think you’ll ever breathe normally again. 

Under Bradley’s touch, the memory of pain dulls. Like the long dark night turns to day and sunrise warms you. The storm has blown over, making way for blue skies. Calm finally besets you again. At least for a moment. 

It dawns on you: you are getting married. 

You want to say something — you really feel like you should say something — but Bradley simply gets up and moves to stand behind you, hand on your shoulder. The warmth of his palm radiates through the layers of your drab work dress. 

“Well, I suppose that settles it then, wouldn’t you think so, ambassador?” Bradley announces, almost arrogantly, like he knew this would be the outcome all along. 

The ambassador looks somewhat shocked at the turn of events. “I—yes, I suppose.” He starts hesitantly. “As soon as you get your marriage certificate, we will prioritize processing Annie’s visa.”

“Do you know where to find a registrar on Friday afternoon, love?” Bradley asks you half-jokingly, squeezing your shoulder. “Or a minister, if you prefer.” 

“I’m sure I can call in a favor or two.” You deadpan. Bradley laughs and bends down to press a kiss on your left temple. The sudden touch of his lips on your scarred skin almost makes you flinch — you didn’t expect Bradley to do it so simply, almost carelessly, like he doesn’t fully realize what it means to you. You feel stunned, so light, struggling to put your feelings into words, unsure what to even think right now, but you are sure you are happy.

Still, you feel that dull ache, not quite painful, but nagging, like a scrape on the skin. It comes and goes in waves, but it’s definitely there: what if Bradley is just doing it out of pity? Just fulfilling a promise to someone he once knew who is now clearly down on their luck.

It irks you. Life didn’t turn out how you wanted it, but you don’t want pity—not from anyone, especially Bradley. It hurts just that little bit more; it cuts a little bit deeper. You hate the lingering feeling of embarrassment; he returned a decorated captain, and you are… well, here.

It’s difficult not to dwell on the feelings as you hurry down the stairs, pulling the pins and keeping the lattice headband into place deftly out of your hair. Grab your stuff and get out of here — the Ambassador excused you from all your duties for the day, adding with a smile that he expected your resignation soon. Bradley didn’t say where you were going, just that you were leaving together. 

Together. You’re holding onto that word. Together.

You fight to keep a smile off your face at the thought because you know she’s following you. Miss Lo might be light on her feet, but she does a poor job of pretending not to be tracing your steps. You’ve seen her sneak about and eavesdrop on her father’s conversations before and after Bradley practically abandoned her in the garden — you can’t even really blame her for wanting to find out what’s going on.

Don’t walk too fast, but also don’t slow down. You're not stopping to acknowledge her as long as she doesn’t call out, you think sourly. Which she won’t, not here. But you’re also not going to give her the upper hand by letting on that her stalking down the stairs after you is annoying. 

Miss Lo is many things. Beautiful, gregarious, and smart. She is also arrogant and scheming. She overestimates how clever she is, her youthful naïveté balancing somewhere between grating and adorable. Miss Lo is clearly lonely. You empathize with her, you envy her — she lords her position over you while gossiping with you like you’re friends. 

At the bottom of the grand stairs, you slip through the side door into the maid’s room, leaving the door cracked just an inch. It’s a cozy room on the side of the mansion. The walls are lined with hangers where all the girls keep their coats and hats. Pins, brushes, and coils of thread are scattered across the room — someone must have been hemming a dress or fixing a sleeve over lunch. The small desk where you write orders for the household and make schedules is tightly organized; nothing has been touched by the chaos, just as you like it. As you start pulling your coat on, you realize this might be your last time here. It feels strange. Freeing. Scary.

Behind you, the door clicks shut.

“How romantic,” Miss Lo sighs, crossing her arms, looking around the small room with thinly veiled disgust. She is fighting to look cool and unbothered, but there is clearly something on her mind.

You look at her, not replying immediately. If you wait a little longer than people tend to be comfortable with, they’ll just spit it out. Miss Lo is particularly sensitive to it.

“It’s hard not to be envious.” She adds pointedly, her bright blue eyes boring into you.

“I suppose I’m lucky,” You reply noncommittally, meeting her gaze. She doesn’t really envy you; that much is clear — she’s just trying to find a soft spot. Sometimes, you wonder if Miss Lo forgets that everyone around her is a person too, not a riddle to solve for her entertainment. If she remembers that the gossip she hunts for sport and gleefully dissects like a detective story is about real lives. 

In other circumstances, you would have looked away by now and made an excuse to leave the room. But not today. 

So you keep looking her right in the eye, holding your hat and purse, stance relaxed. Come on, Miss Lo. Show your hand.

“You know he probably just feels sorry for you.” Eyes wide, the picture of concern is so innocent as her gaze travels over your face. Her tone is kind, the way a friend would give motherly advice. Miss Lo is rough around the edges regarding subtlety but has a keen eye for weakness. 

You shrug, if only to mask how annoyed you are that she zeroed in on your pain point so easily. “There are worse traits in a husband.” 

The words taste bitter on your tongue.

“Husband,” She titters, gamely covering her grin with her hand. “Let’s see if the good captain actually marries you first.” Before you can retort, she continues, her tone still full of laughter, but with a sharp edge: “Well, he better, because you won’t have a job to come back to.”

So this was it? You can’t quit because I’m firing you — you’re not leaving me behind because we aren’t friends. In her nineteen years of arrogance and privilege, Miss Lo overplayed her hand so easily. It’s almost disappointing. 

“Okay,” You nod as you start walking toward her, still looking straight at her. Miss Lo is blocking the door, but the toe of her right heel scrapes against the wooden floor as her fight slowly turns into flight. Her playful smile slowly drops. Your lack of reaction has the intended effect as you reach past Miss Lo for the doorknob — she hates being brushed off and ignored. 

You know exactly how that feels. And so you know this is precisely how to draw the blood from under her nails.

“I’m telling Mother you threw that bucket at me,” She blurts out, all pretense of coolness and control suddenly gone, her beautiful face contorted in a vicious scowl. “You’ll never work in this town again.”

You simply give her a bemused look as you reach past her to open the door, your shoulder bumping into hers a little harder than necessary as you walk out. It’s so childish on your part, but the look of pure shock on Miss Lo’s face is kind of worth it. It shouldn’t feel so cathartic to finally have the upper hand on her  — you should be better than that. 

It’s about a full second you get to enjoy it because you practically walk from the frying pan into the fire.

Bradley is standing in the hallway with the ambassador’s wife.

They are looking at you. They most likely saw your less-than-polite interaction with Miss Lo. 

Shit.

You press your lips together, only marginally slowing your pace, pretending nothing happened. Bradley’s stance is relaxed. His hand is casually in his pocket, his eyebrow quirked up, and a ghost of a smile is on his face as he locks eyes with you. Your heart does a little jump as you take him in.

Mrs. Parker, on the other hand, seems to be looking right through you before she suddenly realizes you are there. She quickly beckons you with short, almost irritated gestures. She almost drags you toward her by your upper arm as you reach her, rattling off a list of things in a low voice that need to get done, right now - 

“Anya, we should get going,” Bradley’s voice rings out behind you. His tone is kind like he’s reminding you of a small little thing and not like he’s interrupting your boss, who is whispering anxiously because her dinner party’s guest of honor is about to walk out. Again.

Mrs. Parker stops short in the middle of her instruction for the cook, her mouth almost audibly slamming shut, lips set into a paper-thin line. She looks at you up and down, only now realizing you are dressed to leave, her hand clutching your blue and red checkered coat sleeve. 

“You can’t leave,” She hisses, pulling you closer, venom laced with indignation in her voice. “After all I have done for you — it’s disloyal.”

You frown, jerking back from Mrs. Parker in thinly veiled disgust. Disloyal. You would admit to being many terrible things. But never disloyal. It hurts, but in a second, that hurt turns into anger. For a moment, the fire in you roars. It’s unfair. It’s unjust. 

You would argue you did a lot more for Mrs. Parker than she ever did for you. The words are bubbling up in an angry boil; your head is full of noise. It’s a familiar feeling, the overwhelming, burning urge to right the wrong — you feel it in your gut.

You take a step back, purposefully pulling yourself away from Mrs. Parker. Her grip remains until you forcefully jerk your arm out of her hand. Lip curling up in a scowl, you are more than ready to go on the attack.

But the moment you open your mouth, you suck in a breath — the fire dies, extinguished by just an overwhelming sense of… nothing. You don’t want to argue; you just want to get out of here. 

“I need to leave, ma’am.” Is all that makes it out of your mouth, softly but determined. 

“If you leave now, don’t bother coming back,” Mrs. Parker hisses. “You’ll be leaving without reference.”

“Please mail me my final check.” 

You turn away from her and walk back to Bradley. He’s looking at you appraisingly but says nothing. 

Bradley just saw the way your face contorted in anger, and he fully expected to have to jump in before you would go on the offense like the spitfire he knows you to be. But then, like a candle being blown out, it was gone. 

It’s unlike you. But when your hand grasps his, it tells him everything he needs to know. The way your fingers wrap tightly around his palm, the slight, urgent tug — it’s the same non-verbal communication you used years ago. You want to leave.

“Well,” Bradley sounds wonderfully unbothered, almost comically dissonant in the tense atmosphere of the hall. “Mrs. Parker, again — please excuse my presence at the dinner tonight; I have to make up for about three years… of birthdays, anniversaries, and dates—and now an engagement celebration on top of it. Oh, and a wedding, of course.” He winks at you. You stare at him in wonder.

“Not to mention organizing all the logistics of getting Anya to the U.S.—I have to get her a proper house and everything.” He rattles the list off. 

He’s talking about a house on the other side of the world when you feel it hasn’t fully sunk in that you’re getting married. You’re not even sure how you’re getting married. It should scare you. But you once told Bradley you trusted him with your life. And you still do, so there’s nothing to be afraid of.

“Terribly busy, as you might imagine.” He waves his hand in the air dismissively, concluding the conversation.

“So, maids can just hit people with buckets now, and you won’t do anything, Mother?” Miss Lo’s voice is somewhat shrill as she pipes up from the far end of the hall, rapidly closing in. “You’re just going to let her go?”

“Annie, you did what?” 

You close your eyes in frustration as you listen to Miss Lo’s somewhat hysterical retelling. It makes it sound like you intentionally launched the bucket out of the window nearly — funnily, she half-mumbles the word each time — hitting her. Oh, and Bradley. But mostly her. 

“Annie!” Madam sounds scandalized. “Is that true? Did you hit Loretta and Captain Bradshaw with a bucket?”

You open your mouth to protest, eyes wide in indignation. The anger roars up again, jerking your hand out of Bradley’s as you step forward threateningly. You should have hit that brat with the bucket and will tell her just that. 

But you won’t. You stall your advance.

“You know that’s not what happened, Miss Lo.” You tell her flatly.

Bradley waits for a beat — he can see the frown on your face, the fire in your eyes — but the spitfire is staying grounded. Before Miss Lo can open her mouth again, Bradley expertly cuts in physically and verbally.

“Even if she did,” Bradley interjects lightly, smirking as he moves in front of you. “I probably had it coming.” 

You whip your head up to look at him so quickly you’re sure something just cracked in your neck. Miss Lo looks like she’s about to be sick. Bradley looks like he’s enjoying himself immensely at your expense. Your eyebrow twitches. 

“Oh, Captain, please,” Mrs. Parker turns saccharine. “There’s no need to protect the girl; I’m sure it’s just a misunderstanding, we will-”

“The girl in question—my fiancée —” He cuts her off so casually, it has you reeling, before continuing in an icy tone, “Pointed a loaded gun at my head, threatened me with grievous bodily harm and defenestration. Multiple times. And then she saved my life at the expense of her own personal safety and the safety of her family.” 

You’re holding your breath. You had known for a long time you were hopelessly in love with Bradley. After all, you had spent the last three years desperately pining over him. But seeing him so firmly in your corner, casually speaking up for you when you fail yourself, is like stepping into a warm bath on a cold day. Your fingers and toes are tingling.

“And then I show up after three years without even a ring for her,” He is smiling again like it’s all a big joke. “So overall, in context — even if she did brain me with a bucket, I deserved that.”

You can’t help but wonder: did Bradley hit his head recently? Like, not by the bucket, because he wasn’t anywhere near that. Or was he always like this?

Whatever it is, right now, it’s making you love him more.  

Bradley doesn’t leave any further room for arguments. He curtly bids everyone a good evening, turns to you, grabs you by the wrist—you haven’t even had time to put your gloves on yet—and leads you out of the house decisively. 

You feel like you can only breathe again as you walk out on the path outside the residence. You burst into laughter at the ridiculousness of it all. Your breath hitches momentarily as Bradley scoops you up, arms around your waist, and twirls you around, both laughing now.

“You cannot imagine how much I’ve missed that smile.” He tells you tenderly.

“And I forgot how much I wanted to smack that smirk off your face.” You tease softly.

“I’ll spend a lifetime reminding you.” He kisses you so sweetly that you melt into him.

***

It’s the blink of an eye in the whirlwind you travel across town — the feverish gale only dies down when the door of the hotel room clicks closed behind you. There’s a second of calm.

You are looking at Bradley, trying to catch your breath, trying desperately to hold on to the remnants of yourself, the you he once knew, trying not to come apart at the seams under his loving gaze. You are tense, crushing the fabric of your skirt in your fists. Afraid every time Bradley touches you, however gently, he will break the illusion, pull you out of stasis, and jolt everything into motion, distorting the carefully constructed mirror maze that makes you appear whole.

You are elated Bradley is here — he came back. The glory of his radiant warmth washes over you as he steps closer. His cocky smile dazzles you. The fading scars on his face are forever proof that it wasn’t a hallucination; it wasn’t a dream — you were meant to find him that winter morning. He was always meant to find you on this summer evening.

Just like he had to leave you on that crisp spring afternoon. 

He will leave again. 

You are sure of it.

Bradley reaches out, taking you by the hand. He can’t believe you are here; his heart jumps at every touch, every time he looks around, expecting an echo, but finding you, all of you —  smiling back at him with that glimmer in your eye, your hand in his, in step with him all the way. Like you never left his side. Every fragment of his memory falls into place, and every dream and fantasy of you is absorbed back into your form.

Every touch, from your sweet kisses to your fingers brushing against his, your arms around his neck, effortlessly sweeps away the layers of old yellowed varnish that had frozen him into place. The fog around him has finally lifted, the color returning to the world. Only now that the weight has dissolved and he can breathe again, Bradley realizes how much everything weighed him down and ground him to a halt. He couldn’t see it — didn’t want to, simply going through the motions. He had been waiting. At first, he thought he had been waiting for the end of the war. When that changed frighteningly little about his state of mind, only the place in the world he woke up, Bradley just accepted rusting into place. And all it took was a single touch from you.

Your hand in his, holding onto him tightly, your body brushing against his as you stand on your tiptoes and kiss him urgently. Bradley sighs against your lips and deepens the kiss, gently trailing his fingers over your waist, remembering every curve of your body. You still fit so perfectly against him, like no time has passed since that first time three years ago. Everything has changed; nothing is different.

Your fingertips dance over his face, lightly tracing the raised scars along his cheek, outlining his jaw and neck, all over his broad shoulders. His chest is heavy with ribbons and medals — how long had Bradley’s war been after he got on that train? You want to ask him what he has seen and where he has been, your hand pressed against the stack. Bradley simply covers your hand with his own and pulls it away, draping your arm around his neck. 

There is so much to say. It feels like you’ve lived multiple lifetimes since you said goodbye to Bradley — you’ve died over and over again, only to wake up the next day to the same life. You wonder if he feels the same, although he’s subtly letting you know he’s not interested in talking right now. The truth is, you wouldn’t even know where to start. 

Bradley overwhelms by just being. You want it all — all of him and all of you, just like you once were. This is you accepting that when he leaves again — and he will —  there will be nothing left of you; the last vestiges of you will be washed away. 

Bradley is behind you, quickly popping the fabric-covered buttons of your lace collar from their loop. You gasp for breath audibly as Bradley’s lips touch the sensitive spot behind your ear. With a soft click, the hook at the top of the zipper on the back of your dress unlatches. Slowly, Bradley pulls the zipper down, your dress falling open at your shoulders. The air feels strange against your suddenly exposed flesh. You swallow hesitantly.

He’s pushing your dress open now at the shoulders. Bradley’s hot breath is brushing against the new skin he is uncovering. A shiver of pleasure travels down your spine, you keen softly at the sensation, trying to focus on Bradley desperately. But when he pushes your dress open further, your hands fly up around your neck protectively, driven by instinct, clutching the fabric closed. 

It’s too close. It’s too real. 

It’s the one part you wish could stay in stasis — frozen in time, unacknowledged. You trust Bradley with your life, but your pain is a different story. When he sees what the battlefield has left on your skin, he will surely see you for what you are. What you are not. That the life you trust him with is a burned-out house.

Bradley tugs at your collar lightly, almost experimentally, but when you don’t budge, he drops his hands to your waist, moving in slow, soothing circles. 

He has been preoccupied with getting you out of that dress — but the way you’re hanging your head, face hidden behind your hair, your tense shoulders, and trembling fingers desperately holding on to the lace collar stop him in his tracks.

Bradley waits silently, unsure what to ask — terrified he will spook you again. He couldn’t bear it if you bolted now, like you did so many times before. He had to find you here, he had to find you today, and he will be damned if he loses you now. Bradley knows how to be patient, move slowly, and follow your lead. Right now, it’s all that he can do. And he will do it happily if it means you will stay. 

Softly, he presses a kiss against your stressed fingers. He wants you to know, to affirm that he’s here. He will stay.

The silence stretches painfully.

“It’s -” You start softly before licking your lips nervously, trying to find the words. Bradley holds his breath, waiting for you to continue. Another silence falls. You are sure you can feel your heartbeat hammer in your head.

“It’s bad.” You conclude empathetically. There is probably a better, more straightforward way to describe it, to warn Bradley of the state of you — he must have already caught a glimpse of the deep scars spilling down your shoulder over your back. It’s only fair to give him a chance to back out, no matter how painful the thought is. 

He came back for you, but that never meant he would stay.

So you wait for him to pull away.

“Does it hurt?” Bradley’s voice is soft, suppressing worry. 

You blink, tears suddenly stinging in your eyes. This is not the question you expected, delivered with such natural kindness, empathy, and patience. People always want to know what happened, and there is a poorly disguised morbid fascination on their faces, as if the pain, horror, and grotesqueness are suffered for entertainment. You can’t remember someone who has asked about how it feels now. 

“No, or - yes,” You bumble, voice thick. It’s hard to put the words together without crying. “Sometimes.” You finally breathe out.

Bradley wraps his arm around your waist, delicately pulling you against him. With his free hand, he brushes your hair away from your neck, kissing the tips of your fingers again, still clutching your collar. He’s still here.

“When we get home,” He starts quietly, resting his forehead against the back of your crown. “I’ll take you to a doctor. We’ll find a way to make it better.”

Tears are rolling down your face now. How can he say all these things to you so easily? How can he possibly be so considerate and inconsiderate at the same time?

“It’ll never be better,” your voice breaks as you force the words out, trying to make him understand. Bradley cannot fix you. You are not a pity project. The scars will always be there; no doctor will change that; there is no cure.” The words tumble out, rushed and urgent.

“Anya, sweetheart,” Bradley tries to turn you so you can face him, but you struggle against him, pulling against his grip to keep your teary face hidden. “I’m not talking — ” 

“Damnit, darling, you shouldn’t be in pain.” He bites out as you finally stop struggling. You finally relax, a soft sob escaping you. His arms are around you, his breath in tandem with yours — it feels so safe, and you feel so loved. Bradley pulls you closer as you lean into him. 

You should enjoy this. This should be enough. You should let Bradley love you; it’s what you’ve desperately wanted. But now that it’s here, now that it’s real, your own conscience won’t let you rest: you feel like an imposter, and you don’t have a right to this. 

There is so much you want to say. So much you need to tell him. Everything that happened, what it has done to you, how you can never be the person he knew. Bradley has a right to know, but you can’t get the words out. The fight has left you for good, it feels. 

“Please, just -” You take a deep breath. “Just don’t pity me, please.” 

It feels like such a cop-out. So pathetic. 

“Out of the many things I feel for you,” Bradley’s tone is warm and affectionate, with a teasing edge. He brings light into everything. “Pity never crossed my mind.” He adds seriously. 

He pauses for a moment to gather his thoughts. Finally, he has you in his arms, but Bradley can see the uncertainty in your pained, tear-stained look as you turn to face him. Your hands are still clutched around your collar, knuckles turning white at the force of your nervous grip. It makes sense, he thinks, that you wouldn’t want pity. You are too self-aware for that. You do need reassurance. Not a pat on the head, a couple of kisses, and words of approval because you are eager to please. But the kind of soul-affirming reassurance that the sky is still blue, the sun rises in the west, and Bradley is here for you.

What the hell happened to you after he left?

“I hate that you are in pain; I hate I wasn’t here to keep you out of harm's way. All I think about is how I should have pulled you onto that train with me. That’s my one regret.” Bradley continues, voice gravelly. It’s like pulling out old stitches, bleeding vulnerability — all the self-blame, every doubt, the thoughts that haunted him through the night. But at this point, Bradley would drag himself over broken glass to get you to smile at him again. “But I wouldn’t dare pity you. My brave girl went to fight. And because you chose to fight, I am still alive.”

Your gaze softens, if only by a fraction. But it’s enough for Bradley to know he’s on the right path. It feels good, validating almost, that he can see and recognize these minute changes in you. Your own little secret language that only he can understand. Despite all the time that has passed, you are still in tune with each other on the rarest of notes.

“I’m serious about this.” He inclines his face closer to you like he’s about to share a secret — automatically, like you move with him as if pulled in by a magnet. 

“Marry me and come home with me.” He half-whispers. He needs to ensure no shadow of doubt is left in your mind. Bradley feels the small shuddering breath that escapes you more than he hears it as your body relaxes slowly against his and your grip finally loosens.

The small smile that washes over your face lights up the entire room, and Bradley can’t help but smile back. It feels so good that he can still make you smile and be what you need. It all started with Bradley thinking you were cute, amplified by how much he enjoyed needling you to entertain himself. But the more you allowed him in, Bradley realized you were more than that  — so much more. You were what he needed all along. Not just to survive but to keep going. 

And he wants to be all that for you.

Blinking up at him, you take a deep breath. Did Bradley always smell this good? God, you forgot how good he is with words. You don’t feel brave. But you so love hearing him say that. You don’t want him to stop.

“And you’ll take me to the beach?” You venture, voice still fragile from the tears. But the slightly joking tone, the hopeful smile, and the mischievous glimmer in your eye make Bradley’s heart sore. 

“To the beach, the movies, the ballgame — to bed,” Bradley grins, leaning to press a kiss on the corner of your mouth. The tiny, content sigh is like music to his ears. Your lips follow to catch up to his hungrily as he pulls back a fraction. But he isn’t done yet. 

“I’m not offering up forever lightly or on a whim — I would have always married you as long as you’d have me; the circumstances just expedited that.” He whispers urgently against your lips, sending shivers of pleasure down your spine. “I’ll spend every second I have left here convincing you to come with me.”

“I don’t think I need much convincing,” You admit eagerly, hands finally falling away from your collar and finding Bradley’s face. “But I’d like a refresher. I’ve missed you.” You sigh.

“God, I’ve missed you so much, Anya.” 

The weight of Bradley’s body against yours feels familiar, comforting almost. Your dress vanished from your body, and the medals on Bradley’s dress jacket dinged against the hardwood floor as you blindly flung it away. You giggle as his mustache tickles against your collarbone, his fingers deftly pulling your bra straps from your shoulders. The sound makes him smile; he loves every little hitch of your breath, every gasp and moan. He missed the way your hands eagerly pull at his clothes, dragging him closer to you, boldly exploring his body. But when you giggle and laugh, especially when he himself is the reason for it, it has to be what he missed most. Trailing the tips of his fingers down your hips to the back of your thigh that is hitched over his hip, he lightly tickles you in the hollow of your knee. You squirm under him, laughing, nails digging into his shoulders.

When Bradley kisses you, swallowing the sound of your laugh, the tenderness of his touch overwhelms you. You’ve underestimated him—all this time. You always, unfairly, thought he just had a knack for telling people what they want to hear and a very handsome smile to back it all up. And you can’t even deny you reveled in that while doubting him all the while. 

But for all his bluster and teasing, Bradley is sensitive. Perceptive. He knows what to say not because it’s practiced ease but because he is, at his core, caring. It’s in everything he does. Naturally.

Now, his featherlight touches are loving, gentle, and patient as he slides your panties down your legs. You can barely remember to feel self-conscious as he trails kisses down your body, not shying away from scars. Bradley doesn’t pretend they’re not there, nor does he stare at it. He softly kisses your skin, running his hands over your form — every bit of you is as important as the other. 

Bradley is so warm pressed against you that it feels like you’ve stepped into the sun for the first time in years. It’s finally daybreak. He smells so good; the hints of cedar wood and lavender carry from his skin. The calluses on his hands, the scratch of his mustache, the sound of his breathing — it’s so strange because you couldn’t recall all these small details about him, but everything feels familiar. 

Bradley’s lips trail down your body, slowly, tortuously so, reacquainting himself with every dip, every fold, mapping every part of you. His pace is so unhurried it’s driving you to frustration, but he quickly rebukes every attempt to spur him on.

He gently pushes down your hips as they buck up, doesn’t budge an inch as your fingers thread through his curls, trying to pull him back up to meet your lips. He has his singular focus. It’s been three long years, but Bradley is a patient man. He nips at the column of your neck, kissing his way down the valley between your breasts. He will refresh every bit of your memory and erase every doubt from your mind. And he will do it slowly and meticulously, exactly how you need.

Caressing your waist, his fingers dance up your rib cage at a leisurely pace, capturing your nipple between his fingers, slowly, gently rolling and pinching the puckered bud. Your shuddering breaths shake your whole body under him.

“You’re okay, sweetheart,” He murmurs lovingly into your skin. “I got you, Anya.”

Your eyes flutter shut as you gasp in pleasure — his warm voice, the rough edge, soothes as much as it completely electrifies you. His mouth is on your other nipple now, his tongue swirling over your breast. Every touch is so tender, so soft. It makes you want to scream.

It’s like his mouth is tiptoeing his way down your body. Sometimes, his lips don’t even touch you; it’s just his breath ghosting over your heated skin. The anticipation is building up in you, and every expert delay, every almost-there touch, has you teetering somewhere between blind pleasure and sheer frustration. You are at Bradley’s mercy, at the center of his attention. It’s burning you up; you wouldn’t want to be anywhere else right now.

Bradley nips at your hip bone — god, he’s finally getting closer. His tongue darts out, pressing against the crease at your tight, a promise of what is to come. Eventually.

You can barely control your breathing, inhaling and exhaling in deep, ragged breaths, needy moans falling from your lips. Never has anything, or anyone for that matter, done so much to you by doing so little. 

Bradley hums against your slit — he can feel how wet you are already. You are so impatient, wriggling your hips, bucking against him, anything to get more. He just shushes you, making sure you can feel the sound against your heated core. It makes you whimper as Bradley's grip on your thighs tightens, leaving no doubt in your mind that he has you right where he wants you, controlling the pace. You moan softly, your body arching towards him, pleading for more.

In your delirium, drunk on love and anticipation and the fiery wish Bradley would just make a god-damn move, you realize you are not above begging him.

“Bradley,” You pant, desperately. “Please? I beg you-” 

Bradley chuckles, not hurrying up in the slightest as he drags his tongue over your pussy. It’s not that he is not burning for you or that he doesn’t remember how roughly he handled you as he fucked you against that wall last time, how you keened at him to go harder. And it’s not even that he’s so eager to test the limits of his patience right now — his cock is rock hard against his stomach, begging for any attention. 

It’s the terrifying thought that your cries of pleasure might suddenly turn into ones of pain at the wrong move, and a cold dowsing of reality suddenly wipes away your loved-up, horny haze. So, Bradley takes his time rediscovering you together with you: relaxing, slowly pulling you under in pleasure, showing you that he can get you off while playing nice, hoping to strike that gold vein of your self-confidence. 

You’re at your best, mind-blowingly beautiful, when you are confident, and Bradley doesn’t care how long it’ll take him to find that part of you again.

“No need to beg me,” He teases. “But I missed how you say my name,” He admits eagerly. It’s the last thing you remember his saying to you before his tongue finally finds your clit. It’s the last thing you remember saying, praying as his tongue presses against the bundle of nerves, your thighs clenching around his head. 

Unthinkingly, you grasp at the crisp sheet of the bed in a white-knuckled grip. Bradley still has barely picked up any speed — his movements are still deliberately light. Your reaction to him feels embarrassingly out of proportion, but you can’t control the way your muscles are tightening, pressing your pussy up against him, crying out his name. 

Just when you think you are about to burst, panting in anticipation, the pressure in your abdomen almost painful — Bradley pulls back, whispering against the skin of your inner thigh. You can barely hear him; the noise in your head, the rush of static, drowning all sounds and thoughts. But every time, right before you can grasp a sense of equilibrium, Bradley sweeps back in, licking, kissing and sucking.

Each time the coil in you grows tighter, the wave builds up to new heights.

And then, like lighting at clear sky, it finally cracks. You knew it was coming; it had been building for so long, but it still caught you by surprise. Ecstasy explodes through every nerve in your body, your hips lifting off the bed in involuntary convulsions of pleasure. 

Bradley lets you ride out your wave, taking in the scene before him — the sweat glistening on your brow, his name on your lips, writhing under his touch. He moves his hands in soothing circles over your hips again as you come down, and clarity returns to your fogged-over eyes.

“Are you okay?” He asks lovingly, enjoying how your skin feels against his, basking in the delight of your orgasm. You nod wordlessly. Giving pleasure is important to Bradley because he wants you to be happy and feel good, but there’s always the darker and more selfish part of him that wants to be the one to make you come apart by his hand. Only his. 

It’s what a good husband does.

The thought gives him pause as he mindlessly caresses your skin, watching your breathing return to normal. He never thought much about marriage or what it would mean to be a good husband. Bradley assumed he would probably get married someday, at least he always hoped so, but he never really thought of himself as a husband. But with you, it seems so easy. 

Bending down again, he presses a wet kiss on your throbbing pussy. You try to pull back, overstimulated and twitching, but Bradley gently yet firmly holds you in place. One hand is holding onto your hip, anchoring you against him, the other running tranquilly from your waist, over your stomach and breasts, resting on your sternum for a moment, as if to stabilize your core. 

Bradley never pushed you toward a second orgasm — mainly because you were largely inexperienced and usually overwhelmed from just the first one. And you had so little time together before. But he wants to try it with you now, get you to that next plane of pleasure. He will ease you into it, tease it out of you, and turn the overwhelming sensation into a new peak. A good husband should.

“I believe you need more convincing.” Bradley looks up at you to gauge your reaction, smiling innocently. You look so beautiful, pupils blown, mouth open as you shake your head, searching for words. 

“I don’t -” You squeak out. “I said I could use a refresher.” 

“No, no. I can tell you need convincing,” he insists with a grin, running his hand over his body again. 

“And how do you figure that?” You grab his wandering hand, stilling it just above your belly button.

“You’re still talking back,” Bradley replies simply. “Which means you are still thinking, and I’m not doing a very good job of convincing you.”

“I don’t need- you’re-” You stutter as he pulls his hand out from under yours. “Bradley!”

“Hmm, that’s better,” He hums, easing a finger into you. Eyes rolling back into your head, you arch your back — part of you wants to escape the overstimulation, but it melts into a new sensation in mere seconds. A low hum courses through your body. It’s persistent, not ebbing and flowing erratically like before, but urgent, pressing, and everywhere. Your body feels oddly relaxed, your muscles still cramping from your previous high, but the tension is gone. 

Sliding another finger into your hot core, Bradley peppers your stomach with kisses. Your deep breathing and low moans are sounds you’ve never made for him, and he thoroughly enjoys how relaxed your body feels and how serene your face looks. Curling his fingers up, rubbing the wall as he pumps in and out of you, he carefully observes your reaction. Your head lolls back on the fluffy pillow; you roll your hips against his hand. He gives you what you’re craving, finally speeding up his movements — no matter how much he enjoys teasing you, prolonging your pleasure for his sake, you’ll always get what you want from him.

You are shaking — fingers trembling, hips stuttering, your toes are curled up tightly. It’s like an earthquake deep in every cell of your body. It’s not explosive, it’s not blinding, but it feels like you’re pushed under in pleasure. It’s forcing the air from your lungs and stills the rush of blood in your head — it’s like Bradley just pulled out all the stops in your brain. For a moment, you can’t feel anything. The crisp sheets, Bradley’s warm hands, the eternal buzz in your left ear: everything is gone in a moment of cosmic reset. 

“Breathe,” He whispers to you, kissing your right temple. Opening your eyes, the bright light, the smell of cedar and lavender, the heat of his skin — everything crashes back into you. You are still shaking, tears sting in your eyes, and you don’t understand why. Urgently, instinctually, you pull him into a desperate kiss, tasting yourself on him.

“Fuck-” Bradley is swearing against your mouth. He didn’t expect you to react so heatedly so quickly, clawing at him for more for still-quaking hands. Your eagerness is so incredibly hot, and it’s just so fucking validating. He wants you to want him, to reach for him. But right now, he knows that your impulsiveness and need to please are getting the best of you. Your body hasn’t stopped shaking, and there’s a tear running down the side of your face — you’re not crying, but you’re trying to mask how overwhelmed you are by tumbling head-first into him.

Bradley tucks your head under his chin and rolls you onto his chest. You wrap yourself around him tightly to keep yourself grounded. You wonder how he can appear so calm because you can hear his heart hammering in his chest. You can feel the tension in his fingers, but his kisses are still completely unhurried and soothing. 

Untangling yourself from him, you cradle his face, guiding his mouth over your own. He finally yields, enjoying how much you burn for him. Trying your hardest to move slowly in your kiss, taking his breath away, making his head spin with small sounds — all just enough to entice him to surrender to you. 

He melts into you, allowing you to pull him back over you, his body pressing yours into the mattress. You love how his muscles ripple under your touch, how he moans into your mouth as you nip at his lower lip. Dauntlessly and a lot less patiently than his, your hands explore the vast expanse of Bradley’s naked skin. It’s intoxicating when he groans as your nails scratch over the ticklish bit of his side, the way he shakily inhales as you drag your palm across his stomach.

“Easy dollface,” He jokes, voice significantly less stable now, laughing as you pout at the pet name you always hated. “We have time.”

You don’t care about time. You care about right now. With a devilishly innocent smile on your face, the kind that only spells mischief, your roll your hips up, dragging your wetness over the length of his cock. He gasps. Taking advantage of Bradley’s momentary distraction, you roll him over, nearly knocking the wind out of him, and he lands on his back. You straddle him, unabashed at your nakedness — you can’t help but grind yourself into Bradley. He’s so hard — his hands fly up to your waist, stopping your movement. His breathing is ragged.

You hover over Bradley, lightly brushing the tip of your nose against his. The once neat and carefully pinned curls strategically framing your face hang loose and free, the light in your eyes is dancing merrily and mischievously as you sit on top of him, unbothered, unencumbered, wearing only that stunning smile on your face. You don’t need to do or say anything; just seeing you like this sends shivers down Bradley’s spine, waves of goosebumps cascading down his arms. 

Because it’s you. Just you. 

“Don’t call me that,” You remind him, trying to sound serious, but laughter is seeping into your words. Bradley chuckles in response — it always gets a reaction out of you. “And don’t treat me like that either,” You add more soberly. “I’m not a doll. I won’t break, Bradley.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” He admits, looking up at you. His hazel eyes are soft — in the sunset rays streaming in from outside, you can see the flecks of gold and green in his iris. Affectionally, you run your hands through his increasingly messy honey curls. Of course, you would figure out that his tortuously light touch was about more than just testing your patience and resolve. Kissing his forehead, you can’t even really be mad. You’re the one who burst into tears and told him it hurts before he even properly touched you. 

“You won’t,” You assure him. “I can handle it, I promise.” 

Pulling back, you look down at Bradley. He’s holding onto your hips still, his fingers pressing into the flesh. You can see exactly how his whole body moves as he breathes, how his tanned chest expands, and how his stomach muscles contract. Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, and his tongue darts out to wet his lips in anticipation. On his shoulder is a deep new scar. Your eyes can’t get their fill of him: you want to drink in every detail forever.

“You’ll tell me if anything hurts?” Bradley’s voice is delightfully rough, and his grip on your hip tightens — no matter how sweet he can be, this is the Bradley that excites you most. A big, strong man, just on the edge, extricated from planned and methodical systems by your chaos.

“Yes, now please, please, just…” You gasp as Bradley rolls his hips up, cutting you off.

“Just what, Anya?” He grins up at you.

“I will show you.”

***

There is so much to say — whole lifetimes to catch up on. You both carry new scars, new stories, and losses. You could probably spend every waking minute of Bradley’s visit just talking, and it still probably wouldn’t cover everything you need to tell each other. It’s daunting in its prospect. 

In all these years, you never really told anyone everything that happened. There wasn’t really anyone to tell. Bradley never spoke of it. On the one hand, he was never allowed to speak about his time in the Protectorate after his debriefing, and Mav was in the Pacific with him. There just wasn’t much to talk about.  

Tenderly, you touch Bradley’s face. He gives you a sip of the champagne he had brought up by room service. He jokes about how he finally gets to sleep in a real bed with you, with plenty of space for both of you, as his fingertips trail over your leg under the covers. You counter that he still has to take you on a real date — with bought, not stolen, drinks. 

There is so much that needs saying. But right now, in a feathery, soft hotel bed, just being together is enough. You will have the rest of your lives to talk.

note | check this post for my personal life rambles. Thank you for still reading <3

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[hughiecampbelle]

Being Annie's Younger Sibling Would Include:

Requested: Can I request some headcanons please for being Starlight's younger sibling? How their dynamic would evolve as the show goes on? - anon

A/N: I wasn't sure if the reader is a Supe or not like Annie, so I split in half depending on the way you'd want to imagine it :) I love this idea and I could go on forever! I'm re-watching the first season, so things might be a little sketchy between s1 and s4. Thank you for requesting! Feedback is always appreciated 💜💜💜

Being Annie's Younger Sibling As A Supe:

You and Annie were extremely close given that your mother pushed you two to be the best

From what you ate to who you hung out with to what you did with your free time was up to your controlling, domineering mother

You were so grateful for your big sister who gave you that kind of motherly unconditional love and support your own could not give you

Staying up late and talking in your shared room

"What are you gonna do when you join The Seven?"

"Make sure you're there with me."

Annie snuck you snacks that your mother decided was too sugary or bad, giving you her own just to see the smile on your face

Coming to her when you're having problems in school, with crushes, homework, and your Supe abilities

Because your mother is the way she is, she's constantly comparing you and Annie together. Who is stronger, faster, getting better grades, taking part in the most saves. etc.

Because she's older and has more experience, you have to work twice as hard to keep up with her. You don't hold this against Annie, though

She makes sure to tell you how good you're doing all the time and tells you how proud she is of you daily

Growing up, you and Annie would play The Seven and draw pictures of The Seven and what your suits would look like. It really was such a big dream of yours to be part of the team, to be a sibling duo too

Training together after school. You two take it very seriously, but when your mother isn't looking, you two goof off like regular kids and chase one another around shrieking and laughing

Playing dress up in your Maeve and Homelander costumes

Designing your costumes together

You both audition together, but only Annie gets the call. Though you're hurt you didn't make the cut, you're glad at least one of you got to live your dreams

Walking down the red carpet with Annie and your mom, feeling, for a moment, what it would be like to be part of the team

When it's time to leave, Annie promises she'll put in a good word for you. This is before she realizes who and what she'll be working with. Once she finds out, once she realizes, she regrets ever saying anything

To keep her in line, Homelander and Vought use you against her: they know you use the police scanner, they have the resources to fake a crime that ends up killing you (that is, if they want to be that discreet about it - Homelander is eager to laser you in half just for fun)

She keeps communication limited and her details sparse. She hates lying to you when you ask if it's everything you've dreamed of, but she can't tell you the truth. No one can know the truth

Instead she asks about what you're up to, if you've saved a stay cat from a tree or walked an old lady across a busy street

You know she's joking, but you can't help but feel like what you're doing compared to what she's doing is so small, so silly

Watching every interview and TV appearance she's in. Cheering her on!

Your mother purs all her focus into your career now. You can't do anything or go anywhere without her interrogating you

It's suffocating

By the time you're able to book a flight to see Annie (and escape your mother) she's deemed a traitor by The Seven

You show up anyway, demanding answers. She hasn't called you or texted. She hasn't been on TV. Annie's disappeared, and you're the only one who noticed. You're kicked out of Vought with even more questions and a terrible feeling

That's when you meet Hughie

Being Annie's Younger Sibling As A Non-Supe:

Growing up, you were kind of in the background, the shadows of your sisters success

Your mother put all her effort and dreams into Annie, creating a bit of resentment towards her and their relationship

Now that you're older, you know it wasn't love and affection that she was getting, rather it was pressure and constant critique

Sitting in the crowds of Annie's pageants, dragged along to events and celebrations for Supe kids, left to entertain yourself while your sister was doted on

Constantly hearing "Why can't you be more like your sister?"

Still, Annie did everything in her power to be the best big sister

She played with you and read to you and looked after you in school. She made sure no one messed with you or picked on you. As far as she was concerned, you might've been your mothers child, but you were her baby

Making your own Supe suit from dress up costumes and clothes you found around the house, pretending you too had powers

While your mother wouldn't entertain these ideas, Annie always called you whatever name you wanted, playing along with your "Supe powers"

When you two rough-housed she was always gentle with you, knowing she was so much stronger

You had to come up with your own dreams, your own ideas, since your mother wasn't projecting a future like she had with Annie

Going to college, getting a job, meeting someone, etc. Your milestones vs. your sisters seemed painfully average

Annie was excited for you, though. As silly as it might seem, she was, in a way, jealous. Where you saw average and boring, she saw safe and stable, a life uncontrolled by your mother

You're still in school when Annie gets the call about The Seven. You're overjoyed for her, but you can't help but think about how lonely it'll be here when it's just you and your mom

Annie was the glue holding your family together

You never miss an interview or appearance, everything she does and is part of is recorded so that you never forget this big moment for your family

Annie calls you once a week to fill you in on what's going on, leaving out the worst parts, both wanting to protect you from the truth and knowing she'll face consequences if she said anything

You're always sending her little things from back home: cards, pictures from your childhood, gift baskets, etc.

As far as you know, things are going great. She's living the dream your mother always had. Without her, you and your mom have little in common. She tries to take an interest in what you're doing, what you're studying, but for the most part she leaves you alone. You two have your own lives

You miss her a lot. Sleeping in your shared bedroom just isn't the same

You plan to fly out to see her between breaks in classes, but before then, she's deemed a traitor to The Seven. You call and text and even show up a Vought, demanding answers, but because you're not a Supe, you're not a member of the press, and you have no power, Homelander and Stormfront send you a way without answers

That's when you meet Hughie

Where The Two Lives Come Together:

He's heard all about you from Annie and gets your number from her just in case

When he realizes you're in the city, he makes his move, introducing himself as a friend with all the answers you could ever need

You're wary, but he shows you pictures and texts between him and Annie. If she liked him, if she trusted him, then so could you

He tries to ease you into the truth, but with Annie missing, you don't want to be lied to anymore. You're done being babied. You find out about everything: Compound V, and Homelander, and Vought, and everything

If you are a Supe, you feel this extra sense of fury towards your mother for poisoning you and your sister for her own gain

The Boys are wary of you: you seems down to earth and sweet, but naive. Even if you are a Supe, that still doesn't mean you're ready for this life. The constant danger, the harassment. They thought you should go back to Des Moines and let them handle it

Hughie sticks up for you, defending you, and eventually, you find your way on to the team, at least in Hughies good graces

When Annie gets out of Vought, defeats Stormfront, and wins her place back into The Seven, you take even more initiative with The Boys

You call your mother and tell her you won't be home for a while. She pries for more information, but you fear you've already given up too much

After Annie comes back to The Seven, her ratings are better than expected. You know it's safer for her to play along, even after Homelander announces they're in a relationship together

You try not to pry into her relationship, but you can't help but take sides: it's better this way, to "be" with Homelander. He can't hurt her if they're in a public relationship, at least not as much as he wants to

You and your sister argue about this (her safety) and yours. She doesn't want you anywhere near this kind of danger. She was trying to protect you from this, from Vought and Homelander

If you're not a Supe, you're more vulnerable

If you are a Supe, they know about you, your powers. They can figure out how to hurt you, kill you even

Regardless of abilities, she makes sure you don't let anyone know your real identity, making up a name for you to use with ID's and everything

She will do anything to protect you

Because you're so dedicated to one another, eventually The Boys realize maybe you're not so bad, maybe you have more to offer than they thought

When Hughie and Butcher get their hands on experimental V, you decide to take if you're not a Supe

Annie is furious at both you and Hughie. How could he let you take an experimental drug? How could he take it himself? She makes you both promise not to take it again, but both of you break that promise

You were always compared to your sister growing up, now you could be just like her, at least for a little while

After she publicly denounces her place at The Seven, she officially joins the team

Having her there with you feels like being back home, if you forget about everything else going on. Being with your sister, it reminds you what's important

Talking more to your mother, not necessarily being open, but talking nonetheless

"Mom, I'm fine. We're both fine."

She's furious Annie left The Seven and she blames you for her decision. Annie was always the perfect one, the better one. As far as she's concerned, you talked Annie out of it over jealousy and insecurity

Annie tries to stick up for you, but you know it's better if she gets it out of her system

Becoming fast friends with M.M. and eventually Kimiko

They both see what you're willing to do for your family, your sister, and there's a lot of merit in that

You're exceptionally close with Hughie. He sees you as a younger sibling too, someone to watch over and protect

Supe or not, Butcher still doesn't 100% like you, but the same can be said for any of them

Annie encourages you to keep up with your studies, to have that life you always wanted in the back of your mind, but you know, realistically, things will never be the same

Sending Hughie all of her most embarrassing pictures

In return, she tells him about your most embarrassing memories

It's not easy. It never will be. But when it's time to leave, you stick with your sister. If you're a Supe you get away with her, Hughie nodding at the both of you. If not, they take you with him. You beg her to go, get to safety, watching her abilities grow more powerful than ever before

[rilakeila]

some lines of burn from hamilton just seem so fitting to me about luke and his betrayal to apollo!you, to percy and annabeth, and to camp; straight angst

"I saved every letter you wrote me, From the moment I read them, I knew you were mine"

finding the letter bestowed onto your pillow upon returning to your cabin, there were smiles and giggles thrown around upon the percy's celebration. yours felt rather forced, not like someone would notice. your boyfriend seemed to be so on edge lately, always trying to play it off. his current whereabouts was with percy and yours was getting something for someone, unsure when finding the letter. it wasn't out of the blue, you and luke frequently exchanged letters for the fun of it. it started as him writing notes of "you're so pretty, gives the aphrodite kids a run for their money" to full blown letters of what can be for the two of you in the future, "continue to slice different parts of my heart and take it with you". it wasn't so eloquent but the thoughts behind those words always made your heart feel so giddy.

"You and your words, obsessed with your legacy...Your sentences border on senseless. And you are paranoid in every paragraph"

this current letter seemed so distasteful. confusing. apologies were thrown around. seems even more riddle-like. or the attempts to be as if he was beating around the bush when writing. you always knew about his hate towards the gods and jokes of overthrowing them, but this plan in writing of doing so seem to be coming true. your heart raced completing the letter, made no sense of it, and the only instinct was telling you to "run."

"I’m burning the memories"

finding luke and percy in the woods, the clank of metal wasn't too hard to miss during the silence between each firework. well you and annabeth crossed paths, or more so, she unveiled herself from her cap to drag you to a nearby spot. their conversation not hard to miss, and luke's words solidified what he was trying to say in the letter. annie's dip in the weight on the leaves was what helped you find her, peering from the darkness behind her.

luke, someone always so kind and loving towards the other campers. no matter what he has gone through, he may not been the exact same since his quest of retrieving the golden apple, but he made sure to be the best head counselor of his cabin. not once would you think, he would raise his sword in anger to wound his fellow camper.

your eyes held broken feelings, breathing heavy. the metal of annabeth's dagger thrown at luke's sword, steps heavy as you stood behind her. words and feelings caught in your throat, hoping to cough it out. the eye contact between you and luke, just silence in the air but words were reflected through your eyes. one was hoping that the other would speak and embrace the other to say all was well, but just couldn't tell who had hope.

watching him retreat in the portal he carved, it felt as if that blade etched an imprint on your heart just as he asked of you in his letters. if it weren't for percy on the ground, your feet would may felt like forever glued to that spot.

"...Burning the letters that might have redeemed you"

anger, sadness, and any negative emotions surrounded you for the entire night. the rest of the cabin kids made sure to give you space, not wanting to pry. you searched for the box that was filled with his words, what made possibly a palace of his paragraphs promising you a deserving future. it was hard enough to find this box, wanting to perserve it, but lighting the edge of the first letter as you threw it into the bucket you brought. in the exact place he betrayed you all. praying to your father, knowing that he was always there for you, burning what was once (or is) your most desired. there wouldn't be a trace of your love with him, erase the love he may have had, counterbalancing the bitterness and betrayal. erasing what may have redeemed him.

"I hope that you burn"

[avastrasposts]

The Pilot and his Girl - ch. 17 **

Not much to say about this chapter, we're going deeper into the QZ with our sweet Frankie and his girl, some complications arise and they get some news about their friends. I hope you enjoy! Please reblog and comment if you like it, I love hearing your thoughts!

Series master list

Warnings contains spoiler, but please read if you need to because this series will contain some difficult subjects.

Word count: 9.1k

Chapter 18

Time in the quarantine area moves slowly. Once you’ve figured out the routine of showering early in the morning, before the water runs out, and when the best time is to collect your rations for the day, there’s not much else going on. Frankie gets extra rations, as promised by the captain who vetted him, and he shares them with you, even trading some of his rations to get you a chocolate bar which he hands over with a happy grin. The food rations are small and you don’t know if it’s because there’s not enough food, or because they’re just not prepared to feed you much.

You sometimes talk to the woman who has the bunk bed across from you in tent five, her name is Annie, and she’s come from the QZ in Austin, she’s been transferred over to Franklin because she’s a nurse. She tells you the military in the Austin QZ always had enough food but made sure the population only had just enough to not starve.

“They said it’s because they don’t know when food production will be up and running again, it all depends on when they find a cure for this infection.” 

“Are they getting close?” you ask as you light the small portable gas stove in the tent and heat up yours and Frankie’s rations, two bags of freeze dried chicken alfredo from a hiking food supplier.  

“I don’t know,” she sighs, “there are so many rumors going around, no one seems to know for sure what they’re doing.” She kneels next to you, putting her own rations on the stove. “And of course, so many people were lost in the first few weeks, before we really understood what was going on. A nurse came to Austin from Seattle, she’d been transferred to us because she specialized in anesthesiology and we still had supplies and equipment for that. She thinks the first outbreak was at the Lakehill Seattle Hospital where she worked. She was called into work on Thursday morning but when she got there she was told to go home, the hospital had already put itself in quarantine.” Annie stirred the plastic spoon through her soup as you pull your chicken alfredo off the stove. “That was twenty four hours before the rest of the country started noticing anything and the hospital lost almost all of their staff in that time.” 

“When you were in Austin, did you ever run into a couple of brothers called Joel and Tommy Miller?” you ask. “Joel has a daughter called Sarah. All three of them are from Austin.” 

“I think I met a guy called Tommy Miller just before I left, a blonde guy in his thirties?” Annie asks. 

“Yeah, that’s right.” you nod, smiling at Frankie as he walks into the tent and over to the stove. 

“Hey, cariño,” he says as he sinks down on a crate next to you, dropping a quick kiss on the top of your head. 

“I think Tommy had a brother in the QZ, but I never met him, and I don’t know about a girl.” Annie shakes her head as you pass the bowl of pasta to Frankie. 

“That reminds me, Annie, do you know if there’s any way of looking for people inside the QZ, once we’re out of quarantine?” 

“In Austin there was a notice board in the administration center, people put signs up, they might have something similar here.” 

“I hope so,” you sigh and Frankie reaches over and squeezes your hand, “we have friends and family we haven’t heard anything from since the outbreak.” 

Annie looks over at you both before she drops her gaze back to the stove and her rations, “Don’t get your hopes up, most of us never find anyone again.” Her voice is laced with grief and you don’t ask her anything more. 

Frankie and you eat your rations in silence as you lean closer to his solid shoulder, resting your head against it. When you’re both done he pulls you down onto the narrow bunk bed, his back against the rest of the tent and you tucked in under his arm under the blanket. It’s the only way you can have some privacy in the tent and you relish the time you have with him like this before you both drift off to sleep. Frankie lets his fingers trace small circles on your skin, soothing you as much as it calms him too. Sometimes you talk in whispers, mostly about how you’re going to navigate this new world, but sometimes about your life before the outbreak. Frankie makes you giggle in hushed tones when he re-tells the story of how he first spotted you across the bar, how Pope had pretended he was going to go up to you if Frankie didn’t have the balls to do it, the guys comments when they first spotted you. It makes your heart ache, remembering the four of them huddled at the corner of the bar, all except Frankie, grinning at you. Frankie with his embarrassed smile trying to hide under the bill of his cap as he fiddled with his drink. 

“I know I turned you down when you asked for my number, but I regretted it almost straight away,” you admit, “you looked so shy and sweet when you went back to the guys.” 

“You broke my heart in two seconds, cariño,” You can hear the smile in his voice even though he’s whispering. “Not even Pope wanted to rib me about it when I got back to them, I still don’t know how I could fall so fast for you,” his arm tightens around you, “your smile got me straight away.” 

You giggle softly, turning your head so that you can reach his mouth with your lips. “For me it was the way you rubbed the back of your neck when you got shy, those big, puppy eyes looking all lost and sad, I couldn’t resist.” 

“If I’d known I would've used them more,” Frankie chuckles as his lips brush over yours. “Go to sleep now, hermosa, only two more days in here.” 

The next morning you wake up before Frankie for once, he’s tucked in against you, snoring lightly in such a deep sleep you don’t have the heart to wake him. He’d woken you up a couple of times in the night when his nightmares got the better of him, and you know it took him a while to get back to sleep. Gently you slip from under his arm and climb out of the bunk, pulling on your boots and a hoodie. Since you’d arrived with only one change of clothes you’d been given some spare clothes, including a bright orange hoodie that made you feel like a traffic cone. You make your way over to the communal bathrooms and then the cantina to grab coffee for both of you. There’s already a line forming and you listen to two women your own age talk about the possibility of staying in Franklin or if it’s better to chance it, and go to another QZ. Transferring between QZ’s seems to be easy, the hard part is getting yourself to the new QZ without dying. Their conversation turns to all the gruesome ways they’ve heard of people dying on the outside and you’re grateful when they finally get their coffees and leave. You get two coffees for you and Frankie, smiling a thank you to the lady handing them out and head back to the tent.

You’re just a couple of tents away from tent five when the screaming starts.It's coming from the tent next to you and suddenly a man comes crashing out from under the tent flap. You let out a yelp as you’re knocked over, the coffee mugs tumble to the ground as you lose your footing and fall flat on your back, the hard smack to the ground knocking the wind out of you. You’re gasping for air as more screams come from inside the tent and people are suddenly running, scrambling to get away. With a chill you recognise the inhuman screech that’s tearing through the air and you force your legs to work, your lungs to pull in air again. 

“Get up! Get up, cariño! Run!!” You hear Frankie roaring and out of the corner of your eye you see him sprinting towards you. The tent flap flies open and a man you recognise from the early morning shower queue barrels out, tendrils creeping under his skin, his lifeless eyes fixed on you. He’s fast, faster than you’re prepared for and before you can get upright, he’s on you, his teeth bared and snapping. You get your arms up just in time, his teeth missing your wrist by half an inch as you push against his throat. Deafening gunshots ring out, making you scream, and the man slumps down on you, twitching as you try to hold his weight off you, you’re gasping, crying in panicked gulps. Suddenly Frankie is above you, yanking the man away from you, tossing him to the side as if he weighs nothing and turning to you, kneeling down. 

“Are you hurt, did he bite you? Cariño, answer me!” Frankie is frantically running his hands over your exposed skin, pulling down the neckline of your hoodie as you try to calm yourself enough to check if you’re ok. 

“Step away from her immediately!” a soldier barks from behind the fence, “Sir, step away from her!” 

Frankie’s eyes snap up at the soldier's tone, his rifle is aimed at you and Frankie scrambles to his feet, putting himself between you and the soldier. 

“She has no bite marks, she’s clean,” he calls back, his hands held up to placate the soldier, who’s now joined by three more, all of them with their rifles aimed at you both. 

“She’s been exposed, step away from her.” 

You’re still sitting on the ground and now you turn slowly to look over at the soldiers, all four are lined up behind the fence, rifles trained at you with Frankie trying to cover you with his body. 

“You can’t shoot her!” he yells, taking a step back so that he’s almost standing over you, “she hasn’t been bitten, he didn’t get her!” 

“She needs to go into solitary quarantine and be examined, step away from her, sir. Now!” 

Frankie looks over his shoulder at you, you can feel tears streaming down your face, your hands are shaking from shock and he moves as if to crouch down and touch your cheek and the soldier barks again. 

“Sir! You need to step away from her now! She will be taken to solitary quarantine for two weeks. We need to make sure she is clean and contained.” 

“It’s...it’s ok, F-Frankie,” you stutter, “I’ll be ok.” 

Frankie’s eyes squeeze shut as he knots his eyebrows together like he’s in pain. 

“Can I go with her?” he asks, turning back to the soldier. “Please, she’s my fiancée.” 

“No, for your safety, and everyone else's, she has to go into solitary quarantine for two weeks.”

You get to your feet, still shaking from the adrenaline and shock, “I have to go, Frankie, it’s just two weeks, I’ll be fine.” He knows from your voice that you’re scared, terrified, but you’re swallowing back your panic, trying to stand straight and be confident, tell yourself as much as him, that you’re fine. With pained eyes he looks back at you, reaching out to touch your face before you have to go but the soldier barks; 

“Don’t touch her, back away! Don’t make me tell you again!” and Frankie drops his hand and you take a couple of steps away from him, your eyes still on him with tears streaming down your cheeks. 

“Come with us,” the first soldier calls to you and motion with his rifle for you to follow them along the fence. 

You give Frankie a final look, “I love you, Frankie, stay safe.” 

“Te amo, cariño, I’ll come see you if they let me. I’ll figure it out, I promise, I’ll be waiting when you come back.” His dark eyes are fraught with anxiety as he looks at you, he can see your hands shaking. 

You nod and turn to follow the soldiers, glancing back at him over your shoulder. Everyone in the quarantine area backs away from you as you walk with the soldiers back to where you first came in. They take you through a gate to a smaller area you’ve never seen before, a few enclosures with a small tent set up inside each one. All the other enclosures are empty and you’re guided to the first one. One of the soldiers locks the gate behind you and leaves. You pull off your hoodie as they turn their backs, shivering in the cold air with only your t-shirt on, but you scan every inch of your skin that you can see.There are no marks on you, as far as you can tell, no blood, and nothing hurts as you run your fingers over your neck where the man’s teeth snapped so close. Your wrists and arms are clean too and  you allow yourself to breathe a small sigh of relief while you wait. The adrenaline is wearing off and you sink to the ground with your back against the fence, your legs suddenly weak. The cold winter air raises goose bumps on your bare arms but you don’t have the energy to move.

It takes over two hours, but the doctor finally turns up, a different one this time, together with two soldiers. He tells you to take all clothes off except your underwear and then, turning slowly in front of him, he carefully looks you over, asking you to pull down your bra and expose your breasts too. You shudder as you do it, the leering look in his eyes too indicative of why he’s taking extra time looking at your bare chest. Finally he lets you cover up and beckons you over to the hole in the fence, pressing the scanner to your skin, it blinks green.  “Why do you have to do the ocular examination if you can just scan me?” you ask, angry at being forced to stand in the cold air with his greedy eyes on you. 

“The scanners are experimental, still in the testing phase and we don’t trust them completely yet. As you saw yourself just now, the infection is sneaky and can get past us even if we check every one that we let in.” He motions over to your clothes inside the tent, “You can get dressed, it seems you were lucky but we’re quarantining you for two extra weeks just to be safe.” 

You get dressed and go sit on the single bunk inside the tent. There are no supplies, only a small oil lamp and a gas stove, like the one in tent five. After a couple of hours a soldier comes over with your box of supplies and slides them through the small opening in the fence. 

“Can my fiancé come and see me while I’m here if he’s outside the fence?” you ask and the soldier shakes her head.

“No visitors, we can’t risk anything.” she says and leaves, giving you a short nod. 

Sighing you take the box into the small tent, unpacking it slowly. As you do, you realize Frankie’s must’ve been the one who’s packed it. He’s added extra rations, his own rations, to the box, the thickest blanket, one of his flannel shirts and a hastily scribbled note tucked into it. The shirt smells like him and you fold it up, putting it down as a pillow on your new bunk before you lie down to read his note.

Hermosa, fuck, you scared me! My heart stopped when I saw that man charge at you, but I think you’re ok. I couldn’t see any marks on you and you fought him off like a champion! Benny will be proud when we finally get a chance to tell him, whenever that will be. But when we’re together again I’m going to start training you so that you know how to defend yourself, throw a punch properly at least. I should’ve done it months ago but I was too wrapped up in myself to think of it. 

“And with good reason, Frankie” you say to yourself as you smile, you can hear his voice in your head as you read. 

I asked and I can’t come see you, but I’ll get everything sorted for us when I leave quarantine tomorrow so that you don’t have to worry about anything when you get out. I’ll be at the gate waiting for you, I’ll be the one with a goofy grin yelling “cariño.” Stay safe, mi amor, te amo para siempre, mi prometida. 

Frankie 

You fold the letter and put it in your back pocket, and lie back down, wishing you could write a letter back to him. The prospect of two weeks in quarantine didn’t seem so bad when you first came here, you’d be with Frankie at least. Now, the idea of spending two weeks alone, not being able to even talk to him, scares you. And there’s nothing here to distract you. You stare up at the canvas above the bunk, trying to calm your nerves, breathing in and out. 

You’re fine, you’re fine, you’re not infected, you’ll see Frankie in two weeks, he’ll be there waiting for you. Just think of this as a silent retreat, a really shitty, low budget retreat. 

Frankie tucks the note in at the bottom of the box before the soldier comes to pick it up. Outwardly he’s calm, but his hand flies up every minute to rub the back of his neck, and he can’t stop moving. He’s pacing back and forth through the quarantine area, drawing odd looks from the other inhabitants. There aren’t that many people in quarantine anymore, over the past two weeks most people have left and not that many have arrived. And almost everyone had seen him sprinting at her, yelling for her to run and then seen how he’d frantically searched her skin for any mark. The soldiers had deemed that he hadn’t been anywhere near the infected man before he was shot, but it seems the inhabitants would rather be safe than sorry. They all give him a wide berth.

In his head, his mind swirls while he paces back and forth. The scene plays inside him over and over; He heard the screams and ran out of the tent, he’d just gotten his boots on, and the first thing he saw was her on the ground, right by the source of the screams. His only instinct had been to get her away from there but the infected man came hurling out of the tent and went right for her and Frankie couldn’t run fast enough. In his mind he sees the man jerk as the bullets from the soldiers rip into him and the fear that nearly stopped his heart when he didn’t know if they’d hit her too or not. 

His mind starts to spiral and he clenches his fists to stop his hands from trembling. 

I can’t even keep her safe in here. 

He’s stopped at the end of the quarantine area, at the end of the row of tents, holding on to the chain link fence with both hands, nausea is creeping up his throat as he sees the man attack her again and again and again in his head. He squeezes his eyes shut to stop the dizziness that suddenly has him in its grip. 

C’mon, Morales, you know what this is, just a panic attack, just breathe. Just breathe, man. In and out, in a square. She’s safe, you know she is. You saw nothing on her. She’s safe and in two weeks you’ll see her. Just fucking breathe like the therapist taught you.

He forces himself to breathe in and out, following the square shape in his head. Finally he feels the nausea recede, the overwhelming urge to throw up passes and he can stand up straight again, looking up at the pale blue winter sky over the quarantine area. He’s still breathing deeply, forcing his pulse to drop. Eventually he lets go of the chain link fence and slowly walks back to the tent. It’s going to be two long weeks. 

The days are unbearably long in your solitary quarantine. You have no books or games to entertain yourself with so you fall into a stupor and sleep most of the time. Or try to sleep, you haven’t slept without Frankie curled around you for months, over a year. His warm body has been present in your bed, or bunk, since you moved in with him. And especially in the past few months, it’s been more important than ever to have him close at night, for you as much as for him. You lay on your uncomfortable bunk, flat on your back and stare at the canvas, thinking about him, willing him to sleep calmly even if you’re not there. The thought of him waking up with his nightmares, worse than ever, makes you chew on your bottom lip, you wish you could at least talk to him. Pain shoots through your lip as you bite down too hard and the taste of iron fills your mouth. 

You’ll draw blood, hermosa. 

Frankie’s voice is clear in your mind, you can feel the way his thumb would tug your lip from between your teeth as he looked at you with a small smile. With a sigh you close your eyes and roll over on your side, trying to feel Frankie’s arms around you as you drift off to sleep again. 

When you have the energy, you walk endless circles around the enclosure. Your one break in the monotony is when a soldier brings you your rations once a day. It’s almost always the same woman, the one who brought you the box on your first day. After a few days, when she seems certain you’re not going to change into a monster, she stops and chats with you for a while. She tells you more about the life inside the actual QZ, after the quarantine area. Apparently soldiers sleep in shared accommodation if they’re single, they share apartments with other soldiers and sleep two in a room. If you’re in a relationship when you come in you get assigned an apartment with your partner, if you’re lucky you don’t have to share it with another couple.. 

“It depends on the apartments available, but it’s not too bad here. We’re expanding the QZ and clearing out more apartments so you’ll probably get one on your own with your fiancé,” she says when you ask. 

She tells you there’s a notice board for posting messages about missing people, just like you’d hoped for. But she’s not hopeful about finding anyone. 

“There are so many missing people, FEDRA, the Federal Disaster Response Agency, are trying to organize stuff like that but communication between QZ’s is used mainly for military stuff so there’s not much opportunity to ask about who’s where.”

“Have you found any of your people?” you ask while the soldier, her name is Ingrid, leans on the fence and smokes a cigarette. 

“Yeah, I found my brother in the Miami QZ, he used to live in Tampa before the outbreak and he made it there. Last thing I heard he’s still there and working for FEDRA. But that’s the only one I’ve found.” She takes another drag of her cigarette and glances up at the nearest guard tower. “What about you?” she asks, “Who are you looking for?” 

“Everyone, except Frankie,” you sigh, rubbing your hand over your face. “I don’t know what’s happened to my parents or my sister. They were all down in San Antonio. And then our friends, they were gonna try to meet us at a cabin outside of the city, but nobody made it. I think if they made it they’d be here, or in the Arlington QZ.” 

Ingrid stands up and stubs out her cigarette, “I came here from Arlington two months ago, what are their names?” 

“Santiago Garcia, Benjamin Miller, Will and Hannah Miller, Denny Jones.” 

“Oh yeah, Benny I know! He’s with the military in Arlington, I served under him. Big, blonde, ex special ops guy right?” 

Your eyes widen and you feel excitement bubbling up inside you, “Yes! Yes! That’s him! He’s ok? What about his brother, Will’s his brother and he’s married to Hannah.” 

“Yeah, Benny lives with Hannah but he never mentioned a brother.” She sees the fear creep into your eyes as you realize the reason why Ben might not have mentioned Will. “I wasn’t close with Benny or anything, maybe he just never mentioned him.” 

“But if Will was there, then Hannah would be living with him and not Benny,” you say in a low voice. Ingrid looks at you with pity before she sighs, getting ready to leave again. 

“Yeah, if he was there they’d probably be sharing an apartment and Benny would’ve been the barracks. Listen,” she says, putting her hand on the fence separating you, “I’ll try to get a message to Arlington, let Benny know you’re here, see if he can send you a message back. He’s a commanding officer, comes with some privileges.” 

“Thanks Ingrid, tell him Frankie Morales is here too, I really appreciate it.” 

“No problem, I’ll see you tomorrow, ok, only four days left now.” 

“See you tomorrow.” 

You go back to the tent and sit down on the bunk, Benny and Hannah are alive, that’s something. But Will…your stomach knots when you think about him, calm, reliable Will, always has his friend’s back, always looked out for Frankie when you first started dating, you don’t want to think about the possibility of him not making it. But if Will was in the Arlington QZ, he and Ben would be serving together, you’re sure of it. So where is he, if he’s not there? 

Two days later Ingrid comes back, handing over your rations for the day and she has good news. 

“I got hold of Benny on the radio, it was pure luck,” she says, grinning at you as you feel tears well up in your eyes. “I was on radio duty yesterday and he had information to pass on to Franklin QZ so I got to talk to him. I told him you and Frankie are here and he was ecstatic, he asked me to tell you ‘I’m going to hug her and hug Frankie and then smack Frankie for scaring the shit out of him and then hug him again’. “ 

You laugh despite the tears dripping down your cheeks, “That sounds like Benny alright,” you say as you drag your palms over your cheeks to dry them. 

“He’s gonna send a message to Frankie and if you guys want, he’ll try to get you transferred to Arlington.” She pushes your rations over to you through the fence and leans back to light a cigarette. “We didn’t have time to talk more, but I’d say you can expect a very big hug if you transfer to Arlington.” 

You smile and lean back against the fence on your side too, “Benny is one of Frankie’s best friends. They served together for years together with Will and Santiago, it’s gonna do Frankie good to hear that at least Ben is ok.” 

“Well, you can tell him the day after tomorrow,” Ingrid smiles, “But I’ll miss our chats. Come see me when you’re all settled in, promise?” 

“I will for sure, it’ll be nice to talk to you without a fence in between us;” you laugh, relief making you feel light. Ben is ok, and he knows you’re ok and where you are. That’s a start, you’re gonna find the Will and Pope too, somehow, somehow you’re gonna track them down and get word to them.  

Two days later you’re given a final scan by the doctor, the female one now thank god, and given the all clear to gather your things and exit the quarantine area. You’re longing for Frankie, you’re bouncing on the balls of your feet as you wait in line for the processing to be done for you and four more people who are being released into the QZ. You get some sort of QZ passport and a stamp in it before you’re finally allowed to step through the gate that leads into Franklin QZ. 

“Cariño!” Frankie’s waving at you from behind a low barricade, keeping the area in front of the wall clear. Even at a distance you can see his eyebrows drawn together in an anxious look as raises his hand to you again. “Cariño!”

You try not to run over to him, to not look too pathetic in front of the guards and the other newcomers, but tears well up in your eyes and you break into a run. Through the mist you see him open his arms wide for you and you slam into him, hard enough to make him stumble back before he finds his footing. His arms close around you as you grab his face, his scruffy beard under your palms, and then his mouth is on yours again, finally. His hand slips up and cups your cheek, you feel his fingers in your hair, pulling you closer as he fists your shirt, bunching it up and grabbing hold of you. Your tears are dripping down over your lips and his, he’s wiping at them with his thumb, but when his tongue slips across yours, you can taste them on you both. He’s pressed hard against you and you slip your arms around his neck to hold steady as he picks you up, your feet leave the ground as he hugs you tight enough to squeeze the air out your lungs but you still can't get close enough to him.

“I love you Frankie, I missed you so much,” you choke out when you have to gasp for air and Frankie draws a shuddering breath, pressing his forehead against yours. 

“I love you too, I missed you too,” he mumbles, looking at you with his warm, brown eyes so close it’s all you can see, “hermosa, mi amor, I missed you so fucking much.” His lips are on yours again, gentler this time as he carefully lowers you to the ground, his hand still on your cheek while the other runs up and down your back, holding you close. 

You stay wrapped up around each other for a long time, only the guards are left when you finally break apart far enough to notice the world around you. Frankie’s got a tight grip on your hand, your small box of belongings in the other and he gives you a slight tug, showing you where you’re going.

“C’mon, we’ve got an apartment down this way,” he says and leads you down what looks like it used to be a major street in Franklin. “I got everything sorted for us, like I promised,” he gives your hand a small squeeze. “I joined FEDRA, that’s the military agency that runs the QZ, and I got us an apartment through them and some rations to start us off. The apartment isn't much but it’s furnished and there’s a donation center where we can apply for stuff we need.” 

He turns down a side street as you get further from the wall, a regular city street lined with apartment buildings and offices except it looks almost like a war zone, or at least what you’d imagine a war zone to look like. A couple of the buildings are burnt out and there are burnt out cars along the streets too. Some of the cars are toppled over and down one alley you see a crashed truck with its back doors ripped off its hinges. 

“They haven’t prioritized clearing the streets yet,” Frankie says. “They had to get the walls and quarantine areas up as fast as possible. And they’re still reinforcing the wall in some places, getting it more stable.” You turn another corner and arrive at a non-descript apartment block in sand coloured brick. 

“This is us,” Frankie says and opens the gate into the complex, holding it up for you. “There was no electricity in the daytime the first week I was here. They only just got the power plant up and running again. Apparently it took a bit of damage during the outbreak.” He starts leading you up the stairs, “but now we have actual hot water and lights.” 

“Hot water…” you sigh, “I can’t wait to take a long shower, I’m all grimy and gross, there was no shower in solitary quarantine:” 

“You’re still the most beautiful woman I know, hermosa,” Frankie says, slipping his arm around your waist as you get to the third floor. You lean into him and through the layers of his jacket, the very well worn flannel and soft t-shirt underneath, you can still catch that warm scent  that always seems to hang around him, warm cotton, something woody and very much Frankie. Despite it all, the mess of the entire world, losing Lucía, losing your friends, the looters attacking you, the infected man attacking you and the two extra weeks in quarantine, despite it all, being back with Frankie makes it all seem less scary, less intimidating. You wrap your arm around his waist, tucking it in under his jacket so that you can put your hand between his t-shirt and jeans, running your fingers along the soft skin of the small of his back. He hums gently and stops you both in front of a door at the end of the hallway. 

Unlocking the door he steps in first, flicking the light switch and kicking off his shoes after putting your box on a small table just inside the door. You untie your boots and pull them off as Frankie locks the door behind you. When you stand up he pulls you into his chest, smoothing his thumbs over your cheeks as his lips find yours. His tongue laps at your mouth and you part your lips, relishing the feel of his eager press after so long apart. He feels more needy than he has in months, there’s something urgent in the way he pushes you against the wall in the hallway and when he deepens the kiss, his tongue tangling with yours, you feel heat rush through your body and you moan into him. You wrap your arms around his waist, dipping your hands inside his jeans, his skin soft and warm under your fingertips. You urge him closer, your hips pressing against his and with a low groan his lips leave yours and nips at your jaw, traveling a familiar path to that spot just under your ear that he knows will have you moaning louder for him. 

“Hermosa,” he mumbles, his lips close to your ear, his hands leaving your cheek and caressing down your chest, palming your breast, his thumb seeking out your hardening nipple, “I need you, I need you so much now.” 

You almost sob with happiness, you’ve missed this part of Frankie so much, feeling his hands on your body, feeling him press his hard length against your soft belly, making you moan as arousal floods your body. 

“I need you too, Frankie,” you whimper, gasping as his teeth nip at your sensitive skin, his soft tongue soothing the bite. “Let me shower first, then I’m all yours.” You push him gently away from you, his dark eyes coming up from your neck to stare into yours. He nods and takes your hand, pulling you further into the apartment. It’s almost bare, just a few pieces of furniture in the living room and a small kitchen table at the end of the galley kitchen. The bathroom is next to the one bedroom and Frankie leads you inside and shows you how to get the shower running. It sputters a bit but then a steady flow of hot water comes rushing out and you quickly scramble out of your clothes. You’ve only had one change of clothes in quarantine and everything is dirty and smelly and to drop it all on the bathroom floor feels like peeling off the past two weeks. Frankie can’t keep from running his hands over your body as your bare skin is in front of him, bending his head to kiss your shoulder while he cups your breasts from behind. 

“Take as long as you need, cariño,” he says, still trailing kisses along your shoulder, “I’ll get some clean clothes out for you, your towel is the green one on the hook.” 

“Thank you, Frankie,” you say as he lets go of you and you step into the shower. 

The shower is the best you’ve ever had, the feeling of finally being clean is something you didn’t realize you’d missed so much. You let the water run hot, almost scorching, and soap yourself up three times, washing your hair twice, before you rinse every inch of your body, finally feeling clean, and turn off the water. The mirror is steamed up when you step out of the cubicle and dry off. There’s a comb on the counter that you assume belongs to Frankie and you have to spend some time detangling your hair, coaxing out the knots after two weeks without a hair brush.. When you’re done, you wrap the towel around yourself and make your way to the bedroom. 

It’s as non-descrip as the rest of the apartment, a double bed, a wardrobe, chest of drawers and a chair in the corner. Frankie’s in front of the wardrobe, clothes in his hands, but as you walk in he drops them on the chair and comes over, his hands landing on your waist, sliding down and grabbing hold of your hips, fingers digging into the flesh under the towel. You smooth your hands over his shoulders, he’s shed the jacket and shirt, leaving him in a green t-shirt that stretches across his body, it even looks a size too small for his wide frame. And as you relish the feel of his warm body he pulls you around and walks you backwards to the bed, tugging at your towel and leaving it pooled on the floor. “Take your shirt off, Frankie,” you say, pushing up the hem of it, and he quickly pulls it over his head, his hands barely leaving your body.

He pushes you down on the bed, making you crawl backwards up over it while he crowds you, his mouth finding yours. His kisses are frantic, forceful and needy, his tongue plunges into your mouth, making you moan as you taste him. He’s going to leave bruises on your lips but you let him, he’s pressing hard against you, his low groans vibrating into your mouth. You can feel his knees bump against your thighs as he makes you spread your legs wide, pushing them apart when he rolls his still  jeans clad crotch against your core, a louder groan forcing itself from his chest. He’s pushing you into the mattress, his body heavy over yours, scrambling to undo his belt and pants, shoving them down only enough to free his hard cock, you can feel it push up against your wet folds as he drops his hips against yours, the belt buckle pressed against the flesh of your thigh.

“I need you, cariño,” he pants, he’s grabbing himself, settling the blunt head of his cock against your entrance, “I need you, I need you, fuck, let me…,” he’s pushing himself in, the sharp stretch of his thick cock making you wince, screwing your eyes up, the intense pleasure of feeling him fill you up, mixing with pain at taking all of him so fast and unprepared.

“Frankie,” you whimper, grabbing hold of his shoulders as he pulls out and thrusts back in, a half concealed cry slipping from you as he pushes even deeper too fast. He’s fucking you hard and firm, dropping his head to your neck. You can feel his heavy panting against your skin as he pushes one arm around your shoulders, holding you steady, while his other grabs your hip hard enough to bruise, his own slamming into you at a punishing pace. His climax is approaching fast, he groans into your neck, the rhythm of his thrust stuttering and then he grinds into you, forcing you deeper into the mattress under his heavy weight. With a strangled sob he comes inside you, freezing above you for a few seconds, his hips moving slower until they still, and he slumps down over your. 

You let your hands run through his hair, your own arousal slipping away as you try to wrap your head around how he just fucked you, so unlike him in any way. You feel dazed and  you can feel the sting between your legs, a dull ache from his frantic movements.

“Frankie..:'' you say in a whisper, moving to look at his face but with a hiss he pulls out  and pushes himself off you, shuffling back without looking at you and swings his legs over the side of the bed. He makes a motion as if to stand up but sinks down again, his jeans still just pushed down over his hips, and he slumps forwards, burying his head in his hands as a sob escapes him, shaking his hunched shoulders. 

You push yourself off the bed, moving around so that you can kneel behind him, your hands on his shoulders. 

“Frankie…” you whisper softly, “Frankie, talk to me.”

He grasps at your hands, pulling them around his shoulders and you bury your face against the side of his head as you hug him from behind.  “It’s ok, baby, it’s ok,” you soothe him as he sobs, struggling to catch his breath. 

“I’m sorry,” he whimpers, his voice low and shaky, “I’m sorry, cariño.” 

“It’s ok, come back to bed, Frankie,” you take his hand and gently pull him around when he lets you. “Take your jeans off and come lie down with me.” 

He does as you say and you pull the covers back, tucking you both in as he crawls next to you. Wrapping your arms around him, his head comes to rest against the crook of your neck and you feel his wet cheeks against your skin. 

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles again, “I’m so fucking broken.” 

“Frankie, my love, you’re not broken,” you whisper, caressing his soft curls, “you’re grieving, it’s normal, I’d be more worried if you were behaving like nothing happened.” 

Under you Frankie draws a deep shuddering breath, you can feel him blow warm air over your neck, and he burrows closer to you. 

“I needed you here, I couldn’t even sleep when you weren’t with me,” he mumbles so low you almost can’t hear him, his lips against your skin. “I just needed to make you real again, I just needed to feel you here.” 

“I needed you too,” you whisper, pressing your lips to the top of his head, “I dreamt about you every night, I’d fall asleep pretending you had your arms around me, holding me so that I could feel safe next to you.” Your fingers run through his curls, his quiet whimpers slowly dying down.

“What did you dream?” he asks eventually, his voice a bit steadier but low, shifting so that he can look up at you, his arm under your head like a pillow. 

“Everyday things, things I miss from before,” you lean forward and give him a soft kiss on his pink lips, still damp from his tears. “Movie nights on the couch, going grocery shopping, driving in your truck, taking Lucía to the park.” 

Frankie nods as he curls his hand around the back of your head and pulls your lips to his again, this time his kiss is gentle and delicate.

“I dream about driving with you in my truck almost every night,” he murmurs against your lips when he pulls back, “I don’t know where we’re going, just away I think. I’ve got my arm around you, your hand on my leg and…” he falters, something catching in his throat, “she…Lucía, is sleeping in her booster seat in the back.” He smoothes the back of his hand across your cheek and kisses you again. “On the good nights we just keep on driving until I wake up.” 

You don’t ask him about the bad nights, you know what happens then. Instead you let him deepen his kiss, his warm hand cupping your cheek as his tongue slips between your lips. He tastes of salt and himself and as he carefully rolls you over, you pull him closer, tangling your tongue with his. He’s holding himself up over you on his forearms, straddling you with his legs and when he leaves your lips, trailing soft, gentle kisses along your jawline you feel heat bubbling up inside you again. 

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles again, his lips against the soft skin just under your ear, “I can give you much better.” 

“I know, Frankie,” you whisper but the last syllable comes out as a gasp when he sinks his teeth into your neck, not hard enough to hurt, just a nip to make your back arch against him as electricity shoots through your body, gathering in your core. 

“Like that,” he murmurs and you can hear the smile in his voice, his tongue licking across the spot before he moves himself down, trailing his hand down over your breast, brushing the thumb over your hard nipple, before he lets it slip further down. 

“You don’t have to though,” you mumble, slipping your fingers through his curls, you know his grief is still just under the surface, but he shakes his head as his mouth finds your other breast, lapping at the sensitive nub, nudging the soft flesh with the cool tip of his nose as you writhe under him, spreading your legs to make room for his hand. 

“I want to, I want to make you feel good, cariño,” he ghosts against your skin, looking up at you from under his thick eyelashes. He’s cupping your pussy, slipping a finger through your wet folds, teasing at the entrance and you whine, his fingers moving up to slip across your clit.

“Frankie…” you whisper, his touch is electric, lighting up every nerve in your body. His tongue slipping around your nipple as he lets his fingers follow the same pace, circling around your aching bundle of nerves. 

“I know, I know,” he mumbles, smiling at your skin and lapping at your nipple again before he pushes himself further down your body, leaving a trail of wet kisses as his hands come up and caress your breast, your waist, the soft swell of your belly and finally land on the inside of your thighs, gently pushing them apart as he situates himself between them. 

“I remember how sweet you taste,” he breathes, parting your folds with his fingers before he looks up at you, his dark eyes still puffy from his tears but a needy look in them now, one you recognise from many nights spent in his bed. He dips his head and when his tongue drags across your folds, ending at your clit with an extra lick, you arch your back and inhale, holding your breath until he does it again. You’re not going to last long and he can sense it, going easy on you, to drag it out at least a bit.

He hums against your pussy as he laps into your entrance, the tip of his nose rubbing over your clit. When your hands tangle in his curls, pulling him closer he chuckles and you can feel the vibrations, sending more heat to your core. 

“You taste so good, cariño,” he says, shifting his arm so that he can tease a finger into your opening, his tongue licking a wide path up through your fold before he sucks the clit into his  mouth, pulling gently on it. He curls his finger, dragging it out slowly before letting a second one join it. Pushing deeper he finds that spot that makes you buck your hips against his hand, a strangled gasp coming from you as your fingers tighten in his hair. 

“Frankie...” your voice catches in your throat but he knows what you mean, curling his fingers back as he drags his tongue over your clit. The sensation of his fingers plunging in and out of you makes your body convulse under his arm and he lifts his mouth from your clit, looking up at you under hooded eyes. 

“Look at me, hermosa, please,” he pleads, “I want to see you come in my mouth, it’s been so long.” 

Peeling open your eyes, they’ve been squeezed shut under the onslaught of his skilled tongue, you lift yourself up, gazing down your body at his flushed face between your thighs. His eyes are dark, his sweat damp curls an unruly halo around his head. As you meet his eyes he unfurls his tongue onto your clit, lowering his mouth so that you can see the pink tip brush over your swollen bundle, making you whimper at the touch. His fingers are still moving in and out of you at a steady pace but as his mouth closes around your clit again, he speeds up. The familiar coil starts tightening in your core, seeing Frankie’s dark eyes on you as he buries his face, ramps the heat even more and your mouth drops open, panting out whimpers, his name the only coherent word. He curls his fingers back and presses his lips against your clit, flicking his tongue over, his eyes willing you to come undone under his ministrations, and with a strangled cry, you feel heat flood your body. It makes every muscle tense up, your hips press up against Frankie’s mouth as he laps over your clit, working you through your climax, prolonging it until you fall back with a deep exhale, pushing him away with weak hands. 

Black dots are dancing over your eyes and you squeeze your eyelids together, your breath rushing in and out. Frankie’s fingers slip out of your pussy, gently grabbing your hips and caressing over your flushed skin. His tongue is lapping through your folds, tasting your release and humming low as he feels your body relax under him. When he rests his head on your thigh you can feel the soft scratch of his beard, damp against your skin. 

“Had to make it up to you,” his voice smiling as he caresses your other leg with his hand, grounding you with his touch. 

“You did,” you mumble, still coming down from your high, not sure if you’re conscious or not, “more than enough.” You hear Frankie chuckle softly and shift around your legs, his body moving up to lie down next to you. He pulls you into his side, letting your head fall on his shoulder as he pulls the covers back up. You can feel his fingers brush through your still damp hair, his arm tight around your body and you bury your nose against his neck, breathing in his warm, familiar scent.

“You still smell like yourself, Frankie,” you murmur.  “So do you,” he says, shifting his head so that he can press his nose to your hair, inhaling deeply. “Smells like early morning rain and fresh coffee, with a hint of aviation fuel, all the things I love.” 

You giggle and swat his chest where your hand rests, “Pendejo, I do not smell like aviation fuel.”

He chuckles lightly,“ Hermosa, you’re not allowed to learn the bad words. And no, you don’t smell like aviation fuel.” His lips press against your hair and you close your eyes, listening to his slow heartbeat under your ear. Together you stay quiet for a while, the only sound is your breathing and the distant noises from other apartments. 

“I forgot to ask how quarantine was?” he asks softly just as you’re about to drift off to sleep, his question pulling you back up.

“Very boring, mostly,” you say before you suddenly remember, “Frankie, I’ve got news!” You shuffle around, pushing yourself up on your elbow so that you can look at him.“The soldier who brought my rations, she got transferred here from Arlington QZ and she served under Benny there!” 

Frankie’s eyes widen and he stares at you, “Our Benny? Benjamin Miller?” 

“Yes, our Benny! After she found out I knew him she managed to get him on the radio and tell him we’re here!” You grin at the message Benny had passed along. “Benny said he’d hug me, hug you, then smack you for scaring the shit out of him and then hug you again.” 

Frankie chuckles and shakes his head before he’s suddenly serious again, “What about Will, Hannah and Pope? Anything about them?”

You sigh and bite your lip, Frankie’s eyebrows knit together when he sees your face. “That’s the thing, Benny is living with Hannah in the QZ and Ingrid, the soldier, she didn’t know anything about Benny having a brother. And she didn’t know Pope either.” 

“So Will’s not there,” Frankie says immediately, “If he was he’d be serving with Benny for sure.” “That’s what I was thinking too,” you say and Frankie drops his gaze from your face, narrowing his eyes as he thinks. “It doesn’t mean the worst though, it just means Will isn’t in Arlington,” you say, worrying at your lips with your teeth.

“Yeah, but where else would he be?” Frankie looks up at you and gently tugs your bottom lip from between your teeth. “You’ll draw blood, hermosa.” 

“I don’t know,” you admit, “Maybe he got transferred somewhere else? You guys, with your experience, must be pretty sought after now.” 

“But Will would never leave Benny. She, the soldier, didn't ask about Will?” 

“No, she said there wasn’t much time but he said he’d send a message to you as soon as possible. Although, that was four days ago.” 

“I’ll see if I can get a message to him too, my C.O. mentioned something about officers applying for special privileges on the radio for private conversations. I’ll see if I can do that.” 

Frankie pulls you down to him again, kissing your cheek as you tuck yourself into the crook of his neck.

 “Benny and Hannah are alive,” he says, mostly to himself, “thank god.” 

Chapter 18

Taglist: @pimosworld @i-own-loki @casa-boiardi @littlenosoul @stormseyer @mxtokko  @javicstories @welcometothepedroverse

[scarlettscribbles]

the 26th hunger games

PART OF neither the angels in heaven above, nor the demons by the sea DRABBLE SERIES ↠ masterlist

- Lucy Gray Baird & Daughter!OC, endgame Lucy Gray Baird x Coriolanus Snow

Summary: 1.5k words - Annie gets reaped as District 12's female tribute.

a/n: those who read annie's original name...no you didn't. i just realized that Covey names include a color as their second name lol

"And for our final tribute from District 12…" Flickerman squinted at his card, confusion overtaking his features. "Annabel Rose Baird."

Annie's blood froze in her veins. The sounds of gasps and general unease of her classmates were drowned by the high-pitched noise of panic in her ears. Her full name was something she’d not heard often, only spoken by her mother when she’s feeling particularly irate with her, and by Annie herself in the mirror every morning, trying to remind herself that she was still her mother’s daughter, despite having to hide the fact from virtually everyone she knew.

Her Ma, oh god. Annie hoped she and Tigris were together watching so they might find some semblance of comfort in each other. After all the hardships she faced just to keep her alive, only to see her daughter put on the chopping block for the same twisted games that still gave her nightmares, it was too much for one to bear.

Flickerman looked around fretfully, nervously tapping his ear piece. "It seems the feed won't come from District 12, folks but from our own…academy."

The big screen was suddenly filled with Annie's pale face. Compared to the other transmissions, this one was more grainy, likely coming from a security camera. It would be a huge giveaway otherwise.

On it, the balm she applied on her lips earlier looked almost blood red on the canvas of her skin. The words "Annabel Rose Baird" were shining in bright letters. She could feel her heart rate pick up. Her right hand twitched, wanting to follow the soothing motion she typically does over her chest, but her limbs were locked.

"Well, that was certainly a surprise. But the Capitol has confirmed that the Academy's district scholars are not discounted from the reaping. This is certainly a step up from last year’s Quarter Quell. It seems our gamemakers are very hard at work to keep us on our toes!" Flickerman laughed awkwardly.

Lies, thought Annie. She and her Ma read that contract top to bottom, ensuring nothing in it would endanger her. Besides, Tigris was the one who offered the opportunity to her and she would never have agreed to be her scholarship sponsor if this was included in the conditions.

Annie tuned out the Flickerman’s parting words. The silence after the broadcast had ended only served to highlight the drumbeat of her heart. She only snapped to attention when two Peacekeepers seemed to have come out of nowhere, guns at hand and ready to escort her.

Cassius was the first to block them, then followed the rest of her friends and the other district scholars. Annie felt more grounded as she watched her classmates form a wall around her. She surveyed their faces. Annie didn’t know most of them but she had observed over the years how the district scholars became friends with the Capitol students, softening their perception and treatment of people coming from the districts compared to the generations before them. Did the Capitol expect this, she wondered, when they first accepted twenty-four district scholars in the hallowed halls of their Academy?

She looked up to the stands where President Snow stood. He had a glazed look to his eyes, as if seeing a ghost. Did he know, then? Was he starting to figure out?

A thrum of nervousness went through Annie, that part of her that always sought out his approval rearing up. What would he think of her now, the girl who he’d promised to take under his wing after graduating at the Academy? Was he looking back at their every interaction over the years, looking for the signs that led to this moment?

“Stand down.” The Peacekeepers cocked their guns, making her classmates flinch. Despite the bravado, they were just children, and some of them never had any reason their whole life to fear the Capitol’s military arm.

Cassius had the gall to step in front of one of the Peacekeepers, the muzzle pressing to his chest. Annie wanted to scream at the brave, stupid boy. Wasn’t it only last year that this same boy was antagonizing her, calling her a Snow bastard child and Capitol-wannabe? He wasn’t wrong on the former, but he had been thinking about the wrong person as her parent.

“Back off!” Cassius shouted. “Annabel Rose is not going to be a tribute!”

Shouts of agreement rose up in the crowd. “The reaping policy is bullshit, they never said that when they sent out the acceptance letters for district scholars!”

From the stands, Crane stood up, looking annoyed at the proceedings. “And you district bastards wouldn’t have had any opportunities if the Capitol hadn’t picked up you up,” he said. “You would be starving still, and illiterate, dying in the slums you call home. Stop being so ungrateful. The least you could do is provide entertainment.”

The sound of a fist smashing against his cheek echoed in the auditorium. After the first punch was thrown, it was utter pandemonium. Annie ducked, narrowly missing getting a black eye. She had to get out of here fast. If the chaos went on for long enough maybe she could slip through the gates and run to Tigris’ house. If she knew her mother, she would be packing their things already. They would just need a mode of transportation so they could get out of this—

Annie startled when someone grabbed her arm, almost kicking the person until she realized it was President Snow. Damn, she hadn’t even made it to the door.

“I—" I need to go, please let me go, was what she wanted to say. Annie knew he was not indifferent to her. By virtue of being a talented student who was also close to Tigris, he treated her more warmly and gave her more privileges compared to any other student from the Academy, Capitol or not. Annie might not be the Dean’s golden student but, in her opinion, President Snow’s attention was far more worth than any praise from Dr. Gaul.

Annie didn’t know how far his regard went, if he appreciated her for her use or for her as a person. It was difficult to read him no matter how hard she tried.

President Snow seemed like he wanted to say something when the Peacekeepers began firing. They both jumped. Annie wanted to break away from him to run but he was quick to pull her behind him.

“What in Panem’s name do they think they’re doing?” he muttered angrily. Annie peeked around his side and, to her relief, nobody seemed to be gravely injured. The Peacekeepers had fired into the air as some sort of warning. There was no damage besides the holes on the ceiling of the auditorium.

A bark of laughter broke through the ensuing silence. Dr. Volumnia Gaul clapped slowly. Annie couldn’t tell if her piercing stare was directed at her or the president.

“Well that was some spectacle!” she said. “You’ve all provided such a good performance, but alas, the matter has been decided.” Well, that answered the question of who was responsible for the sudden change. But the question was why? Annie never antagonized Dr. Gaul nor given her any reason to suspect her identity. Why now?

“It hasn’t been.” President Snow’s clear voice answered. “Decided, that is. How come, Dean Gaul, that it is only now that I hear of this change? It certainly wasn’t detailed in the proposal you sent to me.”

Neither of them seemed concerned about the well-being of the Academy students, engrossed in what looked like a power play that stemmed from an ongoing argument. Meanwhile, Annie’s classmates were congregating together, assisting the injured ones onto chairs. The few brave ones skirted past the Peacekeepers to retrieve first-aid kits from the clinic.

“After the success of last year’s Quarter Quell, I thought I would create another twist of my own making, seeing how much our audiences loved it. And isn’t that our purpose, President Snow? To entertain?” Dean Gaul smiled toothily, teeth stark white against her blood-red lips. “Besides, Mr. Crane had the right idea of it— somewhat. What would the people think of us, President Snow, if we started treating fodder as our equals?”

The crowd stood divided. It was a strange sight. Stranger yet, perhaps, that the president was on theirs (hers?).

“Or perhaps your outlook has changed since Sejanus Plinth?” President Snow stiffened. Dean Gaul caught his reaction, looking like the cat that got the cream.

“Sejanus was my friend,” he answered. “It is partly in his honor that our Academy’s district scholars are given the opportunity here in the Capitol, under my express approval, to be given the privilege of knowledge and a good future. To share what the common Capitol citizen has.”

“I will not be criticizing your…initiative, esteemed president,” she said in a tone that definitely meant she was criticizing heavily. “In fact, I’ll give her that. A privilege to be the first from the District 12 tributes to enjoy the mentorship program like how it was intended to be.”

No—

Two Peacekeepers came in, marching forward a woman who was, for all intents and purposes, forgotten by the Capitol.

“Ma!”

[zenkor123]

Peeta Snaps Concept

Fires burn fires burn FIRES BURN the demons, THE DEMONS, they scrape me and rip me apart. I try to be a great mutt in the service of the rebellion, rhis is what I was preparing for right? To harness the fires and aim it at the capital! BUBBLES SHINEY BUBBLES!! all the windows in my mind break, trains derail, fires burn, wires crack. Hold it together Peeta Boggs is Dead, BOGGS IS DEAD Coin murdered a valient warrior, the best Panem had to offer. I attack and kill a demon but I fight it was no Demon that was Holmes! And I almost hurt Katniss! Who appeared like one of ths demons. I run towards the water it looks so peaceful I run towards it so I can know it's peace. Hallucinations of coin and Snow tell me "no, you have to kill Katniss " but I put my middle finger in the air and say "Fuck you Coin!!." I can't hear much but Annie screaming. I see my life play before me it's all hazy and I run towards the peaceful water, I will become one with the water. Everything then turns black am I dead yet? Is there an afterlife and am I there? BUBBLES SHINY BUBBLES!!! But I hear Johanna and Katniss talking and I cry. I am useless, it's bad enough that I have to be part of an execution by Coin but I have to witness myself kill the squad. There will be no salvation. The misery unbearable so I see if I can feed the rats using my handcuffs. But it does not work, then I try to leave the room and jump out the window. I run out of the closet door, Annie is in the other closet. And Katniss screams "Peeeta!" I am restrained by Jackson and Katniss but I try to break free to die. I am thrown to the floor and the Demons come back to hurt me. I shiver and my skin is filled with hives. I can't hear anything anyone is saying, but feel paralyzed Katniss grabs my hands, so hard that it is one of the few physical sensations I can feel until she presses her lips into mine. I remember countless things and feel safe, when the demons that guard the memories poke at me I focus on Katnisses lips and the pain goes away. When we have to grasp her air, I pull her back in so more memories can return to me. She pulls me in the next time. I feel warm all over my body. I pull her in again. She says stay with me, I associated "always" with rape prior but there was no rape, there was no rape. I promised to stay with her and without me she will wither. I renew this promise and feel like crying. She collapses on top of me I accidentally pulled her down and rests her head on my heart she is pressing her chin there very hard and holding my face to the point of pain. "Don't let him take you from me" she says fiercely, I say "He never will as long as I have fight in me" Eventually I begin sensing the world around me which stops being shiny and blurry. That is the worse episode I have ever had. Katniss has Boggs holo. I feel determined to ripp off the skin of the white imp, and keep his head as a trophy. There's no better death then that done in the attempt to melt the toxic snow. Feeding him to the mutts would simply lead to the death of the mutts from all the poisons that are in Snow’s veins. His blood itself could be used as a poison. I'm glad we are dead and see a clearer view of events from the capital, considering that I'm a mutation, I don't lose it over the death of Holmes besides the occasional tear. I suggest when Gale asks the next step I suggest either breaking down holes in walls in residential houses, or going into the sewers. I don't care who I kill as long as I get Snow’s head barbecued on a trident. So I don't mind being unhandcuffed. But then Octavia finds smart cuffs for me and Annie, should we lose it the elastic smart cuffs will tighten, Katniss has the key to it. When Katniss asks how I am and brushes my hair I tell that "only two things are holding me together, you and the image of Snow's unrecognizable mutilated corpse"

I go over the mutts that we will face In the capital give a layout of the mansion and whatever I know about the snowman unit defending the mansion known as the Presidential guard

(The change in Peeta's syntax is due to him finally snapping)

[crazyunsexycool]

The love we gave away.

Chapter 3

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Reader

Word count: 4.9k

Warnings: angst, mentions of character death, bit of soft Ransom, talks of teenage pregnancy

A/N: we find out the truth that the twins have been hiding! I know this has been kind of a slow start but I’m changing it up a bit next chapter and I’m excited for it! I also love writing a soft-ish version of Ransom first because I want to show that he is capable of it but there still is that asshole version that we might see soon!

Series Masterlist

“Who are you texting?” Teddy had poked his head into Abigail’s room to ask her something. Lately every time he looked over she was on her phone.

“Y/N.”

“Again? Don’t you get tired of talking to either of them?” Teddy asked as he walked in and sat down on Abby’s bed.

Abigail rolled her eyes as she finished typing out her message.

“No, because I want to get to know them. Y/N is really nice, you should give her a chance.”

“I already have a mom, thank you very much.”

“You’re so dramatic and for what?” Abby sat up to look at her brother. “Seriously, why are you so angry at them? Why are you angry all the time?”

“You know what? It doesn’t matter. Just don’t come crying to me when they want nothing to do with you. Again. Because that’s what’s going to happen, they’re going to realize they don’t want us around and tell us to leave them alone.”

Teddy got up and walked out, slamming the door in the process. Abby was left dumbfounded.

Their mom, Annie, knocked on her door and opened it only when she heard Abby’s faint ‘come in’.

“What was that about?” Annie sat down next to her daughter, who immediately laid her head on her mother’s lap.

“I don’t know. He’s being an ass.”

“Oh come on now honey, cut your brother some slack. These last few months have been hard for all of us.”

“I know but we just-“ Abby cut herself off before she mentioned you and Ransom. She was going to tell her mom but she wanted to find the right way to say it. Maybe even figure out if both her biological parents were going to stick around.

“Just what?”

“Just moved here. We only have each other and I want to be there for him but he just hates everyone and everything.”

“We’ll figure it out honey.” Annie kisses Abby’s forehead. “We always do.”

You had just gotten off the phone with another stylist to who knows which celebrity about a custom outfit for some red carpet event when Wanda sat down across from you. Before she would even say a word your cell phone dinged and you smiled as you replied.

“Ok, are you going to tell me what’s going on?” Wanda asks. Her eyes narrowed in your direction.

“What do you mean?”

“Are you dating someone? From the way you smile at your phone I would think that someone has finally gotten your attention. Maybe that Drysdale guy?”

“No.”

“Then what is it?” She asked again. If there was one thing that Wanda was, it was persistent.

“Fine, I’ll tell you. But you have to promise me this will not leave the office. It’s a very serious matter.”

“Nothing leaves this office. I promise.”

“No one in my life now knows about this. But Ransom and I have known each other since high school. We actually dated from when we were 15 until we graduated.”

“Is that the big secret, you dated a guy? Thought it’d be more interesting like you got pregnant or something.”

You only stare at her and wait for the light bulb to go off.

“Oh my god. You got pregnant when you were a teenager.” She whisper yelled.

“Yup.” You nod before you go into the details of the pregnancy and the subsequent issues. Wanda was glued to her seat, eyes wide and mouth slightly parted from all the gasping and comments she made and questions she asked.

“Wow, Y/N I’m so sorry you went through that. So what does that have to do with the texts and you being so happy?”

“You remember the kids that showed up about two weeks ago?”

“Yeah.” She gasped again as she covered her mouth with her hand. “They're your twins?”

“Yeah. Their mom gave them the letters I had written to them. Then they found a partial address and they found their way here.”

“This is crazy. So what now?”

“I don’t know.” You shrug. “We got together for lunch a week ago. Ransom came all the way from Boston to meet them. Abigail is more open to having a relationship with us. Theodore though, he seems so angry. I don’t know why but I can understand it must be hard for him to come to terms with everything. I’d like to officially meet their parents though and make sure they’re ok if we stay in contact. To have them in my life in any way would just be… wonderful.”

“I’m sure everything will be alright. And if you need anything I’m here for you.”

“Thank you Wanda.” You smile at her.

“Now I’m sorry to burst the bubble but we need you on the main floor.”

“I’ll be right out.” You say as your phone dings again.

Wanda smiles as she watches you type away happily on your phone. You’ve known each other for seven years now with her being your assistant for six of them. Never in her life had she guessed that you had to go through something like that. But you weren’t one to really talk about your past. This new revelation however made her understand why you tended to push people away, even when you were struggling with loneliness. Wanda steps out of your office giving you a few more minutes of privacy as she steps back into the main floor.

“This is a nice surprise. What’s the reason for the visit, Ransom?” Harlan asked as he looked up at his grandson.

Ransom plopped down on a chair across from his grandfather. A drink in his hand from the small bar cart that was in the corner of the office.

“Has your uncle been giving you trouble at the office again?”

Ransom scoffs. “That asshole knows better than to try shit at the office.”

Harlan gives Ransom a disapproving look as he sets down his pen. He sat back, his elbows sitting on the armrests and his fingers interlaced in front of him. Ransom normally came to visit on Sundays so Harlan was curious as to why his grandson was there on Thursday.

“So what’s going on?”

“I wanted to visit you today since I won’t be here Sunday.” Ransom shrugged.

“Oh? Where are you going to be?”

“New York.” Ransom sits up now, this situation with you and the twins had been weighing on him since the first meeting. He couldn’t go to his so-called friends because they weren’t those kinds of friends you could talk to.

“This is the second time you’re going to New York in a month and you don’t even like New York. You’re not going to go partying, are you Ransom?”

“No, I’m actually going to meet someone.”

“A potential new author?” Harlan’s interest piqued. While he was an author at heart and had many best sellers under his belt, he also had the publishing company. He loved finding authors that had as much passion as him and helped them get their stories out there.

“No, I’m meeting Y/N.”

Harlan wasn’t able to hide the surprise on his face. It had been years since he’d heard Ransom speak about you. Only when he got really drunk and the rest of the family wasn’t around would he allow himself to speak of you.

“It’s been years hasn’t it? How did this come about?” Harlan was eager to know more about this meeting. The older man had always been fond of you. He could see the apprehension on Ransom’s face. His mind was busy as he tried to find the right words.

“The twins…”

Harlan was at the edge of his seat now more than ever. You and the twins had brought something out in Ransom he had never seen before. It showed him that the Ransom that knew love when he was a child was still there. That Ransom could be a better man than his father and even himself. But that story had yet to have an ending and Harlan could only hope Ransom would write himself a happy one.

“They found Y/N. She met them and she contacted me.”

“And you’re going to meet them?”

“I already did. About a week ago but I am going back to see them again.”

“You met them already? The first time you went to New York.” Harlan was practically speechless. He thought of those kids, his great grandchildren daily.

“Yeah,” Ransom said with a small smile, one his grandfather hadn’t in a long time. “You’d like them, they seem like great kids. Abigail, she loves your books. I may have promised her a signed copy of your next one.” Ransom sat up more, started speaking more animatedly. “Theodore though, he seems angry. Like he doesn’t want anything to do with us. I can’t blame the kid, I don’t think it'd be easy to find out you're adopted. But they seem to have a really good relationship.”

“And you plan on being in their lives?”

“I don’t know.” Ransom admitted after a while. He didn’t dare look at his grandfather, he’d been at the receiving end of disappointing looks most of his life he didn’t need to see another one.

“I think you want to. You wouldn’t have come here and told me about them if you didn’t.”

“I wouldn’t be a good influence on them.”

“Maybe they’d be a good influence on you. Did you ever think of that? Hopefully they take after their mother in that sense.”

Ransom just narrowed his eyes at Harlan.

“Don’t look at me like that. When you and Y/N were together you were happier. She showed you that you were worth loving and it made you better. What you went through, having to give up your kids, changed you. You were so angry at the world then, still are some times. But you have a chance to answer your own question.”

“What question is that?”

“If you’d be a better father than Richard. Maybe even a better husband, if things worked out with Y/N. Maybe if you gave each other a second chance.” Harlan said hopefully.

Ransom just shook his head and scoffed. You’d never give him a chance, not after the way things ended. Harlan waved his hand dismissively.

“That doesn’t matter now. Meet with them again. Give yourself a chance to realize that you are doing the right thing by getting to know them.” Harlan smiles at his grandson. “If all goes well I’d like to meet them. And I’d like to see Y/N again too.”

“Yeah, I’ll let her know.”

“Now go. I have a book to finish if I want to give my great granddaughter a signed copy.”

Ransom smiled at that. He could already see Abigail’s excited face as she saw his signature on the first page. He gave Harlan a quick goodbye and went home to pack for his long weekend.

The cab you’d taken to meet Ransom, Abigail and Theodore stopped in front of the restaurant everyone had decided on. It was Ransom’s suggestion and although you thought it was too high end for your taste Theodore actually seemed excited about it.

You pay your fare and head in and to the back of the room where the three of them were waiting for you. Abigail was right in the middle of a story about learning how to ice skate when you walked in. It was a balm into the still open wound in your soul. To watch Ransom interact with them, he was listening and putting all of his attention on her. The question popped into your head again. Would this be your life if you hadn’t given them up for adoption?

“Hey guys, sorry to keep you waiting.”

“Hey.” Abigail got up and hugged you, Theodore just gave you a small nod.

You sat down next to Ransom and bumped your shoulders with his.

“It’s about time. Were you caught up with your sewing?”

“Shut up.” You rolled your eyes and turned your attention to the twins. “So how have you been?”

“We’re good.” Theodore answered.

“Have you done anything around the city?”

“Not really, mom has been working extra hours.” Abigail gives you a sad smile.

There’s something about that statement that makes you want to know more about their parents but Theodore catches you off guard by telling you about some new video game he just got. You ask a few questions and you see him come alive with excitement, especially when he’s describing the graphics and the real life locations that inspired the video game.

****

You’ve just finished your appetizers and are talking about how busy you’ll be with work when Abigail and Theodore go quiet. You and Ransom had your backs turned slightly toward the main room so you couldn’t see what they were looking at. Before you can even turn around Abigail speaks up.

“Mom, what are you doing here?” She asks, looking extremely guilty.

You look at Ransom before turning around and looking at another woman approaching the table. She’s obviously a few years older than you. Her hair is black and in a bob, there are a few grays starting to appear. Her eyes are green and bright, a knowing smile on her lips. A rosy tint on her cheeks but underneath that you could see how tired she was.

“I could ask you the same thing.” She raises an eyebrow at Abby.

“I told you this was a bad idea.”

“You didn’t have to come, Teddy.” Abby replies.

“It’s ok, no ones in trouble here.” Annie says before turning her attention to you and Ransom. It makes you feel like you’ve been caught doing something bad. Both of you stand up and you reach out to shake hands with her. “You must be their bio parents. I hope so at least or else I’m going to have to kick someone’s ass. I’m Annie.” She jokes and it puts you at ease.

“I’m Y/N and this is Ransom and yes, we are their biological parents. May I ask, did you not know they would be here today?”

“I didn’t. I thought they’d be out exploring, like they said they would be.”

“So you lied to us?” Ransom finally spoke up as he looked at the twins. “We asked you to invite your parents and you said they were busy.”

“Ransom.”

“You lied?”

Both you and Annie said at the same time.

“Let’s take a moment. I’d like to have a word with you if it’s not too much trouble.” Annie looks at both you and Ransom.

“Yes, we’d love to talk to you. Why don’t we go somewhere more private?”

“The hotel I’m staying at is just a block away. We could go there.”

“Ok.” Annie nods. So the five of you leave the restaurant after Ransom graciously paid the bill.

****

“Order whatever you want.” Ransom tells Theodore and Abigail as he hands them the menu for room service before walking out to the balcony.

You and Annie sat opposite each other on a wrought iron table. Both of you were waiting for Ransom, who sat down beside you.

“So, where to begin?” Annie murmurs. “I had this whole conversation in my head. What I would say if I met you but now everything just seems to have completely erased from my mind.” She chuckles a bit. “I guess I want to start out by saying thank you. For having them and giving me the chance to be a mother. I can’t imagine how difficult it must have been for you.”

“One of the worst experiences in my life, having to give them up. Does it bother you? That they came looking for us?”

“Not at all. To be completely transparent with you, I knew that address was imprinted on the letter. I knew Abigail, being the curious child she is, would see it and want to know more. I’m glad she was actually able to find you and meet you.”

“Would you and your husband be ok with us being in their lives?” Ransom asked cautiously. That was the most important question and honestly he wouldn’t know what to do if she said no.

Annie gave you both a sad smile as you sat there hopeful that she’d say yes. There was no way either of you could go back to your lives knowing that they’re so close.

“I’d be more than ok with that. But there’s a few things you should know. The most important is about my husband. In a few weeks it will be a year since he passed away.” She reveals, a few tears escape her. You grab her hand gently in hopes of giving her some type of comfort. “It was a drunk driver, he blew right through the intersection and hit my husband on the driver's side. He was on his way to pick Theodore up from the skating rink. The weather had been bad and we told him he should stay home but he really wanted to go with his friends. He feels responsible for his dad’s death.”

“That’s why he’s so angry.”

It was more of a statement than a question. Annie nods as she takes a deep breath and you pull your hand back.

“He thinks that if he hadn’t insisted his dad would be alive. But the truth is my husband would have caved and taken him anyway. He couldn’t see those kids sad at all, spoiled them rotten.”

“We’re so sorry about your loss. This last year must have been difficult.”

“Yeah, losing my Danny, telling the kids the truth and then moving here. Away from all of their friends and family. It’s why I’m glad they found you. Although I wish you would have been in their lives sooner but I never got any sort of response from either of you so I was afraid of what could have happened.”

Her statement takes you by surprise. From your understanding it was a closed adoption. There was no way for you to have any type of contact with them. Annie sees the confusion on both your faces and clarifies.

“I had both of your addresses. After they turned one I started writing to both of you once a month and sending pictures of the kids. I wanted both of you to see that Teddy and Abby were being well taken care of and were loved. And maybe you would have wanted to be in their lives in some way, we could have said you were family friends or something. But when I didn’t receive a response to the birthday invitation for their fifth birthday I stopped.”

It felt like a sucker punch to the gut. All of these years when you wondered how they were doing and where they were you could have known. You looked away from Annie and focused on some building in the distance.

“We never received them.” Ransom says, the bitter tone in his voice sent a chill down your spine.

“Maybe the addresses were wrong.”

“They weren’t. You have to know,” you turn back to look at her. “That we didn’t want to give them up. We had no choice, our parents pressured us into putting them up for adoption. Now I am glad that they had you and your husband. You’ve done such a fantastic job with them.” It was your turn to give her a sad smile. “You should be very proud.”

“Thank you. I think this could be good for them. Getting to know you and all, now it’s out in the open. They were so bad at not saying anything it was kind of cute.” She smiles. “They’ve always been thick as thieves, those two.”

“We can see that. Even though Theodore seems like he doesn’t want to meet with us. He’d do anything for his sister.” Ransom adds.

The French doors that connect the balcony to the hotel room swing open. Theodore stands there with a scowl on his face.

“Will you stop talking about us as if we’re not right here?”

“Watch your tone.” Ransom snaps.

“Ransom.”

“Theodore.”

Both you and Annie called out respectively. It seems like Theodore gets his temper from Ransom. They’re both explosive and reactive when they feel like they’re backed up against a corner.

“What? It’s the truth. Why are you making decisions about us without asking us first?” Theodore defended as Abigail walked up behind him. She peeked over his shoulder and looked like she was ready to apologize for his antics.

“He doesn’t mean it.”

“You don’t have to apologize for him, Abigail. He has the right to feel the way he does.” You say softly, catching everyone off guard. Annie sends you a grateful smile. “Your mom was just asking if we were serious about staying in your lives. She’s just protecting you before we talk to you about it.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Then we’ll respect your decision.”

Ransom shot you a questioning look.

“We’ll give them what we wished we had, a choice.” You tell him and he looks away before nodding. “We leave it up to you. I would love to be in your life in whatever way you’d like. I don’t expect you to call me mom or anything like that. I just want to get to know you and for you to know that I’ll be here for whatever you need.”

“Me too.” Ransom adds.

“Well I already have parents so I don’t need you in my life.”

“Theodore, what has gotten into you. I’ve raised you better than that.”

“I have a dad, I don’t need another one.” Teddy is on the verge of tears. In an act that surprised everyone, especially you, Ransom reaches out and pulls Theodore into a hug causing him to start crying. “I don’t want to forget him.”

“You won’t kid. I could never fill his shoes and we aren’t trying to replace your parents. We just want to get to know you. We’ll be here for you no matter what.”

No one said anything for a few minutes. Abigail went to hug Annie and then she came to hug you. She had tears in her own eyes as she watched her brother breakdown. Theodore eventually pulls away and moves to give you a hug.

“I’m sorry.” He mumbles into your shoulder.

“It’s ok.” You move your hand up and down his back. “I just ask that you take your time and think about it. When you’re ready we’ll be here. We’ll accept whatever your choice is.”

Theodore pulls back and nods before stepping away from you.

“I think it’s best we get going.” Annie says.

“Yeah, ok. You can get our numbers from the kids. I’d like to stay in contact.”

“We’ll talk soon.”

Abigail hugs you both quickly before following Annie and Theodore out.

“That’s was a fucking rollercoaster.” Ransom says as soon as you’re alone.

“Yeah.”

“I’m getting a drink, do you want one?”

“I don’t drink.” You say as you follow him inside.

“You don’t?”

“No I don’t and you know why.”

Ransom looks over at you sitting on the couch as he pours himself some whiskey. Once he’s done he sits next to you and takes a big sip. You roll your eyes.

“You’re an ass, you know that.”

“I’ve been called worse by less important people.”

“And on that note, how are your parents?” You ask with fake interest.

“Just peachy. The spawn of satan just sold another property to some high and mighty piece of shit. And the spineless weasel is using her money to buy expensive gifts for his mistress.”

“You’re joking?” You look at him with disbelief written all over your face.

“Wish I was.”

“After that whole speech they gave us about being immoral and ruining the good name of the Thrombey family.”

“What can I say thimble? They’re not good at practicing what they preach. How are yours?”

“Alive I guess. I did my best to leave them in the past.” There is a beat of silence. “I bet he still has those letters.”

“Knowing Linda she probably burnt mine.”

“Let’s never be like our parents.” You mutter.

“If they’re the ones that set the bar on parenting we can only go up, thimble.”

“That’s the fucking truth.” You turn your head to look at him. “I’m proud of you by the way.”

It always caught Ransom off guard to hear that anyone was proud of him. In this instance he was unsure why.

“You handled the situation with Theodore better than I thought you would. Little rough start but you got there.”

You smile when you see his cheeks go pink. It was easy to make Ransom blush and it was your favorite thing to do. It reminded you of when you were younger and neither of you had really figured out what you meant to each other. Whenever you complimented him or said anything nice in general he would blush just like he is right now.

“I should get going. Fingers crossed they want to keep seeing us.” You say as you get up. Ransom follows you to the door and says his goodbyes.

“Fingers crossed.” He repeats.

This whole situation reminded Ransom why he didn’t do relationships. It was honestly killing him to have his heart exposed like that. He did his best to hold back and act as if it wasn’t that important but it was. One meeting. That’s all it took for him to be wrapped around their fingers. Waiting to find out what they wanted was going to be excruciating but he’d endure it. For them and for you. He’d do anything for you too.

“So what are you two thinking?” Annie asks as she closes the front door of their house.

Teddy just shrugs his shoulders as he looks anywhere but at her. Abby has her gaze averted and staring at the floor of the living room.

“You can tell me the truth. I promise I won’t feel bad about it.”

“I really like them. They’re nice.” Abby admits. “I’ve been texting with them a lot. Mostly Y/N. About her job, she’s a fashion designer and she gets to dress all of these celebrities.”

“Does she know you want to go into fashion too?” Annie asks as she takes a seat on the couch.

“I couldn’t tell her. I don’t want her to think I’m using her for something, but I guess it’s nice to know where I get it from.”

“You mean you don’t get your sense of fashion from me?”

Abby smiles and shakes her head.

“I’ve been begging you for a while to let me redo your wardrobe and you won’t do it.”

“And I never will because I happen to be a snappy dresser.”

“That’s the problem mom, you should be sleek and stylish not snappy.” Abby informs her.

“I’ll think about it. What about you?”

“I don’t know.” Teddy shrugged his shoulders again.

“How are you feeling after today?”

He just shrugs his shoulders. “I’m gonna go lay down for a while, I feel like I’m getting a headache.”

“Ok sweetheart. We’ll talk later.”

****

In his room Teddy pulls out his phone and dials Ransom’s number before he could change his mind.

“Hey kid. Everything ok?” Ransom asks cautiously.

“Yeah. I mean I don’t know… everything just feels messed up right now.”

“What can I do to help?”

“I don’t know.” Teddy sniffles. “I just feel responsible for them, you know. Like I have to be the man of the house. I don’t want mom to feel bad if I want to hang out with you and Y/N.”

“I don’t think she’ll feel bad, kid. She seemed happy that we got to meet. If it makes you feel better she’s more than welcome to join us any time we get together.”

“Mom is like that. She puts on a brave face and acts like everything’s alright. But when she thinks no one will know I hear her crying.” Teddy sniffles as he opens up to Ransom more. “She already lost dad. I don’t want her to think she’ll lose us too.”

“Never. We would never get in the way of your relationship with your mom. To be honest I wish I had a mom like her, she seems like one of the good ones.” Ransom confesses.

“She is. Can I ask you something?”

“You just did.” Ransom chuckles. “What is it?”

“Did you mean it? Everything you said earlier?”

“Absolutely, without a doubt.”

“Do you…” Theodore hesitates.

“Do I what?”

“Do you regret having us?”

“No.” Ransom says quickly. “Loving your mother, Y/N, and having you is the only good thing I’ve ever done. Never ever doubt that. The choice we made was in hopes of giving you something neither of us had which was a happy and loving family. And before you say anything, yes we loved each other and we love you. But we just couldn’t take care of you the way you deserved.”

“Ok.” Theodore says after a beat of silence. “I’ll talk to you later.”

“Alright, call me for whatever you need.”

“Bye Ransom.”

“Bye Theodore.”

Theodore hangs up and places his phone on his bedside table and picks up the picture he has of him in his hockey uniform. His dad proudly stands beside him. He can only hope that his dad is proud of him now and that he’s making the right choice.

Ch. 4

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@midnightramyeoncravings

@bunnygirlwriter876

@pandaxnieenke

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@superaveng