#this chapter has only been out for two hours

[lightseoul]

CHAPTER 9 | ALL OUT OF LUCK

w.c. 7.4k (hoo boy. i did say i would end this with a bang. i wrote and edited this in two days.)

tags. minors dni. fem!reader, pro-hero!katsuki, aged-up (26), lots of cussing, mentions of canon-typical violence, mentions of food, mentions of physical & mental health issues, explicit...themes. y'all see for yourselves what those are

a/n. and here we are. a little over two months since i posted the masterlist in the hopes that it would motivate me to see this series through, and i actually did it!!! i poured my heart and soul into this chapter, specifically, so i hope you enjoy it and find it a great way to wrap up the story. see the end for a message <3

links. masterlist, ao3

You shoot up at the sound of a honk—a blaring sound that you think can only be from one of those humongous passenger buses that circle the city.

Except they never really pass by your neighborhood—your apartment being located in the outer peripheries of Musutafu.

So why, all of a sudden, are you hearing these noises?

Wasn’t it just recently that you shot up awake like this?

Clenching your eyes back closed, you shake your head vigorously. The dull thumping that stretches from your parietal straight to your frontal lobe is unmistakable, such is the dryness of your throat. You look to your left, letting out a sigh of relief when you see a glass of water on the nightstand. You quickly grab it and take a sip, finally eyeing your surroundings as you do so.

The room is dim—the city lights emanating through the window the only source of illumination within the four walls, enough to cast a faint glow on what you’re now sure is Bakugou’s bedroom. You’ve only been here one night, but the plush mattress beneath you feels familiar, and you’re a hundred percent sure that’s your suitcase in the corner right next to his wardrobe. The wardrobe where he retrieved the futon…last night?

You shift to be on all fours, wincing to a halt when your back screams in protest at the motion. You try to rotate your neck next, grateful when all you feel is a slight strain and a sting—like you’ve got some bruising at the front. The rest of your body seems to be working alright—fatigued, yes, but not enough to cause you a new wave of pain with every maneuver.

And so with that thought, you slowly crawl toward the foot of the bed, right until you catch a glimpse of the said futon. It’s somewhat undone—arranged exactly how you think Bakugou left it the morning of the mission. Well, how you two left it. You remember accidentally stepping on it once or twice while trying not to invade Bakugou’s personal space as you simultaneously got ready, making a mental note to fix it before you left.

You guess you never got to. Apparently, neither did Bakugou.

Which only means one thing.

It’s still D-Day.

Only then do the events from earlier today come flooding at you, and you find yourself stumbling out the door, barefoot and maybe still a little too out of it to be rushing like this.

Regardless, you burst out of the room—fully expecting the twins to be there—although you’re not hit with a sobering visual confirmation, nor are you hit with a menacing glare followed by a ripping out of your tracker, which you note has already disappeared from its spot in the middle of your chest.

Instead, what hits you is the heady yet comforting smell of ramen broth.

You glance in the direction of the kitchen, and sure enough, Bakugou’s standing there—decked out in lounge clothes under an apron with a ladle in one hand—staring at you, surprised.

“Hey,” he finally gets out after a beat of immobility, before facing back toward the stove and turning down the heat. “You’re awake.”

You nod, although he doesn’t see it with his back turned against you. You pad toward the kitchen as quietly as you can, stopping a few feet away from him where he looks so normal, like he didn’t just wrestle a murderer a couple of hours ago.

What the hell is going on?

Bakugou glances over his shoulder, eyebrows raised in question—and it just dawns on you that you said that last bit out loud—before spinning to fully face you again.

“You had an anxiety attack,” he says as a matter of factly, and you feel yourself flame. “They told me to take you home after they did first aid on the both of us.”

So, he got hurt, too.

You tamp down the shame from your breakdown and note the bandage on his cheek, right where his scar is.

Still, it’s not exactly the two of you who you’re most concerned about right now…

You gulp, willing yourself to hold Bakugou’s gaze. “What about Masaki?” you ask. “D-did he—make it?”

At that, Bakugou sighs, and it’s enough for you to know the answer. Despite yourself, you feel a surge of guilt wash over your body.

“He was rushed to the hospital,” the pro-hero explains, solemn, “But he didn’t make it.”

And when you don’t say anything: “It’s not your fault, Y/N. You didn’t kill him,” he huffs, “I did.”

You shake your head decisively, before tossing him a stern look. “You did what you had to do.”

Bakugou stares at you for a second, an inexplicable expression on his face, although you don’t get to study it further because you look away first. “Did you know he was a consul?” you inquire, suddenly feeling the obligation to change the topic.

Bakugou turns, once again busying himself with the stove. “I heard.”

You pull a stool from underneath the kitchen island and hoist yourself up into it. “Explains why he was never around in the headquarters.”

“Explains why he was never home, either,” he piles on.

You feel your brows furrow. “What do you mean?”

“Apparently, he just went through a divorce and lost custody of his daughters to his ex-wife, who that guy Hiroto described to have a pretty weak quirk. Said the man always had supremacist views, but changed for the worst when the woman filed a case against him.”

Huh.

“Speaking of quirks,” Bakugou continues, stirring the broth, “I’m sure you figured it out, but his was called retaliate. He could absorb attacks, especially explosions, and redirect them with—”

“Double the power, yeah,” you finish for him.

“Quadruple if he’s feeling confident—an ironic clause for a relatively meek guy like him,” Bakugou remarks. “Explains why he still took you with him despite suspecting we were doing something behind his back. He needed your luck and was planning to blackmail you into boosting him.”

That makes you frown. “But they didn’t figure out it was actually manipulation, did they? He mentioned luck to me, too. In the car, before we went into the building.”

“No, they didn’t,” comes Bakugou’s cool response. “Masaki and the rest still thought it was luck, just that you may have been using it beyond their instruction. Plus, at that point, they already had my bombs, so they could easily dispose of me and use my life as leverage to get you to do what they said.”

Bakugou reaches for one of the condiments in the rack, lightly shaking the contents out of the container and into the soup. “Explains why they told me last night to follow suit and get dressed in normal clothes. Didn’t matter that I’d be easily identified in them—I was never gonna get to the Prime Minister’s Office anyway.”

That fucking reminds you. “Where did that bastard even take you?”

At that, Bakugou stiffens. “An industrial-grade refrigerator,” he mutters.

“What?”

“You heard me,” he spews, perhaps a bit miffed. You can tell he’s not enjoying talking about this. “I was bolted in, and Kouki disappeared before I could wrangle him into letting me out.”

You can only gawk at him as he drawls on. “Took me a while to gather enough sweat for one massive blow to break the lock.”

“H-how?” you manage to croak out.

“Push-ups,” he answers curtly, still stirring. “I lost count at around 300.”

He takes your stupefied silence as a sign to continue.

“After that, I figured the old geezer couldn’t have gotten me too far—otherwise, he would’ve depleted his capacity to conduct mass teleportation if things went south for them. I boosted myself up to get an aerial view and find a landmark, and got going when I did.”

“Were you still wearing your tracker?” you can’t help but probe.

“I had to,” Bakugou responds, “If I wanted him to come to me. When he found out I was on the move, he teleported to where I was—probably to teleport me to my death, leverage be damned—but I was faster, and he couldn’t catch up.”

“I blasted him unconscious before he could retreat and bring everyone else with him,” Bakugou says as he takes what looks to be a lid and puts it over the pot, leaving a small gap for the steam to come out. “He’s in custody now. Shitty hair’s talking to him as we speak.”

At the mention of the redhead’s nickname, you straighten up. “How is he? And Sero?” you say so quickly you almost stumble over your words, “Are they okay?”

“Yeah,” comes his prompt retort, and you find your shoulders sagging in relief. “The twins put up a fight, but they eventually had them wrapped in Sero’s tape and chased you to the elevator. But then somebody pulled the fire alarm and they got stuck.”

“It was Masaki,” you swiftly supply. “He did it just as he hauled me out of the elevator.”

Again, you watch as Bakugou visibly tenses, but he doesn’t say anything. At least, for a moment, before he sighs.

“Yeah, well, they couldn’t get out for a while because the system needed manual operation to send the elevator back to ground floor, and nobody was around to do it. They couldn’t smash their way out of there, either. Could’ve caused the entire thing to crash down.”

“Wasn’t there any other hero besides them?”

“No,” Bakugou says almost regrettably as he takes the bowl of uncooked noodles into his hands. “They thought I’d be there just as planned, so they assigned the rest of the pro-heroes involved to the rest of the schools.”

You hum in acknowledgment. “I guess that explains why they went for the twins first instead of Masaki. Maybe they thought you’d be there to handle him?”

“No, they had eyes on you,” he corrects, just as he pours the noodles into the soup. “Shitty hair said they prioritized the two because they seemed stronger than Masaki. His packing that much fucking strength came as a shock to everyone.”

You chuckle dryly. “Even you, right?”

He grunts, unamused. “Even me.”

You let yourself sit in silence as Bakugou continues to tend to what he’s cooking. It goes on like this for a little while, before it hits you belatedly.

“Did anyone else get hurt?” you suddenly ask, “You know, aside from Masaki?”

“None, unless you count property damage,” he quips, and you let out a half-hearted laugh. You can hear him smirking when he adds: “Luckily, Kirishima and the others had enough foresight to evacuate the place entirely.”

“I’m guessing you know how they did it?”

At that, Bakugou nods. “…Although, I can’t say I agree with it.”

You cock your head to the side. “What do you mean?”

“They used government surveillance information to send targeted texts to the potential victims—parents on behalf of the students, staff, employees,” he reveals, voice low. “Something about a suspension that they needed to be quiet about for their safety. Except the guards, who had to be there at the entrance.”

“But—”

“That would’ve meant Masaki and the twins would receive the message, too, I know,” he interjects. “Good thing I managed to put their names on that piece of paper. Otherwise, we would’ve been fucked.”

“No shit,” is the only thing you can mumble, head reeling from the revelation just now.

“…We barely made it, huh?” he rejoins, quiet.

“Yeah…” you reply.

A pause.

Then—

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out of the blue, startling Bakugou. You refuse to meet his gaze, though, even as you continue. “For losing it back there.”

At that, Bakugou whips to look at you, and you have no choice but to look up at him. “Hah?”

“I didn’t think I’d use everything up, and it’s been so long since I last depleted my quirk like that,” is the only thing you can get out.

You let your eyes fall to your enjoined hands in front of you. “I couldn’t control myself. I’m…sorry.”

Another pause.

“Tsk.”

Your eyes widen at the unexpected sound, and despite yourself, you find your line of vision going back to Bakugou, who’s now scowling at you.

“The only thing you should be sorry for is that unnecessary as shit apology,” he spits, before turning back to the stove. “Now, come on. Help me with the plates.”

You do just as Bakugou says and assist him.

You end up situating the placemats and cutlery just as he finished up the dish, serving it not even a few minutes later in a luxurious-looking, suspiciously Todoroki-esque bowl that you’re sure costs more than a well-functioning arm.

You try to ignore it as you navigate yourself in his kitchen, although it eventually becomes apparent that a peculiar kind of tension lingers in the air still, but you figure it’s not entirely unfathomable.

It’s only been a few hours, after all.

You repeat this like an incantation in your head—again and again until it somehow sticks—even as you quietly say your thanks and dig in. Not one word is uttered in between spoonfuls of food, the silence reminiscent of yesterday’s dinner—even though yesterday now feels like a whole month ago.

At least, that’s what you were thinking, until a booming voice erupts throughout the room, entirely juxtaposing the earlier stillness. You startle, then ease up when you realize it’s All Might’s, and that it’s merely a ringtone. Bakugou scrambles to fetch his phone from the island, although whatever urgency he had just now goes out the window when he sees the caller ID.

“It’s Asahi,” he grumbles.

You hurriedly swallow your noodles. “Aren’t you gonna answer that?”

Bakugou glares at his phone for another second before shaking his head and turning it off, walking back toward you.

“Isn’t he gonna get mad?” you ask just as he reseats himself.

“We’ve been on duty for over two weeks,” Bakugou snarls, picking back up his chopsticks. “He can kindly go fuck himself.”

That makes you snort, which earns you a smirk, although his face falls almost immediately after.

You swallow the discomfort that shoots to your throat at the sight of it.

You try not to get caught, but you secretly sneak glances for the rest of the meal, and only by the end of it do you notice that his hair’s gone back to its normal, unruly state—probably due to a shower that he took after you got home.

That, and there’s definitely something weighing him down.

You just don’t know what.

You don’t attempt to comment on it as you help him clean up the plates, or even as you start drying the dishes after he washes them beside you. He doesn’t try to start a conversation, either, focus seemingly trained solely on the task in front of him, although you know better than to believe what your eyes are telling you.

It’s that thought that ultimately emboldens you to speak up a few minutes in.

You clear your throat, eyeing him as subtly as you can. “…Something on your mind?”

To your dismay, he doesn’t answer you, only passing a plate without sparing you a single glance.

Well, then.

Despite yourself, you feel yourself deflate at his snubbing.

You had your doubts about coming forward and asking him, although that’s when the memories of the things you had to go through together came in and you thought he’d trust you enough to share—but you guess you’re getting ahead of yourself, because there’s no way he’d—

“You used your quirk on me, didn’t you?

You freeze, all thoughts wiped out from your brain.

You feel his gaze on the side of your face, but you don’t dare turn to look at him, nor do you open your mouth.

He turns away, nodding. “I knew it.”

Fuck this.

“People don’t normally notice—” you blurt, and he shifts to face you again, “—when I use it on them.”

You scratch at your cheek, feeling weirdly restless. “I think it’s only because you’re perceptive to begin with, and because you know about me and what I can do.”

“Why’d you do it?” is his immediate response, catching you off guard. You splutter, although—to your chagrin—he only raises an eyebrow at you, expression nothing less than expectant.

What the hell are you supposed to say other than the truth, then?

“Fine,” you hiss, pulling your lips into a thin line. “It was because I noticed you were getting frantic.”

At that, Bakugou’s eye twitches. “You calling me sloppy?”

“No!” you exclaim, then backtrack. “I was just—I just did what my instincts told me…”

And really, you did.

That’s all you could’ve done in that situation, for a person with your experience.

And you’re about to expound on that to a skeptical Bakugou when, to your surprise, he nods.

“Good call,” he mutters so silently, but you hear it anyway, and your eyes widen.

You must be gaping at him like he just said you are the greatest person to have ever graced the earth because he immediately looks away, embarrassed, a sudsy bowl still in hand.

“It’s stupid,” he continues, and you barely clock him having resorted to aggressively toeing his house slippers—the pair you bought for him. “I’ve never really lost my cool like that before.”

Now, that you’re not sure of.

Still, you force out a decent reaction.

“R-really?”

You’re instantly granted with a side-eye. “Don’t sound so fucking shocked.”

“It’s not that—” you choke, “It’s just that—”

“I have a short temper, I know. Sue me,” he spews, shutting you up.

“But I never let that get in the way of my work,” Bakugou pushes, suddenly serious. “Never.”

You frown, placing the plate you’ve been holding in the drying rack. “Well, they did fool us by separating us last minute,” you offer just as you look back at him, “I’d be pissed, too, getting betrayed like that.”

Bakugou doesn’t say anything in reply, opting to stare at you—borderline scowling—for what feels like a minute. He eventually sighs, and you find yourself mentally sighing at the break in eye contact as he puts down the dish he was in the middle of washing.

But then he turns to you again, face blank, and says the strangest thing.

“Tell me. Are you playing with my emotions right now?”

“What?” you cry, “No! Why would you even—”

You’re cut off when—without warning—Bakugou coaxes the towel from your hand and takes a step close, invading your space.

“Good,” he rumbles, voice low and gruff as he leans even closer. “Just wanted to make sure.”

That’s all the warning he gives you before he grabs your neck and dives in, pressing his lips firmly against yours. You instantly shut down at the contact, your body going rigid against his just like when he kissed you out of the blue this morning. But unlike earlier today, you don’t relax, and he must’ve sensed it, because he quickly pulls away, the hand that was just on your nape now resting on your shoulder.

“Shit,” Bakugou curses, a mortified look on his face. “I’m sorry, I thought—”

“No!” you interject, “I mean, it’s okay. It’s just…”

“Just what?” he breathes out, releasing you from his hold, and you don’t know if you’ve finally gone crazy, but did he just sound…hopeful?

No, he didn’t.

Which is why you muster up the courage to say the next thing.

“You’re just confused,” you finally get out, looking him straight in the eye.

His reply is instant.

“Believe me, I’m fucking not.”

That makes you frown, because why is he giving you such a hard time? You’re giving him an out, for god’s sake. A wake-up call, if you will.

That none of these is real.

And that he’s confusing make-believe with reality.

These very thoughts must be evident on your face because he studies you closely for a bit, a similar frown etched on his features. He then shakes his head, the same way he does when he’s getting impatient.

“You don’t believe me?” he finally says, and you’re about to say no, you do not, when he suddenly takes a step closer, and you find yourself stumbling back.

“What if,” another step forward for him, another one backward for you, “I tell you that I’ve been wanting to kiss the crap out of you, even when no one’s watching?”

Yet another step, and he finally stops. “Especially when no one’s watching.”

You can’t help it—you sputter, and to that, Bakugou only flashes you a devilish smirk. “Nothing?” he taunts, “You’ve got nothing to say?”

“J-just kiss?”

The second you say it, you know you fucked up.

His crimson eyes widen in surprise. “I mean, I want to fuck you, too, but—”

“No!” you cry, and he shuts up, “I mean, not like that. What I meant was, is this thing you’re feeling purely physical? Not that I think I’m all that—” you quickly disclaim, “—but is there something else, or…?”

At that, the motherfucker chuckles, and you’ve got half a mind to bury yourself in the very ground you’re standing on. But then you remember you’re on the top floor of a high-rise building, so that would only mean—

“I want to date the crap out of you, too, dumbass.”

“…Oh.”

A raised eyebrow. “Just ‘oh’?”

You flush. That was too soon of a reference.

Still, you have to respond.

“Oh, as in, oh, great,” you croak, “Because, believe it or not, I feel the same way.”

You can only watch in delight as Bakugou releases a breath you think he didn’t know he was holding, utter relief written all over his body. There’s no controlling the smile that breaches your mouth at the sight of it, earlier’s dreadful anticipation now morphing into a hoard of rabid butterflies. Bakugou sees the change in your countenance and grins.

“Does this mean I get to kiss you now? And that you won’t just stand there like a fucking corpse?”

That earns him a punch to the arm, which he takes in stride, laughing. “Can’t you just do it without teasing me?” you grumble, “You’re such a dickhead.”

“Got it, princess,” is the last (pestering) thing he says before reaching for your neck again and pulling you toward him, wasting no time in bringing your lips to his.

It doesn’t elude you that you’re still somewhat tense, but you eventually manage to will yourself to ease up just as his other hand shoots up to hold your cheek, tilting it so he can deepen the kiss. You can’t help it—you groan when he does, and he takes that as an opportunity to slowly enter your mouth with his tongue, and you squeak at the intrusion. He only laughs at that, but he doesn’t let up, his tongue seemingly having a mind of its own as it swirls and explores without restraint.

You don’t know how long this goes on—your brain filled with nothing but the sensation of Bakugou’s soft lips against yours—but he eventually pulls away, and you have to stop yourself from ogling at how debauched he looks with just his flushed face and swollen lips. You guess you aren’t any different, because Bakugou’s eyes rove over your face—hungrily—almost as if he’s drinking you in.

“You’re a good kisser,” you offer lamely, desperate for anything to fill the tense air.

At that, he coughs, as if he didn’t expect you to say that of all things. “T-thanks. You, too.”

You flash him a grateful smile, although it’s quick to falter.

A beat.

“So…” you try again, “What now?”

Bakugou looks down at his feet, suddenly shy. “I—uh, meant it, you know.”

You gulp. “Meant what?”

“That I want to fuck you.”

Shit.

“But I understand if you don’t want to, or if that’s moving too fast. It’s only been two weeks and—”

“Correction,” you cut in, “It’s been over two weeks. You said so yourself.”

That makes Bakugou pause, who only looks at you in bewilderment. “What are you trying to—”

“I’m ready,” you declare, voice nothing short of sure. “I want this.”

That seems to set something off in the pro-hero, because his entire demeanor shifts. You don’t get to comment on it before he’s back on you in an instant, encasing your lips in a searing kiss. You stagger back from the sheer force alone, grabbing onto his shirt for purchase as you stumble across the living room, not parting ways for even a second, his mouth hot against yours. He seizes you by the waist just as you almost crash into the wall, expertly maneuvering you through the door and into his bedroom, lips still molded together.

He only pulls away when you reach the foot of his bed, letting go of his grip on you to lift you bridal-style, the brazen display of effortless strength sending a shot of arousal into your veins. You loop your arms around his neck as he climbs over the mattress, inching toward the headboard before gently placing you down into the pillows. You waste no time pulling him back closer to you, initiating the kiss this time, and you think he must like that, judging by the way he groans quietly.

“What,” you mumble against his lips, “You like it when I take charge?”

“Fuck off,” he mumbles back, although he doesn’t break away, only biting your lower lip as if in punishment. You wince, but he’s quick to lave over it with his tongue. “Hurry up and—” a kiss, “—take off—” another kiss, “—mm—your clothes.”

That makes you laugh. Of course, he’d order you to strip after just cussing you out.

You don’t complain, though, lightly shoving him away so you can pull your shirt over your head. You glance at Bakugou when it’s off of you, and sure enough, he’s staring at your chest.

“Aren’t you gonna undress as well?” you ask pointedly, hoping your embarrassment isn’t showing on your face.

“Shit, right,” he blubbers, and you find yourself smiling as he hurries to take off his shirt.

Only that smile doesn’t get to last for too long before it’s instantly replaced with an ‘o’ at the sight of his ridiculously defined abs.

You point to it, honestly perturbed. “How the fuck is that even possible?”

Now that makes him laugh, the motion causing his abdominal muscles to flex and you blanch. “What if I tell you I’ve had them since high school?”

“Liar.”

Bakugou grins. “Had you known, would you have forced me to listen to your confession?”

“That’s it,” you make a move to get out of the bed but he tugs you back, flashing you a boyish smile that you don’t want to admit makes you—kinda—all weak in the knees.

“That was the last one,” he promises, still grinning, “I swear.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Why do I feel like you’re lying straight out of your ass.”

“Me?” he asks, feigning innocence as he crawls closer, towering over you again until you’re back to lying on the bed. “Never.”

“Ha ha,” you deadpan, looking anywhere but at him or his broad chest. Although, your efforts are all for naught because he lifts one hand and takes your chin, forcing you to look at him.

“Can I take off your bra?” he inquires, the earnestness in his tone almost causing you to squirm.

You thankfully don’t—you’ve decided you’ve embarrassed yourself enough for today—and instead, nod. He doesn’t bother to say anything else as he reaches for your back, and you arch—slowly, Masaki did a number on you, after all—just in time so he can feel your clasp. It takes him a second to undo it, and a few more to lift it off of you, but when he does, the first thing he says is—

“Fuck.”

You snort. “I’m guessing that you like them.”

“Obviously, dumbass,” he spits, although it’s more playful than scathing. Then, he’s back to staring, like he can’t quite believe this is happening. “Wow.”

“What, is this the first time you’ve seen boobs?” you joke—because there’s no way a guy like him has never been with a girl, at least physically—although the jesting lilt in your voice immediately dies out when his face falls and he looks away.

Shit.

There’s only one thing for you to do.

Reaching out for his nape, you tug him down until he’s only a few centimeters away, taking his lips into yours before he can protest. To your relief, he melts into your touch, back to eagerly returning the kiss in a matter of seconds. Wanting to make him feel good now more than ever, you let your other hand snake up to his hair, grabbing a fistful before pulling tentatively—as if to test the waters. You don’t end up disappointed—in fact, you’re far from it—when he groans against your mouth, louder than before. Emboldened by his generous reaction, you pull again—harder this time—and it’s your turn to be surprised when his hips buck involuntarily against your own, giving you the slightest bit of friction that’s nowhere near enough.

You rub your thighs together in an attempt to quell the ache as discreetly as you can, although this motion doesn’t go unnoticed by Bakugou, who withdraws ever so slightly to study you.

“You okay?”

“Yes—it’s just,” you hesitate, before deciding you owe him the truth. “…I want you.”

Whatever Bakugou expected you to say, it sure wasn’t that—and so candidly, too—because he splutters, face evidently flushing despite the dim lights. “I-I want you, too,” he says honestly, “But I should warn you, I’ve never really done this before.”

“I thought you were gonna say you were massive,” you quip.

“Yeah,” he smirks without missing a beat, and you choke, “That, too.”

You slap his chest, which you instantly regret. “You’re the worst!”

He doesn’t say anything to that, only grinning as he leans in and—to your surprise—latches his lips onto your neck. You barely stop yourself from jolting in pleasure when he finds and nips at your pulse point—no doubt leaving a mark that you’re going to have to color correct tomorrow if you don’t want to get any funny looks. To your chagrin—or delight, you don’t fucking know at this point—Bakugou doesn’t stop his assault on your neck, instead bringing one hand up to graze the skin below your breast.

Suddenly tired of all the teasing, you grab his hand yourself and place it right on your boob, smiling when a curse is immediately muttered against your neck. You don’t let go of your hold, choosing to guide him on how to grope and fondle it instead. Bakugou catches on quickly, and before you know it, he’s already playing with your nipples, twisting and pulling them just the way you like.

“You can use your mouth, too, if you want,” you tell him a few moments later, stifling a moan when he sucks on a spot at the crook of your neck one more time, before nodding and easing down so he can be face to face with your chest.

He doesn’t let you get another word in before he takes a nipple into his mouth, and this time, you can’t stop yourself—you jerk against him—which only pushes it further. He takes the opening and starts sucking, and you’ve got half a mind to push him away. You don’t, though, and you doubt you could’ve anyway, his grip on your waist unrelenting as he switches between breasts, doing all sorts of things with his tongue that have your mind swimming.

“Still think I’m the worst?” he eventually looks up and asks roguishly, lips even more swollen and glistening with saliva.

“Jury’s still out—” you hiss when he pinches a nipple, and you swat him away. “Never mind, you are the worst.”

“Even when I do this?” he drawls, and you’re about to clarify with him what he’s going off about this time, when he unexpectedly slips a finger underneath your panties, and you barely, barely manage to bite back a moan.

“Fuck,” he rasps, “you’re so wet.”

You fight back a shudder even as he traces the outline of your sex, seemingly entranced. “Are you—are you sure you’ve never done this before?”

“What, you saying I’m a liar?” is his snarky retort, although he thankfully doesn’t stop his ministrations. In fact, your question only seems to provoke him, causing him to apply more pressure.

“N-no, it’s just that, fuck—” you huff, “I-I wouldn’t be surprised if you went d-down on me and you’d be good at that, too.”

That makes Bakugou pause, and you almost whine at the loss.

But then he practically rips your underwear out of the way, and you somehow don’t find it in you to care at all. They were granny panties anyway, and you’re too engrossed in how the pro-hero urges you to open your thighs for him, and then prying them open himself when you take too long to do it.

Not to mention the look on his face when he finally sees you.

“Stop staring at me, Bakugou,” you can’t help but grumble.

“Katsuki.”

“What?”

He doesn’t shift to look at you, gaze still focused between your thighs. “Call me Katsuki.”

That’s all the foreboding he offers before he dives in and licks a long strip along your slit, and you almost scream, if not for the hand you slap over your mouth the second that he does. He’s relentless—even as you squirm and tremble underneath him—lapping on your wetness like a man who hasn’t had a drop of water for days. You jolt when he flicks his tongue right at your clit, hands instinctively shooting up to grab at his hair. But then he makes the mistake of pushing the wet muscle into your entrance, and you inadvertently pull—hard—hard enough that it causes him to groan against your core, sending a surge of vibrations straight into your pussy.

“Fuck,” you warble, looking down at Bakugou only to see him peering up at you with half-lidded eyes that’s got you almost moaning again. “Keep on doing that.”

Fortunately, Bakugou doesn’t tease you for sounding pathetic just now, only choosing to do as you say. He resumes, with renewed vigor, paying particular attention to your clit this time. He keeps on licking it, and then sucking, before licking it again, that you almost don’t notice when a finger presses against your hole. But then he’s inching it slowly and you’re suddenly all too aware of the intrusion.

The first thing that registers is that his fingers are definitely bigger than yours.

The second thing is that fuck—did he just insert a second one?

You look down to where he’s stuck to your body, but you can’t see anything beyond his head of ash-blonde hair.

But then he does a scissoring motion inside you just as he suckles at your clit, and that’s all the confirmation you need. You can’t help it—you finally moan—and you barely miss him grinning against your pussy at the sound of it.

“Fucking finally,” he breathes out, lifting his head a bit so he can speak. “I thought you were never gonna moan for me again.”

“Again?” you barely manage to answer, already missing his mouth on you. You may be out of it, but you’re certain you haven’t cracked until just now.

“Already forgot?” he goads, pulling his fingers out of you. “Let me remind you then.”

Before you can get up and coerce him to just shut up and continue what he was doing, he’s back to towering over you, smashing his lips against yours.

And then he does it—the thing he did before. The first day in your shared bedroom. You still don’t know what it is, but he does something with his tongue, or his mouth? His teeth? You don’t fucking know, but it’s coupled with his scalding hold on your body, and despite yourself, you moan.

He promptly pulls away, a proud smirk on his face.

“Now, don’t hold back,” he commands cooly as you gape at him in half offense, half shock. “I want to hear how good I’m making you feel.”

He then makes quick work of taking off his boxers, and at this point, you can only stare at him as he eases it off.

He wasn’t kidding.

If he’s noticing you practically eye-fucking him, though, he doesn’t comment on it, although the faint tinge of scarlet on his cheeks is undeniable. Instead, he only crawls over you again, right until he’s hovering over your pelvis.

Wait.

“Bakugou—” you start.

“Katsuki,” he corrects petulantly.

“Katsuki,” you force yourself to say, suddenly feeling a bit self-conscious, “Let me make you feel good, too.”

“Next time,” he quickly responds, and you feel your heart lurch at the promise of a continuation. “I just need to be inside you, or I’m gonna fucking nut.”

You frown, although his honest admission sends an undeniable thrill down your spine. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” he seethes, “Now, come on.”

You don’t waste another second, opening up your legs just enough for Bakugou to position himself between them. He’s got an arm propped at the side of your head to support his weight, while the other reaches down to finally grab his cock. He instantly hisses at the contact, and you don’t have to look to know it’s his pre-cum that’s dribbling down your thighs.

He then mutters a curse to himself, but it’s not exactly laced with lust just as it has been the past how many minutes.

And that’s when it hits you.

The guy is nervous.

You reach up to touch his cheek, his eyes shooting up to meet yours when you do. You offer him a small smile, one that you hope says ‘I’m alright’ and that ‘I want this’. But then you remember this is Bakugou freaking Katsuki, and the last thing he needs is to be placated.

“Relax, Katsuki,” you coo, grinning when he shoots you a glare.

“And you’re gonna have to do that on your own,” you tease, “I’m all out for today.”

That lights a flame under his ass, because the glare just now morphs into a look of determination, and one glimpse of it is enough to tell you you’re fucked.

“Spread your fucking pussy,” he growls, and you immediately do as he says. He’s back to gripping his cock in an instant, giving himself a few pumps before he’s aligning it with your entrance.

And just like that, he pushes in.

You both groan when he does, his massive dick barely breaching your hole, and yet, it already feels like your nerves are on fire. You sneak a peek at the pro-hero, and you’re glad you do, because you’re met with the glorious sight of Bakugou with his eyes clenched close, lips bit in a fierce attempt to stay quiet.

“Tell me when to move,” he rasps out, refusing to open his eyes.

“Katsuki,” you whisper, bringing your arms up to wrap them around his torso. “Look at me.”

“I can’t,” he seethes, just as you feel his cock twitch inside you. “Or else I’m gonna finish.”

Knowing better than to press him, you nod instead, before wiggling your hips slightly. That grants you a curse from him, but before he can cuss you out, you speak up.

“I think I’m ready. You can move no—” you hiss when he pushes without warning, and he freezes.

“Fuck, I’m sorr—”

“Just—slowly, Katsuki. Go on, move.”

He pushes again—slowly, this time—and you can only sit there and take it as he eases in, inch by inch—stopping sometimes when it gets a bit much for you—until he’s finally, fully sheathed in.

“Shit.”

“God.”

“You’re so fucking tight,” Bakugou grits out, head nestled within the crook of your neck. He still refuses to look at you, but apparently, that doesn’t matter as long as you’re being praised, because his comment inadvertently causes you to clamp down on his cock, and his breath hitches.

“Jesus,” he drones, burying himself further into your neck. “You’re fucking unbelievable.”

You don’t answer him, choosing to tentatively roll your hips against his instead. He moans in your ear, and this time, you can’t help but whimper.

“Move, Katsuki,” you plead, “I can’t wait anymore.”

That seems to sober him right up, because he grunts in acknowledgement, before slowly lifting himself with his arms. Only then does he opens his eyes, and it takes everything within him not to cum at the sight of you.

He knows better than to fucking give up, though—not when he’s come this far—so with renewed purpose, he starts with small, shallow thrusts that have you mewling at him and him grunting at you, until he gradually builds speed and he’s pulling almost all the way out only to slam back into you again.

He does this again and again—somehow deeper and deeper each time—all the while panting and moaning above you, until he prods at a particular spot that has you jerking violently against him, cursing. “Fuc—”

“Shit,” he freezes, “What—”

“No, no, no, no,” you cry out, clawing at his bare arms, “Don’t stop!”

At your request, Bakugou���s back to pounding into you in an instant, and you barely miss him looking at you with feral eyes before he hits the spot again, and you scream.

“Right—fuck—right there!”

At that, Bakugou rolls his hips once more and hits your G-spot squarely, and you moan.

“Right there?” he breathes out in question, chest puffing in pride as he watches you bob your head desperately, too blissed out to even care what you look like.

But then your walls are clamping down on him again, and Bakugou curses. “I’m not gonna l-last any l-longer,” he manages to get out, choosing to look at anywhere but your face.

“P-play—fuck,” you choke out, “—play with my c-clit.”

And when you don’t immediately feel his finger on your bud: “Hurry.”

That has Bakugou rushing to rub your clit, and you can only beg for more as the overwhelming feeling of his cock inside you mixes with the euphoria brought by his fingers—until you feel the tell-tale signs of your impending orgasm.

“K-Katsuki,” you shudder, “I’m gonna c-cum.”

“I’m g-gonna—” he grunts, eyes clenched closed, “—fuck—I’m gonna cum, t-too.”

“Katsuki,” you call again, and he turns his head to face your direction. “Look at me.”

And when he does—open his eyes—you roll your hips against his as best as you can, and you say it.

“Give it to me, hero.”

And just like that, he cums.

Hard.

And you cum right with him, digging your nails into his biceps as you moan, so loud you wish he’d kiss you to shut you up, but he doesn’t.

Instead, he moans with you—a strangled one that strangely sends a pang of longing straight to your chest, a longing that you can now finally admit is for the very person in your arms, who you so ardently wish would stay there, even if the mission is long over.

You don’t say any of this, though, even as he kisses your forehead before slowly pulling out, or even as he silently pads to the bathroom to get a towel so he can get you cleaned up. You thank him as he does, and watch him as he puts it away and hesitates for a moment—as if the manual he’s read about sex as a high schooler ends at physical aftercare and he’s run out of instructions.

It’s after a few more moments of awkward silence do you finally sit up and move, scooching over to make space beside you. Bakugou’s eyes trail your movement, widening when he realizes just what you’re doing. He’s stiff even as he crawls to the spot next to you, promptly taking the duvet cover that was tossed to the side in the middle of…everything, before laying it on top of your bodies.

“Thanks,” you murmur, not knowing what else to say.

“‘s nothing,” is his reply, voice equally quiet.

Neither of you says anything for a while, even as Bakugou gently tugs your head so you can rest it on his shoulder.

It’s you, though, who breaks the silence.

“You know, had I known things were gonna end this way, I would’ve just slept in the same bed as you.”

“Fucking tell me about it.”

a/n. :') first off, i want to thank you, friend, for taking a chance on this series and reading it up 'til the end. this has been the biggest endeavor i've ventured into as a writer, and it still feels surreal to me that i'm writing this now as i am about to post the last chapter. that being said, the biggest thank you to everyone who's shown love to all out of luck, especially the ones who left even just a single-worded comment. with the series having reached its end, it would mean the world to me if you let me know what you think about it / how it was for you <3 thank you so so much!!!

˖⁺‧₊ as always, reblogs, replies, and tags are appreciated <3 feel free to drop an ask, too—i'd love to chat with you. have a nice day!

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[honeypiehotchner]

The Gambit (Hotch x Fem!Reader) -- part nine

Back on my bullshit of cranking these chapters out, so here's another one!

Warnings: Hotch being...kind?, oh no they're warming up to each other (kind of), just kidding they have their moments of arguing, dramaaaa

Hotch was in his early twenties when he first heard about The Strangler’s case. It made national news, after all, once a connection was established between the cases showing up in Georgia and California. Two opposite ends of the United States, and The Strangler struck in both for over a year — maybe longer, though it was never confirmed.

Hotch was still in law school, then. He remembers reading about the case, one of the first few times he had heard of the BAU. He never studied the case closely; he didn’t have the time. And, honestly, when it comes to the cases the BAU has handled over the years, Carson Adkins is not the strangest.

His is interesting to study because of how long he evaded the authorities. The women he strangled to death were not his only crimes. Numerous traffic violations, domestic disputes, mental distress calls, and even one illegal possession of a firearm littered his record in the midst of the strangulations. Yet none of those led to his capture like they should’ve. 

Truthfully, none of the murders across Georgia and California were solidly connected before he turned himself in — only because he wanted to find you.

Hotch understands, to some degree. If anything ever happened to Jack, he’d do everything in his power to find him and make it right again. That’s exactly what Richard Monroe did for Lila, too. 

What he can’t understand is why you wouldn’t disclose this to him. Him, of all people, your Unit Chief. Why couldn’t you tell him? Why did it have to come to this?

Hotch knew, deep down, that whatever was hidden in your file would have to be discussed once he found out what it was. He just wasn’t expecting it to be something like this. Something he has no idea how to go about bringing up to you.

Because it does have to be discussed. Whether you like it or not— whether Hotch likes it or not because he knows it will only start a fight, it has to be discussed. At least so some common ground can be reached. A heart-to-heart doesn’t need to happen, but he needs to be aware of where your head is.

But it can’t happen now, while you’re on this case. The women and their families are suffering here, and that’s the top priority: catching whoever is doing this.

Once the unsub is caught and you’re all back in Quantico, Hotch will bring it up. Not because he wants to, but because he has to. He has no choice.

+++ 

After the wine with Rossi, you sleep probably the best you’ve ever slept on a case. You even wake up before your alarm, giving you time to shower and get dressed, and head downstairs to snag some breakfast before it’s time to meet the rest of the team.

You expect to be the first person downstairs, but you’re not. Hotch is there. And he looks like he’s been there for hours.

“Well,” you pull the chair out across from him, dropping into it with a huff. You cross your arms over your chest, all while Hotch is scowling at you. “You look like shit.”

He doesn’t even grace you with an answer. 

You shrug your jacket off over the back of the chair, leaving him to go grab something to eat. You return with a muffin, fruit, and two coffees.

Hotch’s eyes snap to yours when you set the coffee down next to his half-empty one.

“You’re gonna need another one if you’re gonna get through today looking like that,” you answer, taking a sip of your own. “Couldn’t sleep?”

Hotch averts his eyes. “No.”

You watch him as he slowly chews the remaining bites of his fruit. “What’s wrong with you?”

His eyes flick back to yours, another glare settling in. “Nothing.”

“Okay,” you hold up your hands in surrender, unwrapping your muffin. “Just thought I’d ask.”

“Don’t hurt yourself,” he says. “How’d you sleep?”

“Fine,” you shrug. “Why?”

“Just thought I’d ask.”

Now it’s your turn to glare. “Don’t hurt yourself,” you mock.

Slowly, the rest of the team filters downstairs to grab their own breakfast. You’re grateful for the extra company, especially Emily and JJ. You gladly leave the table with Hotch to join them at the next one over. 

You can feel Hotch watching you, and he only stops when Rossi sits down across from him, asking him the same things you’ve already asked him. His answers stay the same, though less defensive, of course.

You turn your back to him, helping Prentiss figure out where she should go for her next Sin to Win Weekend. Your vote is on Miami, but she’s leaning toward Vegas for this one.

It’s almost time to leave when Hotch’s phone rings, and all conversations halt. Bad news, most likely.

Hotch’s face gives nothing away, but you know it won’t. It’s not in his face. It’s in his shoulders, and they tense when he hears the news. You know exactly what he’s going to say before he says it.

“They’ve found another body,” he says as the call ends. “Let’s go.”

Chairs screech as everyone stands and heads for the exit. Morgan leads, no doubt going to drive like he always does. You’re just a few steps away from the table when you hear Hotch call out your name.

You turn, preparing for a small lecture about how you should behave today in the field, only to find he’s standing there with your jacket in his hands.

“You left this,” he says quietly, passing it to you as he catches up.

Huh. You must’ve forgotten to grab it when you switched tables. You fall into step beside him. “Thanks.”

He doesn’t reply as he walks ahead, getting in the driver’s seat of the other car. In your confusion about his behavior, you slide into the passenger seat of Morgan’s.

You don’t bother asking Morgan if he thinks something is up with Hotch too, but the last thing you want to hear right now is how you and Hotch are warming up to one another.

Because you’re not.

You’re not warming up to him. He looked like shit, so you pointed it out. He doesn’t normally look like Death beat the shit out of him for fun overnight. How could you not say something?

Who knows what’s up with him. It’s not your business anyway.

Morgan’s phone rings and he digs it out, pressing to his ear. “Yeah.”

You don’t know why he doesn’t put it on speaker, but you make eye contact with Reid in the rearview and shrug. 

“Alright, yeah,” Morgan says with a nod. “We’ll do that. Got it. Bye, Hotch.”

You figured it was him. “What’s up?”

“They’re going to the scene, he wants us to head to the precinct and call Garcia to see what she has,” Morgan explains, casting a quick glance at you. 

You don’t miss the glance. “What?”

“Nothin’,” Morgan shrugs, turning toward the precinct while Hotch’s car goes straight ahead. “You two looked cozy this morning.”

You scoff. “Right.”

“It’s true,” Reid pipes up from the backseat.

“Hey!” You turn to look at him in pure betrayal. “Seriously?”

“What?” Reid looks just as perplexed.

You huff as you turn back around. “He was already downstairs when I got there, and I got there early. He looks like shit. Like he didn’t sleep.”

“He looked fine to me,” Reid says, having no idea he’s just put another nail in your coffin. 

Morgan grins.

“Don’t you dare,” you hiss, pointing an accusatory finger at him.

Morgan only raises one hand off the wheel. “I’m not.”

+++

If anyone asks, Hotch told you, Morgan, and Reid to go back to the precinct because it’s part of his usual divide-and-conquer method for cases. 

It has nothing to do with the fact that the officer sounded shaken up on the phone, meaning this one must be bad — and after researching more of Carson Adkins’ crimes last night, Hotch doesn’t want you anywhere near this one, not if it’s as bad as the officer made it seem on the phone.

You’re liable to shut down again and that’s not what he needs. He needs you focused.

The area is crawling with police cars as some officers try to corral a growing crowd of locals. To make matters worse, Hotch sees a news truck pull in behind them.

JJ spots it too with a deep sigh. “Got it. No comment.”

“Thank you,” Hotch replies with a nod.

Hotch, Prentiss, and Rossi flash their badges at the officers holding the perimeter before they’re let underneath the crime scene tape. The unsub left the body outside the elementary school. Next to the playground, for god’s sake.

They have to find him.

“Do we know who she is?” Rossi asks an officer.

“No,” he shakes his head. “But the coroner took her prints, so hopefully we’ll find her in a database somewhere.”

“Time of death?” Prentiss asks.

“Said somewhere between three and five a.m.”

Deputy Harris is standing off to the side, staring at the children’s swings and slides with a set jaw. Hotch makes his way over silently, noting the redness in the deputy’s eyes.

“We’re going to find who did this,” Hotch assures him quietly.

“We better,” Harris says, voice hoarse. “Who dumps a body at an elementary school? What if someone hadn’t found her before the kids got here? I—” He shakes his head. “School is canceled for the day, I called the board a minute ago. I don’t want any kids here.”

“Understandable,” Hotch nods, and probably for the better. They’ll need to investigate the area and it’s best if there are no children even inside the school to witness the commotion. “That was the right call, Deputy.”

“Thank you,” he says, turning to shake Hotch’s hand. “You’ll find him?”

Hotch accepts the handshake with an even firmer nod. “We will.”

He leaves him to return to where Prentiss is kneeling next to the body, studying the strangulation marks on her neck.

“It looks almost like hands and something else were used,” Prentiss says quietly. “Almost like…”

“Like he wasn’t strong enough to do it on his own this time,” Hotch finishes. “Like she fought back.”

Hotch finds the coroner talking with Rossi, waving them both over.

“Did you swab under her fingernails?” Hotch asks.

“Not yet, but I can at the lab,” the coroner replies. 

“What are you thinking?” Rossi asks.

“That she fought back,” Prentiss says, standing up and taking her gloves off. “There’s some bruising on her face as well, it looks to me like they got into it before he strangled her.”

“Alright, I’ll keep it in mind and I’ll call you when the results are ready,” the coroner says, turning to instruct his men to begin loading the body. “If her prints come up anywhere, they should be sent to you soon.”

“Thank you,” Hotch says to him, already digging his phone out of his pocket to call Morgan.

+++

When you get to the precinct and find out exactly where the unsub dropped this body, your heart plummets. 

You don’t know if it was your dad’s preference to drop bodies outside of schools. All you know is that he did it often. If it wasn’t train tracks or behind a gas station, it was outside a school.

You have no clue why. There never seemed to be any rhyme or reason to it, just like this one. The others have been on back roads, dirt roads, or in the woods. Never outside an elementary school, next to the playground, for fuck’s sake.

Pictures slowly filter in as the detectives upload them. You, Reid, and Morgan stare at the laptop screen, three pictures of the woman’s body, all zoomed in.

You take a walk to refill your coffee, ignoring the way your knees feel shaky as you move. 

You’re fine.

Just— First, a case where the daughter of a serial killer is kidnapped and her father willingly turns himself in to help find her, and now, a case where the unsub is strangling these women to death and dumps a body outside a school? You knew when you first got into this profession ten-odd years ago that you’d come across cases that bring up bad memories. It’s inevitable. You’ve long accepted the fact.

But two, back-to-back, with similarities that hit far too close to home… It’s putting a bad taste in your mouth, and you don’t know why.

It’s probably nothing.

It’s not like you can mention this to anyone. Maybe to Rossi, but you know what he’ll say. Either that you’re just feeling on edge with the similarities, or worse — he’ll tell you that you have to bring it up with Hotch.

And you are not doing that. Not over some irrational, sour taste in your mouth that you have no backing for. Reid said it himself, this isn’t a true copycat. It’s just another unsub who strangles women to death. Unfortunately, there are plenty of them out there.

It doesn’t mean anything. 

You return to the conference room with fresh coffee and a somewhat calmer head (fake it ‘til you make it, right?). Morgan gives you a questioning look, but you ignore him.

Garcia’s voice comes through the speaker of the laptop as she tells Reid she’s just waiting for the identity to come through from the fingerprints before she can start digging. 

Morgan’s phone starts ringing in his hand. This time he puts it on speaker. “What’ve you got, Hotch?”

“We think our unsub used something in addition to his hands this time,” Hotch says.

“The girl fought back,” Morgan replies absently, his eyes flicking over to the now-printed pictures from the scene. 

“What are you thinking?” you ask in general, sliding one of the photos over.

“Not sure yet,” Hotch says. “The coroner just loaded the body, so hopefully in a few hours we’ll have some answers.”

“He might’ve used a wire of some sort,” Reid starts to ramble. “It’s common for—”

But you don’t hear him, your fingertips tracing the bruises in the picture. “He used a belt,” you say without meaning to, pressing your fingers into the picture, as if you can feel her neck.

“A belt?” Hotch inquires. “What makes you so certain?”

“The bruises,” you say quietly. Morgan won’t stop looking at you.

“The bruises are too faint to tell,” Hotch says tiredly. “The coroner—”

“It was just an idea,” you snap, pushing the picture away and glaring at the phone, hoping Hotch can feel it through the device. “It’s not like I was there to see him do it.”

Everyone goes quiet. You ignore Morgan’s watchful gaze and turn toward the whiteboard, deciding to review the other information. 

Why did the unsub need help with this victim? Was he tired? Was he caught off guard? Was she stronger than the others he preyed on and he didn’t anticipate that?

You don’t hear the rest of Morgan and Hotch’s conversation as Morgan takes him off speaker after your little spat. Probably for the better.

You have got to come down from whatever edge you’re on before Hotch gets back here. You’re practically begging him to ask prying questions when you’re acting like this.

Thankfully, neither Morgan or Reid bother with asking if you’re okay.

Unfortunately, Rossi doesn’t get the same memo when he returns with everyone else.

“Anything standing out?” Rossi asks as he comes to stand next to you, facing the board. His hands are stuffed in his pockets, relaxed. 

Your arms are crossed over your chest. “No.”

He chuckles. “Wanna take a walk?”

“No,” you repeat, narrowing your eyes at the board. “Why did he need to use a bel— something to help him this time? What was different?”

Rossi shrugs. “Maybe she fought him and he wasn’t expecting it. Maybe he’s getting sloppy.”

You hum.

Rossi lowers his voice as he leans toward you. “You’re sure it was a belt?”

You remember being twelve years old, watching the same bruises form on your mother’s throat after your father had stormed out and took the belt with him. He didn’t kill her, no. Just came close. Would have if you hadn’t walked in.

“Yes,” you say back, just as quiet. “Only a belt bruises like that.”

Rossi nods slowly. You know he wants to mention that the bruises are too faint to fully tell. You know he wants to mention other things. But he won’t.

Just behind you, standing with his back facing the both of you, Hotch listens. You both lowered your voices, but not low enough. 

You have insight into this case that could be valuable, and you aren’t sharing, not with everyone. Only with Rossi. Why him?

Hotch isn’t jealous; he’s curious.

And he can’t do a damn thing about it, at least not right now.

[mysterious-moonstruck-musings]

Buried Secrets Chapter 1: Demons of Deception

Buried Secrets Masterlist || Main Masterlist

Summary: After the harrowing events in South America, Frankie and the guys have returned home and opened their own private security business. They're eventually approached by an archeologist, named Mya, who is requesting their specialized services for an archeological expedition in the Amazonian jungle of southeastern Peru, hours away from where they stashed Lorea's money just over the border in the mountains of northern Chile.

Frankie is hesitant to accept the job, but with Pope's insistence this could be their cover to go back for the money, he relents. However, Frankie soon learns their new job assignment only further puts them and his new love interest in danger in an unexpected way as they set out to find the lost Incan city of Paititi.

Word Count: 6.2k

👉 Warnings: smut (MDNI), angst, mentions of mental health struggles and past drug use (it's Frankie), there are bad guys with weapons (gun violence, physical violence, death). Frankie Morales comes with his own warnings.

👉 Chapter Warnings: Badass OFC, there are bad guys with weapons (gun violence, physical violence, blood), a surprise appearance or two, brooding Frankie

Chapter Quote: “Why don’t you come a little closer so you can experience the adventure for yourself.”

Mya’s POV

I had been in a lot of tight spots in the past, but nothing could compare to this. The most infuriating thing about it all, it wasn’t because of something I did. I was left to take the fall by someone that I thought loved me.

When I came to, I found myself suspended from the ceiling by my shackled hands. My toes barely touched the floor, just enough to help take some of the weight off my aching shoulders and wrist that stretched above my head. The room was empty and dark, only small hints of sunlight sneaking in through the thick tattered curtains.

Looking around, I saw no way out of this. There was nothing I could use to my advantage and my restraints seemed secure. They had done their due diligence in making sure I couldn’t escape. That was the downside to being taken hostage by people who were familiar with your unusual skill sets.

I wasn’t sure how much time passed before the door creaked open, but it felt like hours. A very pissed off looking Miguel Collazo and one of his enforcers strode into the room, pausing several feet in front of me. I had a sinking feeling in my stomach because I could sense he was beyond reason.

He gave me a menacing glare as he spoke with his thick Spanish accent, “I never thought I would find myself in this kind of situation with you, Mya. You are one of my best collectors, so I am torn on what to do with you.”

I was seething, “How about you unlock these cuffs and let me go. I had nothing to do with this, and you know it.”

He tutted, “I do not believe you. You and Damien have always been inseparable, so I know you know where he is. I want my artifacts and money back.”

Collazo was a pudgy little man with a crooked nose and curly villain mustache that rivaled Dustin Hoffman in Hook. He had a perpetually smug expression that I really wanted to bitch slap off his face as he smirked up at me.

“I don’t know where he is. What would he have to gain from leaving me behind?”

He shrugged as he began to pace back and forth in front of me, “I do not know, to keep me off his trail? It does not make sense to me that he would not tell you his plan.”

I scoffed, “Well I haven’t done that now have I? I have no fucking idea where he is. He was gone when I got home…his phone has been disconnected. I have no way of reaching him.”

The door swung open with a little more force this time. Comandante Veracruz entered, moving to stand next to Collazo. I could see his scruffy angled jaw ticking as his dark eyes looked me over from head to toe. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking, I could only hope he would take pity on me and talk Collazo off the ledge.

Veracruz was head of security for Collazo. Damien and I had gotten to know him well since we worked closely on several heists in the past. He had made his affections for me obvious but would never have acted on them because of Damien. Now that Damien was long gone, I hoped I could use his affections to my advantage.

“What are you thinking?” He asked Collazo in his Spanish accent.

Collazo smiled, “Still undecided…I am going to let Diego work his magic and see what happens. If she knows, she will break.”

Veracruz shifted his gaze to me. He looked conflicted, but didn’t say anything further. Collazo looked to Diego, nodding in my direction as he rasped out, “Comenzar.” (Begin.)

Diego stalked forward, then backhanded me across the cheek. I let out a threatening chuckle as I shook it off. “This isn’t gonna change my answer. I don’t know anything. All you’re doing is pissing me off.”

Collazo laughed, “Good thing we have you chained up then… Continuar, Diego.” (Continue, Diego.)

Diego gave me an empty stare before punching me in the gut, knocking the air out of my lungs. He went on like this for several minutes, punching and slapping. The taste of iron filled my mouth as I pushed through the pain. I refused to let them see how bad I was hurting, even as I felt my left eye swelling and blood running down the sides of my face. All the while Collazo continued to question me.

“Perhaps you could also fill me in on what happened at Lorea’s? Was Damien involved with that too? How much of my money does he actually have?”

I shook my head, “I don’t know anything about that. Maybe he was. If he’s capable of this, then why not? But I don’t know anything. He didn’t tell me.”

Collazo inched forward, causing Diego to momentarily pause his blows and face him as he awaited further instructions.

“Are you sure you do not have anything you wish to tell me, Mya?” Collazo asked.

Clearly, this was going nowhere. It didn’t matter what I said. He didn’t believe me. I spit out the blood that was pooling in my mouth toward his expensive looking white leather shoes, “Yeah, fuck you.”

He didn’t seem impressed, “Still not breaking…I’m shocked. You are stronger than I would have guessed. Hora de tu especialidad, Diego.” (Time for your specialty, Diego.)

My breath caught in my throat as I watched Diego reach for the knife at his belt. A sadistic smile curling on his lips as he nodded in affirmation to his boss. However, he had made a mistake, standing too closely to me with his back turned. I reacted before he even realized what was happening, kicking the knife from his hand and using the chain as leverage to lift myself so I could wrap my legs around his neck. The adrenaline pumping through my veins allowed me to push through the debilitating pain, but I wasn’t sure how long I could hold him. Every muscle and joint in my body was protesting, but I still managed to clamp down tightly around his throat as he clawed at my jean-clad legs. He fought it for a time but eventually passed out from lack of oxygen.

Veracruz stood in shock as he watched Diego fall to his knees. Collazo let out a boisterous laugh and clapped his hands in amusement, “It’s always an adventure with you, Mya.”

I loosened my hold on Diego, allowing him to drop the rest of the way to the ground. I gave Collazo the best sarcastic smile I could muster in my current state, “Yeah? Why don’t you come a little closer so you can experience the adventure for yourself then.”

Collazo chuckled, “I am going to miss your feistiness.”

Veracruz finally interjected, “Perhaps she is telling the truth. It does not make sense that he would leave her if she knew something. Maybe he is planning to return for her?”

Collazo weighed Veracruz’s words, his eyes eventually narrowing in suspicion. “Then he will find that she is missing and that you wait in her place…Acaba con ella, Comandante.” (Finish her, Comandante.)

Fuck. How do I get out of this one?

Veracruz gave a curt nod, taking a deep breath as he drew his pistol and walked toward me. He made sure to stay far enough away that he was out of my reach, but I could still see the nervous sweat forming on his brow and conflict burning in his eyes as he aimed at my face. He held the weapon there, his nostrils flaring and jaw flexing as he clearly struggled with his instructions. I held his gaze, my eyes silently pleading with him in hopes it might sway him to help me in some way. If he didn’t, I was fucked.

“What are you waiting for, Comandante? Finish her,” Collazo ordered again.

I sighed. I didn’t want to do this, but it was the only card I had left to play if Veracruz wasn’t going to help me. I knew it would stop Collazo in his tracks, but I hated myself for it before the words even left my mouth. The Comandante’s finger slowly moved to the trigger, but he was still hesitating.

I flinched away from the barrel of the gun. “WAIT! Wait…” I finally called out.

Collazo sneered as he twisted his stupid mustache with his fingertips, “Better make it good, Mya. This is your last chance.”

I could feel the fight leaving my body as I finally shared the news that I hoped would save my life - at least until I could come up with another way out. “I know the location of Paititi.”

Veracruz lowered his weapon, then turned to give Collazo a questioning look. Collazo’s brows pinched together in doubt, “You lie.”

I shook my head, “I would never…not about this.”

He scoffed, “How do I know you are not just saying this so I do not kill you?”

I huffed out a nervous laugh, “Well, that’s exactly why I’m saying it…but it doesn't make it any less true. I’ve seen the Vatican documents. I know where to look.”

Collazo smiled contemptuously, “That’s impossible. They are inaccessible...How?”

This was the tricky part that was probably going to get me shot, “I-I can’t tell you how…but just know, if you shoot me, the knowledge dies with me. No one else knows about this, not even Damien.”

Veracruz smirked in my direction, “Well…it seems the secrets run deep between both of you then.”

I let out a sardonic laugh, “Damien never believed in Paititi…he said it was a wasted effort…a myth. I kept a lot from him...”

Collazo came closer but made sure to keep Veracruz positioned between us. “What are you proposing, Mya? How can I trust you after this?”

“Let me prove my loyalty. Let me lead an expedition to find the lost city for you. All I ask is that you let me do it the right way, the legal way. I just need funding…”

He didn’t seem convinced, but I was still breathing, so it wasn’t a no. I changed tactics, now playing the role of a hurt and scorned lover, “I swear, I had no knowledge of what Damien was doing. IF he comes back for me, I’ll kill him myself. He betrayed me too. I’m here because of what he did. I can’t forgive him for that.”

Collazo sighed, “If you want to do this the legal way, you know you cannot have any known ties to me…”

I had him. Death would not be taking me today, but I had to think quickly so I could talk myself out of this mess.

“I’ll figure out the logistics…Maybe I set up a donation fund through the gallery…you can donate anonymously to fund the project. I’ll give you access to whatever I find first before I report the discovery.”

This was far from how I wanted to do things, especially since I was hellbent on getting out of my life of crime, but I saw no other way forward at the moment.

Veracruz turned to Collazo, “If you’re willing to chance it, I can keep an eye on her…”

Collazo met my gaze, “Fine. One wrong move though…and you are done. You understand?”

I nodded, “Yes, I understand.”

My eyes shifted to Veracruz, who visibly relaxed, realizing the threat had passed. Collazo turned to leave and tossed him the key, “Cuida sus heridas.” (Take care of her wounds.)

He watched Collazo exit and close the door before he turned to me, leaning in close to my ear as he worked to unlock the cuffs, “I really thought I was about to have to shoot up the place to get you out of here. That was clever…how long can you keep this ruse going?”

The cuffs loosened, I groaned at the ache in my joints as I lowered my arms and leaned into him for support, “It’s not a ruse…I was telling the truth…”

My words trailed off as I sucked in a sharp breath.

“Are you OK?” he asked.

I shook my head, my breath now shaky as the pain began to overtake me, “Fuck n-no. I-I think he cracked some ribs.”

He sighed, “I’m sorry. I should have done something more…”

I winced as we began to walk, “No, I get it. It probably just would have gotten us both killed. You did what you could in the moment.”

Veracruz did have a soft spot for me, but I wasn’t a fool. He would never sacrifice himself for me. He wasn’t that selfless. He would only help so long as it didn’t put him in the crosshairs. He was an unreliable ally in the best of circumstances, and I knew that. At least he cared enough to see that I was taken care of while I recovered.

I knew I would have to watch out for myself as I plotted and planned because there were demons of deception around every corner. I could put my trust in no one, not even the one person I thought was safe. I was quickly learning they would all betray me in the end, which is why I wanted out of this life. I wanted to walk the straight and narrow again. The money was not worth death. It was getting too dangerous to continue living this way.

Six Months Later…

Frankie’s POV

I awoke with a groan, squinting toward the window to find the sun was just beginning to rise. The reason for my sudden waking, my cell phone incessantly pinging from incoming text messages on the nightstand. I didn’t even need to look to know that it was Pope. I huffed, reaching for the device to see what the hell he wanted this early in the morning.

Pope: We still on for the range today? I know we had a late night, but I’m still going.

Pope: Will and Benny are out. Apparently, Benny is feeling last night’s fight. He 100% got his ass kicked.

Pope: Which means Will is being his bitch today.

Pope: So, that leaves us. You better not stand me up, pendejo.

I rolled my eyes. Why can’t he just put all of that in one fucking message? He texts like a teenage girl.

Frankie: Chill the fuck out, pendejo. I’ll be there.

Pope: 9AM. Don’t be late.

Frankie: 🖕

Pope: 🖕🖕

I dropped the phone beside me on the bed and sighed. Without Benny and Will there, I knew Pope would start badgering me about going back for Lorea’s money. He was becoming almost obsessive over the idea. Not that I could blame him, having a little extra cash on hand would be a huge help right now. Supporting two households wasn’t easy, even if the new private security business was doing well.

I palmed at my sleepy face, trying to wake up. My eyes finally blinked open and surveyed my near empty bedroom. The bareness of the place was a constant reminder of how I had fucked everything up and ended up alone. Starting over was never fun, but this was torture knowing that my now ex-fiancé, Maria, had given me every chance and I squandered them. Now she was moving on, my young daughter now spending time with a new man in their life and calling him Papi while I fought for unsupervised visitation.

I had no one to blame but myself. I was the one who fell off the wagon and started a slow coke spiral after we got back from South America. What we had gone through, losing Tom, it was too much and we did it for nothing. We left with nothing to show for it but the body of our Captain. We got messy. I got messy. And it broke me. I should have put my foot down about how much weight that bird could carry. If I had, we might be living completely different lives right now. Tom might still be here.

I puffed air out of my cheeks before slinging the blanket off so I could go make some coffee. After padding down the short hallway of my very modest two-bedroom fixer-upper, I loaded up the coffee machine. I stood, leaning against the counter, scanning the space while the sputtering drips began to fall into the pot. I really needed to do something to make the place look less like military barracks and more like a home. Especially if I was eventually going to have my kid here. The mere thought of all the work that needed to be done made my chest feel tight. I had to shake my head to push the never-ending checklist out of my mind and focus on something else before it put me in an even worse mood.

Once my coffee was ready, I decided to sit out on the front porch swing to enjoy the calm of the morning. After getting comfortable, I let my mind run through several things that needed to be taken care of at the office. I was thinking through some budget requests while watching two squirrels chase each other around the base of an old Oak tree when movement on the street caught my attention. A blacked-out SUV crept down the road, eventually speeding up and disappearing around the corner. It put me on edge. It was too nice of a vehicle to be driving through this neighborhood.

I was probably just being paranoid, but the fear of one of Lorea’s business partner’s finding out who stole some of their money and then torched the rest was a very real concern - for me at least. The rest of the guys seemed to think we were in the clear. I wasn’t completely convinced, and it constantly had me on alert.

I sat for a while, my eyes scanning the quaint neighborhood I had chosen to settle down in, looking for anything that seemed out of place. Finding nothing, I eventually scoffed at myself, thinking that perhaps I was being ridiculous about this whole thing as I stood to go get ready to meet Pope.

A short time later, I found myself pulling into the gun range parking lot. This had become sort of a weekend routine for us. It served as an escape, allowing me to have a taste of the military life that I was so accustomed to before retiring. It was the only time I found that my mind was completely empty. There was something freeing about it, helping me to relax - most days. Today, however, was another story. I could tell from the look on Pope’s face as soon as he stepped out of his vehicle that he was cooking up some kind of plan.

He smiled as I approached, clapping me on the back in greeting, “Hey, hermano. You get enough sleep?”

I gave him a tight smile, “Could have gotten a little more if you weren’t texting me at the asscrack of dawn.”

Pope grimaced, “Sorry. I wasn’t paying attention to the time.”

I rolled my eyes at him, “Of course not... What did you book for us today?”

He turned to grab his duffel out of the backseat, “I got us two one-hundred-yard lanes. They only had one three-hundred open.”

I shook my head, “Figures. Alright, let’s go.”

The range was busy, for which I was thankful. It made it harder for Pope to get a word in. There was an eventual lull in the shooting, and he wasted no time in taking advantage of it. He leaned in closer, pulling one side of his earmuffs away as we worked to reload. I did the same so I could hear what he had to say.

“I think I can get us into Columbia, off the radar. I’ve got a contact…”

I held up my hand, “Stop. I don’t wanna hear it.”

I could see the frustration on his face as his jaw tensed, “Come on Fish, this could work. I’ll cover the cost again…get the documents…everything. No one knows where that money is except for us. We shouldn’t run into any problems. There wouldn’t be any contact with the cartel. It’s a quick in and out.”

After inserting a fresh magazine into the rifle and replacing my earmuff, my lips set into a tight line. I gave him a tense look before stepping to the firing line to discharge at the target. My non-answer seemed to end the conversation, for now.

I took the time to get lost in the target, giving it all my focus as I peppered it with bullet holes in and around the center. My mind was finally quiet, and I reveled in it, wishing it would stay that way for the rest of the day. I knew that was wishful thinking though. It never did.

Once that magazine was empty, I returned to the table that separated my lane from Pope’s so I could reload. He joined me, staring off in the distance, seemingly distracted by something before finally turning his attention to me and removing his right muff. I did the same as I gave him a warning with my eyes.

“How’s it going with Maria? Any headway?”

I shook my head, “Nope. If she has it her way, I’ll get zero visitation. She’s done with me…won’t listen to anything I have to say. She doesn’t believe I’ve cleaned up my act.”

Pope sighed as he gave me a sympathetic look, “Sorry, hermano. I hoped she would come around. Don’t let it get you down though. We’ve got your back. Whatever you need…”

I nodded, “Yeah, I appreciate it. I might need you guys as character witnesses if it gets to that point.”

He gave me a soft reassuring smile, “Consider it done.”

His eyes drifted again as a larger caliber rifle began to sound off from the far lane. He seemed intrigued as I raised a questioning eyebrow at him. He glanced over at me, jerking his chin upward indicating I should have a look. It didn’t take me long to figure out what had his attention, or who rather. There was a woman in the farthest three-hundred-yard lane, lying on her stomach, shooting the high caliber rifle that had ended our conversation. She was wearing army green fatigues that definitely did not fit like military issue pants as they hugged her curvy hips and ass just right. She was also wearing a black ribbed tank top, black military style boots, and a black SWAT hat pulled down low over her aviators. Her dark hair was tied back in a messy knot at the nape of her neck. I could see why she had his attention. Aside from her attractive form, this wasn’t a sight we saw here very often.

As she stood, she turned toward us. Her eyes hidden behind the dark glasses with her lips set into a tight line, giving nothing away. I glanced at Pope, who seemed smitten already. I rolled my eyes at him as I stepped back up to the firing line. Hot women were always his weakness. He would disagree, but we all knew it.

When I returned to the table, it was clear Pope was still distracted as he continued to glance her way. His eyes finally met mine. “You been out with anyone since you and Maria split?” he asked.

I gave him an admonishing look as I shook my head. I didn’t feel like that was the best idea right now. I had too much going on.

It was his turn to roll his eyes, “Not saying you need to step into anything serious, but you do need to lighten up. A one-nighter might do you some good and help with that.”

I glared at him, “I’m not doing that. It always turns into trouble.”

He snorted, “Well…maybe you should be worse at it, so they don’t come back for more.”

I could feel my cheeks warming from his words as I flashed my middle finger at him, “Fuck off.”

He jerked his chin toward the last lane as the woman got into position again, hitting the three-hundred-yard target dead center when she finally shot off a round.

“You should go ask her out.”

I scoffed, “No. I’m not…”

Pope jutted his hip out, putting his weight on one foot, “Come on… Maria’s moving on. It’s time you did too.”

I could feel my jaw flexing at the mention of that, “No. Just let it go.”

Pope chuckled, “Yeah, I don’t blame you. That looks like too much woman for you to handle anyway. She’d probably kick your ass…I don’t think you’re ready for that.”

I shook my head, giving him an exasperated look, “What the hell does that even mean?”

He gave me a mischievous smile as he shrugged, then turned toward the firing line to begin shooting again.

Fucker. I was half tempted to talk to her just to prove a point.

I suddenly felt like eyes were on me as I glanced back over at the woman. I couldn’t tell because of her glasses, but it appeared that she was looking directly at me with a small smirk on her full lips. One eyebrow raised slightly as she picked up another clip, returning to the rifle to reload it. Now I was intrigued.

By the time Pope and I finished off our last magazine, she was gone. As we walked to the parking lot, Pope was quietly berating himself for letting the opportunity pass before he asked if I thought she might be back again. I shrugged, somewhat amused over his new infatuation because I knew he would be distracted by someone else as soon as he stepped foot into the bar later this evening.

After our goodbyes, I made my way to the local auto parts store to pick up a couple of specialty tools that I needed for a restoration I was currently working on in my spare time. I had inherited my dad’s dark red 1970 Chevelle SS 454 when he passed away several years ago. We always said we would work together to fix it up, but it never happened. Instead, it sat idle in his garage for years. It did the same after I took over ownership of it, not having the time or the energy for it. Now that I was alone, I found myself with plenty of opportunities and the need to keep myself occupied. It was another one of those things that helped keep my mind distracted when I needed it most. I was actually thankful for it even though it was turning into an expensive project.

With the new tools in tow, I returned home. After making myself a quick sandwich and scarfing it down, I sequestered myself away in the dilapidated shack beside the house that was meant to serve as a garage. It quickly became my refuge, and I had zero complaints about it - even if it did have a leaky roof and shitty lighting. It got the job done and that was all that mattered.

I spent all afternoon working, attempting to keep my mind from drifting to thoughts of the large bags full of money hidden in the Andes mountains of Chile. After the cluster fuck we got into last time we were in South America, I was having a hard time reconciling the idea of going back. Pope was right, we had no reason to interact with the cartels this time. We could easily sneak in and collect the cash without anyone knowing, assuming it was still where we left it.

What we should do about the money was a constant internal battle for me. I didn’t know if I should accept Pope’s reasoning over mine. However, the fear of losing another team member acted as a grey cloud that hung over my head and kept me from going back. I couldn’t go through that again. It affected every decision I had made since we got back. I couldn’t shake it no matter how hard I tried. The risk was too high without guarantee of a reward.

While I respected Pope’s attempts, I still had to consider outside forces that we had no control over. He had all of the trust in the world for his ‘contacts,’ but I didn’t. It would only take one of them to tip off the cartel if they got wind of what we were doing. It wasn’t a risk I was willing to take. I had spent hours going through every angle, all the possible problems we could run into. All of his plans seemed too dangerous, leaving too many unknowns. He just needed to accept that as my final decision and stop trying to rope us into another one of his crazy plans.

That was my final thought on it - for today anyway.

Mya’s POV

I had been planning the expedition for six months, meticulously researching every detail. That’s how I ended up at the local gun range for the last three Saturdays, doing a little recon on the owner of the security firm I was looking to hire. Collazo offered to provide security, but I needed this to be as far removed from him as possible to protect the reputation of my Gallery and the Archaeology Preservation Foundation that I had set up to fund the dig. Veracruz would still be on site to keep an eye on things, but all other aspects of the project were up to me and that included keeping my team safe.

Delta 5 Security Solutions had been recommended to me by a number of high-profile locals. It was owned by a military veteran named Francisco Morales, who worked to keep other veterans employed. Because of this, Delta 5 Security Solutions seemed much more equipped to handle the dangers of the Peruvian jungle than other firms. Word on the street was that they even offered specialized air transport services, on occasion. I needed a couple of pilots, so they seemed to check all the boxes. It would save me from having to set up multiple contracts at least.

The more time I spent watching Francisco, the more I questioned if he was the right choice. He definitely didn’t have the brightest of personalities, often seeming frustrated and stressed when he arrived at the range - like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. I could, however, see his focus and determination as he fired at the targets. He was a good shot and exuded authority and control with his weapon. Sure, he came across as a little disheveled and scruffy, but there was something under the surface that intrigued me just enough to see where things went.

Like most Saturdays, Francisco wasn’t alone for his latest outing. He was accompanied by one of his employees, Santiago Garcia. Santiago seemed a lot more easy going and appeared to enjoy pushing Francisco’s buttons based on the serious side eye that was being thrown his way. From the intel I had gathered, these two, along with the Miller brothers, all served in the same military unit and seemed to be close friends in addition to running the security firm together. I had been watching all of them over the last several weeks to get a feel for their dynamic. I could see that they were loyal to each other and worked well together. It was almost for those reasons alone that I felt they would be a good fit. At least they understood loyalty and it left me wondering how loyal they could be to me if things took a turn.

However, I knew this all hinged on Francisco accepting the job. I had been warned that he wasn’t big on risks and wasn’t afraid to turn jobs down for that reason. He really was an enigma that I couldn’t figure out. Aside from his gruff demeanor, he seemed quiet and introspective - a reluctant leader, but the guy in charge, nonetheless. He also seemed to be having some life struggles but appeared to be on the upswing from those. I was concerned that it could serve as a distraction for him, but I still found myself wanting him and his team. I wouldn’t settle for anything less. My gut told me there was more to him than meets the eye and I wanted the opportunity to peel back those layers so I could find out who he really was as a person.

As I positioned myself on the ground to shoot the high caliber rifle that I had rented from the range, I could feel eyes on me. It probably wasn't the best choice since I hadn’t intended to draw attention to myself. There weren't a lot of women at the range, let alone any shooting a weapon like this at three-hundred yards. After hitting the target with multiple rounds, I stood, adjusting my aviators as I glanced toward the two men I was here to watch, realizing that I definitely had Santiago’s attention. Francisco gave me a brief glance before stepping up to shoot his own rifle. I had to give it to him; he didn’t allow for distractions. Santiago on the other hand, seemed to have at least one weakness. Women. I couldn’t help rolling my eyes over that realization as I packed up to leave.

After running home to shower and change into more professional attire, I headed toward my antiquities gallery to open for the day. Soon after opening, a well-dressed gentleman with dark hair and a beard entered, immediately asking to speak with the owner. The first thing I noticed were his kind eyes and submissive nature. He definitely had the tall, dark, and handsome thing going for him. Once I introduced myself, he got down to business with a polite smile.

“I apologize for showing up without an appointment, but I got a lead on this painting and wanted to follow up on it right away. I’m looking to purchase and pay cash if you have it…or can point me in the right direction.”

I returned his polite smile with one of my own, “If you can provide me with the details, I’d be happy to check our inventory for you.”

He pulled out his phone, tapping away to pull up a picture, “It's the Cazador (The Hunter), by Luis Magin…a 20th century Maya oil painting.”

I could feel my blood run cold as my body tensed. This was a missing painting listed in the National Stolen Art File. I was taken aback that this man would be asking for stolen artwork. He didn’t seem the type.

I laughed nervously, “Sir, I’m sorry…but we don’t sell stolen art. I’m not sure why you were sent here…”

He reached to pull a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket and held it up, revealing Damien’s name scribbled on it. I could feel my breathing pick up as I fought to stay calm. Something felt wrong about this.

“I was told you could put me in contact with Damien Ravenwood…”

He seemed a little pushier now, like that name was supposed to magically solve the problem.

I shook my head, “I no longer associate with Damien Ravenwood…for obvious reasons. I don’t allow black market antiquities in my gallery.”

The man narrowed his eyes slightly, “My apologies. It must be a misunderstanding…”

His words trailed off as he reached inside the breast pocket of his suit jacket to pull out a business card, handing it over as he continued, “If he happens to show up…for any reason at all, please give me a call. I’d love to lock him down for a few minutes of his time.”

I glanced at the name on the card, Vincent Delacroix. It was obviously fake - a mashup of two famous painter’s names. There was nothing else on the card but a phone number. I gave him a tight-lipped smile as I waved the card in the air, “Yeah, sure, Mr. Delacroix. I’ll be sure to send him your way.”

There was something seriously off with this guy. I wasn’t sure if he was a black-market buyer or working undercover. Either way, I did not want to be in the middle of it. ‘Mr. Delacroix’ nodded and smiled before moving toward the exit. He paused halfway to the door, turning back in my direction, “I’m assuming you no longer have contact with Miguel Collazo either then? Or Persephone, by chance?

I could feel my jaw clench at the mention of Collazo and my black-market alias. I shook my head, “I’m sorry, I don’t think I’ve had any dealings with those individuals.”

He gave me a charming smile in return, “Yeah, I thought that might be the case. Never hurts to ask...Thank you for your time, Miss Carnahan.”

He hesitated briefly, still smiling as he turned to leave. Once he finally exited the building, I let out the breath I didn’t realize I had been holding.

I was startled from my thoughts when my archivist, Emily, appeared at my side. “Who was that?” she asked.

“Honestly, I have no idea…if he shows back up, come get me. No one else talks to him. Understood?”

She nodded in agreement.

The day was certainly taking a turn that I hadn’t expected. As if I didn’t have enough to worry about as it was, it felt like something else had just been added to the list.

Chapter 2: The Divine Source

✨If you would like to be added to the tag list, feel free to shoot me a DM or leave a comment.

A/N: SURPRISE! I know I said I wouldn’t start posting until Closed Position was complete, but it’s taking me for fucking ever to finish that one and I think I’ve made you wait long enough. Since I’ve got a decent start with this lovey adventure, I’ll go ahead and start posting. 😘

Now that we’ve gotten the first chapter out of the way, what are your thoughts? How are we feeling about Mya and Frankie? We definitely started with a bang (no pun intended).

I know I teased that Veracruz would be making an appearance. It turns out…he may have a slightly bigger role than I originally planned. We need a little extra tension with Frankie and I think Veracruz will serve as an excellent plot device for that. How do we feel about him so far? 🤭

We had another special appearance too. Anyone want to take a guess on who Mya’s surprise visitor is?

In the next chapter: Mya will drop in to visit the boys, Frankie has a decision to make, Mya accidentally gets a little nerdy on Frankie, and Frankie and Veracruz cross paths. Please do share your predictions. 😏

Tag group 1:

@2birdsofafeather @72scsuze @76bookworm76 @a-beautiful-but-sassy-world @almostfoxglove

@angelofsmalldeath-codeine @annalovesflorida @anniet852 @ashleyfilm @ashlovesdrpepper

@auteurdelabre @avastrasposts @biggetywitch @bitchwitch1981 @bluestar22x

@bunniboo0015 @burntheedges @captainredspade @chaoticfestninja @cheekychaos28

@christinamadsen @copperhalfcent @darkheartgatita @diabaroxa @din-cognito

@elisabethloves @fifitheragertot @for-a-longlongtime @girlofchaos @guelyury

@harriedandharassed @hisandsnakes @imdrinkingpedro @jackie923 @janeie87

@jeewrites @jensensational71 @jessthebaker @jessthebaker @joels-darlin

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@ladyofmidlo72 @lizzie-cakes @madnessofadaydreamer @maggiemoo1892

[nephilimeq]

Stuck in the Middle With You

Prompt: Clingy Boyfriend

@bucktommyfluffebruary

A03: https://archiveofourown.org/works/62721625/chapters/160733068

Buck was annoyed.

No, scratch that—he was pissed.

It had been over seventy-two hours—and he still hadn’t seen his boyfriend. Hell, he had been forced to go back to his apartment because there was no point in going over to Tommy’s house because he wouldn't even be there for another forty-eight hours. Somehow—he had no idea how—the end of Bucks forty-eight had overlapped with the beginning of Tommy’s seventy-two, and the only thing he wanted to do was pull his hair out by the roots and scream into the void.

…But he couldn’t, so instead he was doing the next best thing: drinking with Eddie and complaining about his life.

“Dude, you’ll be fine,” his friend reassured him as he sat next to him at the bar at a quarter past eight. “it’s not like you guys haven’t gone five days without seeing each other since you two started dating…”

Buck didn’t look up at him, casting his eyes down towards his glass.

“Seriously?!”

He let out a whine as he stretched out almost flat against the bar and reluctantly admitted, “Yeah, we’ve kinda been attached at the hip—”

“Or other body parts,” Eddie muttered before taking a swig of his beer and Buck glared at him and said, “Hey! No interrupting!” and threw a rogue peanut shell at him, and then added, “I mean, we still text, call, and video chat, but…god, it’s just not the same, you know?” and then took a long drag of his own beer, thinking about the fact that Tommy would reprimand him for choosing such a generic brand instead of going for one of the nicer craft beers with a better flavor.

But he didn’t want a better flavor, he wanted to drown his sorrows and didn’t need something like flavor getting in the way of that. Besides, he wouldn’t have appreciated the taste anyway, far too focused on trying to numb the longing feeling in his chest that felt as though it was turning into a cavernous hole.

Eddie gave him a look and said, “Look, if you miss him so much, then why don’t you swing by the 217?” and Buck shot him a look.

“Because, they’re on standby for the fires and their schedule is all over the place! And-and I don’t wanna just, you know, show up like the clingiest boyfriend in the world! I’m not some, some…tween girl who’s obsessed, you know?”

“You’re not? Coulda fooled me,” his friend drawled as he turned and leaned with his back to the bar and Buck found himself glaring at him all over again, getting slightly annoyed at his friend’s attitude, and threw another peanut at him, thrilled when it hit his chin and then fell into the front pocket of his flannel, and he muttered into the crook of his folded arm, “Ha, three points,” knowing that if Tommy had been there he would have appreciated him making the basketball joke.

Eddie merely shot him an arched eyebrow.

“You’re acting like Christopher, right now, you do know that, right?” he said as he fished out the peanut and popped it into his mouth.

Buck scoffed and slowly sat up, saying, “If you’re telling me that I have the emotional maturity of a fourteen-year-old, you are way off on that mark. According to Dr. Jensen, I have the emotional maturity of a twenty-five year old.”

“Buck, you’re thirty-four.”

“Yeah, I’m still catching up. So?”

Eddie merely shook his head and took another sip from his beer while Buck cast a glance around the bar, noting that it was still a light crowd. Of course, it was the middle of the week, and eight o’clock on a Wednesday evening wasn’t exactly the hip time for people to be out drinking. God, he was pathetic.

--

“Oh, god, just call him!” Sal said, sounding thoroughly annoyed—but Tommy shook his head and said, “I can’t! He’s out with Eddie and I don’t want to bother him while he’s having a good time off shift, you know?”

“If he’s anything like you, he doesn’t know how to have a good time,” muttered Lucy from behind her cards on the other side of the table, her feet propped up on the edge. “I take that bet and raise you two skittles,” she then said, arching an eyebrow at him, and Tommy knew immediately that she was bluffing and said, “I call.”

She smirked.

“Read ‘em and weep, Kinard.”

She laid down her cards with all the confidence of someone twenty years her senior—and Tommy nodded and said, “Nice hand, Donato. Full house…which would be great if I didn’t have a straight flush,” and he laid down his hand with a smirk, and she let out a huff and dropped her legs and said, “God, I hate your poker face. You’re inscrutable.”

“It’s a gift,” he said, pulling the pile of candy towards him, popping a lemon skittle into his mouth…and found his eyes drifting towards his phone, where he had left it on the table, wondering if he should give Evan a call. He hadn’t been able to spend any time with him for two days already, and now he was stuck with another three days without him. God, he had never gone more than three days without him, and now he was going to be away from him for a total of five fucking days.

His hand twitched—and then Sal said, “For fuck’s sake, just call him!”

“Language Deluca!” shouted their captain, but he simply rolled his eyes and moved over to him, shoving his shoulder up against his.

“Look, have the two of you been apart for very long before? Anything longer than two or three days?” he asked…and Tommy reluctantly admitted, “Uh…no. We’ve never spent more than three days apart since we got back together,” and his friend let out a long sigh that lasted so long it almost seemed as though he was deflating.

He then said, “Mierda…you two are grade-a clingers, aren’t you?”

…and Tommy snorted and started to laugh and through his laughter he managed to say, “Okay, yeah, I guess we are. When we’re at home we do almost everything together,” he admitted, giving Sal a sideways glance. “I think we’re both kinda touch starved and we both need a lot of reassurance after what happened to us all those months ago. I think we’re also both a little bit afraid on some sort of subconscious level that the other person is gonna just up and leave …”

His friend turned so they were both facing the same way and said, “You two are good together. So, why don’t you text him?”

--

“…Because if I text him, then he’ll know that I can’t go more than a couple days at a time without him!” Buck explained as he stood on the other side of the pool table, moving the stick between his hands in an agitated manner. “I don’t want him to think that I’m desperate! Don’t you get that?”

Eddie glanced up at him as he lined up his shot and muttered under his breath, “I get that you’re both grade-a clingers…”

Buck shot him a look.

“You don’t get it,” he said, shaking his head and walking over to where Eddie was lining up his shot. “If I reach out first then that means I’m the clingier one! And I am not the clingier one! You’ve never seen how Tommy follows me around the apartment when he comes over…or how-how whenever I go to his place, he is constantly calling out to check in on where I am just in case so he can find me if he wants to share something with me because he thinks texting across the house is-is too…impersonal!”

At that, Eddie took his shot, missing it, and then straightened and said, “Je-sus, Buck. I’m thinking you two might be a little codependent,” and at that Buck arched an eyebrow at him as he bent over to line up his own shot and said, “Oh, big word for you. Therapy working?”

His friend shrugged.

“Eh, yeah. I guess. Still feels too much like confession to me,” he said with a pointed look, “But I think it’s working. Still—you and Tommy have a weird relationship.”

“No, we don’t,” Buck stressed, taking his own shot and sinking it without even glancing back down at the table. “We have a healthy relationship. I think the two of us are just trying to make up for lost time, you know? Those few months without him were hell for me, and for him, and now we just…I think maybe we’re just scared that one of us might come up with another reason to walk away from it and so we don’t like being away from each other for too long…”

Letting out a sigh, he went to line up his next shot…and then Eddie said, “So you’re not texting him because…?”

--

“Because if I text him, then he’ll know that I can’t go more than a few days without him,” Tommy said to Sal as they got the injured hiker into the medevac chopper. “And if he knows that, then he’ll know that I’m the clingier one, and I’m not! Do you know that Evan tries to text me across the house? I’ve told him to just let me know where he is and I can come to him, but no. He insists on being allowed to text me across the house, which is just…weird.”

From below them, the woman on the gurney lifted up a feeble hand and said, “You know, you and your husband should just sit down and talk about how to communicate when you’re feeling insecure, because that’s what I’m picking up on here,” and he quickly corrected her.

“He’s my boyfriend, not my husband.”

Sal then interjected, “But you want him to be your husband, don’t you?” and Tommy ducked his eyes and moved back to the pilot’s seat, pulling on his headset.

“I’m not talking about this with you, Sal.”

His friend shot him a look and said, “Uh, you kinda are. So just text him, already! You miss him because you love him, that’s not a bad thing,” he said as Tommy lifted the chopper into the air, heading for the hospital. “Love can make you do stupid things—like break up with someone when they ask you to move in with them,” he jabbed at him, and the airman groaned and repeated, “I am not talking with you about this! Evan and I…we can figure it out. We got back together, didn’t we?”

At that, his friend chuckled and said, “Yeah, sure, like you were the one who figured it out. Isn’t the only reason why you two got back together because Howie pulled some underhanded shit with his wife and kid in order to get you and your boy into the same room again?”

Tommy sighed.

Okay, so yeah, it had been because of Howie and Maddie that he and Evan had gotten back together…but it was because of them talking things out that they had finally decided that it was worth it.

Still, as he angled the chopper towards the direction of the hospital he thought about what Sal had been trying to say to him the entire shift—and he hated to admit it, but the man was right. He missed Evan because he was in love with him, and that wasn’t a bad thing. Hell, it was practically expected at this point in their relationship.

Tommy continued to think on it as they dropped off the injured hiker…

…and then as they landed back at the 217, he reluctantly said to Sal over the headset, “Okay, maybe you’re right.”

His friend shot him a far too smug look, and the airman was already regretting his words, especially when the other man said as they sauntered back to the main hangar, “Oh, I want that put onto a t-shirt! ‘Tommy Kinard says that Sal Deluca was right!’ This is a pretty damn good feeling! So…you’re gonna text him, right?” he prodded, and Tommy nodded and reached for his phone, feeling a small sense of relief as he saw the picture of his boyfriend smiling on his lock screen.

He smiled down at it and then swiped his phone open…where Evan was the background, and he continued to smile.

Sal playfully shoved at his shoulder with his own, saying, “Someone’s in lo-ove,” and Tommy shoved him right back, pleased when the other man stumbled.

Hesitantly, he brought up their texts and then stared at them for a moment or two, trying to get up the courage to message him first, noting that their last conversation had been about the shopping list for the cookies that Tommy had baked for the 118.

He stop midstride and stared at it…and then began to type…

--

“He’s bubbling me!” Buck said, staring at his phone in shock. He had finally caved and reached for his phone to text his boyfriend, only to see those little bubbles telling him that Tommy was texting him first.

“Yipee,” Eddie said dryly from the corner of the pool table, looking at it with a curious expression, as if expecting it to rearrange the balls for him so that he would have a better shot.

Buck ignored him and continued to stare at his screen, waiting for the message to show up—and then grinned when the words that popped up said, Hey, thinking about you. Sorry we have to spend so many days apart, babe, and he couldn’t help but feel lucky to have someone in his life who understood just how hard it was for him to be apart from the people he loved for long amounts of time, and he immediately texted back, Thinking about you, too. Miss you, along with a kissy face emoji.

Feeling reassured, he slid his phone back into his pocket and turned his attention back to the game and teased, “You gonna take your shot or what, Diaz?” and Eddie gave him a bitch-face and leaned against his pool stick and said, “Gimme a minute! Your last shot fucked me up…”

Buck rolled his eyes.

“Oh my god, you’re so dramatic! Just take the shot!”

“Well, looks like someone’s in a better mood,” his friend muttered as he bent over and took the shot, letting out another curse when the ball bounced off a bumper and went wide, setting it up perfectly for Buck’s next shot, and he grinned and set it…and in three moves he had finished the game.

Eddie pretended to be annoyed with him, but he was smiling as he said, “So, think you can manage a few more days without him?” and Buck shrugged and said, “I guess so, yeah. I just…I sleep better with him next to me, you know?” and his friend tilted his head and remarked, “Yeah, I guess I can understand that. I remember it was hard for a while after I was deployed to sleep without Shannon next to me, so I get it,” and patted his shoulder.

Buck nodded and turned back to the pool table.

“Wanna go again?”

Eddie smirked.

“Bring it on, lover boy.”

Buck scoffed and said, “Oh, c’mon, I’m not that whipped, am I?” and Eddie lifted an eyebrow and said, “Yeah, you kinda are, but that’s okay. By the way,” he said as he moved around to the other side of the table, “Are you even living at your apartment anymore? Why don’t you just move into his place?” and his heart skipped a beat.

Yeah, okay, he’d thought about it, but it was too soon, and he knew it—he had jumped the gun last time, he wasn’t going to do that again.

“Uh, I still have my lease,” he finally replied, avoiding eye contact, focusing on re-racking the balls for their next game. He didn’t have to look up to know that his friend was giving him a side eye…but Eddie said nothing, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

Just three more days.

--

It was three days of torture and the shift from hell, and Tommy couldn’t quite believe that he had managed to survive. Letting out a sigh of relief, he dropped his bag as soon as he stepped inside his front door and kicked his shoes off and tossed his jacket to the side, uncaring of where anything landed…

…and then the next thing he knew, he had his arms full of his boyfriend, who immediately buried his head in his neck.

“God, I missed you,” Evan said, his voice slightly muffled from where it was pressed into his collarbone, and the airman chuckled and wrapped his arms tightly around him and said softly, “I missed you, too, babe,” and pressed a kiss to his damp curls, which told him that Evan had just gotten out of the shower. He took a deep breath, smelling his own soap on his skin, a blend of cedarwood and spearmint, and then nuzzled his nose into his hair, letting out a sigh.

Evan practically melted into him, and the feeling of his body pressed up against his was the best thing he had felt in a long time, having been spending far too much time dealing with Lucy and Sal on either side of him, their presence welcome, but not the same as the man he loved.

“As much as I love this, babe, can we move to the couch? I am beat,” Tommy muttered, and his boyfriend nodded.

Not quite letting go of each other, they made their way to the living room and then promptly crashed onto the couch, Buck laying out flat with Tommy on top of him—

—and god was that nice.

With all of his previous ‘relationships’ he had always been the big spoon because of his height and broad build…but with Evan he was able to relax into another broad chest without having to worry that he was going to crush him.

They lay there for a long while, not saying a single thing, Evan’s fingers carding through his hair, the sensation soft and lulling him into an almost sleep…but then through the haze of exhaustion, he heard him ask, “Am I…am I too clingy for you?” and Tommy snorted and said, “Nope, not at all. Actually, Sal and I talked today, and he says that I’m the clingy one of the two of us,” and he felt a chuckle run through his boyfriend’s chest as he said, “Funny enough, Eddie said the same thing about me…”

He grinned and rubbed his hand over Evan’s side, enjoying every single second of being able to touch him, and softly added, “Well, it seems to be working for us, so I say we keep on doing it.”

Buck chuckled a second time.

“I like that idea.”

He then tucked a finger under the airman’s chin and lifted his head just enough to press a kiss to his lips and Tommy moaned into the kiss and then said as they both pulled back from it, “I’ve never been happier to have a clingy boyfriend,” and Evan gave him a look.

“Damn straight.”

“Damn…gay, actually,” he teased, and was thrilled when his boyfriend groaned and rolled his eyes and said, “Oh, god, I forgot how bad your jokes are.”

“Excuse you, but I am hilarious,” Tommy retorted, lifting himself up slightly to rest his hands on Evan’s chest and prop his chin on top of his clasped hands. “You just don’t appreciate my brand of humor, Evan.”

They shared a look, both of them trying to stare down the other—and then they both broke into giggles, both of them sounding almost manic with the way their giggles dissolved into breathless gulps of laughter, neither of them able to contain themselves. Tommy knew that part of the reason why he was acting so ridiculous was because he always acted punch drunk when he was this tired, and he knew that Evan was just naturally that amused at him.

Eventually it subsided and they rested quietly against each other once more…

…and then Evan said, “I like it when you’re clingy,” and Tommy whispered back, “I like when you’re clingy, too…”

A warm silence fell, and as they lay there the stray thought entered the airman’s mind that Evan always felt like home to him, and that he spent more time at his place than back at his own apartment. Even though it felt too soon, he wanted him to move in…but not yet. It could wait a bit longer, he mused as his felt his boyfriend’s fingers tracing along his spine.

Yeah.

It could wait a bit longer.

[isuckatwritingsobenice]

you suck at writing so you use AI? Yeah, that’s a great idea 🙄 its easy to tell

Hii! so, i dont use ai to write! i do write it all myself, which is why whenever i respond to someone’s request i always apologize for taking so long because i do take a lot time to write.

Im also very big on expanding my own vocabulary, i use apps like “Vocabulary- learn words daily”, and read a lot in general to expand it as well.

There have been multiple cases where people are falsely accused of using Ai, and as someone who’s a student, using Ai is an absolute no for me considering it could cause me to lose everything i’ve worked hard for. The cases of getting falsely accused of using Ai are becoming so common to the point where there are petitions you can sign if you’ve been falsely accused by a university or job / workplace.

I don’t appreciate being accused of using Ai, when i strictly do not. It’s a large part of why i take so long to write as i’ve stated before, and a series that proves this is Infernal Shadows, which if you check time stamps i believe the first three chapters are posted very close together because they’re pre written, while the rest of the chapters are post with a good amount of time apart, one because i didn’t believe it would gain a lot of attention, i also only planned to have three parts but didn’t want it to come off as overwhelming, and two because it takes me a long while to put into words what exactly i want the reader to in-vision. You can also see with some parts, i kind of use the same words over and over because of one becoming drained from writing for so long, and two because eventually i do run out of things, or more like descriptive words for scenes with lots of details on characters.

If there are writers out there that use ai, then that is their choice. however on this page, ai is not used to write whatsoever.

This girl on tiktok talks about how she and another creator were accused of using AI, for things like grammarly being used on papers which can trigger an AI scanner.

I myself do use grammarly to write my stories, one because i write on my personal laptop, and two because i do find the extension useful. It points out mistakes i might miss when reading things over, be that out loud or in my head, and can give me feedback on if im being too repetitive or too wordy at times.

This girl also checked her essay on an Ai scanner, and the scanner detected 95% of the essay as Ai when she herself spent three hours writing it.

Another example here, where this girl uses grammarly and again just has good sentence and grammar structure.

Another example here

Another example here

Another example here

Another example here

Another example here

This article also touches on this topic of people being falsely accused of using Ai.

[demphen]

thomas and henrietta familial headcanons

as i said in another post, i think thomas and henrietta are about four years apart in age (henrietta being the older one, born sometime in 1935). i don't have a real reason for thinking this besides 1.) hen's view of thomas as this poor little boy who can do no wrong gives very much "Big Sibling treating their Baby Sibling like a Baby" vibes to me, and 2.) it makes my family tree make more sense el oh el

chapter 7 of darkest hour is gonna focus on the two of them and their relationship pretty closely, so naturally i've been thinking about it more. i think the two of them were real close in childhood, especially before thomas hurt himself. henrietta, in my lore, is kathy's (the tea lady's) daughter, and her father is dead (murdered by her grandfather el oh el!!!) and she has no siblings because of that. she was never really supposed to be born. kathy wanted her more than anything, but she was conceived out of wedlock and her grandfather saw her as kathy's "mistake". i imagine that'd make her really lonely in the first couple years of her life

so then auntie luda adopts this baby when hen's about four years old. i think hen would see tommy almost as a little brother, a friend that she's been wanting since forever. an end to the loneliness

henrietta would've been tommy's only real friend too, i think. she's still family, but she's the closest to him in age (charlie was about 12-13 when he was adopted) and therefore the most "equal" to him if that makes sense. they were close as kids, always getting into shit, playing in the woods and coming home covered in dirt. i think thomas really had fun with her

and then the accident happened when tommy was about 8, and he stopped talking after that. really withdrew into himself, even more so than he was already doing before. hen would've been around 12 at the time, and she would've noticed this change in thomas the most (besides luda mae). tommy would start working at the slaughterhouse a little while after he healed (fuck child labor laws i guess!!!) and just become so distant. unreadable. still so sensitive, terribly so, but he never spoke a real word to hen again.

from then on, i see their relationship as one where henrietta worries for thomas and just wants him to be happy, and thomas grows up and goes deeper and deeper into his self-loathing. they're not as close as they were as kids but i think thomas would genuinely trust her most out of everyone in the family. luda mae would be a closeee second but that's still his mom, so he's not gonna view her the way he views his "big sister" y'know?

anyways!!! i'm rambling. these r just my thoughts

[onechicagolife]

ABSENTIA | JAY HALSTEAD

Detective Jay Halstead is a senior member of the Intelligence Unit, where he is partnered with Detective Hailey Upton after his former partner went missing undercover. While he never wanted to give up hope, the CPD assumed her dead and he was resigned to accept it. Now, two years later, Jay gets a sudden phone call with news that changes his life forever. Avery Clarke is alive. want to be tagged? link in bio <3

Chapter 15

Jay rounds the corner to his apartment, exhaustion weighing down his movements as he drags a hand down his face. The last few nights have blurred together—hours spent in his truck with Avery, watching and waiting. They haven’t seen Nikolai again since that first night, which he’s not sure is a good or bad thing. Bad for their investigation, yes. But he couldn’t deny Avery’s reaction when she saw him for the first time. The way she completely froze, her shoulders tensing and her breaths quickening.

The cruelest part was that when Jay asked about it, she refused to tell him anything. And that every time he looks at her, he still feels everything. Being with her feels overwhelmingly familiar, too much like how it used to be. Because she sits back in the seat with her feet thrown up, she steals his coffee without thinking. She pushes his buttons, challenges him in the best and worst ways.

He knows he shouldn’t be spending so much time with her. He tells himself that he has to, even though he knows it’s not fair to Hailey. Knows it’s wrong that every night, as he sits in the freezing car with Avery, he doesn’t want to leave. That despite the anger, the confusion, the betrayal—he feels more like himself than he has in a long time.

Pulling his keys from his pocket, Jay lifts his head and his stomach drops. Hailey is leaning against the wall outside his door, arms crossed tightly over her chest. Her ponytail sways slightly as she straightens at the sight of him, and the look on her face—anger barely concealing hurt—makes his breath hitch. Dinner.

He exhales sharply, quickening his steps as guilt settles heavy in his chest, “Shit, Hailey, I’m sorry.”

Her expression doesn’t change. “I called you,” Hailey says flatly.

His fingers tighten around his keys, “My phone died.” Lie. He turned it off.

She scoffs, shaking her head as she pushes off the wall. He sees the way her eyes glisten under the dim hallway light, the way her jaw tenses as she turns to leave. Panic flares in his chest. “Wait.” He reaches out, catching her wrist gently, just enough to stop her, “Just… come inside. Please.”

Hailey hesitates. For a second, he thinks she’s going to walk away. Maybe she should. Maybe he should let her.

Reluctantly, her feet stay rooted in place as he unlocks the door and opens it. He stands in the doorway, waiting for her with hopeful eyes. After a few moments, and against her better judgement, she steps inside.

Jay closes the door behind them, lingering for a second before he turns to face her. He barely gets his jacket off before she whirls on him.

“Where have you been?”

His shoulders sag. He should have known she’d cut right to it. “I’m sorry I forgot about dinner,” he says weakly, knowing full well that it isn’t good enough.

“That’s not an answer,” her voice rises slightly, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. “You’ve been blowing me off all week. You disappear after work, you don’t answer my calls or texts. You come in every morning looking like you haven’t slept. What the hell is going on with you?”

Jay rubs a hand over his face, already exhausted by this conversation. “I’m—”

“Don’t say you’re sorry,” she cuts him off harshly. “And don’t say you’ve been with Voight.” Hailey takes a deep breath, her anger cracking just slightly under something more vulnerable. Her voice is quieter as she forces out the next words, “Just tell me if you were with Avery.”

He hesitates. It’s only for a second, but it’s enough to make her eyes harden. “It’s not what you think,” Jay says quickly, trying to reassure her that he would never.

She crosses her arms tighter, her nails digging into her skin. She didn’t think he was cheating, not really. She knows him well enough to know that. “Then what is it?”

His jaw clenches. He doesn’t know what to say. He knows she deserves to hear the truth, but he can’t bring himself to say it. “Hailey,” he swallows, “I can’t.”

“That’s bullshit,” she snaps, her voice rising again. “You don’t get to pull the ‘I can’t talk about it’ card with me. I’m your partner, Jay. I’m your girlfriend. You’re shutting me out, and I deserve to know why.”

His mind races, eyes desperately searching her face for some—any—hint of understanding. “I can’t tell you,” Jay settles on with a helpless half-shrug. “You just have to trust me.”

“Trust you?” Hailey laughs—a bitter, broken sound—and narrows her eyes. “Do you even hear yourself?” When he doesn’t say anything, it only takes a few moments before realization washes over her. She lets out a disbelieving breath, “You’ve been helping her investigate Volkov.”

The way Jay tightens his jaw and clenches his hands into fists at his sides is confirmation enough.

“Jesus, Jay,” she shakes her head with a scoff. Hailey starts pacing, running both hands over her hair. “Do you even realize what you’re doing? You’re putting your career—your life—on the line.”

“I’m not putting my life on the line,” he says defensively.

“You’re lying to me,” she yells at him. “You’re lying to Voight. You’re impeding a federal investigation. All for her.”

Jay flinches at her words, guilt and anger swirling in his chest. “It’s not that simple. She’s my—” he cuts himself off, the words dying in his throat. He swallows hard as the air between them thickens. They both know what he was about to say. She’s my partner.

Hailey stares at him, something breaking in her expression. She squares her shoulders, trying to hold herself together even as her voice wavers. “You know, I’ve tried to be supportive. I’ve tried to be understanding. But I’m not going to sit here while you lie to my face. I’m not going to sit here and pretend.”

He blinks, knowing that this conversation is going somewhere he doesn’t want, but he can’t stop it. “Pretend?”

She exhales shakily, bringing up a hand to quickly swipe away the tears she is so stubbornly trying to keep at bay. “You were shot,” her voice trembles slightly, but she forces it to steady. “You were laying there, and I was holding your hand. You said her name.” She closes her eyes as the memories wash over her. “I tried to convince myself that I heard it wrong. But I didn’t. And I know that you know I heard it. And you still haven’t explained why.”

The air seems to leave the room, and for a moment, Jay can’t bring himself to look at her. His mind flashes back to that moment. His throat tightens as he finally meets her gaze. “Because I couldn’t stop thinking about her,” he admits even as it kills him, his voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t stop thinking about her.”

The words hang heavy between them, and Hailey’s breath hitches. She blinks rapidly, trying to process what he just said. “So, what? You’re still in love with her?”

Jay inhales sharply at the question. He wants to tell her no. He wants to tell her he loves her, that she’s the one he wants. But he can’t. “I don’t know,” he says finally, his voice breaking. “But I know she needs me right now and I can’t…” I can’t leave her. I can’t say no to her. I can’t let her be alone again. “I have to help her.”

Hailey nods slowly, like she expected that answer but hoped she was wrong. “I love you, Jay,” she whispers, her face crumbling as fresh tears well in her eyes. “And I thought—” she stops herself, shaking her head as a tear slips down her cheek. She doesn’t bother wiping it away.

His chest tightens, heartbeat pounding loudly in his head, “Hailey, I care about y—”

“Don’t,” she cuts him off, stepping back. “You can’t have both.”

The words cut deep. Jay opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. He doesn’t want to hurt her. He never wanted to hurt her. But he can’t lie anymore. To himself, maybe. But not to her.

Her lips tighten into a thin line as she tilts her head, nodding slowly. “I’m done.”

He doesn’t stop her as she turns and walks toward the door, her footsteps echoing in the quiet apartment. He can’t bring himself to, no matter how much he wishes he could. When the door clicks shut behind her, the sound feels final as it echoes throughout the apartment.

Jay sinks onto the couch, elbows braced on his knees as his head falling into his hands. He knows Hailey had every right to walk away. He can’t even blame her. And he’s left wondering how the hell he got here.

After hesitating for just a moment, Jay walked towards Voight’s office. He stopped in the open doorway, eyes bouncing between his sergeant and the other man in the room. His hands clenched so tightly where they hung at his sides that his knuckles ached. He had been called in without much explanation—just a simple order to come in from Voight. The urgency in his voice made his stomach churn with unease. And now, seeing Chief Lugo standing beside the desk Voight sat behind made his pulse quicken unnaturally.

“Jay,” Voight started gruffly. His expression was unreadable, but there was something in his eyes—something dark, something resigned. “Take a seat.”

“I’m good.” His bosses exchanged a wary glance. Jay narrowed his eyes, “What’s going on?”

Voight didn’t speak at first, just cast another look towards the chief before sighing heavily. He opened a manila folder in front of him and pushed it forward on the desk.

Jay took a step and a half forward. Inside was a single, grainy photograph that made his stomach twist violently. It was a surveillance shot—a woman being dragged into a warehouse by two armed men. The image was blurry, the lighting terrible, but the height, the build, the hair—it was all too familiar. “Where did this come from?” he demanded.

Lugo spoke this time, his voice even, measured. “The FBI received this from one of their sources inside the Volkov organization. The timestamp places it three months ago.”

His breath stilled. Three months ago. Avery had already been missing for six. That meant she wasn’t killed on the spot like everyone else feared—she was taken alive. She was out there. Jay forced himself to focus, pulling himself away from the memories of that day. That day when he was too late. “So, what the hell are we doing sitting here? We finally have a lead, we go after it—”

Lugo held up a hand, stopping him cold. “The intel didn’t stop there.”

His heart pounded as Lugo flipped to the next page in the folder.

Unidentified female remains recovered from a Volkov warehouse overseas. Burned beyond recognition. No DNA match found.

Jay shook his head, immediately rejecting it. “No. No, that’s not proof. That doesn’t mean anything.”

“Jay—” Voight started, his voice low.

“No.” He pushed the folder roughly across the desk, breathing hard as his chest tightened. “We’ve been through this before, and every single time, it’s led nowhere. You don’t have a body, you don’t have DNA, you don’t have—”

“The FBI is taking over the investigation into Volkov from Major Crimes. The brass agrees that the evidence is conclusive,” Lugo interrupted, his voice final. “Detective Clarke was likely killed while undercover. The case is being closed.”

The word rang in his ear, and his entire world stopped spinning. Closed. No. No.

He turned to Voight, his eyes pleading. “We don’t… we can’t just stop,” his voice cracked, barely managing to get the words out.

Voight held his gaze for a long moment, and that was when Jay knew. The fight had already been lost. The lines on Voight’s face looked deeper, heavier, and for the first time since Avery disappeared, there was defeat in his eyes. Even after Justin, he still hung onto the hope that his other child was still alive. But that hope was gone.

“It’s over,” Voight said quietly.

No. His breath came in short, shallow bursts, his hands trembling at his sides. Jay shook his head, refusing to accept it. “No. No, you don’t get to decide that. You don’t get to just—just declare her dead without proof.” His voice broke, rage bleeding through the cracks.

“Detective—” Lugo started.

“No, fuck that!” Jay slammed his hands onto the desk, the sound echoing through the office. His entire body was shaking. “You don’t get to make this call! She’s out there, she’s waiting for us to find her, and we’re just—we’re just giving up?” His voice bordered on hysteria as he looked towards Voight in disbelief, “You’re just gonna let this happen? After everything—after Justin? You’re just going to let them give up on her?”

Voight’s breath hitched in his throat as he blinked, barely managing to hold himself together. He never allowed himself to break before, and he won’t do it now. He can’t. Chief Lugo’s jaw tightened as he cut in, “This isn’t giving up, Halstead. This is the reality.”

Jay let out a sharp, bitter laugh, taking a half-step back in a desperate need to distance himself before he lost control. Reality. The word felt like poison in his mouth. Nothing about this felt real. “You don’t know her,” he spat. “You don’t know Avery. She’s a fighter. She wouldn’t just let them—” he stopped himself, unable to say the words. Wouldn’t just let them kill her.

Chief Lugo sighed, straightening, “I understand the nature of your relationship to her. I know this is difficult to hear, but the department is making it official. Detective Clarke is being ruled as killed in the line of duty.”

His breath hitched and he swallowed down the bile rising in his throat. This was it. This was the end. The fight left him all at once. His shoulders sagged, his knees suddenly weak, and for a moment, he thought he might actually collapse. He turned to Voight, his last hope. His voice was wrecked, desperate, “Hank.”

Voight’s face was etched with something almost like guilt. When he finally spoke, it was low and final. “It’s time to let her go.”

Something inside Jay broke. A sound tore from his throat—a ragged, guttural noise of sheer devastation—and he turned sharply, storming out of the office. He didn’t see where he was going. Didn’t feel the burn in his throat, the pressure behind his eyes, the way his chest was imploding in on itself.

All he knew was that he had to get out. Had to breathe. Had to escape the words still ringing in his head, threatening to tear down his entire world.

How the hell is he supposed to let her go? The woman he loved. The only woman he ever loved. She was gone. She couldn’t be gone. Jay picked up speed before bursting through one of the stalls just in time to hunch over the toilet, knees hitting the tile with a painful, sickening crack. His body convulsed as he gripped the porcelain with white-knuckled hands, waves of nausea wracking through him. His stomach clenched painfully, but there was nothing left to bring up. His breath came in ragged gasps, each one sharper than the last. His head was spinning, his vision blurring, the fluorescent lights overhead too bright, too harsh.

He felt like he was suffocating. Drowning.

The stall walls felt like they were closing in, pressing down on him and squeezing the air from his lungs. His entire body trembled as he sat back on his heels, his arms bracing against the sides of the stall. The cold tile bit into his knees, grounding him in a reality he desperately wanted to reject.

Avery was dead.

Voight believed it.

Chief Lugo signed off on it.

Major Crimes, the FBI—they all believed it.

The weight of it crashed down on him again, harder, heavier. A low, guttural sound ripped from his chest, something between a sob and a scream, raw and uncontained.

Six months of searching. Of fighting. Of holding onto hope—thin, fragile, fleeting hope—only for it to be ripped away in an instant.

He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs. He couldn’t breathe. Every inhale was a battle, every exhale a painful reminder that he was still here—and she wasn’t.

He could still hear her voice, so clear that it was as if she was sitting right beside him.

Well, it really is your lucky day, Halstead. Avery Clarke. Your new partner.

His throat closed up, another sob tearing through him. A thousand moments, a thousand memories flooded his mind, each one sharper, more painful than the last. He saw her everywhere. Heard her everywhere.

But she was gone.

A sudden burst of anger surged through him, cutting through the grief like a blade. His hands shook as he pushed himself up from the floor, his vision darkening at the edges from the force of his rage.

His fist flew before he could stop it. The bathroom mirror shattered on impact. Glass shards scattered across the counter, some embedding in his knuckles, but he barely felt the sting. His reflection was fractured, fragmented—just like him. He stared at it, his chest heaving, his pulse hammering in his ears as the blood dripped down his fingers, warm and sticky.

This wasn’t real.

This couldn’t be real. This couldn’t be real. This couldn’t be real.

The sky is still gray, the Chicago winter settling in thick and heavy as Jay pulls into the district parking lot. His truck rumbles to a stop, the engine ticking in protest as he cuts the ignition. He stays there for a moment, gripping the wheel with both hands, staring blankly at the brick wall in front of him.

He’s running on fumes. The sleepless nights, the weight of Hailey walking out, the relentless gnawing in his chest whenever he thinks about Avery—it’s all catching up to him. His body is sore, barely recovered, and his mind is wrecked. He doesn’t even want to think about what he is going to face when he walks in that building. And yet, somehow, the idea of stopping isn’t even an option.

Not when she still needs him.

With a heavy sigh, he grabs his gym bag from the passenger seat, shoving open the door and stepping into the biting cold. His breath clouds in front of him, but the crisp air does nothing to clear his head. He’s barely made it a few steps when he hears the familiar rumble of another engine pulling in. Jay glances up just as Voight’s black SUV rolls into a nearby spot. The older man climbs out, pulling his coat tighter against the wind, his sharp gaze landing on Jay instantly.

They both hesitate for a beat. A silent acknowledgment.

Jay sighs, adjusting the bag on his shoulder. He knows what’s coming.

“You look like hell,” Voight remarks, shutting his door with a solid thud.

He huffs out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, well… it’s been a rough few weeks.”

Voight studies him for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, instead of making his way to the door, he jerks his chin toward the entrance on the other side of the lot. “Walk with me.”

He exhales through his nose, knowing there’s no getting out of this. Jay falls into step beside the older man, their boots crunching lightly against the frost-dusted pavement. The silence stretches, bordering on uncomfortable as the cold air wraps around them.

Jay knows Voight isn’t the kind of guy to push, but when he speaks, his voice is steady, carrying that same unshakable authority he always has. “She told me.”

He doesn’t react right away, treading carefully. He keeps his gaze forward, hands still shoved into his pockets, “About what?”

“About you helping her,” Voight nods slightly. “About the deposit box.”

His jaw tightens. He shouldn’t be surprised but knowing what that secret cost him, that he lied to Hailey, makes his stomach twist in anger. “She wasn’t supposed to—”

“Relax,” Voight cuts him off, his voice calm but firm. “I’m not going to stop you.”

Jay frowns, glancing over at him. “You’re not?”

Voight gives a small shrug, “If I wanted to stop you, I would’ve done it already.”

He scoffs, shaking his head, “Then what? You’re just gonna let me keep breaking all the rules for her?” Maybe he wants Voight to stop them. To force him to walk away. Because he knows he’ll never do it on his own.

Voight stops walking, turning to face him fully and stopping him with a hand on his chest. “I’m here to make sure you don’t lose yourself in this.” His gaze is steady, unwavering. “You’ve been through a lot lately.”

Jay swallows hard, looking away. He exhales sharply, his breaths visible in the cold air. “I don’t know what the hell I’m doing anymore, Voight.”

Voight nods, like he’s been expecting that, “I know.”

He lets out a bitter chuckle, running a hand over his face. “I mean, jesus. I thought she was dead. And it took a while, but I made peace with that. And now she’s back, and it’s like—” he stops himself, shaking his head as frustration boils over. “Like I don’t even know her anymore.”

 “She’s been through hell, Jay,” the older man says after a beat of silence, “You know that.”

“What about what I’ve been through? What she put me through?” Jay lets out a sharp exhale, staring at the pavement, trying to keep his emotions under control because it is too damn early for this. “I’m trying to be there for her,” he mutters. “But it’s not that simple.”

“No, it’s not,” he agrees. “But nothing worth a damn ever is.”

Jay stares at him, his eyes dark with something unreadable. “She lied to me.”

“I know.”

“She let me believe she was gone. She didn’t give me a choice. Didn’t give us a choice.”

“I know,” Voight repeats, his voice steady.

Jay shakes his head, “And now she’s asking me to risk everything to help her with this.”

But Voight doesn’t flinch, “She’s not asking you to do anything she wouldn’t do for you.”

“That’s not the point,” he snaps, his frustration finally breaking through. Even though he knows it’s true, knows they’ve already been here before. Derek Keyes, Lonnie Rodiger, Terry, Ellie… She backed his play without question, without a second thought, whenever he needed it. She jumped in feet first, and he didn’t even have to ask. He takes a step back, raking a hand through his hair. “I can’t forgive her for what she did, Voight.”

Voight studies him carefully, his next words measured. “You’re angry. And you should be. But that anger isn’t just about what she did.” He pauses, letting it sink in, “It’s about how much you still care about her in spite of it.”

The heavy truth in the statement is too much and Jay has to look away, clenching his jaw.

“I know what you went through when we lost her,” Voight takes a step towards him. “I saw what it did to you. And I know you’re still carrying that with you. If anyone understands, you know I do.” A haunted look flickers in his eyes, memories of Justin and Alvin threatening to swallow him whole.

Jay swallows hard—two years of emptiness, of staring at an empty grave that shouldn’t exist, of drinking himself into numbness just to get through the night. “She’s not the same,” he murmurs. His voice is quieter now, tinged with something almost vulnerable. “She’s… harder. Colder. She refuses to let me in. And I don’t know how to reach her.”

Voight exhales, nodding slowly. “I know she’s different. And so are you.” He holds his gaze, “But if anyone can get through to her, it’s you.”

Jay lets out a sharp breath, shaking his head, “Why?” Why does it have to be me?

Voight’s voice is unwavering, “Because she trusts you. Because you know her better than anyone.”

Jay stiffens. His throat tightens, his stomach twisting in protest. He wants to argue, wants to deny it. The words are on the tip of his tongue. Not anymore… But they don’t come out. Because maybe, just maybe, Voight isn’t wrong.

He looks down, his hands curling into fists in his pockets, “I don’t know if I can do this, Hank.”

“You can.” His voice is gentler, in that gruff, Voight way as he claps a hand on the younger man’s shoulder, his grip firm and reassuring, “And you will. Because she needs you. And whether you want to admit it or not… you need her too.”

He stands there, frozen, as the words sink in. Jay doesn’t know where he and Avery stand. Doesn’t know if there’s a way forward. But as he watches Voight walk inside the garage, his words echo in his head.

Because she needs you. And you need her too.

Jay exhales, his breath shaky. Then, finally, he heads inside.

The locker room is quiet, a stark contrast to the usual chaos of the district. Jay leans against the metal bench, head tilted back against the cool lockers as he lets out a slow, controlled breath. He should be at his desk. He should be doing something productive, catching up on paperwork. Instead, he’s here, hiding.

Avoiding.

It’s been like this for days. Ever since Hailey left his apartment, ever since their relationship officially crashed and burned. Every second between them is tense and awkward, leaving him wishing he was anywhere else. And when they aren’t forced to be interacting for work, he can feel her gaze watching him. Studying his every move, every interaction. And Avery? That’s been worse.

She hasn’t done anything wrong. No probing questions, no comments, no knowing looks. Nothing. She’s just there, in his space, existing like things are supposed to be normal when nothing is. And even though it shouldn’t, even though he should be more affected by the dooming of his relationship, that kills him more than anything.

Because of that, he’s been keeping his distance at work, making sure their conversations stay short. Professional. But it doesn’t matter. He can feel his partner’s eyes on him whenever Avery’s near, can see the tension ripple through her every time he and Avery so much as breathe in the same direction.

And now? The guilt is suffocating.

So he’s here, in the goddamn locker room, hiding like a coward.

The door creaks open, and he immediately straightens. He’s not sure who he expects, fearing it’ll be Hailey with another conversation he’s not ready for, fearing she’ll tell him that their partnership is over too. But instead, Adam strolls in, his expression casual but his movements deliberate.

“Got a minute?” Adam asks lightly, but there’s an edge behind it.

Jay narrows his eyes, already bracing himself for whatever’s coming. “Yeah.”

Adam doesn’t sit. He stands across from him, arms crossed, lips pressing into a thin line before cutting straight to it. “What’s going on with you and Avery?”

Shaking his head with an eye roll and a scoff, he stands and moves to root around inside his locker. “What are you talking about, man?”

“You drove her to work this morning,” the younger man says with an unimpressed eyebrow raised.

“She had a migraine last night and didn’t want to drive, so I gave her a ride home,” he lies without skipping a beat. The reality is that they left straight from work to spend the night in his truck, watching the warehouse for any sign of Nikolai Volkov, both of them pretending the distance between them wasn’t getting growing with every second of silence.

Adam eyes him, his protective side outweighing anything else. He can’t stand to see his best friend get hurt when she is just barely finding her footing. But he can see how much it’s killing her. He lets out a long sigh, “Look, I get it. I know it must’ve hurt when she wanted me to be her partner and asked for some space. I know you want to be friends. But if this is going to mess with her head—”

“Mess with her head?” Jay cuts him off, his voice rising slightly as he turns to face him. “I don’t need a lecture from you of all people.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” he asks, annoyed at whatever implication lingers in the air.

Jay tilts his head, gritting his teeth painfully. He wonders just how much he can push this, how far he can stretch the lie in order to get the truth. “She told me what happened between you two,” he says carefully, baiting.

Stiffening, his eyes flicker with surprise for a brief moment before he schools his expression. She said she wasn’t going to, but maybe she changed her mind once he decided to tell Kim, wanting a clean slate as they try to make their relationship work. Adam narrows his eyes, “She told you?”

“Yeah.” His jaw clenches, knowing by the reaction that he was right to suspect something happened between them. “So don’t sit here and act like you’re just her protective big brother.”

“It wasn’t like that,” Adam shakes his head defensively, his frustration mounting.

Jay crosses his arms tightly over his chest, “Then what was it like?”

“It was,” he hesitates, “complicated.”

He throws his head back, barking out a humorless laugh. “Complicated? Kim’s having your kid, and the best you can do is complicated?”

Temper flaring, Adam grits out, “It was one time. It was right after she came back, we were drinking—”

“That makes it better?” he shoots back with a step forward.

“Look,” his patience snaps, voice rising, “she needed someone. Someone who actually gave a damn about her when she was falling apart. Where the hell were you?”

The words nearly knock him off his feet, and Jay stops breathing for a moment. His hands curl into fists, because he can’t think about that. He can barely stomach the guilt he is already feeling. So instead, he focuses on the pure anger that threatens to overtake him at the image that flashes behind his eyes. “So, you—what? Decided to help her with your dick?”

Adam’s face darkens, his fists twitching at his sides. “Oh, fuck off, Halstead. You weren’t there. You didn’t see how broken she was seeing that you moved on.” His voice lowers, but the intensity remains. “So yeah, I was there for her. Not for some hookup. Not for whatever bullshit you think this is. But because I actually care about her. And maybe if you weren’t lying to yourself, wrapped up in your own guilt, you’d see that too.”

The jealousy, the frustration, the anger—it all collides, white-hot and uncontrollable as the words are like a match to gasoline. Jay doesn’t think. His fist collides with Adam’s jaw before he even realizes it. The impact reverberates through his arm, fingers flexing at the dull ache already forming.

Adam stumbles back, his hand flying to his face. His eyes blaze with fury as he whirls back around. “Bro, what the fuck is wrong with you?” he shouts, shoving the other man’s chest roughly.

“Hey!” Avery’s voice slices through the air, her footsteps echoing as she storms into the room. “What the hell is going on in here?”

Both men freeze, their heavy breathing filling the silence as Avery moves between them without hesitation, her eyes darting between their tense, furious faces. Her gaze locks on Jay, narrowing as she takes in the flush on his face and the way his fist is still clenched. “Did you punch him?” she demands sharply.

Jay doesn’t answer, his jaw tightening as he finally breaks away from Adam’s glare. But he can’t look at her, can’t see what he knows is in her waiting eyes.

Already knowing the answer, Avery scoffs before rounding on her partner. “And you—what did you say to him?”

Adam rubs his jaw, moving it back and forth gently. “Nothing he didn’t deserve.”

She groans in frustration, running a hand through her hair, fingers getting caught in the tangles. “Unbelievable. You two are supposed to be professionals, friends, and you’re in here fighting like children. Over what? Me?”

When Adam opens his mouth, she places a strong hand against his chest with a light shove that forces him a half-step back, and Jay tries to hide the fact that he notices. “I don’t need you to defend my honor,” she chastises, only turning away when he lowers his head sheepishly. Avery narrows her eyes at Jay, “What is your problem?”

Jay’s eyes finally snap to hers, his frustration and jealousy lingering below the surface. He grits his teeth, his pulse still pounding with the low hum of adrenaline. He knows this isn’t about Adam. Not really. It’s about… everything. The distance, reminding him that he doesn’t know her anymore. The nights spent in his truck, twisting him into thinking that no time has passed. The way she keeps looking at him like they didn’t leave each other in pieces. Like she didn’t leave him in pieces, shattered like that blood-smeared glass.

Clearing his throat, Adam’s voice is quieter now, more resigned. “I’m gonna go.” He throws Avery one last glance before turning and walking out, his footsteps heavy as the door clicks shut behind him.

Avery doesn’t take her eyes off Jay, her frustration crackling in the stale air. “I told you to stop making this about Adam,” she seethes. “You don’t get to pick fights with him just because you’re pissed at me.”

“You really think this is about Adam?” he asks, voice low and rough as he takes a step toward her. She folds her arms, but there’s something else in her eyes now. Wariness. Hurt. A challenge lingers, though, and Jay huffs out a bitter laugh when she just arches a brow, shaking his head before dragging a hand over his face. “You really don’t get it, do you?

“Then enlighten me,” she bites out quickly. She thought they were over this. That they were moving forward—or at least settling into something more tenable, an understanding that they could co-exist in.

He takes another step closer, the heat between them palpable, the space between them charged with everything they still haven’t said. “You come back from the dead, and you act like I’m the one who changed,” he grits out. “Like I’m the problem. You push me away, tell me we need distance, and then what? Drag me back in like this is some kind of game?”

She flinches, just barely, but it’s enough for him to see it. “You think I planned that?” Avery snaps, stepping toe to toe, pretending like she isn’t afraid. Not of him, no. But of them—the two of them, together. “You think I wanted to wake up in a hospital bed with two years of my life missing?”

His jaw clenches impossibly tight, the pain somehow grounding him. “Then why the hell have you spent every second since you came back acting like I’m the one who left you?” Her breath hitches audibly, but Jay doesn’t stop. He can’t. He’s done holding this in. “You chose Adam as your partner. You kept your distance. It took days for you to come see me when I almost died, and then you just walked out,” he spits out, his voice breaking. “And now you want to act like I’m the bad guy? When I’m still putting everything on the line to help you?”

Deafening silence stretches between them, heavy and suffocating. Her lips press into a tight line, her hands clenching at her sides. “You think this has been easy for me?” she finally whispers, her voice shaking. “I know what I did, the choices I made. But I didn’t choose to have my entire life ripped away from me.”

His chest tightens as tears well in her eyes, “Avery…”

“No, you don’t get to be the victim here,” she says, voice raw, stepping even closer until there’s barely a breath between them. “You didn’t have to wake up in a nightmare. You didn’t have to piece together a past you don’t even remember. You didn’t have to see the man you—” she stops herself, sucking in a shaky breath before continuing. “The man you thought was still yours, standing in the hallway, holding someone else’s hand.”

His throat goes dry at the realization. She saw him. She woke up confused and hurt. And instead of opening her eyes to him at her side, she saw him with Hailey.

“I woke up like it was one day,” Avery’s voice breaks.

His hands tremble at his sides as he swallows roughly, “Ave.”

Her face twists, her walls slamming back into place. “You want to be mad at me? Fine. But don’t you dare pretend like you’re the only one who got hurt.”

Jay looks away, his jaw tight as he forces himself to breathe. She’s right. Of course she’s right. But that doesn’t make it any easier to swallow.

“You should go,” she mutters, stepping back in desperate need of space. “Before we say something we can’t take back.”

But Jay doesn’t move.

He should. He knows he should.

Instead, he does something stupid.

He reaches out.

His fingers brush against her wrist, and she sucks in a sharp breath, her entire body going still. Her pulse beats wildly under his fingertips, and for a second—just a second—she lets him hold on.

Then she yanks her arm away like he’s burned her.

“This isn’t fair,” Avery whispers, voice barely audible.

Jay swallows hard, “No. It’s not.”

She takes another step back, putting real distance between them now. “We can’t keep doing this.” I can’t keep doing this.

He exhales slowly as something twists in his stomach. A heavy, overwhelming sense of dread. Finally, he nods, “I know.”

Neither of them moves. Neither of them leaves.

The locker room door creaks open again, and they both snap their heads toward it.

Kevin’s slightly wide-eyed gaze flicks between them, eyebrows raising high into his forehead. “Uh… is this a bad time?”

Blinking rapidly, Avery shakes her head before turning on her heel and forcing a smile. “No. I was just leaving.”

Jay watches her go, his stomach dropping as she pushes past Kev without another word.

The bass from the speakers pulses through Avery’s chest, the thrum of the music matching the erratic rhythm of her heartbeat. The bar is crowded, bodies pressing together on the dance floor, voices raised in laughter and conversation that blurs into a dull roar. She sits at the bar, her half-empty glass of whiskey in front of her, the amber liquid catching the flashing neon lights that paint the room in shades of red and blue.

Her head was heavy, spinning slightly as she takes another sip, the alcohol burning its way down her throat. It doesn’t taste good—not really—but it helps. Helps blur the sharp edges of her thoughts, dulls the ache that’s been clawing at her chest all week.

She hasn’t talked to Jay since their fight in the locker room. Since he grabbed her wrist. Since she yanked away. He hasn’t come to the stakeouts the last two nights, leaving her to sit in her car alone, the silence screaming at her. He hasn’t offered, and she hasn’t asked.

She should be glad. Should be relieved.

Instead, she feels like the tight coil that was barely holding her together is unraveling.

More memories have been coming back every single time she closed her eyes, jagged and painful, clawing their way to the surface no matter how much she tried to bury them. Her mind flickers to Nikolai, to the sound of her own screams echoing in that cold, damp room. To his voice, low and cruel, asking her over and over, Who are you?

Avery squeezes her eyes shut, pressing her fingers to her temples as if she could will the images away. But they are relentless, invading her thoughts like a storm she couldn’t escape. Everything feels tangled and messy, her emotions an unbearable weight she can only lessen with alcohol.

She hates herself for how much she thinks about Jay. Every moment they spend together feels like a lifeline, but it also reopens old wounds. She thought she was doing the right thing by pushing him away, by letting him move on with Hailey. But now, she isn’t sure. She misses him. But it’s clear how hurt and angry he is. She doesn’t know how much longer they can do this back and forth before one of them breaks, shatters into so many pieces that it’ll be impossible to glue back together. What they have now isn’t sustainable, not in this job. Not with both of them in this unit.

“Avery.” The voice comes from beside her, smooth, familiar. She blinks, looking up to find one of the club’s regulars Mark—or maybe Matt?—leaning against the bar next to her. His lips curl into a knowing smirk. “Didn’t expect to see you here again,” he says, tilting his head as his eyes rake over her. “You good?”

She forces a smirk, even though her stomach is twisting. “Do I not look good?”

He chuckles, reaching into his pocket, pulling out a small baggie. A few little white pills clink together inside. He holds it between two fingers, offering them to her like a gift. “Here. This’ll help.”

Her breath catches in her throat, her pulse quickening as her eyes narrow in on the bag. Her body reacts before her mind can catch up, her hand curling tightly around her glass as she fights the urge to reach for it.

It would be so easy. One pill. One small pill to take the edge off. Just enough to forget. To stop the memories, the guilt, the pain.

The man leans closer, taking out two of the pills and slipping them into her hand, “On the house. You look like you could use it.”

Avery stares at them, rolling them in her palm experimentally. The urge is a living thing, crawling up her throat, sinking its claws into her skin.

Just one.

She needs to get out of here. Slamming her palm on the table, she quickly jumps to her feet. His words of protest come, but she doesn’t hear it. She’s already backing away, shoving through the crowd of drunk people, her breaths coming painfully fast.

Her feet carry her out of the club and into the cold Chicago night, the icy air slapping her in the face. Her hands shake as she digs her phone out of her pocket. She barely registers what she’s doing, who she’s calling. Her fingers move on autopilot.

The call rings twice before Adam picks up, his voice groggy, “Hello?”

“Can I come over?” she asks, her voice hoarse, barely above the pounding of the music that can still be heard from the sidewalk.

There’s a pause on the other end, then a quiet sigh. “Yeah. Of course.”

She nods even though he can’t see it, mumbling a quick, “Be there soon,” before hanging up. She stares at the screen for a moment, her breath hitching, before she slips the phone back in her pocket. Avery’s feet start moving before her mind can catch up, the wind biting into her skin and sobering her up just slightly. With every step, she has to fight the desire to turn around. To go back inside that club, back to that guy and back to those magic little pills that can take away all the hurt and the anger and the guilt.

The streets are quiet, the snow falling softly around her as she makes her way through the city, still on edge. Her breath comes in short, visible puffs, her boots crunching against the frozen pavement. She doesn’t know what she was going to say when she gets there. She’s still pissed at him for starting a fight with Jay. How am I the bad guy when I’m the one who got sucker punched? His disbelieving voice rings in her head making a small smile tug at her lips, just enough to distract her for a moment.

When Avery reaches the apartment building, she stares up at the brick and blinks slowly, trying to make sense of her fragmented thoughts. She bites her lip, realizing that she probably shouldn’t be here. Before she can decide to cut and run, though, an older man with a dog opens the door and she slips inside with a casual smile. Her mind races as she climbs the stairs, the beat of the club’s music still thrumming under her skin. By the time she reaches the door, her breathing is shallow, her emotions a tangled mess. She raises her hand, hesitating for a split second before knocking.

prev . . . next

[vampiricstoryteller]

I Only Have Eyes 42

Hey! Omg y’all I’m so nervous about this fic. It’s finally time for me to start this Richter x Annette x Alucard journey I’ve been wanting to go on. Here is the first of three chapters, I really hope y’all like it.

Summary: Annette does not want to be paired with Richter Belmont for this philosophy project. She would rather sweep the ocean floor. Richter has no real opinion on philosophy but Annette has captured his attention in a way no one has in a long time. Adrian, just loves making pizza and wants his friend to be happy. The three of them together brings about a love none of them were truly prepared for.

Read story on A03 here

All mistakes are my own

Warnings: cursing, smut thoughts, implications, polyamory

Chapter One: Double the Fun, Triple the Time for Love

Annette is vaguely aware of Richter Belmont, because they have Philosophy of Humanity together on Mondays, Wednesdays and alternating Fridays. It’s a year long class worth double the credits with less than twenty students. How could she not at the very least, know his name?

He sits two rows behind her, in the same spot, to the left and usually wears a royal blue hoodie with an emblem on it she had to ask a friend for clarification on.

“Oh, thats his family’s legacy.” Edouard told her right around Halloween. The two of them knee deep in alterations for a costume party they were going to.

“Richter’s family can be traced back centuries over in Europe. London specifically.” Edouard explained further. “They provided a lot of weapons during the wars, then his great great grandfather pivoted towards politics and they’ve been untouchable since.”

Annette took the clump of information in stride. Old British Money was not something she ever wanted to get mixed up with. She’d rather sweep the ocean floor than ever have to be in the same room as a Prime Minister.

She must sit with what her friend tells her for too long because he smirks later that night when they part ways, and gives her one final bit of information.

“Rumor that went around for a while was that Richter and his grandfather Juste basically hate each other, but they both love Richter’s mother Julia, Juste’s daughter, so they comprised by giving him space over here in America but paying the way for it.”

Besides what Edouard tells her, and she seriously wonders how deeply her friends web of information runs, Annette knows next to nothing about The Belmont Family line and as an exchange student, she has no real interest in learning about families with old money. It’s not like they were going to give any of that money to her.

So Annette brushes him from her mind. She’s trying to earn back to back degrees with no break while pay half the tuition out of pocket, there’s barely enough hours in the day for herself; her thoughts about Richter are nonexistent.

Until they’re paired together for a project thats worth their entire grade.

It’s the second day back from winter vacation when their Philosophy professor hands out a thick packet and explains that after covering the basics during first semester, it’s now time to learn how to apply the information in real life.

“You’ll find your partners name on the inside flap, please use today’s class time to introduce yourselves and compare schedules.” Dr. Higsmen says, his stubby hands folded on the podium. “You should be meeting three times or more a week. We’ll start presentations on May 1st.”

Annette flips her packet open and stares down at the name listed underneath hers.

Richter Belmont

Her left eye twitches, she can feel the headache forming underneath her temples already and Annette has just started contemplating if it’ll look bad for her to ask to a new partner when a shadow appears over her shoulder. She closes her eyes for a second, takes a deep breath then turns and tilts her head up.

He is, quite possibly, the most handsome man she’s ever seen. Tall and lean, pretty blue eyes, dark hair that he actually knew how to comb and long fingers that are tapping rhythmically on his packet; Richter smiles down at her nervously.

“Hi, you’re Annette, right?”

She blinks then nods slowly, lifting her backpack from the seat next to her. “That’s me.”

“Cool,” he flashes her a smile as he pulls the chair out a bit and sits next to her. “I’m Richter, it’s nice to officially meet you.”

He extends one of his hands to her, his blue eyes searching over her and her desk while she eyes him warily before she puts down her pen and lets her hand slide into his.

His skin is softer than Annette could have ever expected it to be. There are callouses, of course, and a lot of them but his long boney fingers are soft to the touch and she barely keeps her thumb from stroking the back of his hand.

“Nice to meet you too.” She murmurs, ducking her head when he lets go of her.

“You’re new here aren’t you?”

He sounds genuinely curious so Annette nods, keeping her eyes from rolling. “Yes, I was accepted into the exchange program.”

“Oh nice,” Richter smiles, his face turning thoughtful as he adds on. “Your accent sounds very island based, maybe Dominican or Haitian?”

Annette blinks in surprise, ever since arriving at the end of last summer she has heard the same misplacement of her accent over and over. They all automatically assumed she was from Jamaica, which was ridiculous when one actually thought about it. But if Annette was learning anything in America it was that most people don’t put real thought into anything that doesn’t directly benefit them.

Her accent was just a placeholder in small talk, a tidbit of trivia they all wanted to tuck away and use later when they thought it would come in handy. It didn’t actually matter where she was from, just her not being American was enough for most of them to decide if she was useful or not.

And Annette made sure that she was not.

It’s Richter’s tone, however, that keeps the warning bells from ringing through her mind. He sounds……pensive, like he’s truly thinking about where she’s from. And not for any means to an end, just to know. Which was, new…..

Annette clears her throat, mentally shaking herself.

“I’m from Haiti, yes.” She narrows her eyes a bit, trying to remain playful. “You’ve been there before?”

Richter nods, “Once when I was a kid. My grandfather took me when he had a business trip there.” He tilts his head as if remembering.

“And?” Annette prompts, letting one hand rest against her cheek. “What did you think of it?”

“It was beautiful, I was only ten so I couldn’t leave the hotel a lot but I remember the food being amazing.” Richter taps one finger on top of his packet, his blue eyes flickering over to her. “I remember the people were very nice and everywhere smelled amazing, like the earth and warm clay.”

Annette watches him reminisce, a very clear memory playing in his mind judging by the way he subtly jerks and then his cheeks tinge pink.

“Sorry.” Richter reaches back and scratches at his neck. “That must sound weird as hell.”

Annette laughs, surprised at both herself and him.

“No, no it’s alright. I understand what you mean. It does have a very earthy aroma.” She picks at her fingers. “I think it’s one of the things I miss most.”

A beat passes between them, not uncomfortable exactly but there’s definitely a shift from the casual pleasantries. Annette clears her throat and taps on her packet,

“So, uhm, when’s a good time for you for us to start meeting up?”

Richter shrugs, leaning back in the chair until the front legs come off the ground. “Whenever is good for me honestly, do you have a busy schedule?”

“Kinda?” Annette glances at him. “I work a lot but I’m pretty sure I can talk to my boss about it,”

At his curious look; Annette waves dismissively. “I work in the school library, most the time it’s just me sitting there studying and doing nothing. They always tell me I can take time for school work but this is my first actual project so,”

Richter nods, “okay good to know, do you think it’ll be cool for me to join in the library sometimes?”

“I don’t see why not.” She replied.

He reaches into the pocket pouch of his hoodie, pulling out a phone. “Wanna swap numbers? Or instas?”

Annette grabs her own phone from the front zipper on her backpack. “I’m not on social media.” She says unlocking the screen and pulling up the numbers keypad. “So number, if you don’t mind.”

They trade phones, Annette feeling heat rise in her cheeks at how sleek and new his is compared to her cracked screen, duct tapped to hell one. Richter doesn’t seemed bothered by it at all, he taps his number in and makes his own contact. She does the same, unsure if putting her full name is presumptuous or leaving it with just her first is vain.

She decides on her full name, quickly typing it out and hitting save. Annette hands the phone back to its owner, taking hers and putting it back in her bag without even looking at the screen.

Richter taps at his phone for a second, seemingly texting someone back before he puts the device away and turns his blue eyes back to her.

“Do you have any other classes today?” He asks, flipping through the first few pages of his packet. He produces a pen, seemingly out of nowhere, and begins underlining things on the pages before him.

“No but I’ve got to work from 2pm til 8 tonight.” Annette sighs, already exhausted by the long hours she’ll be sitting in that backless chair at the checkout counter.

“Wanna get lunch together then?” Richter asks casually. “We can start brainstorming for our project, get ahead of everyone else.”

Annette blinks and says uncertainly, “Sure, that sounds good.”

He glances at her, “I know a place, has great pizza. It’ll be my treat.”

“Oh you don’t have to—.” Annette starts, shaking her head but Richter only looks to the clock on the wall and nods to himself.

“Come on, we can get there early and be first in line.” He swings his backpack up into his lap and puts his packet inside.

Annette tilts her head at all the different pins that are hooked into the sturdy fabric of his bag. She sees his family emblem immediately but there’s numerous others, different causes, brands, pop culture references and though she can’t place them all she finds the display of individualism somewhat endearing.

Richter looks down at his bag, chuckling a bit. “Oh yeah, I always forget I have so many pins on here.”

Annette smiles. “They’re cool, where’d you get them?”

“My sister got a button maker for Christmas like three years ago and hasn’t stopped since.” Richter says, shaking his head. “She gives them out like candy now.”

Annette nods, putting her packet away as well. She glances around the room, noticing that most of the other pairs have already left. She stands when Richter does, putting on her coat, hiking her backpack up over her shoulder and looking at him expectantly.

He grins at her, “Let’s get outta here.”

Dr. Higsmen bids them a good day as they pass him, packing away his papers into his briefcase.

“Off to Alucard’s then?” The hefty man asks.

Richter nods, opening the classroom door for Annette. Over her head he smiles at their professor and says,

“I always try to get the first slice of the day at least three times a week.” He puffs his chest out proudly. “It’s basically my job at this point.”

Dr. Higsmen laughs, something Annette’s not sure she’s ever heard him do, and waves them on.

“Be sure to tell him hello.”

Richter calls out a goodbye over his shoulder but as they walk down the hall he turns his attention to Annette.

“You like pizza right? I should have asked. Although he does offer other stuff too.” Richter taps his chin. “There are these stuffed garlic knots that will really blow your mind.”

Annette raises both eyebrows, “Pizza is good, as are garlic knots but I’m not that hungry.”

Richter glances at her, at the end of the hall he pulls open the door that leads to the buildings parking lot and motions for her to go first.

“It’s alright, whatever you don’t eat I definitely will.”

It’s a nice day outside, the sun has managed to break up the winter clouds and shines down on the left over snow that remains on the grass from days ago. Annette’s still not exactly used to the snow, it is very pretty but the novelty of it wore off after the second time she slipped on ice.

“Come on, we can take my car.” Richter says stepping into the wet slush of ice that awaits them.

Annette chuckles, “good cause mind doesn’t arrive for a good forty minutes or so.”

When Richter looks back at her in confusion, Annette pointedly stares at the bus stop where a few other students stand waiting for it.

“Right, sorry, dumb of me to assume everyone has a car.” He says shaking his head.

Annette chuckles, raising her hands. “Don’t worry about it.”

When they reach his car, a grey Ford Ranger, she blinks at the sheer size of it. One wheel alone is almost as tall as she is.

“Here, one second I gotta move some stuff around.” Richter says quickly fishing the keys from his jeans.

The truck chirps and he yanks the passenger door open. Annette wakings patiently, her hands shoved into the pockets of her coat as Richter tossed a duffel bag, gym shoes and two more hoodies in the back. He pats the dark colored seat then steps back and offers a hand to her.

“It’s a bit of a up step.” He explains when she raises her eyebrows. “Trust me, you wouldn’t be the first person to fall out of my truck. Maria does all the time.”

Annette chuckles, letting her hand slide into his again. She keeps her eyes on her feet as she climbs into the imposing vehicle. The step up is pretty large, enough to throw her off balance about halfway; Richter’s hand tightens around hers though and he lifts her when her legs fail her.

“All good?” He asks once she’s slid into the seat and their hands disconnect.

“Why is it so high off the ground?” Annette asks exasperated.

Richter chuckles, “Tall people problems, don’t worry you’ll get used to it.”

He shuts the door before Annette can reply, leaving her to force a blush down while he casually walks around the front of the truck to the drivers side. Her eyes track him the entire way, searching his face for any kind of break in his cool demeanor.

When he gets into the truck, Annette rolls her eyes at him not having to jump or or climb; his legs are long enough that he doesn’t even seem to need the step assistance already at the bottom of the door.

“You ready to try the best pizza you’ll ever have?” Richters excitedly, starting the truck and throwing it into reverse.

Annette laughs softly, relaxing back against the dark seats. “I will be the judge of that.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It only take about 10 minutes to reach Richter’s destination. He takes her through the back streets, telling her about how much he hates Main Street because it’s full of nothing but tourist attractions and showing her little connecting alleys that she can always use if she’s running late.

Annette finds that she enjoys hearing about the town from the perspective of someone who was basically a local.

“When did you move here?” She asks when they come to the last stop light before the plaza they’re going to.

“Officially four years ago but, my family came to this town for vacation every summer since before I was born.” Richter shrugs, his fingers tapping on the steering wheel. “My great grandmother was born and raised here, so my family always tried to come back.”

Annette nods, filing the information away under the mental folder she’d created tilted ‘The Belmonts’ and turning her attention to the plaza he’s turning into.

The plaza is fairly small, there’s only seven places of business in total and a small play area for children that only has a jungle gym and two swings. Richter turns into the second section of parking spaces and Annette sits forward a bit to look up at the restaurant.

It’s sign is elegant and in neat cursive, braced on awning of the plaza to look as if the name is double outlined.

‘Alucard’s Pizzería and Wines.’

Annette tilts her head to the side, her nose scrunching a bit as she eyes the outdoor patio and the dark interior design thats visible from the storefront window.

“You don’t like wine?” Richter asks curiously, shutting the truck off and popping open the middle console.

“I have no real opinion on it.” Annette shrugs.

“Oh he’ll love that.” Richter snickers, he stuffs a simple black wallet into his jean pocket and turns his bright blue eyes to her. “You have your passport, right?”

Annette nods, patting her backpack between her feet. “I am not from here; of course I have my passport with me.”

Richter grins, “Let’s go then, im starving.”

Annette has to literally leap from the truck but she manages to land squarely on her feet; her combat boots kicking up a bit of slush at the impact. Slinging her backpack over her shoulder, Annette shuts the stupidly heavy truck door and joins Richter at the front.

“So, you and this Alucard are friends?” She asks as they walk towards the glass doors, their steps in sync.

Richter laughs, “Yes. He is a friend of my family. His dad and my grandfather were army friends.” He pulls open the glass doors for her, smiling down at her when her shoulder brushes his chest. “And Alucard is a nickname; his actual name is—“

“Shouldn’t you be in class?”

Annette startles slightly, blinking her eyes rapidly to adjust in the sudden dimness of the restaurant. About few feet away stands a man, his hands on his hips as he awaits an answer from Richter.

He steps towards them and Annette feels her eyes widen, her breath disappearing from her lungs. If she’d thought Richter was handsome beyond belief, his friend of the family is an angel from above. Long straw yellow hair that’s currently tied up into a bun at the crown of his head, his golden eyes flicker between the two of them curiously despite the disapproving frown on his very very pale face.

“I did go to class! We got our project partners and Mr. Higsmen told us to go get acquainted with each other.” Richter says defensively. “He says to tell you hi by the way.”

He steps behind Annette and puts both hands on her shoulders, guiding her closer to his friend.

“This is my philosophy projects partner, Annette.” Richter sounds proud, though she can’t even begin to ponder what for. ���Annette, this is my best friend, Adrian.”

She watches as the blonde rolls his eyes before he steps to them and bows his head deeply to her. He offers a hand, holding Annette’s one in both of his once she reaches out.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Annette.” He says with a smile that could melt iron. “I’m sorry for your unfortunate luck in project partners.”

Annette lets out a laugh, a real one, while Richter squeezes her shoulders and sticks out his tongue.

“Now is that any way to treat your first paying customers of the day?” He steers Annette towards one of the booths near the kitchen door.

“I never make you pay Richter.” Adrian calls after them.

He lets Annette choose which side of the booth she wants to sit on, sliding into the seat across from her with practiced ease. She puts her backpack between herself and the wall, folding her hands on top of the table as she looks around.

“First impressions?” Richter asks, his tone light but Annette can see the genuine worry in his eyes.

She smiles, shrugging one shoulder. “They’re good so far, he owns this place? He seems kind of young to already have his own restaurant.”

“Adrian’s going to be thirty this year.” Richter snickers. “He’s practically an old man.”

“Ah yes, thirty the year of mortality rate, in the stone ages.” The blond deadpans as he approaches the table and lays out two menus, he rests his hip against the back of the bench Richter’s sat in. “So much older compared to your baby like wonder of twenty four.”

Annette watches the two of them over the top of her menu as they descend into a battle of banter. She can see immediate fondness between them, Richter looks up at Adrian with adoration in his gaze despite the jokes flying from his mouth. And Adrian, gives as good as he gets, verbally baiting Richter with little quips until he ends their conversation by tugging on the tuffs of hair around the younger man’s ear.

“What’s your favorite kind of pizza, Miss Annette?” He asks turning his golden gaze to her.

“Ugh please, it’s just Annette.” She scrunches her nose. “I’m twenty three, not thirty three.”

Richter bursts into laughter while Adrian blinks in momentary surprise. He reaches up and pulls hard on Richter’s hair again. “You’re so hyena like today, Richter. Shut up.”

He looks back towards the dark skinned woman and nods, “Annette then, favorite kind of pizza?”

“Pepperoni and black olives.” Annette shrugs. “Weird I know, but I love it.”

“No weirder than this nut job.” Adrian shrugs and tilts his chin at Richter. “When he was a kid he would only eat pizza with macaroni as the topping.”

“Hey!” Richter protests when Annette sticks out her tongue in disgust. “I was a growing boy and needed the nourishment!”

Adrian pats the top of his head. “It’s okay Richter, we’re not judging you.”

“Oh I definitely am.” Annette grins.

Adrian laughs, “you’re going to fit right in Annette.” He pushes away from the booth, the bell above the front door jingling to signal the arrival of new customers. “I’ll bring out some cheese garlic knots, and start your pizzas.”

~~~~~~~~~

Richter hadn’t been lying. Adrian’s pizza was the best Annette had ever had. Hot, thick and gooey with extra cheese; Annette devours the personal one he sits in front of her about twenty minutes after he brings them garlic knots and Arnold Palmer’s.

She’s never had a pizza so deeply rich yet not greasy at all. Even the cheese stuffed garlic knots, slathered with butter, don’t leave much of a stain on the napkin she uses throughout the meal.

It’s very impressive.

As she and Richter eat, they decide to try and meet up twice during each week and once over the weekends up until it’s time to present their project.

“I can always pick you up from work and stuff,” Richter offers. “Do you stay in the student dorms?”

“Yes, but the ones not on campus.” Annette says, “you know the ones that are supposed to replicate real adult life.”

“Except for the RA’s are constantly prowling the halls like vigilantes.” Richter chuckles. “Yes I do know those dorms.”

“They’re the worst.” She sighs shaking her head.

“It’s okay, we can always hang at my place or here. Adrian won’t mind.” Richter says with a firm nod.

As if summoned by Richter’s thoughts alone, the blond appears at their table momentarily.

“Do you guys want dessert?” He asks, a sizzling pizza balanced over his shoulder.

Richter motions towards Annette. “You want a slice of cake?”

She shakes her head, pulling her phone from her backpack. “My shift is gonna start soon.” Glancing at the digital clock on the screen she relaxes at bit when she realizes it’s only 1:15. “Maybe next time?”

Adrian smiles at her, “I have the feeling we’re going to be seeing a lot of each other Annette, so I’ll hold you to that.”

He excuses himself to go drop off the pizza to the family of four waiting. Across from Annette, Richter stuffs the last bit of crust from his own pizza into his mouth. It puffs his cheeks out exaggeratedly and she can’t help the smile the creeps onto her lips.

In her hand, her phone vibrates and the screen lights up to show that Edouard has texted her.

Edouard: still need a ride to work?

Annette blinks, she’d forgotten that originally her plan was to go back to the dorm after philosophy and take a much needed nap. Obviously those plans had been completely derailed.

Annette: yes but I’m not at the dorms. I’m at Alucard’s pizza place. is that too out of the way?

Edouard texts back before she can even close their messages out.

Edouard: I’ll be there in 15 :)

Annette hearts his message in thanks before locking the screen and pulling her attention back to Richter. He’s munching on a left over garlic knot, trying not to watch her but clearly failing as their eyes meet the moment she raises hers.

“Everything okay?” He asks quietly.

“Yeah, my friend was just asking if I still needed a ride. He’s on his way,” Annette explains, sipping at the watered down left overs of her drink. “We work the same shift on Mondays and Wednesdays.”

Richter nods, “That’s cool, I wouldn’t have minded dropping you back off.”

Annette waves dismissively. “It’s out of your way, I’m sure you’d rather hang out with Adrian.”

Richter snorts, glances around the restaurant. “I see him all the time.”

She smiles, “I’ll let you take me back next time.”

Richter grins at her, nodding in agreement. They clean up their table for Adrian, stacking the plates and wiping the surface down. The blond looks incredibly grateful when he passes by them next, snagging the stacked plates with one hand and carding the other hand through Richter’s hair.

Annette catches the faint blush spread across Richter’s cheek and she glances over her shoulder towards the kitchen doors that Adrian disappeared behind. Her mind attempting to fit together the puzzle pieces that have fallen into her lap today.

In her lap, Edouard’s text alerts her to the fact that he’s pulling up and Annette begins shrugging her coat back on. Richter stands when she does, insisting on walking her out of the restaurant.

The smile on her friends face is blinding when he sees her exist the pizzeria.

“Oh,” Richter says happily. “I didn’t know you and Edouard knew each other.”

“Heeeeyyyyy Richter!”

He bends at the waist and waves to the other boy. “Hey Edouard, long time no see.”

Annette rolls her eyes, shaking her head as she sighs out dramatically. “Why am I not surprised, how do you know him?”

“We had three classes together freshman year.” Richter shrugs. “He’s a good dude.”

She hikes her bag up higher on her shoulder, “He is, when I got here last semester I didn’t have any friends and he went out of his way to hang out with me.”

“Yeah that sounds like him.” Richter chuckles, he gently bumps her arm with his own. “Well I hope I can be added to your exclusive friends list this semester.”

Annette blinks, heat burning her cheeks. She’s unsure what to say, should she confirm that she already thinks of them as friends after only one study session where they got basically no studying done? Or would that be too weird?

A beat of silence passes between them and Annette steps back, chewing on her lip. “I’ll uh, text you later I guess?”

“Yeah definitely! Ha—Have a good shift at work.” Richter steps back too. “Thanks for having lunch with me, Annette.”

She nods, waving to him. “See you, Richter.”

They turn from each other, Richter going back inside the pizzeria and Annette ducks into Edouard’s car. To his credit, her friend has kept relatively silent but the moment she closes the door, he reaches over and smacks her arm twice before grabbing the sleeve of her coat and shaking her in excitement.

“Bitch! Not you getting an invite to Richter’s safe space! Bitch!” His voice fills the inside of the car. “Ahhhhhhh! Bitch!”

“Edouard!” Annette laughs, trying to break away from his grip and failing. “Stop! He could still be watching! Go!”

Her friend complies with her wishes, pulling out of the parking space he parked crookedly in and turning in the direction of the college; his laughter and enthusiasm lasting long after they’d clocked in at the library.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Your new friend is very pretty.” Adrian comments to Richter later that night as the two men close up the pizza shop.

“Yeah, noticed did you?” Richter teases, placing the last few chairs upside down on their assigned tables.

“How could I not? You’ve never brought any girl here before.” Adrian says, watching Richter from the corner of his eye. He counts out the days profits slowly, making sure to not miss a single cent.

“There’s a first time for everything.” The younger man replies, making his way over to Adrian and hugging him from behind.

“Yes, there is.” Adrian pats Richter’s forearm across his stomach. “And I’m sure there are plenty more brewing in that chaotic mind of yours.”

“She’s different, not superficial and doesn’t care that my last name is Belmont.” Richter says defensively. “I want to be her friend.”

Adrian smirks, folding the days money into the bank envelope for the morning and waiting. Belmonts, very rarely had friends.

“And eventually I want to fuck her.”

The blond snorts. “There it is.”

Richter pinches his hip bone. “I saw you staring at her too, you want her just as much as I do.”

“Why are we having this conversation, Richter?” Adrian asks, twisting his torso so they can look at each other. “What’s your endgame here?”

“I thought you might like to join.”

Adrian blinks, pale eyebrows climbing up his even paler forehead.

“And what gave that impression?”

Richter smirks. “You hate olives on pizza.”

Adrian rolls his eyes. “It’s rude to comment on a customers food choices.”

“Never stopped you before.” Richter laughs, he reaches up and grips Adrian’s chin. “It could be a lot of fun.”

Their lips come together slowly, Richter’s slotting over Adrian’s and his tongue flicking out to run over the bottom lip he’d come to know so well.

It’d taken Richter a long time to convince the older man that he wanted to be affectionate towards him and it was genuine. They’d grown up together, went to school together, Adrian had been there when the problems with his grandfather started and he’d been waiting in America with open arms when Richter couldn’t take being a Belmont anymore. How could he have ever thought that Richter wouldn’t be somewhat seriously in love with him?

They’ve been trying out this friend’s with benefits thing for a little over a year and Richter always made sure that Adrian knew what he was thinking when it came to them. There were no secrets between. He’d never communicated with anyone as much as he did with Adrian. But he’d also never cherished the friendship of someone the way he did his with Adrian.

Neither of them expected it to last long, especially not after Richter has to take over the family business. But that’s at least another three years away, they have time.

“You cannot lie to her, about anything.” Adrian says firmly, the moment they pull apart. “Not about me, not about this, not about your intentions with her.”

“I won’t.” Richter promises. “She’s observant, I wouldn’t be surprised if she hasn’t already thought something’s going on between us.”

“Still, I don’t want you hurting people just for the sake of experience.” Adrian reaches up and cups Richter’s face. “She could be really good for you, don’t ruin it with something stupid.”

“For us.” Richter corrects kissing the inside of Adrian’s wrist. “She could be really good, for us.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It’s uncanny, the way Richter slips seamlessly into Annette’s life. As if he’d always been around and always been her friend. They text all the time, Richter quickly becoming the first person she speaks to in the morning and the last one to wish her sweet dreams at night. They text so much in fact that her phone graduates from backpack zipper pocket to her pant or jacket pockets at all time.

Richter rarely lets more than an hour pass between conversations and Annette, well, she looks forward to talking with him. Her heart beats faster every time she gets a notification with his name on it; he’s great at making her feel like she’s the only person in the world worth his attention.

After that first lunch at Alucard’s, Annette found more often than not she ended up tucked away in the same booth most days of the week. Between classes, work, homework and Edouard, she’s grateful to have the small space to escape to. Adrian had even been nice enough to extend an invitation to her stating that she could always come into his restaurant, even when Richter wasn’t there.

“Your seemingly never ending calm is always a nice change of pace from Richter’s constant energy.” He’d told her when she’d double checked if it was alright for her to hang out one lunch break while Richter met with his counselor.

He’d given her free refills and a slice of cake for the road when she finally packed up her stuff later that day.

Her best friend, is over the moon about the entire situation. Edouard has become not only an even closer friend, he’ll be addicted to the stuffed garlic knots before the month is over, but Annette’s biggest cheerleader in what he calls:

“The Pursuit of Belmont……And Friend”

No matter how hard she tried to emphasize that they are partners on an educational project, Edouard has already begun to plan her outfits for her and Richter’s first few dates. He sends Annette videos on different ways to do her makeup, helps her learn to thread her eyebrows and even started reading the relationship horoscopes for her sign, Richter’s and Adrian’s.

Annette would kill him if she didn’t appreciate his friendship so much.

It’s been three weeks since they got their philosophy packets, and the first Friday that Richter’s asked to meet up on. He’d texted her after his last class, knowing she still had close to an hour left in her lab and Annette responded like she usually did; insisting that she could catch the bus to meet him and that he didn’t have to wait.

She doesn’t even try to be upset when, an hour later, she steps out into the buildings parking lot and sees Richter relaxed in the driver seat of his ranger; waiting for her.

“How was class?” He asks when she approaches the driver side window.

“Good, learned a module while dissecting a rat.” Annette shrugs though she doesn’t move to walk around the truck like she usually would.

“What? Did something happen?” Richter asks, his blue eyes looking over her frame a few times. “You okay?”

“I just, need to go home and change.” Annette looks down at herself. “I smell like lab equipment and sterilized rat.”

Richter chuckles, starting up the truck. “Yeah I figured, come on I’ll take you to your dorm.”

Annette bites at her lip, the same question as always rising on her tongue.

“Are you—.”

“Yes, Annette.” Richter smiles, his eyes determined. “I’m sure, now get in. We can stop by the store on the way back and pick up a few things to make our study session more exciting tonight.”

She sighs dramatically, “alright fine, if you insist.”

He smirks at her, watching her as she makes her way around the front of the car to the passenger side. When she pulls open the door, Richter leans across the middle console and offers his hand.

“Up you get.” He teases with a handsome smile.

She takes his hand, throwing him an unimpressed look as Richter easily pulls her into the truck.

“Do you have to pull everyone into this damn thing?” She grumbles, wiggling in the seat to be more comfortable.

“Just you,” Richter chuckled, starting the truck and backing out of the parking space. “And Maria but she doesn’t count, other than you two I don’t really let anyone in my truck.”

“Right, you haven’t told me much about your sister.” Annette says. “How come I haven’t met her yet?”

“She’s only sixteen, still in high school. She’s not really my sister but we’ve always been close like siblings.” Richter shrugs. “My aunt Tera, her mum and my mum, Julia, are second cousins. So we are related, just distantly. Tera and my mum are the same age and spent every break from school together.”

Annette nods, “Tera and Maria are…”

“In the next town over, directly across the highway. I spend most holidays there but I got my apartment here when I was accepted into the college.” Richter smiles. “You’ll meet Maria soon, she’s obsessed with Adrian teaching her to make pizza. She’s just very popular at school. Head of the debate team, class president, in yearbook club and plays volleyball.”

“A true go getter then.” Annette chuckles.

“She really is, she has big plans for her future and I know she’ll achieve them all.” Richter says proudly. “But she’ll be here for the week of spring break, I know you two will love each other.”

Annette smiles, enjoying seeing Richter talk about his family. She’d been subtly trying to find out more about the Belmonts but so far Richter was willing to admit two things about the people he was related to.

One: He loved his mother, his aunt Tera and Maria.

Two: He hated every other single person he shared blood with. All of them. There was no love lost and he didn’t want to talk about it.

So Annette didn’t push. It wasn’t her place. Not yet anyways.

She doesn’t have long to think about it because soon Richter pulls into the parking garage of her dorm.

“I would invite you up but the RA on today can get pretty mad about coed’s being in each other’s dorms.” Annette says apologetically.

“No worries,” Richter says still unbuckling his seat belt and reaching for the door handle. “It’s Greta working today right? She used to always take Fridays, Saturdays and Sundays.”

Annette laughs, opening the truck door and sliding out of the seat.

“Why am I not surprised that you know Greta.” She shakes her head in disbelief. “Do you know everyone in this town?”

Richter grins at her when they meet in front of the truck and walk together towards the lobby front doors.

“Mostly everyone yeah,”

His words have never proved more true than when they entire the dorm lobby and suddenly everyone turns to stare at them.

“Richter! Hi!”

A brunette bounds over to them, she can’t be much older than them judging by the backpack she has strapped over one shoulder. Her green eyes only flicker to Annette once before she turns her full attention to Richter.

“Hi Stella, nice to see you again.” He says with a pleasant smile. “Where’s Loretta?”

Stella rolls her eyes, “She’s at the gym, she’s obsessed with taking off the ten pounds she gained over Christmas.” She waves a hand dismissively. “Anyways, she’s not important. How are you, Richter? What are you doing here?”

Annette grips the inside of her coat pockets, it’s very clear that Stella intends to ignore her this entire conversation and if it’s one thing Annette refuses to do, it’s stay someplace she’s unwanted. She shifts her backpack, and her nerves and prepares to quietly step to the side when Richter lifts the arm closest to her and drapes it over her shoulders; ruining her plans for escape.

“Annette has to change, she just got done dissecting rats with Professor Stiensworth, you know how that goes.” He says, a different smile on his face. “We’re going to grab some pizza and work on our philosophy project.”

Stella’s entire body goes still, and her green eyes finally look to Annette and take her in completely. Her eyes zigzag over Annette’s clothes, her mind clearly calculating whatever she thinks she’s discovered.

“Oh, you’re going to Alucard’s then?” Stella asks.

“Yeah, I basically work there now anyways.” Richter’s fingers tap rhythmically on Annette’s shoulder and she fights the urge to lean into his side.

“Alucard’s such a nice man,” Stella says dreamily. “Greta really fucked up letting him go.”

Richter nods, pointing to the ceiling. “Is Greta upstairs?”

“Yeah! She’ll be happy to see you.” Stella says excitedly.

“Thanks Stella,” Richter nods, his fingers squeeze Annette’s shoulder and she takes that as a cue to start walking.

They step around Stella together, the brunette trying not to pout as she says cheerfully. “You’re welcome Richter! It was good to see you, message me on Facebook sometime. We should hang out.”

“Yeah maybe.” Richter replies, guiding Annette into the elevator thats thankfully opened up right when they need it to. “See you Stella, tell Loretta I said hello.”

She waves at them until the doors of the elevator ding closed and they start rising up towards the third floor.

“What the hell was that all about?” Annette asks, looking up at Richter with raised eyebrows.

Richter shrugs. “Stella’s nice, just a bit too opportunistic. Her family is old like mine.”

Annette tilts her head back in understanding.

“Her twin, Loretta, is much more fun to be around.” Richter says, his eyes watching the numbers at the top of the elevator.

Before Annette can reply, the doors ding open to signal their arrival to the third floor. They step off together, Richter’s arm still resting across her shoulders. To the left of the elevator sits a small desk and chair, the allotted space for the RA’s who unfortunately get stuck on night duty from time to time.

Tonight, it’s Greta who sits at the desk. A thick tomb of a book in her lap. She looks up when they step into the carpeted hallway, her gaze curious.

“Annette you’re back early.” She says. “How was—“

“Hi Greta.” Richter says over Annette’s head.

She stands, placing her book on the desk and coming to stand in front of them, her hands on her hips.

“What are you doing here, Richter?” She asks flatly.

“Damn, I just said hi.” He chuckles. “Annette and I have a class together and we’re paired for the semester. She needs to change and then we’re going to go study.”

“At Adrian’s?” Greta narrows her eyes.

Richter blows out a breath through his nose. “Of course there, he’s my best friend.”

Greta snorts, rolling her eyes before she turns her attention to Annette. “You know he’s nothing but trouble, right?”

“Uh…everything’s been fine so far…” Annette says slowly, unsure what the best response would be. “It’s just a philosophy project, Greta.”

The woman hums disapprovingly, her eyes take in the sight of Richter’s arm over Annette’s shoulders. She presses her lips into a fine line then says,

“Leave the door open while you’re in your room.”

Annette’s face flushes and she nods quickly. “I’m just changing, it won’t even take five minutes.”

“I trust you, Annette.” Greta says sighing. “It’s your new friend that needs to be watched though.”

Richter raises both hands in surrender. “I’m starving, I’m just trying to get to pizza.”

Greta clicks her tongue but accepts his answer, stepping from in front of them with a nod. “Five minutes you two.”

Annette practically runs down the hall to her door, slipping from under Richter’s arm in the process. She misses the heat of him immediately but shoves the thoughts from her mind as she unlocks the door and pushes inside.

Her dorm is always clean, because Annette is not a heathen thank you very much, but she still snatches her pajamas out of sight and kicks a few socks underneath her bed.

“Here, you can sit.” She says motioning to the lone chair in her room. “I’ll be right back,”

Richter does as she says, flopping down in the chair which makes his long legs seem even longer. Annette has to step over them to be able to get to her tiny closet.

She pulls out the latest outfit Edouard has arranged on a hanger for her; a pink mini skirt and a black high neck halter tank and pretty much sprints into her bathroom.

The main reason Annette chose to live in the off campus dorms was because each room had its own shower. They were small, the water pressure nonexistent and the sink barely more than a basin but it was a private bathroom all the same. Communal showers disgusted her on a deeply personal level.

She works quick. The shower water barely warming up before she’s already lathered her body with soap, washed her face and brushed her teeth. She’s out of the half closet of a shower stall just as fast as she got in, drying her body, applying her favorite lotion and massaging some oil into her locs. She needs to retwist them but there’s no time, the new growth will just have to wait.

She pairs the black tank with a simple golden chain to give it a bit of personality and smooths her hands down the front of her mini skirt. It’s cute, Edouard somehow knowing her size perfectly. It hugs her hips tightly and Annette does several mirror checks, bending at the waist and looking to make sure the skirt still covers her. Not that she has plans to be bending over at a pizza place but…..

An imagine flashes in Annette’s mind, Richter standing behind her and pressing up against her. His huge hands hold her hips, run over her stomach and lift her chin with one long finger so that their lips are centimeters apart. His hand on her hip travels down, the rough pads of his fingers making contact with her bare thigh the moment their lips meet and Annette aches, already dripping for him—

A knock on the bathroom door startles Annette to the point she drops the deodorant she was applying.

“Hey not to rush you but Adrian texted me and said he’s gonna put our pizzas in the oven soon.” Richter calls out to her.

Annette tries to steady her breathing, crouching to pick up the deodorant stick and return it to the medicine cabinet.

“Okay, I’m ready, here I come.” She calls back, grimacing at how her voice shakes.

She heard Richter step away from the bathroom door and Annette sucks in a deep breath. In the back of her mind, her most recent conversation with Edouard replays for the hundredth time.

“Girl you have got to text me when he finally makes a move. We’re getting close I can feel it.”

“Edouard, you can’t possibly know that. We’re friends! Richter’s given no indication that—“

“Oh bitch boo, you’re literally his passenger Princess now. Every time I see you where are you? In the front seat of his truck that he doesn’t let anyone ride in!”

“We have to put effort into our philosophy project! It’s worth the whole year’s grade!”

“And what about Alucard? You probably owe him close to a thousand dollars in all the pizza he’s just been supplying you with.”

“That’s different—-he and Richter—“

“Are lovers and they want to put some of that love down on you! And if you don’t let them I’ll lose my shit because girl they have never—.”

Annette shakes her head hard, shooing the memory away and squaring her shoulders. She was going to studying and eat pizza, it didn’t mean anything.

“Girl that mini skirt definitely means something.” Edouard’s voice teases in her head.

“Shut up,” Annette mumbles both to herself and the imaginary Edouard.

She turns, yanking open the bathroom door and stepping out into the chilly air of her dorm.

Richter stands in the doorway leading out into the hall. He’s leaning against the frame, looking down to text and whistling an off key tune.

“You ready?” Annette asks softly, throwing her towel onto her bed and pulling the only pair of flats she’s owns out of the shoe rack she keeps hooked on the end of her bed frame.

Richter turns, a smile on his face. “Great, I was just telling Adrian—oh! Oh….wow..”

The smile slips away, a look of awe spreading across Richter’s face as he watches Annette step into her shoes. His blue eyes widen as his gaze travels up her legs, to the mini skirt and then her halter top and finally rest on her face.

“What?” She asks self consciously. “Is my outfit too much? Adrian said that on Friday nights most people come a little dressed up. Did I over do—“

“No!” Richter practically yells, making them both jump.

He clears his throat, “Sorry, didn’t mean to yell.” He offers her a smile. “No you look great, I—I love your skirt.”

Annette smiles shyly. “Thank you, Edouard picked it out.”

Richter chuckles, “he has good taste, it looks perfect on you.”

They smile at each other for a second, then Richter’s phone buzzes in his hand and the moment between them breaks.

Annette puts her coat on, zipping it all the way closed and wondering how strange she must look with her legs bare but her winter coat bundled.

“You ready?” Richter asks. “Adrian says our table just opened up and he’s going to save it for us, but we gotta hurry.”

Annette nods, motioning for him to lead the way. “Just let me lock the door.”

She grabs her phone, wallet, chapstick and keys, following Richter out of the dorm and to the elevator. They bid goodbye to Greta, who waves to them without looking up from her book. And soon Annette is back in the passenger seat of Richter’s truck.

Your seat. Edouard’s voice reminds her.

The conversation flows easily between her and Richter, she really likes that he always seems ready to discuss anything she wants. But her eyes, which usually find the most interesting things outside of the car window, keep falling down to the console between them.

Richter’s forearm rests casually on the black leather, his limb so long that his hand dangles over the edge; his fingers naturally dipping down on her side, close to her bare knee.

Annette chews on her freshly moisturized lips, eating away the chapstick she just put on as she debates with the idea that just popped into her head.

If Richter wanted to touch her, he would right? That’s why he hasn’t yet because he’s not interested in her. He and Adrian very clearly have something going on between them. But Annette knows Edouard isn’t completely delusional. Both Richter and Adrian do treat her differently than they treat everyone else. They’re mindful of her and her thoughts and her emotions. Richter usually starts every day by asking her how she feels. Adrian, so far, is always ready to lend an open ear to her problems; even the incredibly stupid ones.

There was something there, even if she couldn’t figure out what yet. And deep down, Annette wanted to find out. She wanted to put herself between these two men and make sure that she wasn’t reading too much into things.

She could start right now….

Annette gathers her nerves, shoving them out of her body as she clears her throat, shifts in her seat and pushes her knee into Richter’s fingers.

He sucks in a sharp breath, freezing for a moment and Annette waits; her gaze firmly on the world passing them by. The pause only lasts a moment, it’s not even a full minute before Richter’s fingers brush against her skin. Testing to see her reaction.

Annette sighs softly, pushing up onto the toes of that leg so that there’s even more skin for him to touch. Richter takes the offer, his fingers stroking long lines from her knee cap to the middle of her thigh.

“Is this okay?” He asks lowly, his voice rough.

“Yeah,” Annette nods, “It’s good.”

She tries not to think about the way Richter smiles the entire rest of the way to Adrian’s.

To Be Continued……

[sulliedsorrow]

dracula fans going into the tag only to be blasted by pictures of anime twinks

[moonmoonthecrabking]

would it work to bribe the youth with fanfiction

[rox-of-iu]

how is a man supposed to odmaturovat when my head is soooo empty but also soso so so full o(-(

[ifievertoldyou]

I NEED MORE REACTION IMAGES WITH THE ABSOLUTE UNHINGED ENERGY THAT IM FEELING RN

[waugh-bao]

*

[queenerdloser]

me every day: okay i'm going to try and relax and think about something other than grad school applications

me, roughly 30m later: thinking about grad school applications

[ms-demeanor]

Sometimes college professors like to hop on my posts lamenting the sorry state of syllabi these days and joke about how they haven't thought that far ahead in the course themselves, or talk about how they struggle to complete a schedule for their students.

With all due respect, that's your job. If you can't do your job, you should have a different job. If you need help, ask your colleagues or your department chair or *someone* because I know that professors aren't given a hell of a lot of education on how to educate, so you probably *need* help.

But every single time I make one of those posts I get anywhere from ten to thirty messages, replies, reblogs, and asks say "oh man, that's exactly why I had to drop out of school; I couldn't keep up with the assignments because I didn't know when they were due until the week they were due."

I have been a college student in three separate decades, and "not having a schedule of assignments in the syllabus" is new to my experience. That shit didn't fly in the 2000s or 2010s and I think it likely has to do with professors being overly reliant on apps.

AT A MINIMUM your syllabus should have:

Contact information (including preferred method of contact) for the professor

Office Hours

Grading Policy

Assignment schedule.

Your assignment schedule doesn't necessarily need to have the exact page numbers of every reading or a full assignment sheet for each project, but it should have things like:

December 1st - Major Project 3 second draft due December 9th - Quiz 10 December 12th - Major Project 3 final draft due December 15th - Final Exam

If you end up presenting a more thorough schedule with readings and homework later, that is acceptable to present a week or two into the semester but it is absolutely insane to me that students these days don't know what homework they're going to have to get done over Thanksgiving break during the first couple weeks of class.

If I had three professors at once who didn't give me a schedule, how on earth would I know if I was going to have to read three chapters of a novel, take a midterm and turn in two stats homework assignments, and complete a history research paper the same week that I'm planning to travel to see family? If I'm aware of this from the beginning of the semester I can make sure not to pick up extra shifts, or I can plan to leave a day later to accommodate the midterm, or I can start working on the paper early to complete it before the due date but if I don't know what's going to be due when, I'm going to have a big problem.

If you don't give your students a schedule you are communicating that you don't care about their schedule, and that you think it's their responsibility to contort their life (and their job, and their other classes) around your class, and honestly my advice to students in that situation is "drop in the first week and pick up another class". That's actually part of why I recommend signing up for one more class than you can really manage - if you get a professor whose class looks like it's going to be a disaster because they don't have a schedule, you can bail before the withdrawal period and get a refund for the class.

I'm only in one class this semester but the professor's response has fully dropped me into "Fuck it, I guess I'll fail" mode and I don't even know if I can pull myself out of my current D grade because I don't know how many assignments we have left in the semester.

This is a shitty way to run a class. If you can't do better than this, you shouldn't be running a class.

[thinkinonsense]

Sit Still｡𖦹°‧

—gif credit: not mine!! i can't remember where i found it but if i can find it again or the owner comments, ill add their username <3

logan howlett x fem!reader

cw: cockwarming (sorta?), innocence kink, p in v, logan attempts to teach reader how to ride.

a/n: apologies for this being so short but chapter two of bewitched should be out friday or saturday! also i'll be responding to some requests soon too in case i spam lmao

"a-are you sure 'bout this, lo?"

your timid voice echos around the bedroom, capturing logan's attention again. he's been dreaming for months of this sight in front of him; you sitting pretty in his lap, only wearing a pink lacy bra and a pair of matching panties.

"you want me to make you feel good, right sweetheart?"

a small sigh escapes you as you attempt to grind onto him again. logan places his large hands on your waist to stop you from wiggling around. he knows you can't help it, you're still new to this after all.

it started a month ago when you and logan were left alone together in the mansion. everyone was on a field trip a couple hours away. you were recovering from a cold and logan simply didn't want to chaperone. instead, he offered to stay back with you.

late one evening, he came in to check on you and ask if there was anything you needed. that's when you asked him the question that nearly killed him, 'will you take my virginity?' you didn't see a problem with it. the two of you weren't strangers, you trusted logan, and he obviously has experience since he's much older than you.

ever since that night, you two have been going at it like rabbits. tonight, logan promised to help you get used to being on top. more importantly, training you to take him from this angle.

"c'mon, baby..." he coos with one hand on your hip and the other holding a cigar to his lips. "do it just like i told ya'."

swiftly, logan removes the rest of the material between the two of you before resting back against the mattress. anxiously, you line him up to your entrance and slowly sink down until you're sat fully on his lap again.

"nice 'n slow for me, sweetheart. that's it, stay still..." logan hums, lost in your tight, wet heat. he can hear every little noise coming from your lips. "atta girl."

it's a struggle to take all of him at once. you can feel him deep in your gut, nudging that sweet spot inside of you. logan can tell that your nerves are still tangled in knots, practically strangling his cock.

"lo, i c-can't do it." you huff, upset at yourself. "too full to move."

"poor fuckin' baby." logan teases with faux sympathy. "how 'bout we try something else for now?"

too caught up with the soft grind of his hips, you nod your head mindlessly to his proposal. logan brings his thumb to his lips, replacing the cigar which is now back on the nightstand. he sits up, making you whimper as he does so. you lean forward to capture his lips with your own, whispering how badly you needed him to just fuck you himself. instead, logan's got something else in mind.

"ah!" you gasp as he starts to rub your button with the wet pad of thumb. "f-fuck, right there..."

the soft rocking of your hips makes your toes curl and fingers pull at his little kitten tuffs. logan's mouth moves south to your chest. one nipple in his mouth then the other until both are swollen and kiss bitten. vibrations pour from his mouth as he groans at the tight squeezing of your cunt around his girth.

"ah-ah." he tsks, hand coming up to grip your jaw, pinching your cheeks together gently. "what did i say 'bout staying still?"

"s-sorry, lo.." you whimper voice muffled by your squished pouty lips.

despite having incredible stamina, logan was ready to release just from looking at your pretty face. he never been this close to cumming so soon but feeling you tense around him and wiggle in his lap made his head spin. all of this movement from only his thumb drawing circles.

"christ..." he grunts in your ear, moving faster now and with more pressure. "you're tryin' a kill me, sweetheart."

all logan gets in response is incoherent babbles of 'don't stop' and 'please, please, please'. he knows you are close when you claw at his back and start to bounce on him little by little, just enough to make you see stars. it all feels too much yet not enough at the same time. logan's circles start to get sloppy as he approaches his high too.

"l-logan!" you squeal, heavy eyes trying to focus on his face. "wanna feel you..."

in a rush, logan picks up the pace, torturing your button with his thumb. a loud moan falls from your lips, trying to wiggle out of logan's grip as your orgasm washes over you with intense euphoria. logan growls in your neck from your tight fucking grip on his cock, pumping his load inside of your walls. some of it spilling out of you and drenching the sheets.

the two of you catch your breath in silence for a moment. your nails scratch his scalp softly while logan pulls you down to kiss him. after a second, you move back, smiling down at him in a way that makes him harden again.

"thought you were gonna show me how to ride?" you tease.

logan shoots you a cocky eyebrow raise before leaning back again, one hand on your hip and the other returning to his cigar on the night stand.

"alright, baby..." he chuckles, re-lighting the cigar and paying little attention to the roll of your hips. "let me see what you got."