#don't let this flop because my sister came into my room and had to grab my attention write when I wrote Werewolf!Stone's part

[the-whispers-of-death]

"I love you"

I was thinking about Stone and his variants and their responses to if you said you love him (along with my little comments). It's a little angsty for some of them and for Serial Killer!Stone you get a little more insight on why he thinks loving him always ends in tragedy.

Stone/Canon!Stone: "You do? ...No one has ever loved me before."

(Canon!Stone truly has no idea what to do with someone who loves him, huh?)

Girl Dad!Stone: "Ever since my early adult years, I thought only Saira would be the one to say those words to me. I love you too."

(There's enough room in his heart to love you and Saira.)

Grim Reaper!Stone: "You don't have to pretend to love me. I'm already your weapon to wield."

(Every time I think about him, it hurts. And here I thought Canon!Stone hurt me the most.)

Criminal!Stone: "I love you too. You're the air I breathe."

(Please stop him before he tells you about how you're his entire universe. We get it, you're obsessed with the mafia boss, Criminal!Stone.)

Baker!Stone: "You have no idea how much I love you too. I want to marry you. Please do me the honor of calling myself your husband?"

(Baker!Stone is so soft and sweet. He'll buy you the most expensive engagement and wedding ring he can afford.)

Feral!Stone: "As you should."

(I have no words for this response except for that it somehow fits Feral!Stone so much. Why does he think you should worship the very ground he walks on?? Where did this arrogance come from??)

Serial Killer!Stone: "The last man to love me died in a dirty alleyway with no one around to be with him in his last moments."

(Fun fact, Kali and Serial!Stone were dating and Kali was on his way to propose to Stone when he got mugged. Yes, Kali's death was the preverbal straw that broke the camel's back and got Stone into vigilantism.)

Experiment!Stone: "I didn't think anyone would love me after what the military did to me. But I feel so happy that you love me because I love you too."

(He thinks he's a monster due to the fact that he's half-tiger-half-man now. But you remind him that he still has his humanity.)

Vampire!Stone: "Know that I'd burn in the sun for you if it meant you were safe."

(It's an odd way to say he loves you too, but at least the intention is there.)

Werewolf!Stone: "I don't need a huge pack, I just need you."

(That's his way of saying he wants to bear your pups. I mean, it's his way of saying he loves you.)

[schrodingers-romy]

6 / 12 [Mitsuya Takashi x Reader]

Pairing: Mitsuya Takashi x GN!Reader Word Count: ~600 [Ao3 Link]

Summary: A glimpse into a soft birthday morning with Takashi

Warnings: self indulgent as fuck, kissing, food mentions, reader is referred to by nicknames (pretty, pretty doll), references to sex at the end but no smut, mentioned that reader and takashi are married

Notes: hi this is late and incredibly self indulgent. don't look at me skitters away

Takashi looked like an angel in the early morning light.

It was rare that you woke up before your husband; even on his days off, he was still programmed from years of work and taking care of his younger sisters to get up early. But today, you were adamant about waking before him. And as much as you hated rising this early, the sight of him peacefully asleep in the honey-like glow of the early sun was one hundred percent worth it.

The light cast a golden glow on his skin, making him look like something from an oil painting. Dark eyelashes delicately kissed his cheeks, his face perfectly lax and calm as he slept. His hair was ruffled, a spiky, tangled bedhead that made you want to run your fingers through the soft strands.

You spent way longer than you should have taking in the beauty of your husband; you desperately wished to snuggle back into the covers with him and wake him with soft kisses, but you had gotten up this early for a reason.

You reluctantly left him to his sleep, and crept out of the room and into the kitchen.

-

Takashi had just woken up by the time you came back to the bedroom. You lingered by the doorway a second, just to ogle him as he stretched. Your eyes followed the way the blanket slipped off of his shirtless torso, revealing the sight of his muscles shifting and flexing as he raised his arms above his head and yawned.

His beautiful eyes cracked open, purple gaze meeting yours. “There you are,” he murmured fondly, voice still rough from sleep in a way that sent a delicious shiver through you.

“Sorry I couldn’t be here when you woke up, my darling,” you said, finally entering the room. You set the tray you’re holding on the bedside table delicately before you leap at Takashi and crash into his arms.

He caught you easily, and you could feel yourself melting into his warm embrace. “Happy birthday, Takashi,” you whispered, before giving him a lazy good morning kiss.

His hands grabbed onto your thighs where they straddled him, and he gave them a light squeeze. “Of course it’s a happy birthday with my pretty doll here.” His eyes were lidded, and his smile was fond, even with the slight edge of teasing to his voice.

You felt your face heat, and you tug him into another kiss before he can speak again, this one longer, and deeper. He used that nickname sparingly, and only in private; it must be for your benefit, because it never fails to make you dissolve.

It took all of your willpower to pull away from him before your kisses led to something else. “Taka, c’mon, breakfast is gonna get cold.”

He let out a hum, moving down to kiss along your neck. “I thought breakfast was right here~” He punctuated his sentence with a light nip to your pulse point, causing you to jolt.

You scoffed, giving him a light shove that made him flop back onto the bed with a light chuckle.

“Sorry, pretty, couldn’t resist,” he said, eyes twinkling with mirth.

You pretended to pout for a moment, before giving him a fond smile. “You’re lucky I love you so much,” you teased, sitting down beside him and grabbing the tray with your food.

“I know,” Takashi said. His smile was so sweet you had to kiss it off of him before it ruined your appetite.

-

In the end, Takashi got his wish; you were his ‘second course’ after he ate the meal you made him. (And you were his third course as well, and his light snack in the shower, before you both finally started the day, ages after you first awoke.)

[luveline]

i am obsessed with your kisses before dinner au, do you think you can maybe write something about what it’s like when the new baby is born or maybe how the older kids reacted to becoming siblings if yk what i mean? absolutely no pressure and ily!!

baby number four comes back from the hospital and steve tries not to cry about it (he fails) | kisses before dinner universe

afab!fem!reader x dad!steve (tw ment labour + pregnancy)

Steve sits down beside you on the couch with Beth in his arms and tries to calm his racing heart. To think your new baby is finally here, right here, safe and healthy and home, makes him want to throw up. He won't, obviously, but if he's a little grey around the gills that's his business. 

Avery sits on your other side quiet as a dormouse. As the oldest, she's experienced this twice before. She can't remember when Bethie came home because she'd been so young herself, and Steve suspects she might not fully remember meeting Dove for the first time either, but she remembers to be quiet and gentle, and that's all she really needs to do. 

Steve had wanted to bring them to the hospital to see you as soon as the baby was born, but Robin, rightfully, encouraged him to wait. He agrees now, because after labour you hadn't looked yourself. You'd been tired and sick. "You're having the next one," you'd joked. He had laughed until he cried, emotional from seeing you screaming and sweaty, his hand reduced to mush. Steve had been beside himself. He loves his girls, but he doesn't love how they came into the world. Seeing you that way… he can't regret getting you pregnant, not when he has all these beautiful babies, but he feels something similar. He feels better now that you're home.

"Tada," Steve whispers in Beth's ear. "There's your baby sister." 

"Another one?" you'd asked when you found out the gender, defeated but not really. You'll love whatever you're given. He loves that about you, and he feels the same. "Steve, come on." 

"It's not my fault!" he'd insisted. 

"She's really small," Bethie whispers back. 

"You don't have to whisper, sweetheart," you say, your face flopped against the couch cushions. You're still sapped. "She has to get used to all your voices." 

Bethie stands on Steve's leg and holds onto your shoulder. He grabs her waist in case she takes a spill, letting her peer down into your arms at the face of her new sister. Her lips part. 

"I think," Steve says, squeezing gently, "we finally have another one who looks like mommy and you." 

"I think so too," Avery says quietly. 

"Yea?" 

"She's got mom's nose." 

"Little," you joke, giving Avery a playful nudge with your elbow. "I think so three." 

You swap. Steve gets to hold his new baby and you make as much room as you can in your lap for the oldest two, wincing when someone's knee jabs your sore stomach. He's about to tell them to climb off of you when you wrap your arms around them, hiding your face in Avery's soft, silky hair. She got nearly everything from Steve, including how much she loves being cuddled, and she melts like butter in the sun at your touch. 

"I missed you, mom," she says. "Please don't have more babies for a while." 

You laugh. You all know Steve wants an army. You also know Steve wants what you want. You could never touch him again and he'd be okay with it, somehow. Safe to say, you won't be having any more babies for a while, if ever again.

"I missed you too. Three days without you is three too many. And don't worry, my love. Me and daddy aren't having anymore for a long, long time." You peek over Avery's shoulder and smile. "I wish we didn't make such pretty ones. Maybe I'd be less tempted."

"That's all you," Steve says. 

Bethie slouches to rest her weight on Steve's arm. God, he'd missed his girls. He'd been hoping your time in the hospital would be quick considering you've had three before, though they've been varying degrees of difficulty, and almost always made you poorly. That hope had been struck down fast, and Steve had just done whatever it was he could do to keep you breathing and smiling. He must be good at it, because four babies and eight years later he can still make you laugh between pushes. 

He's, pardon his language, fucking amazed at what you can do. And he's so in awe of his life, his family, his girls, he finds himself welling up for the tenth time today, the perfect tiny face of your newborn a blur in his eyes. 

Bethie pats his arm as he sniffles. 

"You want a hug?" she asks knowingly. 

"Yeah," he says. "I do. Thanks, baby." 

"I'm not the baby," she says, draping herself over his shoulder. He drops his face against hers and sniffles some more. 

Dove wakes up a little while after that, and when she calls, "Mommy!" from her crib you're thrilled to be able to go get her. You're still kissing her when you reach the bottom of the stairs, your nose sliding over her chubby cheeks as you coo praises at her. 

"I missed you so so much, my love," you say, softly and brightly, affection dripping from every syllable. "Mommy missed you sooooo much. You've been such a good girl for daddy and Aunt Robin, I know you have." You beam at her tiny dimples. She beams back. "You want to meet our lovely new baby?" 

Steve doesn't get too cut up about his family anymore, but he can't imagine his mother ever holding him so tenderly. He thinks she must have, once. Or maybe she didn't. There's no way to know, he only remembers growing up with that spearing sense of loneliness heavy in all his bones. 

Robin, his best friend in the entire world, had absolutely healed him. When he met you, he didn't have to worry about being enough or being too much, he'd just loved you. You'd filled those last cracks, and his daughter's pretty much erased any trace of them. 

He's so lucky. He could cry again, but the tears give him a migraine and he needs to be right as rain for the nights to come. 

You sit down. You smell familiar, and your smile curves under his ear as you drop a kiss against his wane skin. 

"Are you alright, Stevie baby?" you ask softly, one part concerned and three parts fond. You know what he's thinking. 

"I've never been better." He reaches out to comb a rogue strand of hair from Dove's face. "Are you ready to meet your new little sister?" he asks her. 

Dove glares at him. He wouldn't expect anything less. 

[holyhead-hufflepuff]

pathways

FRED WEASLEY X READER

"I am more interested in experiencing life than in analyzing it" - will bradley

warnings: none

notes: lol not me writing about how you don't have to follow a set path and I'm willingly and gladly pre-med

"Stop it, Fred Weasley." A laugh escaped your lips and ruined your annoyed facade as the redhead continued to poke your sides. "Quit it! Some of us are attempting to study for our N.E.W.Ts."

Fred flopped back in his chair, a cheeky look smudged his face, and his eyes rolled to the back of his head. "You and every other nerd in this castle. My mum hasn't let up on Georgie and me about studying for these boring tests. What is knowing mooncalf M.O.M classification going to do for my future?"

"XX," you beamed, putting down your quills and scrolls. "Don't take these tests too seriously; they are meant to see how you handle intense, lengthy material. Just like the O.W.Ls but with boomslang. Get it? Because it's a slow-acting poison, and the exams are slowly killing my brain cells."

"No, I didn't because you don't need boomslang to make the potions I care about. I want to make people forget about bad times- not induce blistering in their throats until they chock on their blister pus." 

"Boomslang doesn't do that," you teased, sitting next to Fred and placing your arms around his shoulders. "Nonetheless, I see your point and agree that these exams will do nothing for your future."

Fred shrugged his shoulders, your arms dropping softly. "Do you, though? You, my mum, my family, and all the professors push school onto me. I'm not brilliant like Percy- Merlin, save his soul from the ministry- nor do I have some niche brilliance like Bill and Charlie. I'm a joke. My future is making sure people laugh at my antics and not me." 

You watched Fred and the way his lips pressed together as his eyebrows knit together. He was always soft laughing lines; you forgot how much he'd grown up since the two of you met. You forgot how much of his softness had been sharpened by external pressure and expectations. 

"Do you know what I see when I look at you, Fred Weasley?" 

"Someone who is going to fail all of their N.E.W.Ts?" Fred questioned back, avoiding looking at you. 

"Yes," you laughed, nudging the boy lightly with your shoulder. "I also see the boy who runs to crying, homesick first-years and shows them Whiz-Bangs. Or, the boy who acts "scary" to anyone who likes his sister but would walk through fire to make her laugh when she's heartbroken. Even better, I catch a glimpse of the thirteen-year-old boy who grabbed my hand and ran me down the hall so I wouldn't get blamed for a prank on Filch." 

"Actually, it was George. I just never had the heart to tell you that you got us mixed up," Fred laughed, his cheeks warmed with embarrassment. 

"Nope. You don't need to put yourself down and throw a pity party, Mr. Weasley." You threw your arm back over his shoulders, bringing him in for a side-hug. "If you could see yourself through my point of view, your ego would explode." 

"Please, I always have room for flattery." 

"I'm sure you do." 

"In all seriousness, thank you," Fred whispered, leaning his head on you. "I-I don't know what came over me? I have all this confidence in George and I's plan. We aren't the type of brilliant our mum wants us to be, but we have this dream and all these ideas. I just-my family means everything and my mum has the best intentions. If everyone pushes something at you- maybe it is for the best?" 

"Or, maybe some people aren't supposed to follow the pathway? Don't get me wrong, I will be a ministry drone for years until I get a position in the International Confederation of Wizards. However, I want that for myself. Either way, it's not wrong only if you want it for yourself and not someone else." 

"I wish my parents could hear you right now," Fred chuckled, his shoulders dropping. "I want them to be happy with me being happy." 

"They wanted nothing more than for you to be happy. It just takes parents a while to realize what will make their kids happy." 

"You're too smart to be a ministry drone, you know," Fred smirked, wrapping his arm around your waist and giving you a squeeze. "Too attractive too." 

[sunnyie-eve]

11 | Don't remember anything

Series: Odds Together

Paring: Ryan Dunn x OFC Margera!

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: None

| MASTERLIST |

~

"We need to get you a guy." Jenn tells me as we sit on the couch together.

"Why randomly say that?" I ask confused.

"Because you need one." She laughs.

"No I don't."

"Yes, you do. You gotta meet a guy outside these idiots" she laughs.

"Oh my god, what's that?" Mom says making me and Jenn go stand by her to see what the guys were doing. We watch the guys pull down a tree making Jenn and Mom shout while I go outside.

"You know this is the opposite of Arbor Day, right?" I shout joining them.

"Just let us do what we want." Ryan wraps his arms around me shaking me as mom comes out going off on Bam.

"I don't care what you do. I was just saying this is the opposite of what the day means." I throw his arms off me as the others go get Vito's keys.

"You know trying to teach us will fail." He pats my back.

"I'm not trying to teach you guys. I'm just..." Ryan staring at me with a small smile makes me shut up. "I'm done talking to you." I walk away from him causing him to laugh at me.

Soon Bam had Vito's car hooked up and pulled up to test the tree. Vito of course goes on a rant making the guys laugh. "Never mention a holiday again. Please April." Vito tells her as I go back to the house.

"What do think about going out trying to find some guys in a bar for you?" Jenn walks into my room.

"Will you drop it if I say yes and you see it's a complete waste of time?" I look over at her.

"Yes. Now I find something for you to wear." She goes to my closet. "Here's your outfit. You have to wear in order to keep our deal." She lays it out on my bed.

"You're kidding right?" I look to see she picked an outfit Rabb got when I first moved back from that dumb competition Bam made to help me fill my clothes with new clothes.

"Nope. Get ready because I'm gonna go get ready." She leaves me alone.

"You know this jacket isn't gonna-, oh I thought you were Jenn." I see Ryan enter my room eyeing my outfit.

"Where the hell are you going dressed like that?"

"Jenn is forcing me to go to a bar to meet guys." I flop down on my chair.

"Meet guys? Why?"

"She said I need a guy because I just need one. I need to meet guys outside you idiots." I explain to him.

"Dressed like that you're gonna get creeps or make people who know the lies believe them more." Ryan's says making me agree with him.

"Yes! That's why I don't wanna wear this. Plus it's kinda cold out at night." I pout as Jenn comes in saying it's time to go.

As we walk downstairs Bam stops us dead in our tracks. "What are you wearing? You aren't going out like that. Go change." He points back up to my room.

"I picked it and she's wearing it." Jenn tells him so he looks at her. "She needs to get out there and mingle with some guys."

"No she doesn't." Bam and the rest of the guys say at the same time.

"Yes, she does. You really want her to end up with one of your friends? Because that's gonna happen if she doesn't meet new guys. She's gonna lose her mind and just settle for one of them." Jenn crosses her arms.

"That's rude." Ryan crosses his arms.

"But still dressed like that?" Bam motions to me.

"You would be fine if it was me or some other girl wearing it." Jenn tells him.

"Anna is my sister... My baby sister."

"By a few hours." She tells him.

"Nine hours. She came out on the next day... which means my baby sister." Bam corrects her.

"I don't care. We're leaving." She grabs my hand dragging me with her.

-

Most of the night was a terrible a fail with guy after guy Jenn tried to find for Anna. To get through them faster Anna just kept drinking and drinking till she couldn't really understand what was coming out of their mouths.

"That's funny." She laughs then asks for another drink.

"My dead fish is funny?" The guy asks her so she nods her head.

"Wait, you were talking about a dead fish? When did that conversation start?" She understands that part.

"When you said your brother and his friends are like owning a pet." He tells her.

"So you started to talk about a dead fish? Was a sad story supposed to help you get some tonight? Am I supposed to feel bad?"

"Technically it works so?" He asks making Anna laugh.

"You're not my type." She smiles as Ryan shows up taping on her shoulder. Jenn had called Bam saying Anna refuses to leave the bar, so he left and took Ryan to help with her. "He's not my type either but he is at the same time. What are you doing here?"

"Jenn said you won't leave the bar so Bam and I came to get you." Ryan tells her.

"I don't wanna leave though. Not because I want to keep meeting boring guys that want to hook up, but because I really like this drink." Anna smiles at her glass.

Ryan sighs and looks at the guy, "You heard her getting going." He motions for the guy to leave.

"She's a bitch anyways." The guy leaves.

"She's not a bitch!" Ryan shouts at him before turning to Anna asking for another drink. "No, she's done for the night." Ryan stops the bartender.

"Ry, don't tell Bam but I've been using his card for drinks." Anna giggles.

"You're so drunk." He shakes his head at her.

"And you're so cute." She pokes at his chest.

"Time to go home and go to bed." He helps her up and walks them to Bam and Jenn and they all head home.

Back at the house Ryan and Bam take Anna to her room. "Bam get out of my room." She whines taking off her jacket.

"I trust my best friend not to do anything with my drunk sister. Raab is a different story, I saw how he was eyeing her earlier. Practically undressed her in his mind." Bam leaves the room.

"I don't understand why everyone makes it seem like a bad idea with me ending up with one of you idiots." Anna gets undressed making Ryan turn away from her. "You guys at least understand and know me. Plus respect me." Anna puts her night clothes on then walks over to Ryan. "You get what I mean?"

"Yes. Now let's get you in bed." He walks her to bed helping her get in it.

"Wanna know a secret?" She pats part of the bed for him to sit down so he does. "You wanna know what the third reason was... Why I left?" She asks him.

"What's that?" He asks.

"You."

"Me?" He asks confused.

"Yes, you. Ryan Matthew Dunn."

"Why?" He wants to know.

"Because of your dumb green eyes, that stupid smile and laugh of yours, the way you care about me, the way you make me feel especially when it's just the two of us hanging out. I just had to leave. It wasn't right because you're Bam's best friend and I knew it wasn't the same for you. Now I wish I could leave all over again." She explains everything to him as he just sits there taking in her words.

"You wanna leave again..."

"I don't want that." She sighs.

"I don't want that either. I want you to st-," She cuts Ryan off placing her lips on his. He wanted to kiss her back but not when she was in this condition where she wouldn't remember any of this. "Get some rest Anna." He leaves her room.

-

I woke with a killer headache not remembering anything after ordering the same drink over and over to zone out from the guys Jenn kept finding for me.

"Look whose up." Jenn laughs at me as I get some water.

"How did you get me home?" I ask rubbing my eyes.

"I called Bam so him and Dunn came to force you to come home. You just loved that drink and turns out you're never getting a guy from this town." She laughs leaving me alone.

I head outside to see what the guys were doing and to help me get over my hangover. "Sleeping beauty is up." Bam puts his arm around my shoulder kissing the side of my head.

"Thank you two for helping out with me." I tell him and Ryan.

"It was mostly Ryan. He got you to leave the bar then helped you to bed." Bam pushes me towards him.

"I know I can always count on you." I smile giving him a hug.

"Do you even remember getting home?" He asks me.

"I don't remember anything after a few drinks. Nothing at all it's all blank to me. I didn't embarrass myself did I?" I get worried.

"No, you just made sure you'll never get a guy in this town. The last dude you laughed about his dead fish." He tells me.

"Damn..."

"Hey let's try that zip line thing." Glomb says so they test it out.

"Geez. That's how we stop." Ryan says as we watch the log hit the tree.

"Let's test this thing out." Bam tells Glomb as we go up in the tree top casino.

"The zip line?" Glomb asks.

"Dunn, you'll be the test pilot." Bam smacks his butt.

"What? I'm not your Guinea pig. Geez... Can we at try something first?" He asks so we do watermelons but when we run out Ryan goes and it works.

Soon the wrestlers were here and Vito got them fight g in the pirate bar making mom scared. I laugh when mom starts to slap Ryan and Bam with the gloves and when they attack her too.

"Are you laughing?" Bam walks towards me.

"Don't you dare." I back away only to get hit by Ryan on the butt. "Dunn!" I turn to smack him with my hand so Bam gets me now and they start to attack me like they did with mom till they had their laugh.

"I hear the speed dating was bad but you loved the drinks." Raab sits with me in the living room.

"I don't remember shit from last night."

"So you were really drunk. Man I should of been there. Maybe you would have kissed me." He jokes around.

"I probably would have which is scary." I think about it.

"It wouldn't be that bad. I've kissed you when you were sober."

"You kissed me... I didn't kiss you." I make that clear.

"You're telling me you wouldn't kiss me again? I'm hurt." He puts his hand on his chest.

"If I kiss you will you be happy and over it?" I ask rolling my eyes.

"Yes." I lean over giving him a kiss wanting to keep it sort but he grabs my face holding me there to kiss me back.

"Oh no!" Jenn sees us so I pull away.

"It was just to shut him up." I get up walking to her.

"What are you no-ing about?" Everyone comes up from the pirate bar so I look at Jenn.

"Her and Raab were kissing." I huff.

"WHAT!" Bam yells.

"It was to shut him up that's it."

"It was. I was taking about the time I kissed her when I had too much to drink and I said she would never kiss me so she did." Raab tries to help but really it made Bam more wild.

"I thought it was clear no stuff with my sister? She's a friend to you guys only." He tells them making me look away embarrassed and I see Ryan looking at me.

"Bam, I get it but it was a dumb kiss. And hate to burst your bubble more... But I've been or have kissed each of your friends at least once. Get over." I leave the room.

-

Bam blinks slowly turning his head towards Ryan since really that's the only person he truly cares about. Ryan sees the look in his eyes, "It was at Mardi Gras when you told me to go find her. It was only because this random creep was making her uncomfortable and I wanted to get him away from her. So I faked I was her boyfriend but it was just a small little peck that's it. Nothing serious nor meant anything." Ryan explains but lies.

What he didn't know was that Anna had her door cracked and was listening to what was going on. It actually hurt but she wasn't surprised. She was just a friend and Bam's sister.

The next day when the tree top casino was ready and open Anna decided to stay in her room not wanting to be there. She didn't want to see Duun, didn't want to see Bam, and didn't want to see Raab. She actually hated to admit she did have a small crush on Raab but she was falling for Dunn all over. Fuck she still had a thing for Johnny, who she still had no idea how he hasn't found out about who she was. But then she wondered if he did and just didn't want to talk to her anymore.

"Maybe I'm not meant for dating at all. They never turn out good anyways. I'm doomed to be alone." She talks to herself in the pitch black of her room.

[to-myalphonse]

"From now to then." (Lyney/Reader)

Reader in the beginning is a teen, at the end is an Adult. I dont want any issues with this story because I change the age of persepective.

Now that this disclaimer out of the way, Let's continue.

Len/Reader (Previous) Lyney/Reader (Now)

Taglist read Below

Bold Italic- Text message and Name mentions

Italic- is for thoughts

"Hello everyone." 

As the performer took the stage, you yelled along with the audience. A young man and his sister entered onto the stage. As she approached the stage's edge, his sister drew the focus of the audience.

His name appeared on the screen as he starts his song. His sister sings the background vocals. 

He jumped around the stage waving to the crowds as he did his dance routine. You dance along the nosebleed section.

 

Others sing off-key, while others dance with the person in front of them. You were preoccupied as you failed to notice your lover move in front of you.

You raise your head as he extends a flower to you. You take it from him as he sprints to the opposite side of the stage. A few fangirls sneer at you, but you don't appear to worry.You smile holding it up to your nose. 

He sang song after song for the people who came to watch him. As the concert comes to an end, he takes his bow while singing his final note.

“Excuse me, he’s waiting on you.” You follow the crew backstage to his dressing room.

You enter seeing him combing his hair out. His eyes crinkle as he looks at you from the reflection in the mirror. 

“Oh, it’s you.” He smiled inviting you to come in. His blonde hair crinkling down his back, his bangs falling over his eyes, your love was so adorable.

"Your show was amazing, Len." He smiles, beckoning you to embrace his form. Sweat dripped into your clothes as he softly hugged you. You frown and shove him away as he chuckles.

“Thank you.” 

“What was your favorite part?” Len got up and walked over to a different part of the dressing room. His voice responded, muffled from the dressing room.

“Probably when you almost fell on your face.” His head snapped back in your direction.

“I’m kidding, it's the new publicity that I'm going to be getting from the flower that you gave me.” 

“I'm so tired.” Len changes and flops onto the couch in the dressing room.

“I know, how many more concerts do you have left?” He counts quietly into your shoulder as he puts the rest of his weight on you.

“4.” 

A knock came from the door as his sister peeked her head in.

“Are you ready to go.. oh hey Name.” She entered the room taking a seat on his couch. 

“Hey Rin.” 

“We have to leave at 5. Are you staying the night?”

“Yeah, it would take a long time to get home, do you mind?” She shakes her head as she stands up clinging to your free arm.

“That’s great, we can catch up since my brother takes you away all the time.” He moves his head to stare at her.

 Len’s middle finger goes up for a slight second as she moves to jump him. She gets a good hit on his face causing him to cry out. Even though he has a well built figure, his sister is stronger, probably from boxing she does when off the mic.

 He cries asking for help, but you decide to ignore him.

“Let’s go!” She grabs your arm leading you out the room, as your boyfriend scrambles to follow.

Rin’s sweet talk to your boyfriend’s complaints, these things have become almost normalized.

Soon after, things began to become more complicated. 

Being a performer, your boyfriend was always busy and could barely spend time with you. When he did, he had a difficult time talking to you.

“Babe can we talk?” You could hear a woman’s voice in the background talking to him,before exiting the scene.

“Huh, oh hey Name.” Len responds in a tired tone. Guilt panged in your stomach, maybe now wasn’t a good time to call him?

“Do you have time this weekend?” You heard the key dials on his phone switch as he pulled up another app. He hums softly before responding.

“Sorry babe, I have to practice for a performance for the morning show.” 

Days pass as you don't hear from him again. Rin stops by for a short visit. Instead of apologizing or giving a reason for your boyfriend’s sudden disappearance, she just talked about things concerning her.

“So how have you and my brother been?” She teases lightly bumping shoulders with you. 

“Did you not know, he’s been too busy to speak with me.” Her expression changes into one of confusion. Did she not know, what did he tell her?

“Busy? He hasn’t been busy since the last time that we went on tour.” Your heart began to race and your overwhelming thoughts consumed you.

Did you upset him by constantly calling?

Did he not find you attractive anymore?

Was he annoyed because you ran your mouth too much?

“-me.”

“Name.” You see Rin’a concerned face. 

“I’m sorry for asking you that. I was just asking because he barely talks about you anymore.” Your stomach dropped as you clutched onto her.

“No, last time we spoke, he said he was practicing for her performance on the morning show.” Her expression lightened up, as she seemed to know what you were talking about.

“Oh.. so it wasn’t that long ago.” Her expression calms you down. 

Soon after, Rin stopped visiting as well. It took months for you to even see him again.  

On a day you had off work, you decided to visit him and his other friends at work. 

They usually have a small party to celebrate new orientations for new members or to celebrate concert successes. 

When you entered, you saw the balloons up around the building. Rin mentioned there wasn’t another concert since their concert months ago, it must be someone’s birthday.

‘’Babe?” You peek in the room, seeing his other performer friends chatting with him. He laughed along, never noticing your presence. 

“Welcome to Crypton.” They cheered for the new manager who was hired to work for the Diva. 

She bows and thanks the others. She gave a small smile  and seemed to focus solely on your boyfriend.

“I can’t believe we’re getting new managers. We haven't gotten a new one in a long time.” Rin sighs, patting the woman on the back.

“Remember the one from last time?” Meiko mumbles, sipping her sake mindlessly.

“Name?”

“No, Name doesn’t even work for Crypton, she’s just there for emotional support.” Your boyfriend rolls his eyes picking up his cup.

“More like getting in the way.” He sighs, catching everyone’s attention. They all stop listening in on him.

“She constantly texts me asking when we can have a date. I’m busy because of the "Evil Chronicles." series that we have to record.” He picks up his phone before instantly returning it to the table.

“Well maybe she’s not used to having an influencer partner?” He nods. 

“At least I have a break for the next few weeks.” He sighs as his sister pats his back.

“Are you going to see Name?” Miku asks seemingly interested about your relationship.

 Your boyfriend would talk highly about you, almost bragging about your dates. It surprised you when he scoffed, shaking his head. 

“I think I need some space for a bit.” He lets out a small huff.

“We’ll speed through it.” Marin shrugs as they walk off to get to work.

So that’s how he feels? Alright you’ll stay out of his way.

Eventually after the text stops, you receive one from him out of the blue.

“Can we talk?” 

“Sure?” 

Snow falls softly on the ground as you wait by a store. Your boyfriend wanted to go Christmas Shopping with you. Surprisingly he had time for once, what an asshole. 

“Name.” He walked closer pulling you in for a hug. He wore an expensive coat that you never gave him. A scent lingering on it that wasn’t yours.

“How are you? You barely talk to me or Rin anymore.” You frown, he’s making it sound like you distanced yourself from him first.

“I was waiting on you and Rin to get back to me, but I know you’re both busy.” 

“Huh? I’m not busy for you. You can call, and I’ll answer.” You let out a snort pushing him away. You lead the way to the store that he wants to go to, leaving him behind.

Couples walked along the  mall, hand in hand. One girl pulls her boyfriend down her level, to kiss him on the cheek. You vaguely remember doing the same to Len earlier in your relationship, back when he enjoyed having you around.

“Name, what's wrong?” He looks in your direction with a worried expression.

“Are you tired of me?” He looks at you surprised.

“Tired?’ Why would I be tired of you?” He looks confused at your statement, like you said something wrong. 

You heard him complain before about how tiring dating you was, and that assistant he has, seems to be a better choice. She’s always there for him, and she can be with him, because of her job.

You, on the other hand, had school and work to attend and didn’t have time to travel the country with him. He did all his schooling online, but you focused better in class.

“It's nothing darling.” Snow crunches under your feet as you lead him into the shopping area. He blocks your direction, hands spread out to stop you.

“No, please tell me. Is it because I’ve been busy? If so I really am sorry, but there’s a new series coming out that they're having us record for.” 

“Okay, but couldn’t you make time for me?” His composure fell as his face turned slightly red.

“I have, but they need me to prepare for a new concert on New years.” Anger begins to fill you as you open your mouth.

Is he serious? Rin said all concerts were done this year.

 What if the concert wasn’t public, but private?

 

An ugly feeling crawls up your back.

“Where did you get this jacket?” He pulls it closer to himself trying to keep it from you.

“I.. brought it.” His voice wobbles, and his eyes avert from you. 

“Did you really? You don’t even wear jackets like that. The ones I brought you are more your style.” He frowns looking more nervous. 

“Be honest.” He sighs before speaking again. His hands tapped quickly onto his arms as he tried to come up with an excuse. Each time he tried to speak, his mouth closed and opened.

“Did your assistant buy it?” His eyes widen as his hands fall to his side almost in defeat.

“She did, didn’t she?” He nods slowly, his expression dropping back to the floor.

“Is she who you’ve been spending all your time with off of work?”

“ I know you, after work you come home. You also work very hard on your songs so that you don’t have to constantly re-record it. You had free time this entire time.” 

His expression grows more and more sad with each sentence. His nails dig into his arm, proving your point.

“Do you love her, Len?” Silence fills the air around you, giving his response. You grow misty eyed as you ask the last question.

“Do you love me Len?” 

Silence once again filled the air as he tried to say something. Sounds came out instead of words, causing you to cry. 

Through your tears, you see him try to hug you. Instead of accepting his embrace you pushed him back. He looked at you hurt as tears began to fall down his face as well.

“I’m sorry.” You approach him standing on your toes to kiss him. You turn walking away from him.

“Goodbye.” Snow begins to pick up as you walk further down the road. The cold air bites your skin as you rush down the road. 

Your tears falling down your face as you pass by faces. You make your way to a crossroads, waiting to cross the street. 

Your heart pounds in your ears, your hands clenching into the dress you wore. 

The last thing you remember was letting out a small sigh as you stepped onto the road. Blaring lights and a car horn deafening you as your eyesight went black.

“Hello, this is no time for distractions.” 

A blonde man sighed, snapping his fingers trying to catch your attention. You see Ren for a moment before the appearance changes. Instead of the young face of your ex, a more mature face replaced him. Wavy blonde hair, purple eyes instead of the sky blue ones that you once adored.

That’s right, you were with Lyney.  He  was showing you a new trick for his upcoming performance at the Opera Eclaisse.

You weren’t a teenager dealing with heartbreak from a teenage heartbreak anymore.

Lyney lets out a small sigh guiding Rosseland back into the hat. He lightly tapped the cat as he disappeared into the hat.

“You’re very distracted today.” He takes a seat next to you grabbing one of your hands. The touch of his gloves, grounding you back down to earth.

“Name what’s wrong?” You flinch hearing “his” voice for a moment. 

“My darling?” He asks, leaning in towards your face. He takes off one glove holding his bare hand up to your face.

“Ah, nothing. I thought I saw someone I used to know.” He looks behind him seeing no one. He faces you and guides you to your feet once more.

“I think it’s time to go home. Being out in the sun must have tired you out today.” His rough hands connected with yours. He gently guided you through the night back to the place you were familiar with.

A/N:Taglist heads up, this is the last time im going to tag you. If you want to be notified for any stories I updare this will be the tag.

#rene genshin fics

#rene fic (anything non genshin)

@tavvattales @mellowwillowy @iruiji @mellowwillowy @endlessmari @pochipop @leftdestiny-posts @estensity

Ty for your continued support everyone :3

[fxckmiup]

𝐒𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐁𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐠𝐞 𝐩𝐭. 𝟓 ♤♞☆

A/n: This is part 5 of a Natasha Romanoff mini-series y’all and this mini-series is absolutely inspired by a book called The Stripper (camren) on Wattpad, iykyk.

Genre: ♞ Comfort | ☆ Smut {18+}

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, smut, fingering, stripping, pole dance, Natasha Romanoff because that needs a warning, please let me know if I missed anything.

Pairing: CEO!Natasha x Secretary!Reader

Summary: Y/n Y/l/n was hired to be Natasha Romanoff’s new secretary.

Words: 2,578

Part 4

Navigation || Natasha’s Masterlist || Taglist

»»————-　♛　————-««

Natasha looks up at the clock and reads 3 pm, she gathers all the paperwork that she was looking through and puts it away. She gets up and walks over to her door to lean against the door frame, "Ms. Y/l/n, shall we work on those balance sheets?"

Y/n looks up from the excel file she was investigating and sends a small smile to her boss, "that sounds like a great idea, Ms. Romanoff."

The secretary looks back to her desktop to ensure everything she was working on was saved before locking her screen. She grabs her laptop and the necessary files before getting up to walk over to Natasha. The redhead on the other hand was observing Y/n as she gathered her items, immediately noticing no signs of the younger's most previous panic attack. If Natasha hadn't secretly listened in on Y/n's panic attack she wouldn't have had a clue about it as her new employee successfully bounced back up with no signs of distress.

The two walked into Natasha's office closing the door behind them and they set up their workstation on the coach like the time they looked through the first draft. Natasha grabs her laptop from her table as Y/n spreads out the paper files that they needed to investigate. Y/n settles on the right corner of the couch placing her laptop on the sofa arm, Natasha doing the same on the left side.

Both women fall into a perfect rhythm, finding working alongside each other to be very pleasant. Y/n and Natasha were so deep into their work that they don't notice it get dark outside as hours fly by and their work hours became after hours.

7 o'clock hits and Natasha finally notices the time, "oh god, it's 7 pm!" Y/n takes a quick glance at the time on her laptop, "wow, indeed it is."

"I hope that is okay with you?" Natasha asks the younger woman. "It's totally fine, Ms. Romanoff. Plus, the goal was to get this report done for tomorrow morning."

"And I'm glad to say that it's almost finished," Natasha says with a smile. She gets up and walks over to her coffee machine, "would you like some coffee, Ms. Y/l/n?"

Y/n looks up from her work, "that would be nice, Ms. Romanoff. Although I can make our coffee while you stay seated." Natasha dismisses her immediately, "oh don't be silly, I can make our coffee on my own."

The younger woman nods behind Natasha and watches as the redheaded Russian cuff her sleeve and unbuttons a few buttons of her button-up shirt. Y/n shifts in her seat and quickly looks away cursing herself for staring at her boss. She pushes away the thoughts that came rushing to the front of her brain, not wanting to have inappropriate thoughts about her boss while at work.

After Natasha makes them coffee they easily fall back into their work, pushing to get the report done as efficiently and as accurately as they can. Unbeknownst to the two, a couple more hours go by without them realizing as their focus was on how close they were to finishing their work.

The sound of Natasha's office door opening catches their attention, "Sestra! No wonder you haven't been answering my calls!" Yelena exclaims as she struts into the office and flops on one of the armchairs across the couch.

"Yelena, what the hell are you doing here? I'm still working!" the redhead scolds her younger sister. "I'm bringing over the party duh. Which I'm glad I did, the vibe in this room seems way too serious for my liking."

"Yeah, that's because we're busy working." Yelena rolls her eyes at her older sister's words pulling a low chuckle from Y/n which then catches the younger Russian's attention. "My workaholic sister is enslaving you already? Natasha! She started yesterday and you already got her working overtime?"

"I am not enslaving her. I asked if she was alright with staying, which she informs me that she is," the redhead defends herself. "She's probably saying that because she doesn't want to get fired by you already. Isn't that right?" Yelena shoots the question to Y/n who did not want to be pulled into their banter.

"I'm completely okay with staying after work, Ms. Belova." Y/n answers truthfully.

"Oh please call me Yelena, Ms. Belova makes me sound so old like Natasha."

"Hey!" Y/n's eyes bounce from each one of them like a tennis game. "I am not old and see, I told you I wasn't forcing her to stay."

"Yeah, whatever," Yelena props her legs up on the coffee table. "You're going to be late if we don't leave now, Natasha."

"What are you talking about?" Natasha sends her sister a confused look.

"It's Tuesday night and it's past 10 pm," Y/n watches in amusement as Natasha goes wide-eyed in realization. "Fuck! I'm late, we're late, fuck fuck."

Yelena lets out an amused chuckle while shaking her head. "Ms. Y/l/n, is it okay if you come into the office early tomorrow so we can finish this report before the meeting? I completely forgot about my very important commitment tonight."

"That's no problem at all, Ms. Romanoff," Y/n says sweetly before getting up and gathering all the paperwork that was thrown around the coffee table. "I can have my driver drop you off, Ms. Y/l/n."

"Oh there's no need at all, I don't live too far from here."

"No, I insist. It's late and -" Natasha was cut off with a knock on her door and all three heads in the room snapped towards the sound. The door opens and Y/n's best friend pops in, "hi Ms. Romanoff, I'm sorry to intrude. I just wanted to check if Y/n will be done work anytime soon?"

"Kate Bishop!" Yelena yells excitedly earning a sheepish smile from Kate, "hi Yelena."

"See, now we can't leave. My really great friend Kate Bishop is here," Yelena exclaims standing up and going over to hug Y/n's best friend.

"No, Yelena. We have to go. Ms. Bishop, we are done for the night. I apologize for having Ms. Y/l/n working so late." Kate waves her hand at Natasha before walking over and pulling Y/n with her. Natasha watches the interaction and questions if there was more to their relationship than just being best friends.

"Oh no, that's no problem at all! Yelena, unfortunately, Y/n and I can't stay but I'll make sure to text you later," Yelena nods and hugs Kate goodbye and sends a wave to Y/n.

"I'll see you tomorrow morning, Ms. Romanoff. Have a great night you two," Y/n manages to say before Kate basically yanks her out of the office.

Natasha had exactly twenty minutes to get to her commitment and luckily enough for her the traffic wasn't bad at all, allowing the Russian sisters to get to 'Scarlet Bridge' on time. Natasha pays more than usual tonight to have two men be kicked out of her favourite booth that was close to the stage for her and her sister.

Just as Natasha slides into the booth the lights were lowered and everything goes silent. She made it on time. Her favourite dancer was about to appear and start the performance that she knew was secretly for her.

As if on cue, the beat of the song starts and the lit spotlight were aimed at the center of the stage, where she stood.

Natasha rakes her eyes down her dancer's body, who goes by the name, Ivy Quinn. There on the stage, Ivy stood in a silky red robe that stopped just under her bubble butt, sending the redhead into a frenzy trying to imagine what she had underneath it. Going down Ivy's body, she had a pair of red lacy stockings that stopped on her upper thigh and was attached to a garter belt. To finish off, the dancer wore a pair of red high heels. The outfit that left little to no imagination was paired with her usual black masquerade mask. The mask looked sexy on the mysterious woman, but the longing to rip it off was strong for Natasha from the moment she laid her eyes on her.

Ivy walks slowly and sensually towards the top of the stage with a smirk on her face, meeting Natasha's hungry eyes. The dancer sways her body slowly down to the floor going on her knees as she spreads her legs for the redhead. Natasha watches breathlessly as Ivy bites her lips letting one hand fall behind her to prop her up as her body rolls and humps the air right in front of the green-eyed Russian, having her free hand get lost in her long wavy hair.

Ivy whips her hair around as she brings herself to her hands and knees and she slowly licks her lip keeping her gaze locked with Natasha as she dips her body in an arch to the ground, keeping her plump bouncy butt on perfect display. She looked to be the beautiful, entrancing, mysterious, dangerous woman, she always was. She was the breathtaking goddess that Natasha was addicted to, easily setting the redheaded Russian's body on fire with just a look.

Ivy stands back up winking at Natasha as she walks closer to her and slowly untangles her silk robe. The woman seems to be hypnotizing the Russian as she lets the robe fall from her body revealing what was underneath. The redhead slowly drinks in the red lacy lingerie that Ivy wore for tonight, a colour that the dancer knew was Natasha's favourite. The Russian woman that almost everyone feared was sitting there lost for words as Ivy tosses her red silky robe on Natasha's lap.

The dancer turns around and walks back to the middle of the stage and walks around the silver pole as her eyes rake over the cheering crowd. Everyone watches as Ivy grabs the pole swinging her body around once before she wraps one of her legs around it mid-swing. Natasha swallows her saliva back down her throat at the sight of her dancer's biceps and abs flexing as she continues to swing around the pole.

The moment Ivy was back standing, she quickly bends all the way over making the crowd crazy and not a beat after she whips her head back as she rakes her hand up her legs and over her bare ass cheeks.

Natasha pays no mind to the men throwing dollar bills to the star of the show not daring to take her eyes off the woman who was now grinding on the pole. Natasha's breath gets caught in her throat when her dancer pulls herself upside down the pole spreading her legs wide open to the crowd. Ivy then wraps both her legs on the pole as she slowly slides down onto her back.

Matching to the beat of the music, Ivy goes on her fours lowering her chest to the ground arching her back giving Natasha a front view from behind. The redhead gets up from her seat and tucks a couple of dollar bills into Ivy's g-string and when the dancer glances to see Natasha she couldn't help but roll her hips on the redhead's hand.

Much to everyone's dismay, the music started fading making Ivy get back on her feet and send a wink along with her devilish smile to the crowd as she sensually walk off stage.

As soon as the spotlight fades Natasha makes her way to the VIP section of the club and walks into room 3 without knocking. There she finds Ivy's back facing her who soon turns around at the sound of the door locking.

"I almost thought you weren't going to make it tonight, Natasha," the woman covered with a masquerade mask husks out.

Natasha was engulfed by the vanilla scent of the woman as she walks up to her dancer who was still dressed in her red lingerie, "I wouldn't ever miss your performance for me, Ivy."

Ivy feels the redhead hands on her waist as she watches the pair of green eyes glance down her red lips. "Take that mask off for me, dorogoy."

The dancer only pushes Natasha on the red velvet couch and stands over her, "you might be a powerful business owner Natasha, but you're in my empire now."

Ivy slowly straddles the Russian as her hands immediately unbutton and zip down Natasha's slack as she continues, "meaning, you follow my rules."

Ivy's hand stops all its movement making Natasha meet her gaze, "I need consent baby, is this okay?"

Natasha's heart melts at Ivy asking her for consent, "more than okay." With that Ivy slips her hand under the redhead's underwear, wasting no time as she runs her fingers through the redhead's slit.

"So wet for me, baby," Ivy whispers into Natasha's ear making the redhead let out a guttural moan. Natasha lets out another pornographic moan when she feels two fingers intruding in her throbbing core.

The green-eyed redhead grabs Ivy's butt firmly making the woman on top of her moan as the dancer quickens the pace of her fingers hitting all of Natasha's sweet spots.

"Kiss me," Natasha requests making Ivy falter slightly but she was quick to fix this setback. "Natasha, you know that I don't do kissing," Ivy whispers against her neck as she litters the Russian's skin with her signature red lipstick.

"Only for tonight," Natasha pushes as she arches her back feeling herself near the edge. "A kiss makes it personal," says Ivy before sucking on Natasha's sweet spot as she curls her fingers inside the panting woman beneath her.

"Please," the redhead begs, making her dancer pull back from her neck to look at her. Ivy watches as Natasha quickly approaches her high, struggling to push her fingers in her but her actions never falter nonetheless.

"Please!" Natasha moans loudly as she reaches her high and despite every fibre of Ivy's body yelling at her 'no' she crashes her lips with the Russians. Natasha rides her high on Ivy's fingers as she gets lost in her dancer's plump lips.

Too soon for Natasha's liking, Ivy pulls her fingers out of her before pulling away from the kiss. Natasha stares at her in a dazed as she subconsciously caresses her dancer's hips with her thumb. "That was amazing," Natasha whispers making Ivy smirk.

"When do I get to see your face, Ivy?" Natasha questions. Ivy delicately runs her fingernails down Natasha's chest, sending shivers down the redhead's spine, "my empire, my rules."

And with that, she gets off Natasha's lap and heads to the door. "Till next time, Ms. Romanoff."

Natasha watches as the woman she's been coming to see perform exits the room. Natasha felt as if her body was still on fire but she couldn't help but think how familiar 'Ms. Romanoff' sounded.

Once Ivy closes the door behind her, she felt the nerves she's been pushing down engulf her. She rushes into her dressing room with a panic look on her face. She quickly shuts her door placing her back on it as she rips her mask off of her face.

"What's wrong with you?" her best friend asks.

"Kate, I just kissed Ms. Romanoff."

»»————-　♛　————-««

🏷️: @nats-dreamland @nooshe @marvelwomen-simp @togrowoldinv @t00manyfand0ms @silver-lotus @maia-lightwoood @when-wolves-howl

[helloalycia]

a bitch [two] // leigh shaw

summary: when you finally decide to confront leigh about the incident, things don't go to plan.

warning/s: cheating, arguing, confrontation

author's note: here’s part two! hope you like it :)

part one | masterlist | wattpad

I refused to paint Leigh in the worst light, even if I'd seen her that way. She ended up staying the night at mine to pass out without being around her sister with her hangover, and I tried not to mind. I was patient for the rest of the evening and the following morning, trying not to assume the worst. But it was hard to do that when she continued to act like nothing was out of the ordinary.

My paranoia get the better of me, as whenever she got a text or slipped out for a phone call, all I could see was her and Abby making out at the party. Why hadn't she told me what happened if it wasn't what it seemed? The only explanation could be that she didn't want me to know, which meant she was hiding it, which meant she was cheating on me. Just like Alex.

It was later that following day after the party when I was sat on the dining table doing some work on my laptop and she was sat on the couch. Her phone vibrated, followed by a tone, signalling she got a text, and I tried not to writhe with discomfort in my seat. She scoffed before tossing her phone to the other end of the couch.

"What is it?" I asked, trying not to seem too interested, even though my heart was bruising.

"Nothing," she mumbled, eyes fixated on the telly.

I gave her all of my attention now, curious. "Go on, what is it? It's clearly not nothing."

She tilted her head to look at me. Sighing, she said like it was no big deal, "Drew wants me to work on a piece, but with somebody else. And you know I'm not a fan of collaborative writing."

Forcing a smile, I hummed in acknowledgement. "Who is it? The person he wants you to work with?"

Looking back to the TV casually, she shrugged. "Abby."

Just the mere mention of that girl's name in Leigh's mouth left a bitter taste in mine. And the longer I watched Leigh staring at the TV without a care in the world, oblivious to the fact that my heart was breaking because of her, the more I wanted to burst. And I eventually did.

"I know you're cheating on me," I blurted, making her look to me with a baffled expression.

"What?"

Deciding to roll with it, I closed my laptop and met her confused stare. "Don't try to hide it, Leigh, I know. I saw you last night. At the party." She continued to play dumb, so I added with distaste, "You were kissing Abby."

Leigh opened her mouth, half-gasping and half entertained as if I was suggesting the most ridiculous thing. "You're kidding, right? That's– that's what you think of me?"

I stood up quickly, glaring at her through glassy eyes. "Don't act coy. I tried to give you the benefit of the doubt. I tried to wait for you to explain yourself just in case I misinterpreted, but you continued to hide it. No doubt hiding every other moment you spend with her, too, right?"

Leigh's confusion was quickly replaced with anger, as she stood up from her place on the couch and walked towards me, pointing a finger my way.

"How dare you jump to conclusions like that!"

"It's not jumping!" I shouted, unable to stop my emotions getting the better of me. "It's facts!" Smiling bitterly, I shook my head, vision blurry with unshed tears. "I always had my suspicions that she liked you, but I never thought it could be the other way, too..."

Leigh's glare was fiery. She clenched her fists by her side as she studied my expression, attempting to find an explanation for this accusation. And the fact that she was still playing dumb pissed me off.

"God, everybody told me that you could be like this," I muttered between gritted teeth. "You flip-flop between emotions. The constant mood swings, an explosion that everyone gets caught up in."

She crossed her arms, shrugging sarcastically. "Don't hold back or anything. Say what you really mean."

I clenched my jaw and stared at her, tears finally flowing. How could this be the same person I was in love with?

"I shouldn't have expected any different when it came to your partners," I finished with a hurt voice.

Her eyes narrowed as my words settled in. "Fuck you."

"Well, you won't be, will you? You're too busy fucking Abby!"

"You're not even giving me chance to explain!" she shouted with irritation.

"Explain what?! How you kept this from me? How you had all day to explain and you just didn't?" I scoffed, shaking my head. "You know, sometimes you can be such a..." I searched for the right word before my frustration landed on only one. "Such a bitch."

She pressed her trembling lips together as she glowered at me through teary eyes. It stung, knowing I was the reason she was upset. But she cheated on me. I had every right to be.

"Fuck off," she said harshly, before turning to grab her phone and jacket.

Slipping on her shoes, she stuck a middle finger in the air before leaving my house. I glared at the space where she was stood, heart pounding in my ears and chest tightening with discomfort. She deserved it. She did exactly what Alex did.

But this hurt so much more.

—

I woke up late the next morning since I didn't have work and I was too devastated to do anything but stay in bed. Last night was difficult, just like the night before, and when I finally found myself falling asleep, all I dreamt of was Leigh.

Even though I didn't want to, I felt a guilt thrumming in my chest when my words came back to mind. I shouldn't have reacted so badly... and I definitely shouldn't have called her a bitch. My anger just took over, pushing away my love for her, and attacked her without question. But God, it still hurt. Just thinking about her with someone else reminded me of Alex and the voice message and–

Staying in bed sounded like the best option. But of course, the world had other plans.

My phone dinged, signalling I had a text, and I reluctantly reached over to my bedside table to pull it off charge. Through sleep-filled eyes, I tried to make out the name on the screen.

           Leigh ♥️

Suddenly awake, I swiped to open the message and felt my heart drop as I read it.

          Leigh ♥️: Fuck you.

Attached was a video, and as much as I wanted to get pissed at her text, I was curious to know what she'd sent. Playing it, I soon realised it was CCTV footage from her workplace, outside the toilets. At first, I squeezed my phone, thinking she'd sent it to rub it in my face. But then as I continued to watch, I saw the moments I missed last night.

Leigh walked out the toilet and Abby pulled her to the side, attempting to talk to her about something. There was no sound to the clip, but it was clear that Leigh was trying to back away and go elsewhere. They talked, Leigh using that smile she used when she was trying to be polite, before Abby suddenly pushed herself on her, kissing her. I pulled a face at the sight, reliving it all over again, but then Leigh shoved her away with anger.

Again, there was no sound, but I recognised that familiar Leigh wrath she subjected people to when they pissed her off. Hands were waving around as she seemed to be shouting in Abby's face, her face set into a permanent scowl as she did. Then she turned and stormed away, and the video ended.

Lowering my phone, I stared at the ceiling with a lump in my throat. She hadn't cheated, I'd just walked in on the wrong moment. Every horrible thing I'd said to her... completely uncalled for. No wonder she was angry and upset when I'd accused her – she hadn't done anything wrong.

"Fuck!" I shouted to nothing, before throwing my phone to the end of the bed with annoyance.

How the hell was I to make this right?

—

I spent the remainder of the morning trying to think of what I could do. Leigh wouldn't want to speak to me, understandably, but I had to try. It would be a terrible apology, but I couldn't just leave it. I loved her and I could only hope she'd still love me, even after every nasty thing I spat her way.

Knowing she'd be at work, I gave her boss and best friend, Drew, a call. Hopefully she hadn't told him everything I'd done otherwise he was definitely going to ignore me.

After a few rings, he finally answered and I couldn't stop my fingers from drumming against my thigh nervously.

"Y/N, thank God you rang! I was just about to call you," he said before I could build up the courage to speak.

I furrowed my brows. "You were?"

"You should come pick up your girlfriend," he said, and I figured he didn't know. "I don't know what her problem is and, don't get me wrong, I love Leigh, but I can't condone violence at the workplace."

My eyes widened so much I was surprised they didn't fall out my head. "What?!"

With a mixture of amazement and disappointment, he answered, "She punched a colleague of hers, Abby, in the face. It was so out of the blue – a solid punch to the jaw. Broke her knuckles, I think."

Jaw dropping, I forgot how to speak.

"She's at the hospital," he continued. "Thankfully, Abby isn't pressing charges – no idea why not, not that I want Leigh to get arrested obviously – but damn, there's a lot of paperwork to do and–"

"Drew!" I cut him off, worrying myself with thoughts of Leigh at the hospital by herself. "Text me the address. I'm on my way."

The drive to the hospital was agonisingly long, but I reached it quite quickly. I did attempt to call Leigh, unable to stop myself from checking if she was okay, but she didn't answer. This did nothing to ease my concern.

After making my way through the hospital, I finally arrived at Leigh's room. I let myself in, seeing her sat on a hospital bed with an ice pack covering her hand, balanced on a table. At the sight of me, she rolled her eyes.

"What the hell are you doing here?" she muttered lowly, refusing to meet my gaze.

I stepped inside hesitantly, my guilt returning as I remembered everything I accused her off. "Drew told me what happened."

She clenched her jaw. "Well, I'm not a baby. I'm fine on my own."

Ignoring her rightful annoyance, I sighed quietly. "Really, Leigh? You punched her?"

As if realising how silly it sounded when I said it aloud, she looked the other way and stayed quiet. Her jaw was still clenched as she contained her anger.

"What's the damage?" I asked, hoping my concern wouldn't piss her off. As always, I was wrong.

"None of your damn business," she snapped, still not looking my way.

I frowned, approaching her bedside, but she still refused to look my way. "Leigh, I want to apologise, I do, but I need to make sure you're okay first."

She rolled her eyes before finally looking to me and glaring powerfully. If I hadn't experienced being in a fight with Leigh before, I would have definitely tucked tail and ran. But I'd known her long enough to know that the mask of anger she wore right now was only a cover for the hurt she felt. The hurt I'd caused her. 

"You don't need to do anything," she retorted, before nodding to the door. "You can go."

My heart pounded with guilt. "Leigh, please.”

"Sorry, I don't mean to be a bitch or anything," she cut me off bitterly, before looking away and frowning to herself.

The words I'd said to her in a moment of fury returned to mind and I'd never hated myself more than in that moment.

"You know, since Matt died, almost everyone I know called me a bitch," she revealed quietly, voice filled with pain rather than hostility. "Even my family. Especially my family. But you... you never called it me, Y/N. Not once. Not even when I deserved it."

The silence that followed her words was deafening. Why the hell did I have to call her that? Why?

Before I could even think of how to respond, the door to her room opened and in walked a doctor, holding what looked like print-outs of x-ray scans.

"Oh," he said with mild confusion as he spotted me by Leigh's bedside. "I'm sorry, I don't think we've met. I'm Leigh's doctor. Doctor Syed. And you are?"

"Her girlfriend," I replied, just as she also replied, "My ex."

I gave her a stern look, accepting if she wanted to break up, but definitely not leaving her here alone.

"I'd like to stay if that's okay," I told Doctor Syed, sensing his confusion as he looked between Leigh and I, attempting to make out whatever was happening.

To my surprise, Leigh didn't argue, even when the doctor looked her way to see if she had a problem. She simply rolled her eyes, scoffed quietly, and said nothing.

Taking this as a response, Doctor Syed proceeded to explain about Leigh's injury, particularly the broken bones in her knuckle. Apparently she'd punched Abby with so much force that she'd literally broken the bone with a crack. The x-ray proved just that and gave the doctor a perfect sight of where he could fix it, thankfully, without surgery.

I waited with an unusually quiet Leigh as he put a splint and cast on her hand there and then. He then spoke about recovery times and how she was to look after herself. After writing up a prescription for pain meds and handing it to her, he quirked a brow questioningly.

"Is that all okay, Miss Shaw?" he asked.

Leigh was too busy brooding to listen, so I smiled at the doctor instead.

"I'll make sure she does that," I answered for her. "Thank you, doctor."

He nodded and returned the smile before wishing us luck and leaving. I looked to Leigh, who was quick to get up and grab her jacket, being careful with her hand. The two of us said nothing as we left the room and hospital, making our way out onto the street. Before I could ask how she was getting home, she began to walk away from me.

I groaned inwardly before following after her, stopping her from going any further. She glared across from me.

"What?" she said through gritted teeth.

"I can give you a ride home," I offered. "I parked down the street."

She rolled her eyes. "I'm fine walking."

I gave her a knowing look. "Leigh, you just broke your hand."

Realising my point, she sighed. "Fine. I'll call literally anyone but you for a ride."

Okay, I deserved that, but it still stung.

"Fine," I said, before waiting with her as she made the call.

She took a seat on the bench to the side of the road, waiting for a taxi, and I joined her, making her scoff.

"Just to make sure you get home safe," I said, when she gave me an incredulous look.

"Whatever," she mumbled, before watching the road for her taxi.

When it finally arrived, she didn't even spare me a glance before getting in and leaving. I sighed with regret, glad she was okay but realising I still hadn't had the chance to apologise to her. I was still yet to make this right.

—

It was the next day when I'd deemed it enough time to have given her space whilst also deciding I had to tell her how sorry I was before it was too late.

Building the courage to approach her front door was one thing, but knocking was another. I'm pretty sure I stared at the wood for ages before actually lifting my hand to knock. And even then, my heart was still pounding nervously in my chest.

After a moment, the door opened and revealed Leigh. But as soon as she recognised me, she made a move to close it.

"Leigh, please, wait–!" I tried, and put my foot in the doorway so she couldn't close it.

"I have nothing to say to you!" she exclaimed with irritation, glaring at me when she noticed my foot in the way. "Move it, Y/N."

"You don't have to say anything," I said with a frown and apologetic eyes. "Just hear me out. Please."

She pressed her lips together firmly, disguising her hurt with frustration. But when her eyes met mine, the pain was there and I felt guilty all over again, knowing I'd made her out to be the worst.

"I never should have said what I did," I started quickly, not wanting to lose my chance. "And I definitely shouldn't have called you a–" I winced, hating the word more than ever. "A bitch. I know you get angry when you're upset and that should've been my first indicator to knowing something wasn't right. I should've heard you out."

"But you didn't," she cut me off with a terrifyingly calm voice. "You jumped to conclusions instead. When I've never given you any reason to doubt me."

I licked my lips and looked down shamefully. She was right. "I know."

"Do you?" she asked rhetorically, a hint of resentment in her voice. "Because you jumped on me so fast that I didn't even see it coming."

Risking looking up, I saw the defensive stance she took, arms crossed judgementally and jaw tensed with annoyance.

"For the record," she added, expression softening a little, "I didn't tell you about the kiss because it meant nothing and I didn't want to upset you for no reason."

I swallowed the rising lump in my throat, the guilt thickening and squeezing the life out of me.

"I can't believe you'd think I would do something like that to you," she admitted with a heartbreaking voice, uncrossing her arms. "I love you, Y/N. I'd never hurt you like that. Never."

Squeezing my eyes shut, I pinched the bridge of my nose, memories of Alex flooding to the surface. "I know, Leigh, I know. I do."

She sighed before me. "Then why?"

Releasing my nose, I opened my eyes and was surprised at the blurriness, tears having formed. I was losing the woman I love because of my stupidity and I couldn't. I couldn't lose her. She deserved to know the truth, no matter how much it hurt.

"Do you remember my last girlfriend?" I asked reluctantly, before clearing my throat. "Alex?"

Her brows creased together with confusion. "Yes. What about her?"

Letting out an embarrassed sigh, I avoided Leigh's gaze. "We broke up because she cheated on me. With... with someone from work."

When Leigh didn't say anything, I looked up and saw her shocked expression.

"What?" she asked with disbelief. "You said it was a mutual breakup."

I pinched the skin inside my palm to feel something other than hurt and awkwardness. "I– it was easier to say that than admit the truth because the truth was– is embarrassing." Unable to hold her gaze for much longer, I focused on the door next to her. "You were going through a lot at the time, Leigh. The last thing you needed was to deal with my bullshit, too."

She frowned, trying to meet my eyes, but I was too ashamed to look her way. "You should've told me, Y/N."

I shook my head slowly. "I shouldn't have. Just like I shouldn't have assumed you'd be like her. I just– I got horribly insecure and I know that you're not her. You're nothing like her. And I shouldn't have treated you like the villain."

"No...," she began, still adjusting to my words. "No, that makes so much sense." Her good hand rested on my cheek as she forced me to look her way. "I'm so sorry that happened."

I pulled back, her hand dropping to her side, and wiped away a stray tear. I'd never meant to earn her pity – I'd done something wrong. This wasn't me earning sympathy, I just wanted her to know the truth.

"I don't want you to apologise," I told her. "I just want you to understand that I'm sorry. So sorry, Leigh. I hate that I– I ruined something good, something amazing. I never meant for this to happen," I motioned to her hand, "and I don't want you to think of me like– like– like this. Like–"

She moved forward and wrapped her arms around my shoulders, pulling me close. "I don't. I really don't."

I closed my eyes and stuffed my head into her neck, holding her tightly. She stroked the back of my hair soothingly and pressed a kiss to the side of my head.

"I forgive you," she murmured, and just like that, relief spread through me. "I'm so sorry about what happened to you. I promise I'd never to that to you. Never in a million years."

I pulled apart, wiping my tears away sheepishly whilst nodding. "I know you wouldn't, Leigh. I'm sorry for even thinking that you would."

She cupped my cheek, using her thumb to swipe away a tear. Green eyes met mine, sparkling with unshed tears that made me feel guilty because I'd never wanted to make her cry.

"I know you are," she said gently, before offering me a small smile. "Come inside, yeah? You can make it up to me by watching movies with me."

I let out a small laugh and she smiled, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to my lips before holding out her hand. I rested mine in hers and let her lead me inside, hand tingling where her skin touched mine.

Leigh Shaw was anything but a bitch. She was the most caring, considerate person I'd ever met, and when she flashed me a reassuring smile as we headed to the couch, I knew one thing.

I was lucky to have her.

[mycrofts-gunbrella]

Favourite Experiment- Sherlock Holmes x Reader (Part Three)

A/N- One day I won’t stay up until almost 3am writing fanfiction.. That day is not today. Not a huge deal of Sherlock interaction until the end but I feel like what happens in this one is pretty important to give character insight. Enjoy!

Word Count- 3378

"Right, boys, I'm sticking the kettle on since you're both terrible hosts and haven't offered me another drink." You teased, flicking the switch. "Any requests?"

"Tea please!" John called from his armchair, from where he had already begun to update his blog with last night's case. Following John's voice came the low rumble of Sherlock's muttering a 'coffee: black, two sugars' and you fought against aggressively shouting 'please?' back at him. Opening the fridge to grab the milk for your cuppas, you let out a bizarre sound that combined the likes of shock, excitement and intrigue all in one. You span to see Sherlock in the entry of the kitchen, a smirk mirroring your grin as you gestured wildly to the fridge.

"Ah, yes. I see you've met Stephen. He's not very much for conversation but I find he's a great listener." He walked beside you and prodded the severed head's forehead with one finger. "You had a much better response than John did. I think he cried."

"No I bloody didn't, you git. One of Ste- One of that THING'S hairs blew off into my eye as I opened the door." John argued. "It's disgusting." Sherlock handed you the milk carton that you had forgotten about entirely and slammed the fridge door to a close.

"In my defense, if you always listened to my conversations I direct to you as well as you listen to private ones, I wouldn't need Stephen at all. Honestly, John, you can be such a child sometimes." Sherlock rolled his eyes. You nudged him with your elbow.

"Comes with the height, that does."

"Right, sod the pair of you." John sulked into the kitchen and grabbed a small thermos. "I'm going to the clinic."

"But you don't start until tomo-"

"I'll bloody well start when I like." He started tipping his tea into the metal cylinder, a frown on his face.

"Fine, but you know I'm only teasing." You messed his hair playfully and he groaned. "Love you, big bro." John rolled his eyes and headed for the front door. "Oi, what if I died while you were gone? Your last thought would be 'oh God, and I didn't even answer her when she said she loves me. My own sister.' You'd be guilt ridden." The front door opened. "Ahhh some of Sherlock's poisonous chemicals must have fallen into my cup! Organs shutting down.. Oh, Christ. I can see a light." The door shut again. You'd almost given up your theatrics when John came into vision once more, his finger wagging in your direction like your mother used to do when you misbehaved.

"That.. isn't funny. Not in our line of work and you kno-" Your hand grasped your throat and squeezed.

"I'd hurry, John. Given the symptoms, she's got about 26 seconds."

"Jesus, Y/N, fine. You win. Love you too, though every day becomes more of a challenge. Evil. Both of you. Match made in sodding Hell, but I'm the one burning." He headed out again.

"You need milk!"

"Shove the milk up your-" The door shut.

"I wonder if he regrets telling me that moving back home would be a good idea?" You questioned, bringing your and Sherlock's mugs into the living room and flopping back on the sofa. Sherlock followed shortly after, jumping to lay down with his pale feet in your lap. You slapped the top of his toes. "I don't know which part of your deductions told you that I enjoy using my spare time as a footrest but I can very much tell you that you were incorrect."

"To be fair this is my sofa."

"You have two sofas and John's is uncomfortable. Can I sit in your armchair?"

"No."

"Why?"

"Because you can't feed me my coffee from over there." You raised your eyebrows at the curly haired man and slapped his foot once more.

"Feed you your coffee? Like you're my patient in a nursing home?"

"The simile wasn't necessary but if roleplay helps-"

"Don't you start talking to me about roleplay, Sherlock Holmes." You took a sip of your tea and bit back a grin as Sherlock opened his mouth in waiting for his coffee.

"I'll make it worth your while."

"And how do you propose you can do that? Promise you won't put any body parts in my fridge?" He shook his head.

"I could never promise that.. You're also too intrigued to not want me to." You hummed in agreement, offering a 'bottom shelf only, no contamination' to which he concurred.

"You're furniture shopping today. Lots of flat-packed furniture to build.. a bed frame.. tips on organisation." You glared. "Fine, helpful second opinions on organisation.. When it all arrives. Me. All yours for your DIY needs. Now, coffee." You weren't going to argue with that. The mere thought of needing to build all of that on your own made you tired. You fought every urge to roll your eyes and lifted the hot caffeinated beverage to the pale man's lips, continuing to feed it to him over a short period of time until the mug had emptied.

"Did you fancy helping me shop too? I'm about to head out."

"I'd sooner follow Stephen's fate."

"Right. Bit dramatic, but fair. Don't set the building on fire and don't let any strange cab drivers whisk you away to kill you. Catch you later." You offered a two finger salute as your exit, stopped by your flat to grab your bag and headed out into the streets of London.

-------

It had gone well into the evening before you decided to call it a day. Hellish nightmares on the tube, busy shopping centres and incompetant staff members were never your favourite things in this world to interact with, but you deemed the day successful nonetheless. You'd managed to snag a chest of drawers that matched your wardrobe, a king sized bed (who cares if you sleep in it alone? You're an adult now, you have the luxury to make these choices), a few more bookshelves- now just to wait until the rest of your stuff from Oz comes over-, a bigger TV and stand so you could shift the others to your bedroom, dining room table/chairs and a variety of random other furniture/ decor that you came across that should all be turning up in the next week or so. It certainly was a huge dent in your bank account, but it was worth it. Only thing left on the list, really, was a new load of clothes that better matched England's climate than Australia's, but that could be done online when you could be bothered.

You had begun to wander to the next tube station when your phone had started to ring in your pocket. Caller ID hidden. Could be interesting.

"Ahoy hoy!" Society may have decided in the last 130 odd years that that was no longer an acceptable way to answer the phone (particularly to suspicious strangers), but you'd never been one to follow trends; even if it was only you and Mr Burns from The Simpsons left. 'Yello?' was another favourite, mind.

"Get into the car, Miss Watson." A sleek black jag rolled up beside you and it took every ounce of your being not to laugh. "Very cliche, don't you think? Now, where is it I'm being taken to? No, no. Don't tell me. It's a warehouse, isn't it. It's always a warehouse."

"You do not appear very frightened, Y/N."

"You do not sound very frightening, sir. Now, forgive me for ending this lovely chat so early but I can get terribly carsick if I stay on my phone while we move. The lovely leather doesn't deserve that. Ciao." You hung up and climbed into the car. It was so blatantly obvious that it wasn't dangerous. Nobody even had any reason to hold any kind of grudge against you.. They may have seen you work with Sherlock, who no doubt has many grudge holders, but their best bet to get the Holmes to follow would be to take your brother, not you. Unless they were stupid which, honestly, wasn't everyone? Maybe. But not this guy. The woman who sat beside you tapped away on her Blackberry and you grinned. "Oooh, spies! Her Majesty's secret service.. Not met with you guys for a while. Fancy a rendition of God Save the Queen while we travel? Though, I must admit I'm more in favour of the Sex Pistols song rather than the anthem." Her eyes flicked to you for a split second before turning back. "Not much for talking?"

"No."

"Are we going to a warehouse?"

"..No."

"Liar; I'm telling Lizzie."

---

You walked through the abandoned warehouse (called it) and soon found a large room, empty excluding a tall, lanky man leaning against an umbrella.

"G'day, sir!" You called, standing a respectable distance away from the gentleman but offering a sarcastic curtsey.

"Lived across the South Pacific for mere more than half a decade and yet assimilated the colloquialism?"

"Uhhh the eagle has flown, shot down at Windsor?"

"I'm afraid I don't follow."

"Sorry. Thought we were speaking in spy code. Too many big words after a day of tediousness, Mr Holmes." He frowned, though so quickly that you'd have missed it if you blinked, and tipped his chin into the air.

"Lucky guess?"

"I never guess."

"I am aware. I know everything about you, Miss Watson. I have-"

"All of my files at your disposal. Nothing spicy in there, I'm afraid. Best you found was probably me getting arrested for socking a guy in the supermarket. But, in my defence, I'd had a very long day and he picked up the last packet of Tim Tams. So, why am I really here? I can only assume it isn't to be shipped off somewhere in the Middle East over a smack and some chocolate biscuits. Though you Holmses are one for dramatics, apparently." You opened your arms and waved them round the room.

"It is about the aforementioned other Holmes. What are your intentions with him? To use him for his knowledge? Insight on secretive government cases?"

"I plan to court him for a few months, treat him like a gentleman, whisk him up for a holiday away and to propose on the beach. Not a church wedding, never been a religious type. Honeymoon somewhere warm but interesting- Italy, perhaps? Tell me, do I have your blessing?"

"Sherlock Holmes is not one for courting, I can assure you."

"But you are, aren't you.." You waited for him to offer his first name. He didn't. "So, how is Detective Inspector Lestrade?" The flashed frown again. "Don't play dumb, it doesn't suit you. His hair is on your shoulder pad, two of them. From this morning, I'd say. Kiss on the cheek. Successful night, was it?" The tips of the elder Holmes' ears tinted red, his mouth opening and closing in an attempt at a rebuttal that wouldn't form.

"I do not appreciate your deviation from the subject matter."

"And I don't appreciate your condescending way of speaking to me. Respect is a two way field, you know that. You also know of my capabilities. You know I'm clean. Never failed a case, never caused trouble. And yet you drag me out to an abandoned warehouse like a scene out of a Bond movie to question what you already know. To what? Patronise me? Feed your ego? Boring. I'm not buying the tough guy act; this is just what happens when an older sibling has an ounce of power. So, Mr Holmes, tell me. What is it that I am really here for?"

"Yes, well.." You could see it. The question burning inside of him. "If you truly can see like my brother and I-"

"I'm not a dumb woman, Mr Holmes. I've studied human behaviour since I was in Primary School, do you honestly believe that I can't spot an addict when I live downstairs from one? You clearly have my number, you could have just asked on the phone call. If I had to put an estimation? He's been clean for 7 months, likely thanks to my brother. Now, I am not going to promise you that I will spy on your brother- that kind of thing isn't my bag."

"I can pay handsomely. All I ask is-"

"I don't want your money. If things go haywire, I'll let you know- but as Sherlock's friend informing his worried brother; not as his brother's woman on the inside. Once you stop being all mysterious with your hidden caller ID, anyway. No day to day updates, no more warehouses. Now, I'm getting rather tired of finishing your sentences for you, and I've had a terribly long day. I would very much appreciate it if Maria Hill and Nick Fury could drop me off home?" He nodded once and you stepped forward, offering out your hand. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Mr Holmes. I feel under better circumstances that the two of us could get along very nicely. I'm less quick with the snaps and jokes if I've had a restful day and coffee." He took your hand and held it firm, didn't shake.

"No you're not." You smiled.

"No, I'm not. But I'm certainly better when being treated like an equal, the coffee is just a bonus. Now, I get that the two of you have some kind of superiority complex, but there's no shame in being concerned for your bloody sibling. It doesn't take somebody like us to know Sherlock can be a pain. God, I've only known him for little under two days and I already know that. But, at least with me, go for the concerned sibling role rather than big scary agent. I cooperate better with those than I do Jason Bourne."

"Is everything you say a fictional reference? It's tiring."

"Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn." A new flashed response. A smirk. Very Holmsian. And apparently a 1930's movie lover.. Well, we all have our quirks. "Til next time! I hope I passed the test." A showman's bow before you left, the car still in the same spot outside as you were ferried back to Baker Street.

Inside the warehouse, a slightly exasperated, greatly impressed Mycroft Holmes allowed himself another smirk. Longer lasting now in nobody's company but his own. Passed with flying colours, Miss Watson. This could be very good for his dear brother, maybe even better than the Army Doctor. He shot out a few messages and exited the building.

-----

The journey back to Baker Street was relatively silent excluding:

"Are you like Maria Hill?"

"No."

"Natasha Romanoff?"

"No."

"Is your name at least either Maria or Natasha?"

"No."

"I promise to stay quiet if you tell me."

"It's Anthea."

"No it isn't."

"It is this year."

"Cool. Very cool."

And then you all but heaved yourself into your flat, frowning when you saw the box that rested on the side of your sofa.

"One of my brother's minions put it in here about 5 minutes ago. Warehouse, was it? He's always loved to make a scene." You jumped backwards at the sound of Sherlock's voice in the doorway. "I saw the car turn up. John's not been home. Not mad anymore, but gone out for dinner with some Julie? Judie? Janie? I honestly don't care."

"You can't just sneak up on me like that, Sherlock! I know 12 ways to kill a man with two fingers."

"And I know 4 to stop all of them." You flipped your finger up at him and opened the flap to the cardboard box on the sofa, grinning as the sight of about 10 packets of Tim Tams came into view. The second you opened your mouth to speak, your phone sounded the text alert noise.

'Very much appreciated your cooperation and refusal to be dominated in conversation. Impressive, Miss Watson. Your attack may not have been as physical as your last, but the impact was more than severe; the delicacies were more than deserved. Well done, and thank you.- Mycroft Holmes.'

Mycroft.. Of course he's a Mycroft. What better to match with a Sherlock? Moments later, a notification from your bank flicked up- all of the day's payments had been restored. Then came the emails ensuring all of your furniture would be delivered first thing in the morning rather than within the week. You chucked your phone at Sherlock and beamed as he read through.

"I think your brother just became my Sugar Daddy."

"Don't make me heave, Y/N. Besides, you're most certainly not his type."

"More than aware, Holmes. Now, you're dying to get me in on your little experiment you got up to in my absence. I'll bring up a packet of these bad boys and get the kettle on. Now mush." You took your phone back and shuffled him out of the flat. You may have been exhausted, but science stopped for no one.

---

You hadn't realised how long the pair of you had been all but doubled over round the kitchen table until the front door had opened and John wandered in. You'd spent the better part of the last few hours figuring out how quickly fingers dissolve in different types of acid.

"You're both in the same room where I left you this morning.. Please don't tell me you've been at it the whole time I've been gone." Whether his sigh was more irritated or disappointed, you didn't know. What you did know is that your brother left an open goal.

"'At it'? Come on, John, give me some credit. I've barely known the man for two days. Our relationship is merely professional, perhaps pushing closer to the friendly scale, but certainly not that friendly. And, dear brother, I should hope you know that I have more class than a table that has housed cadaver pieces."

"Don't be smart, Y/N."

"Ooh, that's a flashback. 'Don't be smart, Y/N! Mummmmmm Y/N's being smart.'" Your grin dropped at the glare. "Okay, yes, fine. We've spent the last... 4 hours dissolving fingers in acid. BUT, I did equally spend the day ordering the rest of my furniture. I've been a boring adult, and now I'm having fun."

"You've been home for a couple of days and haven't had sufficient rest." You opened your mouth but was cut off. "Yesterday doesn't count. 8 hours after missing 5 days of proper rest is utter bollocks." His big brother tone was out. Bugger.

"But, John, the fingers!"

"No."

"Okay but, hear me out, fingers."

"Nope."

"Fingersss."

"Repetition does nothing for coercion. You need sleep." Sherlock shook a beaker with a floating digit in.

"In Y/N's defence, she brings up a valid point. After all, the fingers, John."

"Fine, don't sleep. After all, what would I know? I'm only a doctor." He shuffled and sat in his armchair with a huff.

"A doctor who still doesn't sleep as he battles insomnia as part of his PTSD." You hit Sherlock on the arm. "Not good?"

"No, bit far. Now drink that coffee of yours, I made it 10 minutes ago, it's probably freezing." He opened his mouth. "No. Not doing that again. Not til I've cashed out on the last one." He pouted.

"But I've got dirty finger fingers." You barked a laugh and petted his shoulder in feigned sympathy.

"Finger fingers, huh? Well, finger fingers or not, I'm not feeding you your coffee." You span round the table and lent over his left shoulder, eyeing up the finger as the flesh melted away. "And, as much as it pains me to admit it, John is right. We've got a long day of building tomorrow and I'm gonna need some energy that doesn't derive from caffeine."

"But.. the fingers?"

"I know. Maybe while we wait for everything to turn up you can talk me through the results?"

"Will you make coffee?"

"Yes."

"And toast?"

"Yes."

"With Lurpak, not that vile Clover stuff John buys."

"Consider it done."

"Deal." You gave his head a fond pat and kissed John on the cheek before bidding your goodnights and heading downstairs for some rest.

[nugnthopkns]

find somewhere to grow

word count: 23.1k

warnings: fem!oc, platonic relationships (romance is not a central theme but there is some pining!), divergence from original movie plot, cursing, smoking, implied catholicism, strenuous parental relationships

recommended listening: it's a good life if you don't weaken' | the tragically hip

a/n: hi @ya-pucking-nerd!! the secret is out – i'm your partner for the summer fic exchange 🥰 this is an incredibly niche story but as soon as i found out you loved dead poets society i knew i had to do it!! it's half au half retelling with all of my dumbassery included but i hope you enjoy anyways. the biggest of thanks goes out to @antoineroussel for organizing this event, generally being amazing, and providing feedback to make this story the best it could be 💛

The only thing separating Fran from freedom is ten months at Hell-ton.

As soon as May comes she’ll be as far away as possible, hopefully somewhere in Europe, with no plans to ever return. Her parents agreed that she could spend the summer after graduation travelling the world if she maintained her straight A average at the best preparatory school in the country. Welton Academy is located on the edge of a small north-eastern town, with the only other building within walking distance being its sister school. It’s incredibly isolating, but luckily Fran has her friends to keep the loneliness at bay.

As her dad rounds the final corner of the school’s obnoxiously long private road, Fran’s stomach flutters with excitement. It’s been nearly two months since she’s seen anyone – Nate, Cale, and Tyson scattered like dust in the wind to various accounting firms across the country and Charlotte returned to England to spend time with her family. An eight week internship at a law firm kept her busy throughout the break, and Fran’s beyond happy it’s over. She has no interest in being a legal secretary, but her father is adamant. The car engine cuts off and Fran opens the door, running ahead of her parents into the auditorium. If she’s lucky one of her friends will appear and she’ll be able to sneak in a quick hello, hopefully losing her parents for good in the crowd.

“Francesca, that’s enough. Quit gallivanting around and walk beside us,” Fran’s father barks. A stern man overly concerned with appearances, he opens the car door for her mother and watches as the teenager sulk back to them.

Her mother shakes her head and tries to reason with him. “Oh Conrad, give the poor girl a break. She spent the entire summer cooped up at your brother’s firm. She just wants to see her friends.”

“She can reunite with them at the appropriate time. Right now she’s to sit with us at the ceremony. What kind of message does it send if we let her run about willy-nilly?”

The conversation ends right there, and the three of them enter the school in silence. Inside the auditorium the first three rows are reserved for senior students and family, so everyone finds seats in the middle. Fran begins to crane her neck to look behind them for a glimpse of her friends, but a swift elbow from her father has Fran facing forward in a millisecond.

Mr. Pratt’s bagpiping troupe comes bursting through the doors, and the sound echoes off the vaulted ceiling. Fran pinches her forehead in hopes of dispelling the oncoming headache she feels and prays to god and the saints above that this goes by fast. The countdown to graduation starts now. Headmaster Sakic struts up the aisle, robe swishing from the movement. The other teachers follow dutifully behind and once everyone is seated the address starts.

“Welcome back to another year at Welton, and if you’re new here we are pleased to have you,” the ancient-looking man drawls. Nate always insists that he’s a ghost, and from the angle she’s seated at Fran kind of sees it. Sakic looks about as old as dirt, and the rest of the faculty looks comparable. She sees one new face – younger than the rest with a slightly mischievous glint in his eye. Perhaps he’s the new English teacher, Fran thinks.

The speech continues, addressing parents about expectations and rankings within the country, but Fran loses interest rather quickly. It’s been the same thing since she enrolled in the sixth grade, surely they would have come up with a new format or something. Her father seems to be enjoying himself, beaming when the headmaster mentions that over half the graduating class will go on to attend an Ivy League. “That will be you,” he whispers. Fran isn’t quite sure how to tell him she doesn't plan on applying to any of them.

After what feels like a million years the ceremony is over, and she follows her folks out of the room. Headmaster Sakic stops the family on the way out. “Francesca,” he greets. “We’ll be sad to see you leave at the end of the year. Hopefully you’ll finish your time at Welton on a high note.”

She thought a simple nod of her head would suffice, but the glare Fran receives from her father says otherwise. “Yes sir,” she sputters.

The administrator quickly exchanges pleasantries with her parents before moving on to the next family. Thankfully no one speaks of Fran’s ‘disrespect’ as luggage full of her belongings are taken from the trunk and carried to the dormitory, but she imagines her mother will hear an earful on the way home. Fran can’t find the energy in her to care, even though she does feel bad about leaving her mother to deal with the monster that can be her father. Reuniting with her friends is the only thing she can think about, and besides, her father thoroughly enjoys having something to complain about.

Pushing the door of her room open, she sees Charlotte with her back to the door unpacking her clothes. Before Fran can help it, a squeal is falling from her lips and she drops her bags, immediately running into her friend’s arms for a hug.

“Fran!” she shrieks, just as happy to see the auburn haired girl with emerald eyes. “I’m so glad to be back, the weather in England was downright dreadful.” At the sight of Fran’s parents Charlotte backs away, offering them a tight-lipped smile. “Mr. and Mrs. Winters.”

They return the favour, nodding their heads in her direction before giving their daughter a final hug. After making her promise to call once a week, they leave Fran in peace. Charlotte flops on her bed, tie going askew, and Fran is quick to follow.

“Can you believe it’s our last year?” she asks, kicking her feet into the air and letting them bounce off the mattress when they come down.

Fran answers earnestly. “No. It seems like just yesterday we were moving in for the first time.”

Charlotte spills the details about how Tyson secretly came to visit her in the summer, and Fran gushes over their blossoming romance. The rest of the group clued into their feelings years ago, but she’s just happy they finally figured it out themselves and got together. Cale now owes Fran twenty dollars since he lost the bet.

Wanting to go and see her other friends as quickly as possible, Fran shoves clothes into random drawers and haphazardly makes her bed. She doesn’t even bother to set up her typewriter. Charlotte chuckles at the eagerness but she just shrugs. “Ready?”

The walk to the boys’ dormitory is a quick one. Located two floors above their own, the girls are there in no time. Finding their friends is the challenge, as neither Fran nor Charlotte have any idea what rooms they’re in. Fran hears them before she sees them, with Cale shouting as he chases Nate down the hall.

“Get back here you asshole! And give me back my book!”

Nate laughs and speeds up. “Never in a million years. I didn’t even know you could read Calesy.” The broad rascal sees Fran approaching and tosses her the object he’s holding. “Fran, catch!”

Feeling sorry for Cale, she sticks the book out for him to retrieve. “Thanks,” he huffs, slightly out of breath. “You ladies settle in alright?”

“Settle? Do you know our dear Francesca at all? As soon as her parents were back in the car she was practically dragging me here,” Charlotte says matter-of-factly, poking her friend in the ribs to continue the teasing.

Fran doesn't even try to refute the statement or defend herself by saying she let her spill some secrets before itching to get out. “What can I say? I missed my boys.”

It’s then the other young man comes into view. Stepping into the hallway, Tyson quickly jogs to where the rest of the group is chatting. Fran’s swept into a bone crushing hug by the Albertan and her feet lift an inch or two off the ground. A summer of training for the upcoming hockey season has Tyson extra muscular, though she isn’t complaining. He’ll now be able to boost her into the taller trees in order to win the stupid compitions Nate insists on having. Once he lets go, Fran waves hello to his roommate Ryan. He gives a quick hug followed by a pat on the head because he hit a growth spurt in the summer and is now a comfortable couple inches taller than her. The five of them leave Ryan in the hall and head back in the direction of the boys’ rooms, conveniently located beside each other.

One look at Charlotte has Fran realizing she’s itching for a proper reunion with her lover. “Nathan, would you care to join me for another installment of ‘Bed Jumpers’?” she asks, praying he won’t be able to turn the opportunity down. He’s always game for causing a ruckus and it’s one of the things that she loves most about him.

He shoots her a mischievous grin and does his best radio announcer impression. “On this week’s programme we’re taking a deep dive into the bed of Mr. Cale Makar. Will it pass the tests and get the bed jumpers seal of approval? We’re about to find out.” Nate grabs Fran’s hand and starts sprinting, hoping to get to the destination before his much faster friend. Out of nowhere butterflies appear in the girl’s stomach, and she can’t decide whether they’re present because she missed Nate or if they’re lingering from the former crush she had on the boy.

“Why does it have to be my bed?” Cale groans, following dejectedly. Only Tyson and Charlotte hesitate to follow, and Fran shoots them a quick wink over her shoulder as a ‘you’re welcome’ gesture.

The other two don’t notice their absence, and truthfully Fran doesn’t feel it for long. It’s so nice to share space again with the ones she cares about most. She tries not to focus on the fact that this is the last time she’ll be able to do this, insteading honing in on Nate’s laughter as he does a ridiculous dance with the sole intention of messing up Cale’s sheets. Eventually he stops reprimanding the two of them and climbs up – Fran offers her hand and Cale eagerly accepts. They’re still jumping when Charlotte and Tyson return, singing horribly off key to the Buddy Holly song that’s been atop the charts recently.

“I really thought you guys would have been over this by now,” Charlotte sighs, rolling her eyes. Her boyfriend just shrugs, not knowing exactly what to say.

She’s the first to stop jumping, plopping down in the middle of the bed. Everyone else quickly follows suit, and though it’s a tight squeeze, they all sit side-by-side. The twin bed frame groans in protest but no one pays it any mind. It’s as though everyone knows each moment together is precious, and they’re running out of time together. Nate and Tyson are set to become Wall Street investors, Charlotte will be going into nursing, and Cale is staying at Welton to assume a junior teaching position. It seems that only Fran’s future is uncertain – parents urging her to go into the legal field but she wants to do nothing more than write. Creatively, journalistically, it doesn’t matter to her. Fran finds the act of writing to be freeing, but her father has made it clear it will not be a fulfilling career. As if being cooped up in an office staring at court reports is any better.

“It’s too nice a day to waste inside,” Nate groans, “Let’s go to the lake.”

The lake in question is a glorified pond, but it provides a picturesque backdrop for Welton’s recruitment brochures. Located behind the main building, it houses a small dock where several row boats are stored. Crew rowing is quite a popular sport, and Welton has one of the best rowing teams along the Eastern Seaboard, second in prestige only to the school’s hockey program. The group isn’t the only one with the bright idea to soak up the sun’s rays on the last truly calm day, and the lawn is packed with students. The area they’ve inhabited for as long as Fran can remember is free, and the five of them race to claim it. An ancient weeping willow provides shade and cover from nosy teachers, but there’s also good access to the water to dip their feet in. Swimming is strictly prohibited, however most teachers would look the other way if the sun was being particularly cruel. Hours pass like seconds in the safe haven of the willow, and before Fran knows it all the students are being summoned for dinner.

“Hope they’ve got at least one good meal in them this year,” Cale grumbles. The rosy-cheeked boy has a point — Welton’s kitchen staff are notorious for providing lackluster nutrition. Everyone seems to be in agreement, and chats idly about potential food choices all the way to the dining hall.

The chefs must have decided to ease into the grim selection of overcooked meat and vegetables this year, because tonight they’re serving roast beef. Plate in hand, Fran waves goodbye to the boys and follows Charlotte to the table. For reasons unbeknownst to her, the dining situation is separated. It doesn’t make sense to anyone since classes are all integrated, but she supposes it’s the administration’s feeble attempt to maintain order. Too much contact with the opposite sex could detract from studies – Fran imagines the rule is in place for the benefit of the boys.

From dinner everyone is sequestered directly to their rooms. Charlotte quickly sneaks a final kiss from Tyson’s lips before the rest of the friend group continues to climb the staircase. Fran teases her relentlessly once inside the confines of their shared room. “God, you’re like a lovesick puppy!” The comment earns her a swat to the head with a pair of stockings.

“Shut up. You’d be the exact same way.”

She supposes Charlotte’s right. Perhaps she would be as loopy with love if there was someone to share it with. However, she has no intention of getting a boyfriend, even though sometimes she lays awake at night thinking about what it would be like, and several times Nate has been the object of those daydreams. Nothing is going to get in the way of making every last memory possible with her friends.

Sleep comes easy. She’s exhausted from the hustle and bustle of moving, but also from the content she feels being back at school. Though it isn’t always easy, Welton has become more of a home to her than the house she grew up in. This is largely in part to her friends but she wouldn’t change it for the world. That night she dreams of a life where the five of them are never separated.

Morning comes much too quickly for Fran’s liking. If it were up to her, classes wouldn’t start until at least ten. The ringing of Charlotte’s alarm clock jolts her awake, and she squints through the darkness to see it reads 6:45. There’s exactly half an hour before she has to be downstairs for breakfast.

“Ugh, why must we get up so early,” Fran groans, looking over to see that Charlotte is pulling on her sweater, already dressed for the day.

She laughs at her roommate’s sluggishness. “I’ve been up for ages. Suppose my body still isn’t used to the time change.”

“You think by now it would be.”

Charlotte just shrugs, not having an answer. She may be a science student, but even that knowledge evades her. The two of them finish getting dressed and rush to the bathroom. If they don’t get there before everyone else, the line to brush their teeth becomes unbearable. A few other girls are moving around, but the floor is mostly quiet. Fran doubts the boys’ floor is the same – they’re always jumping around and giving the Head Boy more grief than he deserves. The bell rings, signaling the dining hall is ready for students. Fran and Charlotte head for the stairs, and meet up with Cale.

“Where’s everyone else?” she asks.

He rolls his eyes and Fran knows he’s already had to deal with a handful. “It seems they’re a little slow this morning,” he sighs. “Oh, before I forget, we’ve got a table booked tonight for a study group. Eight sharp, don’t be late.”

After getting a verbal confirmation that both girls will be in attendance, Cale splits from them to sit with the other senior boys. Breakfast today is simple: eggs and toast, but it will keep them going until lunch. Charlotte chats excitedly about the new biology curriculum and Fran half listens. The only reason she’s still in science is because it’s mandatory. If she had the choice her timetable would be filled with English courses, but alas, Welton only offers standard English as opposed to additional creative writing courses. It’s not as though her father would let her take them anyways. Instead, Fran’s day is spent in a bunch of courses she could care less about.

Biology, Chemistry, and Latin pass without incident. Every class has the same spiel: students are to do well in order to get into Ivy Leagues and to keep Welton in the top spot of all preparatory academies in the country. The teaching staff don’t care if they learn anything — everything is all about keeping up appearances. Homework is piled on to maintain the rigorous academic schedule supported by the administration, and by the time lunch rolls around Fran’s collected a solid three hours of work. It’s all due the next day because doesn’t believe in easing students back into the swing of things.

“This is all so mindless,” she complains to her friends during the noon break.

Cale immediately comes to the defense of his future colleagues. “It isn’t them,” he explains. “The system is deeply flawed and needs an overhaul.”

“Shut up Calesy, you’re literally less than a year away from becoming one of them,” Nate pipes in. “I agree with Fran. Everything about this place sucks.”

“Except for us,” Tyson chimes.

Nate shoots his friend a toothy grin. “Right you are Tys.”

The five of them joke around until the bell rings, signalling the end of break and the start of the second half of the day. Trigonometry, Geography, and History are the same as every other class. The constant reminder of what they have to achieve is becoming unbearable, and by the time English starts Fran is so sick of hearing the same three sentences. It’s bad enough she’ll be letting down her parents with her decision to attend a publicly funded college, but now she’ll be letting her school down as well.

Fran shuffles into her seat behind Tyson and waits for the teacher to arrive. “I heard he’s new, fresh out of a post-doctorate program from Oxford,” he whispers.

“Maybe he’ll teach us something interesting,” she huffs. Tyson laughs, but knows she’s serious. The lack of originality in the English department has been a thorn in Fran’s side since ninth grade.

Without warning the overhead lights cut out, leaving everyone in the dark. Murmurs of what could have happened erupt but they’re turned back on just as quickly. Searching for the culprit, Fran turns in her seat to see the doorway and comes face to face with an exuberant man. He winks when they lock eyes, like the two of them are sharing a secret. “Follow me,” he cheers, and exits just as fast as he appeared.

The students look hesitantly between each other. No one knows what to do – teachers at Welton aren’t like this. They don’t spontaneously host lessons someplace else and certainly don’t get their pupils’ attention by rattling a lightswitch.

“Something about this doesn’t sit quite right,” Charlotte whispers, and others nod in agreement. Everyone stays firmly planted in their seats. Fran thought that Nate might follow, since he typically does things in reckless abandon, but even he looks uneasy. A knot in her stomach says that the man, whoever he was, is the teacher and everyone is putting themselves in a risky position by not following his orders.

Before she can commit to leaving the room he comes back. “Don’t you want today’s lesson? You’ll be awfully behind otherwise.”

It’s settled. With a bit more coaxing, everyone picks up their books and files out of the room. The whispers only increase as the students follow the teacher, wondering where he could be taking them. “This is how we die,” Cale mutters, stuffing his hands into his pockets in frustration.

“We aren’t going to die Cale,” Tyson reasons. “Perhaps the lesson is better suited for outside.”

The rosy-cheeked boy isn’t convinced. “He’s taking us to a secondary location, Tys! That’s standard procedure for murders.”

“No one is dying,” Fran sighs, grabbing them both by the elbows in an effort to keep up to the rest of the class. “I think we’re just heading to the library. Makes sense for an English class, don’t you think?”

Sure enough, the group of teenagers grinds to a halt outside the library’s double doors. It’s silent as they wait for new instructions. Nothing comes – instead everyone is ushered into the room. Winding through the aisles and statue replicas, the front of the group stops at a section of study tables. The library is deserted so the class chatters freely, unable to disturb anyone. The still unidentified man clears his throat to get everyone’s attention. “My sincerest apologies for the kerfuffle. I just wanted us to talk in a bit more of a natural setting. I’m Mr. Bednar, though I also respond to ‘O Captain, my Captain’. We’ll be spending the year together. This is my first teaching position in a few years, but I’m very excited to learn together. Who wants to introduce themselves first?”

It’s silent. Despite all the curveballs Mr. Bednar has thrown today, it’s clear no one was expecting this. The other teachers don’t make attempts to know their students – all interactions are sterile and removed. Eventually the silence becomes too much and Nate speaks up. “Hello, I’m Nathan MacKinnon, but please call me Nate,” he says. Fran is glad he’s fearless because there was no way she was speaking first.

“Thank you for taking the first leap Mr. MacKinnon,” the teacher laughs. “Anyone else?”

One by one, each student rhymed off their name. Fran falls somewhere in the middle, not wanting to seem too eager but also not wanting to be seen as a slacker. English is the subject she enjoys the most, and she wants to develop a good relationship with the teacher. “Francesca Winters,” she sputters nervously, and Cale tries to cover up a laugh with a cough. Fran jabs him in the ribs in retaliation, and swears she sees the teacher’s eyes crinkle, hinting at a smile.

“Pleasure to have you, Miss Winters. I heard from some of the other teachers that you have quite the knack for writing.”

Fran blushes profusely and her friends snicker beside her. Charlotte whispers something in her ear, but Fran doesn’t hear, too focussed on trying not to curl into a ball from embarrassment. The last thing she wants is for someone to have high expectations of her and not be able to live up to them. Mr. Bednar talks for a bit about the structure of the course and it seems entertaining. Classes are to be discussions, not lectures, and she’s excited because it’s like no other course at Welton. The typical pressure of scoring high on tests is gone, allowing Fran and the others to focus on enjoying the content. Mr. Bednar makes it very clear that his sole purpose is to help them learn to think for themselves and expand their literary horizons. When the bell rings, signalling the end of day, Fran can’t help but be a little upset. At least there will be one class she won’t dread.

☼☼☼☼

By the time Fran and Charlotte get to the fourth floor common room, the boys look like they’ve already given up on work. Nate is deeply invested in building a transistor radio from scratch, Tyson is aimlessly looking at the ceiling, and Cale is pinching his brow in frustration. At the arrival of his girlfriend Tyson seems to gain more life, sitting up straight and offering her a bright smile. “Study group, eh?” Fran smirks as she sets her books down, shoving Cale’s shoulder slightly. He offers her a tense smile that looks more like a grimace and returns to his book.

“Calesy’s just upset that he’s the only one who doesn’t understand the trig problem,” Nate sing-songs. A death glare is sent his way by the other boy, and a snarky comment rolls off Cale’s tongue.

“At least I give enough fucks to try and figure it out instead of copying Tyson’s answer like you did,” he huffs. “Some of us actually care about getting an education.”

A scuffle breaks out amongst the two of them when Nate lunges at Cale, forgetting it’s no longer a fair fight. Though in good shape, Cale’s athleticism pales in comparison to his friend’s. Too tired to break up the fight, Fran opens her chemistry textbook and begins working on the problem set. Dr. Sakic, in charge of patrolling the floor tonight, hears the racket the boys are causing and rushes into the room.

“Mr. MacKinnon and Mr. Makar,” he booms, voice echoing off the vaulted ceilings. The horse play ends immediately, and both of them sink into their seats. “I expected better from you both.”

“Sorry Sir,” they apologize in tandem, too afraid to meet the man’s gaze.

The headmaster gives them a sharp nod. “Any more nonsense this week and I’ll keep you here for the break. You’ll have a wonderful time cleaning the chalk brushes.” Without another word, he turns on his heel to exit the room, but spins around when a sound comes from the speaker that had hastily been shoved into Tyson’s lap to protect it during the scuffle. “That better not be a radio in your hands Mr. Jost,” Dr. Sakic says pointedly. “You know they’re forbidden at Welton.”

“Of course it’s not Sir,” Tyson stammers. “It’s a science project. A radar. Just want to get an early start.”

The old man nods in approval and leaves the room, but not before giving it another sweep with his hawk-like eyes.

Silence overtakes the table out of fear, and by the grace of god Fran doesn’t struggle with the problem set. Nate gets her to help explain the one question he doesn’t understand, and once the work is done they all relax for the last half hour before curfew. No one really talks, enjoying the silence that rarely overtakes the group. Tyson and Charlotte cuddle into the large armchair in the corner and talk in hushed tones, leaving the rest of them to their own devices.

Fran tries her hardest to commit every detail to memory. Sounds, sights, smells – anything to help her remember the joy and contentment she feels. Come this time next year things will be vastly different and she wants to have a bank of memories to escape to when things get tough.

☼☼☼☼

Routine paints Fran’s life a dull shade of grey. There isn’t much she can do to combat it – Welton prides itself on a rigorous schedule that leaves no room for imagination. All extracurriculars besides the annual yearbook club are professional and promote the school’s code of conduct. The school newspaper was to be her magnum opus, her lasting impression upon Welton, but she was forced to resign as editor-in-chief by her father. The phone call had been filled with tears as Fran tried to argue with him, to make him see reason. It was no use because he was convinced the paper was a waste of time and wouldn’t make her college applications stand out. Fran’s mother said nothing, choosing not to insert herself into the matter. There was nothing she could do except sign the resignation paper and clear out her desk.

September passes by in a blur. Homework keeps Fran busy and her friends do the best they can to keep the sadness of losing the editorial position at bay. Charlotte is at her side nearly around the clock, always with a smile and a shoulder to confide in. Cale keeps her mind active by giving book recommendations once a week, and the other two help in any way they know how, whether that’s stealing snacks from the kitchen or letting Fran borrow sweaters when she gets cold. The year would be much more challenging and lonely if she didn’t have them.

The only place she truly feels joy is Mr. Bednar’s English class. Unlike the other teachers at Welton, he allows her to think for herself and express different viewpoints. Classes are spent reciting passages from novels and dancing around the classroom. It’s a Friday before a long weekend and Fran’s expecting to be assigned a lot of homework. She grumbles with Nate as they step into the room, and to her surprise the desks are all pushed to the side.

“Place your stuff on a desk and then huddle around,” Mr. Bednar shouts gleefully, sitting on his own. Eager to see what he has in store, she and the other students follow his directions. Nearly a month with the unconventional teacher has them used to these random class setups, and Fran imagines there will be a useful lesson at the end.

“Today’s class is all about realizing what you want in life,” he explains. “Each of you has ten minutes to envision what you hope your life looks like in ten years. Then you’ll act it out to your peers.”

“Sir, what does this have to do with English?” Tyson asks.

“Ah Mr. Jost, always asking the important questions,” the teacher chuckles. “You’ll have to write me a paper about your realizations of course. Just a small one, one page will suffice. The purpose of this exercise is to help you think outside the academic lens. None of you will be in school forever, and I think it will be beneficial for you to start to think about your futures outside an academic context.”

Mr. Bendar whistles loudly, and the brainstorming time begins. Shrugging her shoulders in compliance to her friends’ anxious stares, Fran screws her eyes shut and lets her mind wander. Almost immediately something comes to mind: she hopes to be at a book signing for her latest bestseller with her friends in the audience. Her parents couldn’t make it, but that’s okay – she doesn’t talk to them often anymore. After the event she brings everyone back to her apartment on the top floor of a swanky building and they enjoy each other’s company until the early hours of the morning. Fran feels warm and content and wants to stay in the daydream forever, but another whistle jostles her free and reality makes its unfortunate return.

“Any volunteers to go first?” Mr. Bednar asks with a smile on his face. A boy who looks far too small to be in twelfth grade timidly sticks up his hand. Fran recognizes him to be one of the few transfer students the school accepted this year, and gives him a thumbs up in encouragement. He introduces himself as Nico and depicts a fantasy where he’s the youngest senator in the country’s history and has everyone betting he’ll be president once he reaches the age requirement. It seems like an awful lot of work to her, but at least he has a dream his parents approve of. Other students follow, but Fran zones out. It dawns on her that Welton sends monthly reports home and if her father finds out she’s propecizing about being an author he’ll pull her out of school without a second thought. She begins to brainstorm an acceptable answer, something about being a legal secretary.

Eventually everyone has gone but Fran. “Miss Winters, would you do the honours of closing out the exercise?”

A lump forms in the back of her throat, and it’s all she can do to push it down. “Of course Captain,” she stumbled over the words. Charlotte squeezes Fran’s hand to ground her, and she sends her friend a thankful glance. Her legs tremble slightly as she moves to the center of the room – she really has to sell this. “When I look ten years into the future,” she began, “I see myself balancing a successful career in law and having a family. Of course I’ll only be working part time, as the kids will come first. I’ll live in a quaint little house in my hometown and spend a lot of time helping my aging parents. It will be a wonderful life.” Fran picks her brain quickly for any other aspirations her father might have, but can’t think of any, so she begins to return to her spot on the floor.

“Why are you lying to us?”

Fran’s shocked – she thought she had done a good job at selling the fantasy she detests more than anything in the world. “I beg your pardon?”

Mr. Bednar gestures for her to return to the spotlight, and she dejectedly shuffles backwards. “Franecsca, I asked you to share your hopes and dreams, not those of your parents. Do you really think Nico’s dad wants him to become a crooked politician? Of course not, they want him to become a doctor! We all have our own desires, so what are yours?”

A quick glance at her friends lets her know they’re cheering her on, and Fran recounts everything she saw when she first closed her eyes. The signing, the party, the unbridled joy she felt – nothing is held back. At some point Mr. Bednar encourages her to share what the book will be about, and before Fran can stop herself she’s reciting lines from a novel that hasn’t even been written. It’s exhilarating to picture a life that’s completely her own, and she doesn't know if she’ll be able to stop. Once she’s exhausted every possible plot line and characterization, Fran sinks to the floor in a proud exhaustion. Her teacher sends a charming wink her way before speaking. “Well, that just about does it for today. I have nothing else planned. Want to go play a game of soccer?”

On the way to the field, Fran’s friends shower her with compliments and praise. “That was fantastic darling,” Charlotte gushes. Tyson agrees with her, applauding Fran’s bravery for being true to herself.

Nate chimes in. “You have to write that book! I won’t stop hounding you until it’s done.”

“I don’t know Nate,” she sighs. “It was just a dream. We all have a life planned out for us in the real world.”

“But that could be your real world, Fran!” Tyson argues. “You sound so in love with the idea, and you’re the only one I know who could pull it off.”

Fran’s cheeks blush rose at her friend’s words. Only Cale is yet to say anything, so she shoots him a quizzical look. “What do you think Calesy?”

“I think,” he states, a broad smile across his features, “That you’ve already sold five copies of that novel of yours.”

☼☼☼☼

A few weeks later, Tyson knocks ferociously on the girls’ dorm room door after the annual club meeting. He’s junior supervisor, second in command only to Mr. Arthur, the Latin teacher. It’s a Thursday night, and their room is the designated spot for unwinding because the matron, Nancy, is kind and lets the boys stay a few minutes after curfew, telling their supervisor they were assisting her. “Look what I found!” he says excitedly, flipping an old book open to a specific page that doesn’t make sense to anyone but him. Tyson softens once he sees Charlotte, kissing her gently on the forehead. “Hello dear,” he whispers tenderly.

His girlfriend giggles before pointing to the annual. “Tell us what this is about!”

“Ah yes,” Tyson says, finally getting on track. “This is the annual from 1943. Guess who was in the graduating class?”

The rest of the group studies the pictures and all shout the answer at the same time. “Mr. Bednar!”

“Yep. And look right under his name, which I didn’t peg him to be a Adam, there’s a club I’ve never seen before. The Society For Banned and Burned Books, what is that?”

No one has an answer. “We should ask him tomorrow,” Nate suggests. “Find him outside during the afternoon break. I’m sure he’d tell us what it’s about.”

A knock rings out for the second time that night. Nancy peeks her head in and waves the boys to hurry up. “I’ve kept you out later than normal,” she says kindly, “but it’s time you return to your own dormitories.” Goodbyes are said and a makeshift plan is hatched. Sleep doesn’t come easy as Fran is too excited to find out about the club that is no longer offered at Welton.

The Society for Banned and Burned Books is all Fran can think of. The name is so vague – it could mean a million different things. How is she to know the truth? She’s distracted the entire morning, losing focus as her mind wanders through the different possibilities. In chemistry she almost ruins the experiment because she isn’t paying attention, and the titration would have been ruined if Tyson hadn’t caught it in time. Judging by the absent stares that Fran occasionally catches, the rest of the group isn’t doing much better. The question is eating everyone alive.

After what feels like three years, the bell that signals the start of break chimes. Fran’s out of her seat in an instant, and the others are close on her heels. Once outside, she notices no one is there yet, and they all take refuge under the willow tree by the lake. Slowly students and staff trickle into the yard but Mr. Bednar still doesn’t appear. Cale has the genius idea that he might be supervising a different part of the grounds, and the five of them make the trek up the hill. The man in question is sitting on a bench near the edge of the property, watching a group of elementary kids play in the sandpit.

“Mr. Bednar,” Nate shouts, even though the group is still a hundred and fifty yards away from him, “We have a question!”

There’s no response. The older man doesn’t give them the time of day, instead focusing on a particular patch of flowers that seem to be dwindling in health. Tyson tries this time to get his attention. “O Captain, my Captain!”

The English teacher waves them over enthusiastically, chuckling to himself as he watches the boys race each other to see who gets there first. Charlotte and Fran are hot on their heels, not wanting to miss any information that might be vital.

“What’s going on?” The older man asks, looking for a reason to explain the sudden outburst of five students approaching him on the break.

Tyson pulls the annual out from his jacket and flips it to the page he marked with a piece of Fran’s stationary kit. “What’s the Society for Banned and Burned Books? None of us have ever seen the club offered at Welton?”

Suddenly, everyone is being pulled closer and Mr. Bednar is speaking in hushed tones. “Don’t you dare mention it to anyone,” he says, and the look in his eyes tells Fran he means business. “That little club nearly got me expelled, and if the administration catches whiff of it again my goose will be cooked. What fun it was, though, to sneak out under the cover of darkness and read things that actually expanded our minds.” When he realizes none of the children in front of him understand what he’s going on about, Mr. Bednar clarifies. “The name implies what we were all about. We’d read books that had been banned by the school board or things European regimes set ablaze. It was thrilling. I have a feeling I wouldn’t be the scholar I am today if it hadn't been for the Society.”

The bell rings again, signalling the return of classes. Everyone thanks the teacher for his honesty, and with a heavy sigh begins the trek back to the school building. When the group is almost within earshot of other staff they hear Mr. Bednar shout, “It met twice a month!”

Later in the evening, at dinner, a folded up piece of paper makes its way to the table where the girls were eating dinner. Charlotte opens it quickly, knowing it’s from the boys, and Fran presses against her side to read it. We’re resurrecting the Society tonight. You guys in? it says in Nate’s chicken scratch. Fran looks up to see them staring at her, waiting for an answer. Charlotte looks at her friend in silent deliberation, and a second later they’ve both made up their minds. Three nods, the group’s secret code for yes, is thrown in the boys’ direction, and she catches Tyson fist pumping out of the corner of her eye.

“How are we doing this?” Fran asks Cale as everyone exits the dining hall. “We barely know what it’s even about.”

He just shrugs. “There was a package on Tys’s desk when he got back from class. It had a bunch of books and a note signed J.B. We all just assumed it was from Mr. Bednar.”

It seems to be the only explanation Fran’s going to get. Honestly, the idea of breaking the rules for once in her life is incredibly enticing, so there’s no way she’s letting the boys carry on without her. There’s no doubt that Charlotte is already planning the escape route to the small cave just off Welton’s property, so it seems her fate is decided. As Fran climbs the stairs she discusses logistics with Cale and learns that Tyson has it all figured out – after all the staff have gone to sleep, everyone will sneak out of bed and meet in the dormitory’s west stairwell before running across the yard to avoid being caught. It will be easy enough and Fran isn't worried. As long as she brings a treat to distract Spot, Dr. Sakic’s dog, things should go off without a hitch. At the landing for her floor she says her goodbyes to Cale before skipping down the hallway.

Fran spends the next few hours pacing the length of her bed. Charlotte tries to calm her nerves, but it’s no use. She’s just as excited and keyed-up as Fran, so together they pass the time by making up silly songs. It takes them to lights out in the blink of an eye, and when Nancy comes in to give a final warning there’s a full blown concert in the works, complete with hairbrush microphones.

“Good night girls,” she says, a knowing smile on her face. She definitely notices the electric excitement running through the room, bouncing rapidly between the two girls, but doesn’t say anything.

Charlotte says good night for the both of them as Fran slips into the hall to use the bathroom. When she returns, her roommate is perched on the windowsill, book in hand. The pair of them have to find quiet ways to distract from the slow passage of time, not wanting to risk staff members staying up to check on them if they’re too loud. Sighing gently as she flops onto her bed, Fran begins to daydream about what it would be like to live the life she truly dreams of, the one prophesied in Mr. Bednar’s exercise. Apparently she spends longer than anticipated in the fantasy because Charlotte is trying desperately to get her attention.

“It’s been hours, everyone has to be asleep,” she whispers. “The boys are probably waiting for us. Come on.”

A quick peek out the door confirms Charlotte’s suspicions – slumber has overtaken the residents of Welton Academy. The pair of them slip on school issued coats and boots, and do their best to silence the door’s creaking hinges. Luckily they were given a room at the end of the corridor and they leave with little issue. Cale and Tyson are waiting in the stairwell as planned, but Nate is nowhere to be found.

“Where’s Nate?” Charlotte asks, pecking Tyson on the cheek in greeting.

“He went ahead to do reconnaissance,” Cale explains.

That makes sense, especially for Nate, and without another moment’s hesitation the group departs. They grab Nate on the ground floor and scurry through the darkness. No one speaks until the school grounds are well behind them, too anxious the plan would fail if even a peep was uttered. The woods offer a sound barrier and the friends chat freely, fretting about upcoming midterm examinations and the looming Ivy League application deadline. Fran’s insides twist slightly when Cale brings it up, worried about how her father will respond to her lack of applications, but the thought is thrown to the back of her mind when everyone screeches to a halt outside the final destination.

The cave they decided to sneak to is more of a large rock pile, but it will do the trick. It’s quite spacious – the five of them will fit without any issue. Nate’s the first one in, followed by Tyson. Charlotte and Fran scuttle in soon after, and Cale brings up the rear, rolling a small boulder over the ‘door’ to hopefully keep out animals interested in intruding. Once the dust settles and the group is comfortable to the best of their abilities, Tyson pulls the package left for him from his jacket and clears his throat.

“Welcome to the inaugural meeting of the reinvisioned Society for Banned and Burned Books.”

The words send shivers down Fran’s spine. It’s thrilling to be here with her friends, doing something frowned upon by mainstream society. They’ll all be dead if anyone at Welton ever figures out what is going on, but she’d gladly sink all of her life prospects if it meant spending time with her friends. She can’t wait to see what the adventure brings.

Nate snickers from beside Fran. “You don’t have to be so dramatic about it, Tys, just get on with it. We don’t have all night.”

The comment earns him a death glare, but Tyson continues with less performative lustre. “We were given this package, presumably by Mr. Bednar, to expand our minds and create memories that will last long after we leave Welton.” Sad smiles are shared, none of them wanting to think about the end of an era that’s drawing closer. There’s a slight voice crack as he speaks again, and it echoes off the stone walls. “Is everyone willing to take the oath so we can begin?”

“Jesus Christ, are we joining a cult?” Charlotte quips, but the smile on her face gives away the giddiness she’s feeling. Head nods come from the rest of the group, and the unofficial officiant gets started.

“It says to put up your right hand,” Tyson says, “And repeat after me. I solemnly swear to protect the secrecy of the Society. I swear to come in with an open mind, and let my potential flourish. I will use the Society to make lasting memories and to become a multi-dimensional person who thinks for themselves. The world is mine.”

Everyone repeats the words, voices mixing together until they’re indistinguishable from one another. With the first order of business out of the way, Tyson sits down and takes a deeper look at what was dropped on his desk – a worn paper explaining how the club works, a reading list, and a few books to get them started. Titles include The Grapes of Wrath, The Catcher in the Rye, Ulysses, and Animal Farm. Fran notices that all the books have been banned or burned in at least two countries: it seems the name of The Society is very literal. It also seems that Mr. Bednar hoped they would stay true to form as the club moulds to fit their needs and desires.

“Let’s get this show on the road,” Cale insists. “We have to be back before everyone starts waking up. Sakic is an early riser.”

They spend the next couple of hours reading aloud and laughing together. After a quick vote it is decided the inaugural book will be The Catcher in the Rye since it seemed interesting, and then they will work their way through the others. Whenever it’s Nate’s turn to read he speaks in different voices and overextends his hand motions; it keeps everyone in stitches.

Before Fran can register how long it’s truly been, Cale checks his watch and alerts the group that it’s nearing three. If they want to get at least a few hours of sleep they need to return to Welton now. Reluctantly, everyone packs up. The trip back to school is silent, exhaustion seeping into their bones and making it hard to think about anything else besides sleep. By the time Fran climbs the stairs to her dormitory floor she can barely keep her eyes open. Charlotte says goodbye to the boys on her behalf, and Fran’s asleep before the other girl slips into their shared room.

A sluggishness encapsulates the group for the entirety of the next day. It seems that no one slept well, all tired eyes and slow movements. Strange looks are given by other students but they’re fairly easy to ignore – Fran is just desperately trying to get through the day so she can crash again. The years of strict, regimented routine at Welton have her circadian rhythm working in a particular way, and staying up late certainly did a number on her. Charlotte is faring better than everyone else– her body used to sleep deprivation on account of time change. It’s all Fran can do to stay awake during English, her final class of the day. If Mr. Bednar notices her wavering consciousness, he doesn’t say anything. In fact, Fran thinks she catches him winking at Tyson, as though he knows just what they were up to last night. Today’s lesson flies right over her head, and as soon as the bell rings she’s scrambling to pick up her books.

“Feeling a little bit under the weather today, Miss Winters?” he asks, closing his lesson plan.

Fran searches his face for any sign that he might snitch on her for being unresponsive in class but finds nothing. “Just a bit tired, Captain,” she quips. “Was up terribly late trying to get comfortable. My mattress has been giving me issues.”

“I’ll be sure to alert Nancy of your troubles. She’ll hate to know you’ve been uncomfortable.”

She knows damn well he won’t say anything, and that he truly knows the reason for her fatigue. However, she appreciates the game he’s playing. That way, if things don’t go to plan and the group gets busted by the administration, his hands will be clean. Fran would hate to see his teaching career blown apart by a group of raucous teens like her own dear friends.

As soon as she’s back in her room Fran crashes onto the bed with a thud. Muttering a jumbled package of words to Charlotte that resemble a request to wake her up for dinner, she climbs under the covers and falls asleep for the second time of the day.

☼☼☼☼

Fran’s body adjusts to the deficit in rest after the second meeting. It’s shorter, with Cale keeping a much closer eye on the time, but still fun. They’re nearly halfway through the novel, and votes are already being cast for what to read next. It’s getting easier for Fran to balance school and the club. The term has picked up, but despite the homework mounting on her desk she’s happy. Her grades are flawless, more than adequate for admission to an Ivy League, but she could care less. No one besides her friends know of her decision to only apply to other institutions, so Fran’s academic success gives her father enough false hope to let her live a mostly uninterrupted life at Welton. Things are good, and she often forgets that in a matter of months everything she knows will be completely turned on its head.

When Fran gets to Mr. Bednar’s classroom one afternoon, she’s surprised to find it empty. There’s no sign he’s been there for hours and worry fills her brain. What if someone saw the group sneaking out last night and is planting the blame on Mr. Bednar because he’s unconventional? Fran isn’t sure what she’d do if that happens, as he’s one of the only reasons she still shows an interest in school.

“Where’s Captain?” Charlotte asks the group, but no one has an answer for him. Tyson and Cale shrug indifferently, and Nate is too busy trying to catch the attention of a girl he’s been crushing on to pay any attention to the blonde. Fran rolls her eyes in disgust, upset Nate doesn’t seem to care about their missing teaching, and tries not to focus on the sting of him paying attention to someone that isn’t her

“I hope he’s alright,” she frets quietly.

As if Cale can sense how much worry is in her words, he places a hand on Fran’s shoulder in a comforting manner. “He’s fine, Fran. Probably just late returning from the bathroom.”

On cue, the eccentric English teacher peeks his head through the open door. “Well, come on! It’s one of the last nice days out,” Mr. Bednar chirps happily. “We’re outside today. No need to bring your books.”

No one even bats an eye at the instruction. Lessons like this occur at least twice a week, and Fran and all the other students look forward to them. It’s an invigorating and refreshing way to use their brains. The teacher leads everyone to the small courtyard that’s adjacent to the humanities wing, and stops in the middle. On instinct, the class huddles around him.

“I need three students to help demonstrate,” Mr. Bednar begins. “Mr. Makar, Mr. Jost, and Miss Tennant, care to do the honours?”

The three of them erupt into a chorus of yeses, eager to please their favourite instructor, though Charlotte shies away at the use of her last name.

“Well then, that settles it. Everyone else, please move to the sides,” he says, waiting patiently for any stragglers to follow instruction. “Now, you three, I want you to walk around the courtyard until I tell you to stop.”

On his signal, Fran’s friends set off, and she watches in confusion. At first, all three are walking in sync: turning corners at the same time and taking equal paces. Tyson is the first to break the pattern, widening his gait and letting his arms swing. Charlotte takes note of his divergence and begins to do her own thing. She twirls and skips about, giggling the entire time. Only Cale stays on the original route, looking every so often towards Mr. Bednar in hopes of positive feedback.

“That’s quite enough,” the older man says. “Thank you. Now can anyone tell me what happened?” It’s silent, his voice echoing off the stone walls and arches. “No one? Alright. What happened was an experiment on conformity. Our subjects started off the same, but soon after Mr. Jost got a little bored and became more relaxed. He walked like he didn’t have a care in the world. Ms. Tennant threw caution to the wind completely, dancing around. One could hardly call it walking. Only Mr. Makar stayed within what he thought were the parameters of the assignment. He was timid, searching for approval.”

The lesson continues, and Mr. Bednar makes a point of explaining that conformity makes things extremely boring, both in literature and life. Fran understands immediately and takes the message to heart. It would be so much better to live life on her terms, and from this moment forward she’s determined to put her happiness first. Near the end of class, everyone is unleashed to do their own walking. The class walks at varying paces, and Fran joins her roommate in skipping around in a circle. Only Nate refuses to walk, and when asked about it he shrugs.

“Exercising my right not to walk, Captain,” he says, which earns an eye roll and a smirk from the teacher.

“You’re certainly illustrating the point, Mr. MacKinnon.”

Later that night at the meeting, over pages of The Grapes of Wrath, Fran gushes about how Mr. Bednar’s lessons make her truly feel alive. Her friends agree, all particularly inspired by the passionate teacher. However, they share looks amongst themselves – proud Fran finally feels secure enough in what she wants to think about sticking up to her father. Although almost double in length than the previous novel, the group is making solid progress and is on track to finish the book before the holiday break.

Tonight Nate brought a saxophone, and after reading some of his own prose he breaks into song. The tune isn’t distinguishable because he isn’t much of a musician, but it still makes Fran laugh hysterically. Tyson joins in, crooning some words over the melody. Soon an impromptu jam session is in full effect: Cale works out a beat on a steel drum found just outside of their secret hideaway, and Charlotte and Fran provide handclaps and harmonies. The number ends in a fit of giggles tumbling from everyone’s lips, and Fran has trouble stifling them once she reaches Welton's property again. Sleep comes easy once back in her room, and Fran dreams of creating a lifetime of adventures with her friends.

☼☼☼☼

It’s a bright Tuesday when Fran spots the flyer on the bulletin board in the lobby. There, handwritten in large scrawling script, are the words Writing Seminar for Young Authors. She’s intrigued and reads all the information available on the sheet of paper. It seems to be taking place at Henley Hall, Welton’s sister school, and will run for nearly the rest of the year. Fran copies the contact information into her pocketbook and heads upstairs to compose a piece of literature worthy of admission.

Charlotte finds her there, several hours later, surrounded in a large pile of crumpled paper.

“What on earth are you doing?”

Fran slams her pen down on her notebook a smidge too aggressively, causing the other girl to flinch slightly. “Sorry,” she apologizes. “I’m just trying to get this submission perfect before I drop it off in the morning.”

“Oh!” Charlotte chirps excitedly. “Your dad is letting you write articles in the school paper again?”

A silence covers the room like a thick blanket. “Uh, not exactly,” Fran murmurs. “Henley is doing a writing seminar and I’m going to apply. My father doesn’t know.”

Her roommate and closest friend of nearly ten years shoots Fran a nervous glance. “What are you going to do when he finds out?”

Frustrated, Fan pushes the desk chair out and tug at the roots of her hair. “Goddamnit, Lottie, can’t you just be excited for me? I’m finally doing something I want to do and not caring about what anyone else thinks. Who’s side are you even on? You gonna call up my folks, let them know my plans, and have me shipped off to a refining school? Huh?”

“Calm down, Fran. It was just a question,” she sighs. “I’d never fink. Just thought you should consider what would happen. What are you writing?”

She gestures to the scraps littering the ground, and allows Charlotte to read one of her many drafts. She studies the words intently before darting out of the room, most likely to read it to a crowd of students and embarrass Fran. She likes to keep her writing a secret.

“Charlotte Tennant! Get back here!” Fran screeches, tearing after her.

The blonde’s giggles echo off the walls. “Help! I’m being chased by Agatha Christie!”

Cale narrowly avoids a collision with Charlotte as he rounds the corner, and Tyson can’t get out of the way fast enough. She runs right into her boyfriend’s chest, knocking them both over. After explaining why she was running and urging the rest of her friends to read the piece, everyone returns to Fran and Charlotte’s room for a study group. They insist Fran has to submit the very version Charlotte read, saying it was the best one. Fran lets them flatter her, and decides to drop it off in the morning. After all, Henley Hall is just down the road. The rest of the night is spent collaborating on Latin and laughing at Nate’s antics. When Nancy comes in to remind them of lights out, she finds all five teenagers huddled at the small window, looking out at the small flakes of snow that are falling.

“Look Nancy, it’s the first snowfall,” Charlotte says as she beckons her over.

The older woman smiles fondly at the group before nodding her head. “Beautiful isn’t it?” she muses. “Now, the boys better scurry out of here before they get caught.”

With a chorus of jovial goodbyes and plans to make a snowman tomorrow at break, they leave to avoid getting in trouble from their floor monitor. Fran and Charlotte tidy up before turning the light out, and both fall asleep feeling hopeful for what’s to come.

The next morning before classes start, Fran runs to Mr. Bednar’s office to get permission to visit Henley Hall at lunch. Welton requires staff permission for students to leave campus, but it doesn’t have to be from the headmaster. There’s no doubt in her mind that if she goes to Dr. Sakic he’ll alert her parents of Fran’s newfound extracurricular activity and it will be kiboshed before she can even begin. The beloved English teacher is enthusiastic in his approval, and kindly demands that Fran keeps him updated. She sits the rest of the morning with a mixture of anxiety and excitement bubbling in her stomach.

As soon as the bell signifying lunch rings, Fran’s throat goes dry. What if her writing is terrible and the coordinator laughs in her face? She’s not sure she could handle the rejection.

“Don’t worry about it, Franny,” Tyson comforts. “They’d be stupid not to accept you.”

“You’re the best writer I’ve ever seen,” Cale chimes in.

Nate turns around and ruffles her hair. “Who’s F. Scott Fitzgerald? I only know Francesca Winters.”

The praise boosts her confidence, and by the time Fran waves them farewell at the gates she’s walking with her head up. As long as she gives it her best shot, Fran decides she’ll be happy with the results. The short walk is idyllic – freshly fallen snow coats the trees, and it doesn’t look as though anyone has driven down the road. Even Henley Hall looks nice. It’s smaller than Welton, and in Fran’s opinion uglier, but also has high academic standards for its students. From what she’s heard though, the staff members are kinder. Perhaps it wouldn’t be a terrible place to receive an education.

Once inside, Fran looks around aimlessly, trying to find a clue that would lead her in the direction of where she needs to go. A middle-aged woman, far younger than most of her teachers, approaches Fran with a kind smile. “Are you lost dear?” she asks, waiting patiently for a response.

“I’m afraid so,” Fran says, “Could you point me in the direction of Ms. Robertson’s office? I have a submission for her seminar to drop off.”

The woman laughs heartily, and it echoes slightly in the emptiness of the entryway. “You must be from Welton.” When Fran nods your head, she wraps an arm around the girl’s shoulder and begins walking. “I’m Ms. Robertson, and I’m pleased to say you’re the first from Welton to show any interest.”

Fran isn’t surprised by this. Headmaster Sakic assigns all extracurriculars, and she lets the teacher know this as she follows her. Ms. Robertson nods in understanding, but her lips are pursed in disapproval. It’s only then that Fran realizes Welton’s practices might not be as common as she once assumed.

The teacher’s office is tucked in behind her empty classroom, and Fran pauses to examine how she chose to decorate the space. Pictures of Walt Whitman line the walls, along with other notable poets. “I primarily teach poetry,” Ms. Robertson explains. Fran can’t help but think that she’s the Mr. Bednar of Henley, even though she hardly knows her. The teacher just exudes the same kind of energy.

Once inside, Fran tentatively hands her the paper – even though she seems friendly Fran is still nervous. She’s the first adult to read any of her creative writing.

“This is good. Really good,” Ms. Robertson praises. “You’re in.”

Fran is dumbfounded. Sure, there was a good chance she would have gotten in anyways because she isn't the world’s worst author, but to have someone other than her friends say she’s good at writing is affirming. “Th-thank you,” she stutters.

“No, thank you for bringing this to me. I can’t wait to see what else you’re capable of. The first meeting is on Monday, and when you come I need to see letters from your parents and Dr. Sakic saying you’re allowed to participate.”

Fuck. It slipped her mind that they might need permission from guardians. Fran will just have to figure something out, some way of getting around it. If her father ever found out she is doing something expressly against his orders he’d disown her. Oh well – now that she’s had a taste of success Fran is determined to see this through.

She explains that it won’t be a problem, and that she’s excited to be a part of this. After getting instructions on how to find the exit Fran leaves with a pep in her step. Once outside, she skips the entire way back to Welton.

☼☼☼☼

Somehow Fran manages to make it through nearly the entire weekend without someone bursting her bubble. It’s Sunday afternoon, and she’s planning how to forge the letter of permission from her father. She can’t risk sounding too youthful, but also doesn't want to appear too formal. Getting to work, Fran loads the typewriter and begins writing. Imitating her father is easier than she thought, and when Cale pokes his head through the open door she’s almost done.

“You coming to today’s meeting?” he asks, entering the room to sit at the foot of Fran’s bed.

She continues to clack at the keys of the machine. “Of course,” Fran replies. “Just need to finish this up.”

The pair of them sit in silence as she works, and a few minutes later Fran is placing the letter in an envelope. “Do you mind if we stop at Dr. Sakic’s office? I have to get a letter of permission from him.”

“Sure. How’d you get your father to say yes? He practically kicked you off the paper.” Cale’s question is legitimate, but surely he had to know Fran didn’t ask her father. That would have been an automatic rejection.

“I didn’t,” she sighs. “I wrote the letter myself. Sakic won’t call to double check with him. Besides, my parents live just too far away to want to make the trip here unless they have to.

Fran doesn’t miss the pointed look her friend gives. Cale’s a stickler for the rules, sure, but Fran knows he’s worried for her. If her father finds out she disrespected him like this, on top of not applying to any Ivy Leagues, she’ll be in a lot of trouble. Cale stays quiet while Fran chats with the headmaster, only offering a polite farewell. As the two of them walk to the cave to meet the others, he speaks.

“You better not get caught.”

The five words send chills down her spine. He’s right and Fran knows it. If she doesn't play her cards right it could end badly. Fran begins to regret her decision, but then she remembers how Mr. Bednar constantly encourages her classmates to be their people and do what they want. Whatever happens, she’ll never go back to living anything other than the life she wants to lead.

Conversation pivots when Fran doesn't respond, and the pair discuss what Tyson will bring to this week’s meeting. He’s tonight’s moderator and is known for picking obscure short stories to read after everyone has gotten through the assigned chapters. Cale bets nothing will be in English, and Fran can’t help but agree, because Tyson likes to expand everyone’s perceptions while being a little ridiculous. It’s good though – without him Fran would have a much harder time being exposed to new things. Between him and Mr. Bednar she’s doing a pretty good job learning about the world outside the traditional American viewpoint.

The meeting lasts a few hours, long enough for the sun to have disappeared and the moon to peak up from the shadows. The five of them have a grand time laughing and reading. Welton has a relatively relaxed weekend schedule, so Fran isn’t worried about being caught off school grounds. In fact, most of the staff members travel home if they can, leaving only essential personnel. Society meetings never fail to put Fran in a better mood, and she leaves feeling hopeful about the week to come. Besides, tomorrow she starts learning how to make her dreams a reality with the start of the writing seminar. When she bids everyone but Charlotte goodnight, pep returns to her step. The Brit sees it but chooses not to comment, secretly excited to see Fran unlock her potential.

☼☼☼☼

With the addition of Henley Hall’s writing seminar into Fran’s schedule, things change slightly. She manages to stay up-to-date on coursework, still excelling in all of her classes. What free time she has is now split between working on the rough draft of her novel and attending Society meetings with friends. It’s challenging at times, but there’s no other way she’d rather spend her last year of secondary school.

Mr. Bednar continues to provide thoughtful lessons that inspire. He is, by far, Fran’s favourite teacher at Welton, and she’s a tad upset she won’t get another year with him. It doesn’t matter much though, because Fran is positive he’ll stick with her for the rest of her life.

☼☼☼☼

December is approaching fast, and it’s now pitch black when Fran returns from Henley Hall. Other students are returning from their extracurricular endeavors or using the evening free time to play in the snow so at least she isn’t alone in the dark. As she approaches Welton’s dormitory wing Fran pushes her hands deeper into her pockets. It’s chilly – much colder than any other night this year. Just as she reaches to open the door, Fran hears sniffles from just around the corner. The culprit is a curly-haired brunette she could recognize from a mile away.

“Tys?”

He looks up, eyes brimmed with tears. Fran racks her mind to remember why he would be out so late, and she recalls Tyson saying there was an extra practice tonight before the tournament on the weekend. Despite how her joints seize from the cold, Fran drops to sit beside her friend. Tyson leans closer, resting his head on her shoulder. “What’s the matter?” she asks, pulling his much larger body closer to wrap in a tight hug.

“My parents don’t even care about me enough to send me an original birthday gift,” he chokes out. “The got me the same fucking desk set as last year.”

Her heart breaks for her friend. The Jost’s have always been detached, but this is an entirely new phenomenon for them. How could they not remember what they got their only son for his birthday last year? This is a whole new level of not caring. Fran had celebrated his special day at lunch with the rest of the group, and had plans to give Gwilym his gift after she got back from the seminar.

Hoping to find something to improve her friend’s mood, Fran stands and pulls him to his feet. “Well you know,” she says, tapping her fingers on her chin in faux thought. “This deskset looks extremely aerodynamic.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. In fact, it looks like it was destined to fly.”

Tyson looks at her like she has three heads. “Go on,” Fran urges, “I present to you, Tyson Jost, the world’s first unmanned flying desk set.”

With a scream that verges on primal, Tyson throws the package over the edge of the walkway with fervor. The two of them watch as its contents spill onto the ground, both shocked he actually completed the task. A sideways glance at the boy standing beside her lets Fran know he feels better. They both head inside then, laughing once she remembers how Nate nearly singed his eyebrows off in chemistry earlier in the day. The rest of the night is surprisingly relaxed, with Fran making sure to properly celebrate her friend and catching up on the study hall she missed while at Henley. Nate is still working on that godforsaken radio, and his obsession with it is becoming concerning. He chimes in when something gets particularly interesting, but otherwise doesn’t say much, too concerned with rerouting the contraption’s cabinet wires.

The next morning, at the daily assembly, Dr. Sakic lets it be known that the first round of Ivy League acceptances have been released. A majority of Fran’s classmates have their names called, some of them multiple times, and her stomach sinks slightly. She isn’t upset that she didn’t apply. No, she’s upset because it means she’s going to have to start dodging the topic around her parents. None of Fran’s friends are mentioned, but that’s because they all have jobs lined up for after graduation.

As she shuffles out of the chapel, Mr. Pratt, the spry music teacher, pulls Fran aside. “There’s a call for you,” he explains. “It’s your parents. They’re on line three, so you can tell that to Sylvia.”

Fran’s hands shake and she climbs the stairs to the main office as slowly as possible. What could they possibly want? After repeating the information Mr. MacInnis told her, Fran is given a phone receiver with instructions to keep it under ten minutes.

“Hello?”

The deep boom of her father greets Fran’s ears. “Francesca,” he says, not nearly as cheery as she hoped he would sound. “I was speaking to some friends of mine and they informed me the first round of Ivy acceptance notices were released. Did you hear anything?”

She sucks in a breath, letting it burn her lungs. “I didn’t,” Fran admits. It isn’t technically a lie, but it also isn’t the whole truth. “Not many people did though. I’m sure they just haven’t gotten to my application yet.”

Her father lets out a noise that’s a mixture between a hum and a rumble. “With your grades I’m sure you’ll hear soon. Which did you apply to again? I’m not sure you ever told your mother and I.”

All the moisture leaves Fran’s throat. “All of them sir,” she croaks, praying he doesn’t catch her in the lie.

“That’s my girl. Bet you’ve got your eyes set on Harvard.”

“Of course sir.”

The phone call ends a few moments later when Fran hears the bell signalling the start of class. She’ll get a slip from the secretary to excuse her tardiness, but Fran doesn't want to listen to her father gloat about how she’ll be the first child in the family to attend a prestigious university for another second. After saying goodbye Fran is left with a bitter taste in your mouth. Eventually he’s going to find out, and she isn't sure what will happen then.

By the time the weekend rolls around Fran is exhausted. Though she’s handling everything well, sleep is pretty far down the list of priorities and she definitely isn't getting enough of it. She sleeps well into the morning, only being woken up when Charlotte whacks her with a pillow.

“Get up you lame duck, we have to be at the cave in fifteen minutes.”

Fran groans, a strangled sound that bounces off the furniture. “Can I just skip this one meeting?” she asks. “I’ll attend the next six in a row.”

Charlotte sees right through the ruse. “Fran, we attend every meeting,” she sighs. “Besides, you’re the moderator today. What kind of meeting will it be if you don’t show up?”

Begrudgingly, Fran shuffles out of bed. With help from Charlotte, who tidies her space while she gets ready, the pair are only a few minutes late. Had she been by herself it would have been well over thirty minutes before Fran made an appearance.

Everyone else is already there, smoking the pipes Nate smuggled from his father’s collection the last time he visited home. “Look who finally decided to show up,” Tyson quips, coughing as he exhales.

“Shut the fuck up, Jost,” Fran huffs, stepping over the boy to sit in her regular seat, only to find it occupied.

A girl she’s never seen before is sitting beside Nate, gripping his arm excitedly and hanging on every word he says. The sight makes her stomach twist into an intricate knot, and looking at the two of them cuddled against one another makes Fran realize her feelings towards Nate might not be strictly platonic for the second time in their relationship. She shoots a questioning glance at Tyson, who just shrugs. On the other side of him, Cale’s got a girl with strawberry blonde hair perched on his lap. Neither of them look like they attend Welton or Henley, as they’re dressed very casually, in clothing that would never pass inspection at the boarding schools.

“Oh! Am I sitting in your seat?” Nate’s girl asks. “Nathan said it was alright.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Fran grits, turning her attention to the tall boy who strives to make her life as difficult as possible. “Want to tell me what this is about MacKinnon? You’ve got a lot of gall co-opting my meeting.”

Nate stands dramatically, tossing his scarf over his shoulder and getting giggles from the newcomers. “This,” he begins, “is my attempt at breaking down the barriers between public and private schools. Marjorie and Annabelle are from Ridgeway High, and Cale and I thought they might like to see what life at Hell-ton was really like.”

“Plus,” the one Fran assumes is Annabelle says, “We might be joining The Society.”

The comment causes quite the upheaval among the group. Tyson stands up immediately, furious with both Nate and Cale. “You didn’t think to let us know?” He seethes, arms failing as he speaks, and Fran feels a little smug that he’s defending her meeting with such fervor.

Charlotte stands gingerly beside him, guiding him to sit back down. “Tys is right, boys,” she says gently, ever the peacekeeper. “You should have brought this up beforehand. We can’t have anyone really knowing of this little club we have going on.”

The other one, Cale’s current object of affection, goes to speak but Fran cuts her off. “Please don’t say you won’t tell,” she sighs, “Because there are a million other ways it could get out. And I for one don’t want my father to pull me out of Welton and ship me off to refinery school because he found out I was reading unauthorized books.”

Everyone agrees with her. It’s agreed upon that the girls will leave after the meeting and never return. They’re to pretend as though they have never met a single member of the Society, regardless of how friendly they’ve become with Cale and Nate. The boys look sad, but Fran can’t find it in her to be sorry for them. Adding members was never discussed, and the two boys most certainly shouldn’t have been so reckless. Word travels fast in the real world.

After the sudden housekeeping issue Fran leads one of the funnest society meetings yet. Ignoring the framework the group had originally set, no chapters of a published book are read. Instead, each member takes turns coming up with bits of prose on the fly. Eventually the girls get tired of the group’s antics and leave, once again swearing they won’t tell anyone. The five original members continue on for a while longer, making sure to head back to campus early. Tonight the kitchen staff are serving spaghetti and meatballs, and Fran will be damned if she misses out.

Fran awakes the next morning to find that all students are to report to the auditorium for an emergency meeting. A throng of tired teenagers follow the much more alert group of young kids. She shuffles into a row of seats with Charlotte and tries to search for the boys. Due to the suddenness of everything, the roommates couldn’t meet up with them, and find the spots they would usually sit quickly occupied. It doesn’t matter much though because if any of them were caught talking there would be serious repercussions.

“Good morning everyone,” Headmaster Sakic addresses the crowd. “It was brought to my attention yesterday evening that there is an unauthorized club of sorts here at Welton. Known as the Society for Banned and Burned Books, its sole purpose is to disobey the rules and curriculum. Anyone who knows about it or is associated with it is to report to my office immediately and turn themselves in. A thorough investigation will be conducted, so it is advised you heed this warning carefully.”

“Those fucking bitches,” Fran seethes. “I’m going to murder Nate.”

Though just as pissed off as her friend, Charlotte handles her emotions with much more grace. “Relax Fran, and don’t go doing anything stupid. We just have to think about what we’re going to do next.”

Fran knows exactly what she’s going to do. The next time she sees Nathan MacKinnon and Cale Makar she’s going to punch them in the teeth. Somehow Charlotte talks her down, but she’s still irate. How dare they be so careless? Fran spends the rest of the day ignoring them. No one goes to turn themselves in to Dr. Sakic, but she almost does it out of spite so she can implicate Cale and Nate. Fran decides against it of course, knowing it would only hurt her, but she’s definitely going to spend the next few days thinking of how to get them back.

It turns out she doesn’t have to find a way to make them feel bad about their actions. Mr. Bednar comes and finds them in the afternoon and expresses his disappointment in them. After a short lecture on how they put their friends, and themselves, at risk, the teacher leaves them to reflect on how to apologize. They show up on the girl’s dormitory floor later in the evening with a plate of cookies.

“The chef supervised us in the kitchen,” Cale explains. “We’re really sorry. It was dumb of us to invite those girls. Will you be able to forgive us?”

Nate nods, tacking his own statement on to the end of his friend’s. “We never wanted to put you guys in danger, especially you Fran. I don’t want anything to get in the way of those fancy author dreams of yours.”

Fran blushes at the comment, but lets them come inside. Their apology is sincere, and all is forgiven with laughs over milk and chocolate cookies. Nothing comes of Dr. Sakic’s threat in the coming days, so clearly the investigation was not thorough. Perhaps the girls were better at keeping their mouths shut than Fran previously thought. Wanting to still play it safe, the group decides to not host any more meetings until after the holiday break.

☼☼☼☼

It’s a lonely break for Fran, spent mostly alone in her bedroom. At every opportunity her father is boasting about her academic achievements to anyone who will listen through the various holiday parties he corrals the rest of the family to. The whole town seems quite impressed that Fran is poised to attend an Ivy League, though it’s a ruse. No one knows that of course, and they all except she’ll be making an announcement on which school she’ll attend shortly. The holidays pass slowly, and Fran eats more than her fair share of mashed potatoes and gravy. Since her father must still work throughout her time at home, Fran is left to her own devices throughout the day. Though her mother loves Fran she’s docile, and often doesn’t talk to Fran unless she has to.

Fran spends an enormous amount of time writing. When she returns to school there’s only three weeks before she has to turn in the first draft of her novel. Hours are spent crafting scenes in painstaking detail – writing and rewriting until she’s happy with the quality of her work. At night Fran plays board games with her family, and makes up lies for her father’s questions. He’s becoming more creative, asking ones that demand specific answers. However she’s able to manage, mostly thanks to Cale’s insane wealth of knowledge on countless educational institutions. Without him she’d be lost at sea.

She’s extremely happy to be back at Welton, so much so she rushes ahead of her parents, not heeding her father’s warnings. Once sequestered into the auditorium, Fran tries to get permission to sit with Charlotte, but is immediately rejected.

“Sir, why can’t I? Other students are sitting together,” she states, and the glare you receive from her father could pierce a soul.

“After the stunt you just pulled?” he grits. “You’re lucky I don’t wheel you out of here and take you home. You will sit beside us. That’s final.”

The call of his name has him put his focus elsewhere, and Fran’s mother gives her a sympathetic smile. “He means well, dear,” she says. “After all, your father is right. We have certain appearances we must keep up since we aren’t of such high status.”

Before Fran can try and make a rebuttal, the procession enters the auditorium. Headed by her three male best friends and Tyson’s roommate Ryan, who have been tasked with carrying the banners, the teaching and administrative staff shuffle into the room. It’s silent – everyone not-so-patiently waiting for this assembly to be over. Undoubtedly Fran’s least favourite part of attending Welton, the term's opening assemblies are extremely dull and have made her consider leaving on multiple occasions.

“Welcome back to another term at Welton,” Dr. Sakic preaches. “We’ll be sure to have an excellent time. Now students, I must ask you the most pertinent of questions, one that’s asked at the start of every academic season. What are the four pillars?”

The voices of hundreds of children mingle together. “Tradition, honour, discipline, excellence,” Fran mumbles, slouching slightly. A swift nudge to the ribs from her father has her standing straighter than a board. She cannot wait to be rid of him.

After what feels like two hours of listening to Dr. Sakic and other distinguished staff members speak, everyone is finally allowed to leave. Bidding her parents a quick farewell, Fran clambers up the stairs to reach her room before Charlotte. Though she loves her dearly and the blonde never fails to lift your spirits, Fran needs alone time to quickly cry. It seems no matter what she does she’ll always be a disappointment to her father. The only thing he attributes to her is receiving acceptance to a prestigious school, and she refuses to give him that.

The reunion between the group of friends is much more relaxed this time around. Everyone had only been separated for a few weeks, not months. There’s still a small level of dramatics of course. When Nate sees Fran in the hallway he tackles her to the ground in a hug.

“Nathan, get off of me!” she squeaks, words punctuated by giggles. No one seems to notice, too caught up in their own reunions and settling in for another term, but Fran catches the way his eyes soften when he looks at her and it causes heat to rise to the top of her skin. She thought the weeks spent apart would help her silly crush go away, but it’s reared its head in full force and Fran doesn’t know what to do about it.

“Never,” he shouts, dragging Fran to her feet and sequestering her up the stairs. When they arrive in his dorm room, the rest of the group is already there. Details of holidays are shared, as are hopes for the school semester. It’s their final one at Welton, and Fran wants to make it count.

In just over five months she’ll graduate, leaving behind every comfort she’s known for the past six years. “Hell-ton has been our home for so long,” Fran sighs as she rests her head on Tyson’s shoulder. “What are we going to do once we’re gone?”

“Do whatever the fuck we want without teachers breathing down our necks.”

He has a point. For so long they’ve all been forced to act in a certain way that it will be nice to do as one pleases.

Charlotte hums in agreement, standing to stretch her legs. “Come on Fran, we should get back to our room. You’ve got to finish writing that one scene.”

Begrudgingly she untangles herself from Nate’s covers. She’s right, but Fran would rather not think about it. “Char, it’s killing me,” she whines. “Can I just not think about it for a while?”

She carefully reminds her of your deadline, and it’s enough to have Fran bounding down the flight of stairs. She really does need to get to work. The rest of the night has her stooping over her typewriter, clicking at the keys incessantly. By the time she falls asleep Fran has finished the scene and written at least three more, pushing her even closer to the finish line.

She finishes her draft a few days early, and hands it to Ms. Robertson after the workshop one night. She’s thoroughly impressed and is sure to let Fran know. The girl preens under her compliments, sure to downplay how happy she truly is. When she lets Mr. Bednar read the corrected version, he too showers Fran in praise.

“This is phenomenal, Miss Winters.”

Once again Fran is blushing, cheeks feeling much too warm for the cold winter afternoon. “Thank you Captain. It isn’t much though,” she says softly.

“Nonsense. It’s a masterpiece. Do you think I could commission you to bind me my own copy once it’s finished? I’d love to have it on my shelves.”

Fran is dumbfounded. “You want a copy of my book? But you read the greats like Twain and Fitzgerald!”

“You’re destined to be one of them, and I want to commemorate it.”

It’s then that she invites him to the final workshop in a few months' time. All participants will have their finished published works, and will take turns reading excerpts and answering questions. It’s supposed to be a mock book signing, and Fran is beyond excited. There’s nothing she wants more than for him to be there.

☼☼☼☼

Life begins to pick up speed, and Fran feels as though she’s running around like a chicken with its head cut off. Between academics, licensed extracurriculars, and society meetings she barely has enough time to sleep. It’s exhausting, but Fran feels completely satisfied. Not everyone gets the same experiences she’s been afforded, and she’s determined to make the most of it.

Mr. Bednar’s classes are still her favourite. This term the class is focussing on poetry, since the prose units were completed before the break, and every day Fran craves more. She finally learns the origin of the nickname ‘Captain’ with the reading of a particular poem, and everyone in the class increases their use of the term exponentially. Classes are spent reciting giants like Whitman and Frost, but also so-called ‘beat poets’ like Ginsberg and Kerouac. It’s easy to lose the stresses of life in their fantasies, and Fran always feels lighter when she leaves the room.

Some of her favourite lessons of the year have happened recently – namely the one on perspective. Ever the revolutionary, Mr. Bednar had everyone take turns standing on his desk, surveying the room before jumping down. A handful of students didn’t understand, but Fran found it incredibly eye-opening. Suddenly she understands why writing is so powerful – it can mean a million different things to a thousand people.

The Society for Banned and Burned Books starts to become less structured, and truthfully Fran doesn't mind. Most of the time everyone sits in the cave and discusses the ideas Mr. Bednar plants in their heads. Not many books are being read, but she’s glad. They were beginning to become a bit dull and the group was running out of titles – authors are being much more careful these days so as not to offend governing bodies. No matter what lens the club has taken, Fran is glad it exists. She’s spent countless hours fooling around with her dearest friends while enriching their minds. What more could she ask for?

Her novel is coming along swell. It passed the first and second revisions with flying colours and is now off at the printers. When Fran asks if she can print two copies, and that she doesn't mind paying the extra, Ms. Robertson is shocked.

“There’s no way you’re footing that bill! Especially because you’re giving it to someone,” she says, putting a cork in the matter. “Mr. Bednar will be delighted.”

The young mentor knows of Fran’s beloved English teacher, and is touched that she wants to do something so special for him. No one else in the group is as excited as Fran. Most of them are involved simply to pass the time or stand out on college applications, but not her. Fran is in the seminar because her soul yearns to write and she’d be a fool to deny its wishes. Writing is what she wants to do for the rest of her life, and she’ll be damned if she doesn’t seriously pursue it.

☼☼☼☼

The day Fran gets her book back from the publishing house, the final round of Ivy League admissions is sent out. Her name is, of course, not on it. However, Ms. Robertson got in touch with a friend who teaches at Bryn Mawr college, and they’ve extended an offer into their creative writing program. Fran is delighted, and accepts almost immediately. The school is prestigious enough that hopefully her father can overlook the fact it’s not an Ivy.

Life goes as usual, with the day passing slowly. Tonight is the first time she’ll get to see her finished work, and will prepare for the showcase tomorrow night. She’s ecstatic, practically bouncing off the walls the entire day.

“Slow down,” Cale huffs, trying desperately to keep up with the jovial pace Fran has set.

She turns around to flash him the biggest smile she’s ever mustered. “I simply cannot, my dearest Cale, because I’m now a published author. My joy knows no limits.”

“You better not get a big head and a terrible ego,” Nate pipes in, joining the both of them in walking to the willow by the lake. He ruffles Fran’s hair and she swats his arm away.

“Shut up!”

The three of them join the other members of the group, who were able to weave through the crowds faster to claim the best spot on the grounds. Everyone spends the break joking around and chattering about tomorrow night. They’ll all be in attendance, along with Mr. Bednar. Somehow Fran has managed to keep her admittance to the seminar a secret to anyone outside of Welton and she’s quite proud of herself.

At Henley Hall, she feels electric. Seeing words that she wrote on a page, bound in leather, puts butterflies in her stomach. For possibly the first time in her life Fran feels like she’s on the right path. Reading a piece of the story out loud is exhilarating, and she can’t wait to see how the crowd responds. The question and answer section allows her to really delve into the creative process, immersing audience members in the story even more. It’s an evening spent having the time of her life, but something feels the tiniest bit off. Fran’s brain tells her something is going to go wrong when she returns to Welton.

How right she was. When she finally reaches her dormitory floor after swimming against the current of hungry teenagers, Charlotte is standing anxiously at the end of the hall.

“Your father is inside our room, and he looks absolutely peeved,” she whispers, hugging Fran tightly before running to join the others downstairs. If she’s caught loitering, detention will be her home for the next few weeks.

Taking a deep breath, Fran does her best to mask her anxiety before stepping into the room. He’s sitting at her desk, tapping his foot impatiently, and sporting a grimace that makes Fran’s stomach contract.

“Father, what are you doing here?”

It’s a dumb question – she knows exactly why he’s here. Her father doesn’t buy the weak question and chooses to ignore it completely.

“How dare you,” he broods, “Defy me and then lie about it?”

There’s no beating around the bush tonight, and Fran wishes she could be anywhere but here. “Sir, I can explain –”

“There’s nothing to explain! You made me look like a fool, telling everyone in town that my daughter, my Francesca, was going to attend an Ivy and study to become the best legal secretary in the goddamn county. That she had the pick of litter and would choose whichever offered her the biggest scholarship. Do you know how I stupid I look?”

Tears prick at the corner of Fran’s eyes, but she will them away. “Father, please,” she whispers, trying to stay strong but her voice betrays how she truly feels.

He doesn’t let up, continuing the rather one-sided argument. “And then I hear from old Mrs. Perkins that her granddaughter is coaching you in a writing seminar at Henley Hall? I told her she must have confused you with someone else because writing is a waste of time. She was incessant, and showed me the letter her granddaughter had mailed her, detailing how wonderful your novel was and she was so excited to get you a spot in a creative program at a women’s college. I was appalled.”

Now is the one chance Fran has to defend herself. “I never wanted to attend an Ivy, Sir,” she tries to explain as calmly as possible. “That’s what you wanted for me. Bryn Mawr is just as prestigious, one of the Seven Sisters. I’ll be happier there, doing what I love. I want to be a writer, Father.”

“Nonsense, Francesca. You’re seventeen, you don’t know what the hell you want.”

It goes like that, back and forth, for a while as she tries to make her father see reason. He isn’t having any of it.

“Did that new teacher, Mr. Bednar, put you up to this?”

Where her father got that notion Fran isn’t sure. “Of course not, Sir,” she exclaims, “I’m simply doing what’s best for myself.”

“What is best for yourself, huh?” he seethes. “You don’t know what’s best for you, but I’ll tell you. You’re going to drop out of the little writing program and tell Bryn Mawr you’re reneging your acceptance. Next fall you can apply for Harvard.”

Fran tries to explain to him that she can’t do what he’s ordering, that the signing is tomorrow night and they’re counting on her to be there. Her father simply does not care and after screaming at Fran some more leaves her dorm room in a flurry of anger, slamming the door behind him.

As if she is Atlas and the weight of the world has crushed Fran, she curls into a ball on her bed and sobs in pain. She’s absolutely heartbroken. Why can’t he just let her do what she wants? Too tired to eat, Fran stays in her room and eventually cries herself into a fitful sleep.

Fran is in the same position hours later when her friends peek through the door to check in. Without a word, the four of them surround her in a group hug. Nate’s hands find a way to her back and rub soothing circles in an attempt to calm Fran down. It helps slightly, and she eventually gets the sniffles to stop. No one speaks, but it’s comforting for Fran to not be alone. She knows that when she does want to talk about what happened they’ll be there with open ears.

At the urging of Tyson and Charlotte, Fran travels to the teachers’ quarters and knocks timidly at Mr. Bednar’s door. “Come in,” he says breezily, and she carefully steps around the pile of worn novels on the floor.

“Captain, I’m really sorry to bother you,” she says earnestly, “But I really could use some advice.”

He ushers her to sit down, and pours a cup of tea that he sets gently in Fran’s hands. She explains the entire situation, sparing no detail. Any memory that vaguely relates to her terse parental relations is also brought into the mix – if this man is going to know anything, he’s going to know everything. The conversation then moves into how much Fran loves writing, and how she feels as though she’s nothing without it. Mr. Bednar sits quietly and nods as she talks, not speaking until Fran winds herself.

“Can you tell him what you just told me?” he asks, leaning over to refill her cup and pass the sugar.

Fran scoffs, though the tears threatening to spill after sharing her heart show that she isn’t as aloof as she hopes to be. “Absolutely not. I can’t talk to him like this.”

“Why not?”

“Because he doesn’t see me as a person! To him I’m just a canvas he can project his dreams onto. There’s nothing I could say to make him see that he doesn’t always know what’s best for me.”

The room goes quiet. It isn’t uncomfortable, but Fran is waiting for the older man to speak again. Mr. Bednar stands and walks to the small window beside his desk. “I think you should try,” he theorizes.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he says confidently. “If you tell him everything you just told me, your father will see the passion you have for writing, and will let you stay enrolled in both the workshop and Bryn Mawr.”

She stays with the teacher a little while longer, discussing poetry and prose. It’s nice to talk to someone without them having preconceived notions of how she’s meant to behave and who she’s supposed to become. When Fran walks back to her dormitory she still doesn't feel as light as she hoped. There’s absolutely no way she can try and convince her father to let you stick with writing. Fran’s only hope is to disobey his direct orders. If memory serves her correctly, Fran’s father will be leaving for a three day business trip to Chicago in the morning. What he doesn’t know won’t kill him.

The rest of the night is spent with her friends doing everything in their power to keep Fran’s mind off the situation. At the suggestion of Cale, everyone dresses in their robes and sneaks to the cave, having an impromptu Society meeting. It’s nothing serious or official, just the group telling ghost stories and poking fun at each other.

After an hour or so of enjoying each others’ company, Nate abruptly stands. “I think everyone knows what time it is,” he grins.

Everyone else looks at him as if he has three heads, but then Tyson suddenly remembers something and joins the taller boy in towering over the group. He then turns around to pick up a small bundle of mangled wires and boxes and passes it to Nate. “I present to you all our now fully functional backyard radio!”

“Holy shit, you fucking did it,” Cale exclaims, profusely shocked. Charlotte just lets her jaw drop open in astonishment. Fran is speechless too, unable to believe her friends were actually able to pull their crazy invention scheme off.

No one speaks for a few beats, astounded, but Charlotte breaks the silence. “Well, are you going to turn it on you tossers?”

After a speedy setup that doesn’t look particularly safe, Nate sticks the antenna out the hole in the cave’s roof while Tyson fiddles with the dials. It takes a second, but soon enough music flits through the speaker. The voice of Elvis Presley meets everyone’s ears and Fran’s foot involuntarily taps along to the beat. Laughter and shouts of encouragement echo off the stones until it’s so loud she can no longer hear the music. No one seems to care, and Cale doesn’t refuse when Fran grabs his hand and invites him to dance. At some point Nate sweeps her into his arms to do a ridiculous step pattern, and Fran giggles loudly at the gesture. Despite everything that happened earlier in the evening, she ends the night feeling genuinely happy.

☼☼☼☼

There’s about ten minutes until Fran has to leave for Henley Hall. Charlotte has her practically tied to the desk chair and is in the process of taking the rollers out of Fran’s hair. Honestly, Fran doesn't care too much about her appearance since the event is nothing official, but her best friend insists she look the part of a glamorous novelist.

“Stop moving your bloody head,” the blonde grumbles.

“Sorry Lottie,” she apologizes sincerely. “Just a little antsy.”

It isn’t a lie. Fran has been a jittery mess all day. Not one of the lessons given stuck in her brain, and her left knee has been constantly bouncing.

Charlotte places her hand comfortingly on your shoulder. “I know darling.”

She gets back to work setting the curls, and Fran takes a second to look at herself in her small desk mirror. Charlotte has completed the seemingly impossible task of making her look elegant – painting her lips a beautiful cherry red and ironing the prettiest dress in their combined closets so there wouldn’t be any misplaced creases. A few spritzes of hairspray and she’s done, letting Fran stand up to see the finished product for the first time.

She looks herself up and down, trying to recognize the person staring back at her. It isn’t that she looks like a completely different person. In fact, Fran looks like a more sophisticated, well travelled version of a seventeen year old. She can picture herself employing Charlotte to help her get ready before any other major event she might have in the future – perhaps she’d prefer styling to nursing.

Before Fran can say anything a low whistle comes from the doorway. “You sure clean up nice, Francesca,” Nate grins, using the girl’s full name in an attempt to make her squirm.

“You don’t look so bad yourself, MacKinnon,” she says, walking breezily over to him and straightening out his bowtie. Everyone in the group is travelling to Henley in Mr. Bednar’s car. The audience doesn’t need to be there for nearly forty-five minutes after the call time, but Fran’s entourage wants to get good seats.

The other boys round the corner then, and compliment her profusely. It makes Fran blush, if only because they’re being uncharacteristically sincere. No comedic jabs follow, and she feels incredibly loved. The four of them sit patiently while Charlotte finishes her makeup, chatting amongst themselves. As soon as she’s done the door is shut quietly and the group tomps down the stairs to meet their teacher in the lobby.

“Looking sharp, kids,” Mr. Bednar exclaims jovially. “Like proper literature enthusiasts. Shall we go?”

Henley Hall isn’t a far walk, perhaps ten minutes, but riding in the back of her teacher’s car makes Fran feel important. He makes pleasant small talk with Charlotte and shares crude jokes with the boys, but asks Fran an earnest question.

“Did you tell your father what you told me Fran?”

She gulps. Of course she hadn’t called her father, not wanting to make matters worse. “I did, this morning,” she stutters. “He won’t be able to attend though, left for Chicago as I called. I think he’s going to let me stick with it.”

In the rearview mirror Mr. Bednar smiles brightly. “Glad to hear it.”

After parking the car out front of the building, the group walks into the theatre together, and Fran leaves them to slip backstage. No one else is, unsurprisingly, in the audience, but they’re more than content talking amongst themselves.

Ms. Robertson quickly goes over the speaking order and answers everyone’s questions before allowing time to practice answering questions one last time. It’s fun for Fran to chat with her fellow writers, who over the past few months have become friends, and hang out with them one last time. No one else from Welton ever joined, making her the lone outsider, but they took her in with open arms. It will be sad to leave them, though once she leaves for Bryn Mawr – if her father allows her to stay enrolled – some of the girls will be joining you.

A quick glance at the clock lets Fran know it’s go time. At the cue of the stage manager, she and the other participants file onto the stage. The one nice thing is that she isn’t out there alone and can lean on the support of her fellow creatives if need be.

“Hello everyone, and welcome to our annual Writer’s Showcase,” Ms. Robertson announces. Applause and cheers erupt from the crowd, with Fran’s little group making the most noise. She waves shyly and sits down, awaiting the prompt to begin speaking. When it’s finally her turn it takes a second for Fran to gain her voice, so petrified that something will go wrong, she mumbles the first few words of her introduction. After a second she’s fine, and continues speaking with ease and zeal.

Presenting her work to everyone important to her is the best moment of Fran’s entire life. The entire audience is on the edge of their seat, hanging off her every word. It’s empowering – for the first time in her life Fran feels special. She reads a short passage to much acclaim, ending with a deafening roar of applause. A broad smile finds its way onto her features and it seems as though it will be permanent.

The rest of the students finish their readings and the group move on to the question and answer section. This exercise is open, but each participant gets the same number of questions so as not to upstage anyone. However, it’s clear that Fran is the one most people are interested in. She ponders the questions and gives thoughtful answers. After a particularly tricky one, she hears Cale shout encouragement in her direction.

“That’s it Fran!” he yells through cupped hands, adding a whistle for extra effect. Her other friends join in, and soon so has the entire auditorium. Fran stands up and awkwardly bows before allowing another person to answer a question.

Everything is going well until she watches her father slip through the doors. He’s wearing a wicked scowl and has his brows knitted together. Whatever is about to happen won’t be pretty. Instead of causing a scene, he perches against the back wall and folds his arms over his chest. Fran gulps. Jeremy, the last boy to answer a question, finishes up. Everyone stands and bows, but she’s in such a daze that she has to be pulled up by those on either side of her. The noise is overwhelming and Fran is beginning to find it hard to breathe. As soon as it’s possible, she darts off the stage and out of view.

“Fran? What’s wrong?” Ms. Robertson asks, concern lacing her voice.

“Nothing,” she lies through her teeth. “Just a little overwhelmed by it all.”

She smiles and wraps her arms around Fran’s shoulder in a hug. “I know. Come on, let’s go celebrate.” Much to her chagrin, Fran is pulled into the crowd of people waiting to see their loved ones in the lobby. Sifting through the mass, she tries her hardest to find her friends before her father finds where she is. Unfortunately, it doesn't work.

“Francesca,” he shouts, reaching through the crowd to grab Fran by the wrist. “We’re going home right this minute.”

“But I have to return to Welton, Sir,” she protests.

Fran’s father sends her a look that could turn Medusa to stone. “Car. Now.”

It’s a hassle to keep up with his blistering pace, but Fran knows things will be worse if she keeps him waiting. The walls seem to cave in around her and tears flow without regard to who could see. Fran is legitimately terrified.

She hears her name being called as she reaches the door. Charlotte spots her and ducks under a man’s arm to catch up. Fran shoots her a warning look but she either doesn’t see it or pays it no mind. The rest of the group follows her. Too scared to look at them, Fran remains mute as they call out to her.

“That was simply wonderful, Miss Winters,” Mr. Bednar exclaims. “You’ve got a real talent for writing.” Fran blushes at his words, and hopes it conveys how much they mean to her.

Knowing this is probably going to be her only chance, Fran shoves the copy of her novel into the teacher’s chest. It’s got his initials embossed on the front cover and includes a handwritten dedication explaining how much his encouragement means to her. “Take this,” Fran mumbles, unable to look him or her friends in the eye.

Her father doesn’t miss the interaction. “Get in the car,” he orders. Fran follows the directions and presses your face against the glass, worried for her teacher. When he wants to, her father can unleash his wicked temper with unyielding cruelty.

“Stay away from my daughter, Bednar,” he seethes, grabbing the other man by the collar of his sweater. “You’re the one that put her up to all this nonsense.”

“He didn’t!” Nate protests, preparing to give Fran’s father a piece of his mind but Mr. Bednar stops him.

“That’s enough, Nathan, we don’t need to make it worse.”

With nothing else to say, Fran’s father storms to his side of the vehicle and slams the door. Turning the engine on rather aggressively he zips out the parking lot, leaving Fran to stare out the back window and watch her friends shrink and disappear. It’s so tense the air between the two of them could be cut with a dull kitchen knife. The silence is deafening and Fran wishes he’d just start screaming now to get it over with. Instead, he doesn’t speak or look at her, focussing on the road ahead of him. Though she doesn't live terribly far from Welton and Henley, the ride is long enough to spike Fran’s anxiety.

Fran’s mother is standing on the porch when the car pulls into the driveway. She pushes off the column to meet her family at the car, but stops in her tracks when her husband breezes past her. Fran hasn't even had time to open the passenger door.

“Conrad,” her mother sighs, following him into the house and trying to calm him down.

“No, Barbra, she’s gone too far this time.”

If driving away wouldn’t make it worse, Fran would be halfway to Welton by now. Her father had taught her to drive in the evenings during the summer, and it’s late enough that no police would be patrolling. Besides, if she told them the truth they might let her off the hook.

Instead, she rises out of the car with shaking knees. The front door is still open, so Fran slinks through and shuts it quietly. In the office beside the entryway her parents are arguing, though it’s mostly her father doing the talking. He often overpowers her mom and she’s too fragile to speak up for herself. That door is open too, which Fran finds strange. Normally their arguments happen in private.

“Come in,” her father says gruffly.

Fran enters cautiously, not knowing what to expect. Considering he almost assaulted her English teacher it probably won’t be very good. The chair directly across from her father is open, and she sinks into it, refusing to meet his gaze. Across the room her mother is perched delicately on the edge of the desk, chain smoking cigarettes and twirling the pearls of her necklace around her thumb.

“We’re trying very hard to understand why you insist on defying us, defying me.” His voice is eerily calm, and truthfully that upsets Fran more than if he were to scream at her. “And though I suspect that no good, idyllic teacher is behind it, we aren’t going to let you ruin your life. You’ll no longer be attending Welton. Starting first thing in the morning you’ll be enrolled at Balthasar’s Refining Academy, where you’ll finish the year and study to become a legal secretary.”

“But Father, that’s a lifetime of unhappiness,” Fran protests. “I don’t want to be a secretary.”

“Well that’s too fucking bad!” he screeches. “Because that’s what you’re going to be. It’s not a death sentence.”

Her mother says nothing, just sits and stares blankly. Fran can tell she’s afraid of him, her father, but won’t ever leave. That’s simply not the way things work.

“You don’t understand, Francesca” he continues, “You have opportunities your mother and I could never have even dreamt of. I can’t let you waste them.” With a sharp turn on his heel he faces the window, his back to Fran signaling the conversation is finished.

Adrenaline courses through her veins, and Fran seizes the only opportunity shemight ever get to tell her father how she truly feels. “I need you to know what I feel!”

Not appreciating the young girl’s challenge to his authority, Fran’s father turns on her with a wicked gleam in his eye. “What is it that you feel?” he snarls. “What is it!”

Facing him diminishes her newfound confidence. There’s no doubt he’ll pick the argument apart, berate her for having aspirations based on passion instead of security. It’s a fight Fran won’t win, so she backs down entirely.

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“It’s nothing,” she whispers.

A triumphant smirk appears on her father’s face. “That settles it then,” he exclaims, and promptly strides out of the room to get ready for bed.

Fran falls back in the armchair feeling incredibly defeated. Tears begin to fall, and soon sobs are wracking her body. In an effort to be of some comfort her mother places a hand on her shoulder, but it doesn’t help. She’s just as much to blame for Fran’s sorrow as he is.

“I was really good out there. I truly felt happy for the first time.” Fran’s voice breaks as she speaks, unable to continue for fear of breaking down completely.

Her mother stands and finishes the rest of her cigarette in a single drag. “It’s been a long night, let’s get some sleep.”

There’s no way Fran will be able to sleep. The events of the past few hours replay in her head on a loop, and she tries to find things she could have done that would have made the outcome different. She didn’t even get to say goodbye to her friends or Mr. Bednar, and that’s what stings the most.

She stares at the ceiling for a few hours, and when that doesn’t settle anything Fran gets out of bed to stare out the window. The night looks peaceful and quiet, unlike the sea of sadness swimming in her soul. In an attempt to find a solution to the swirling of her mind, she opens the window and allows the air to flow in. It’s warm, a tad bit sticky for April, but it calms her down for a split second. There’s a moment when Fran feels free, when the moonlight hits her skin just right and she’s glistening like Selene herself, before the weight of everything settles on her shoulders again. Fran is unhappy, and she will be unhappy for the rest of her life.

There’s only one thing left for her to do.

She slips into actual clothes and grabs a jacket from the small wardrobe in the corner of her room. Propping open the window with a piece of wood she found on the floor – her parents are in the middle of remodelling the house – and slipping on shoes, Fran looks around the room for a final time. If she plays her cards right, this will be the last time she’s ever in the building.

Carefully, Fran slips out the window and perches on the large branch. It’s strong enough to hold her weight if she wanted to close the window, but she doesn’t bother to hide the escape from her parents. They’ll know as soon as they wake up anyways. She quickly scurries down to ground level and takes off without a look over her shoulder. Sprinting as fast as she can, Fran makes it down the road and into the nearby village rather fast. The darkness of the night covers her tracks, and besides, no one is out at this time anyways.

There’s a payphone on the corner across from the post office, and Fran steps into the booth as soon as she possibly can. Her hands shake as she picks up the receiver. Thankfully the telephone operators won’t be able to tell who she is and alert her parents, since Fran’s calling from a public line.

“Operator,” the woman says flatly.

“Hello,” Fran rushes the introduction, skipping over a few formalities. “I need to speak to Mr. Jared Bednar of Welton Academy.”

With an unamused grunt the operator switches the phone over to his line. The dial tone begins to ring, and Fran feels anxiety settle into her bones. What if he decides not to help?

“Who is calling at such an ungodly hour?” he yawns, and she feels bad for waking him.

“Mr. Bednar, I ran away from home,” Fran cries, finally allowing tears to escape and too upset to use the nickname she often calls him by. “Can you come pick me up?”

His response is immediate. “Of course, child. Where are you?”

She explains to him where she is and, after promising not to move, hangs up. There’s a bench beside the phone booth, so Fran sits patiently and waits for the teacher to arrive. The wind no longer feels warm, and she curls the light jacket she brought tighter around her shoulders. Thankfully, no one approaches her while she sits alone. Fran is in a very precarious situation, and doesn't know how she would survive a kidnapping attempt.

Mr. Bednar’s car pulls up alongside the curb and he jumps up before the gearshift settles into park. His arms are around Fran in a nanosecond, comforting her and leading her to the warmth of the vehicle. Once out of the elements Fran feels slightly better, but is still exhausted from the roller coaster that has been the past few hours.

“Let’s get you back home,” he says, and she begins to panic. “To Hell-ton.”

Her heart rate steadies, and Fran finds enough energy to half-heartedly laugh at the use of Welton’s absurd nickname. This drive is also silent, but extremely comfortable. Eventually Mr. Bednar reaches over and turns the radio on, and she falls asleep to the voice of Sam Cooke.

When Fran arrives at Welton, she doesn’t go back to her dorm. Instead, Mr. Bednar sequesters her into the teachers’ quarters. “Your father will be here in the morning to try and find you and it will be the first place they look,” he explains. “You’re safe up here.” At Fran’s request he grabs Charlotte, and she collapses into the blonde’s arms when she steps in the room.

“Shh Fran, it’s alright,” she soothes. “You’re okay. And you’re safe.”

The two girls sleep curled together on the small couch in Mr. Bednar’s living room while he paces back and forth trying to figure out what to do. He should report the incident to the administration, but he knows that Dr. Sakic will allow Fran to go back into a dangerous situation without care for her safety. There’s nothing he would want less in the world, he decides, and doesn’t care if his credibility is ruined while trying to protect her. He doesn’t sleep a wink, keeping an eye on the door in case someone saw him bring Fran in – Welton’s staff is full of greedy opportunists who will do anything to get ahead.

He was right. The next morning Fran’s father is at Welton, demanding she return home with him. She’s nowhere to be found of course, tucked safely away in Mr. Bednar’s room, but Fran watches him stomp around the grounds from the window. It’s terrifying, knowing he could find her at any second. Never has she been more scared in her life.

Fran’s friends come to see her whenever they can spare a moment, though never all together. Cale comes the most frequently, but that’s because he’s positioned to be a staff member in a few months and the old men don’t mind him being in their quarters. He brings with him sweets and stories of other students misbehaving in class – most of the time it’s Nate. Since she’s technically a fugitive and can’t attend lessons, her friends take turns breaking down the material so Fran doesn’t get too far behind. When the anxiety of getting found out gets to be too much, Charlotte comes to braid Fran’s hair and shares fantastical tales of her European adventures. Nate stops by as often as he can, letting Fran know he’s there for her in every sense of the word, and she feels herself yearning for him once again.

After three days her father stops coming to Welton. Fran assumes he’s moved on to looking in other places, and becomes a bit freer in her movements. Late at night she sneaks out to join her friends at the regularly scheduled Society meetings. Mr. Bednar doesn’t say anything, sometimes helping Fran escape by distracting those who might see her in the hallways. This works for a week, but eventually she’s found out.

Fellow student Nico Sturm finds Fran sneaking back into Mr. Bednar’s quarters one evening. Nico is in that section of the school for chemistry tutoring, and sees her pass by in a flash. Immediately after realizing it was the missing girl teachers have encouraged students to look for, he travels to Dr. Sakic’s office, where the old man works until well into the night. The young man takes the opportunity to also reveal the names of the other students involved in the Society for Banned and Burned Books. Apparently he’s been watching the group for quite some time, waiting until the time was right to present the information. He’ll make a great politician indeed.

Three raps at the door are followed by Sakic’s booming voice. “Jared, open this door or so help me god.”

Fran looks at her teacher with an absolutely petrified gaze. “What do we do?” she asks, voice small.

“Whatever we can to minimize the damage,” he replies grimly.

Dr. Sakic stands in the doorway, broad shoulders making it so much of the space isn’t empty. He invites himself in, peering around the room for Fran. When he spots her he speaks. “Christ Jared, you can’t kidnap children.”

The English teacher calmly explains that he had not kidnapped Fran, but that she had called him for help after running away from home. Apparently that wasn’t the answer Sakic was looking for. The older man explains that Fran’s parents are on their way to the school and that the three of them should make the journey to his office.

The entire time Fran waits for her parents to arrive she’s a nervous wreck. Her teacher does his best to comfort her from a distance – it was made very clear that the two of them were to be separated. Both men let Fran cry freely, which she appreciates, because once her father enters the room she’ll be forced to show no emotion.

He’s a force to be reckoned with when he arrives, arms flying and tongue lashing. It’s all Fran’s mother and Dr. Sakic can do to stop him from tearing Mr. Bednar’s throat out. “You no good son of a bitch,” he screams. “You kidnapped my daughter!”

“Lower your voice, Conrad,” Dr. Sakic advises. “It’s better if we solve this matter privately. We don’t want a scandal.”

Her father huffs gruffly before agreeing. Fran doesn't dare look him in the eye and he pays her no mind. Though her mother does come over to quietly ask if Fran was safe, she’s quickly called to her husband’s side.

The adults deliberate for hours, never once stopping to bring Fran into the conversation. Mr. Bednar gives her a look that says he would if possible, but she knows he can’t ask for her input on the matter at hand. His career is already on the brink. Fran’s father is adamant on having Mr. Bednar fired and pulling her out of Welton.

“It’s clearly not safe for her here,” he argues. “So it’s best we put her someplace else.”

Dr. Sakic disagrees completely. “You’ll never be able to find a school to take her for a month. Plus she’s graduating. Let her remain here, and then send her wherever you’d like.”

Fran’s parents deliberate for a short time. It’s mostly her father arguing that she must leave and your mother agreeing with the headmaster. “He’s right dear, it would be detrimental to her education if we send her someplace else,” she says quietly. He mulls it over for a minute before conceding.

“Fine. But Bednar is gone.”

Fran can’t help her face from falling into a frown. It isn’t fair he gets punished for trying to help her. “Father –” she begins, but he cuts her off.

“I advise you not to speak unless called upon, Francesca,” he says cooly. “When asked, you will verbally confirm that Mr. Bednar kidnapped you and held you hostage. You’ll also sign a paper saying that he encouraged you to enter into unauthorized extra curriculars.”

The tone of his voice tells Fran those orders are final and she’d be a fool to try and defy them. Left with no other option she agrees, though Fran hopes the fingers you have crossed behind her back will help to lessen the guilt. “I don’t see that I have any other choice,” she sighs. “So I have one request.”

“You’re not in a place to be asking for anything,” her father spits.

Dr. Sakic stops him from continuing. “Mr. Winters, we try to keep this school as democratic as possible. Let her speak.”

The floor is hers and Fran’s throat goes drier than a desert. “I don’t want Mr. Bednar in the room when I say these things,” she stammers, heart pounding in her ears. She’d rather not say them at all, but her hand is being forced.

The request is granted, and Fran’s beloved English teacher nods his head once before slipping out of the room. Tears stain her cheeks and blouse as she repeats the words she’s prompted to. Her voice is barely above a whisper and riddled with hiccups, but they don’t let Fran stop. Eventually the excruciating process is done, and it feels like her soul has been crushed. In a way it has – Mr. Bednar gave Fran the tools to feel like her life had purpose and now he’s gone.

Without acknowledging her parents, Fran turns on her heel to return to the dormitory wing. They’ll stay for a while longer, discussing with the headmaster on how they want to proceed legally. At the last second she decides to turn around, speaking to them for what will hopefully be the last time.

“I never want to see either of you ever again.”

Charlotte is waiting for her with open arms. She lets Fran cry herself to sleep, and even then she doesn’t dare move a muscle. The other girl needs her to provide love and stability, even in an unconscious state, and she understands. Sleep doesn’t come easy, or for long, but Charlotte’s there with Fran every step of the way.

☼☼☼☼

Fran is empty. Everything feels like it’s underwater, and she spends most of the morning distant from almost everything. Her friends are there, cracking small jokes and offering comforting touches. It’s much appreciated and Fran hopes they know this, because she’s too exhausted to tell them herself. The events of last night, and the weeks and months before, play on loop in her head. She feels personally responsible for the destruction of Mr. Bednar’s career, and though she knows he doesn’t blame you, Fran can’t help but blame herself.

No one pushes her much, which Fran appreciates. The other teachers know what happened last night, and don’t call on her for answers. Other students whisper but she does her best to ignore them, and when they get a little too rowdy Nate quiets them down with a quick-witted insult. Fran never liked most of them anyways. Nico is nowhere to be found, but she’d be the last person to get your hands on him. Nate, Tyson, and Cale have already said fighting him is worth the risk of getting expelled.

Luckily none of Fran’s friends get punished for The Society. The school administration places all the blame on Mr. Bednar, though that isn’t much of a conciliation. Everyone feels terrible, but the others are keeping their spirits up as much as possible for Fran.

“Look at this origami swan,” Tyson says, dropping it into Fran’s hands. “I figured out how to do it in trigonometry.”

It’s obvious he’s trying to distract her from the fact the pair of them are entering the English classroom. For the first time all year Mr. Bednar won’t be waiting, encouraging everyone to go after their dreams while talking about literature. Fran is grateful for the effort Tyson’s putting in, especially because today has been difficult for him too.

When she slides into her seat behind him, she notices that Dr. Sakic is writing on the blackboard. Once everyone is in their seats and the bell rings he addresses everyone. “I’ll be teaching you for the rest of the year, and we’ll hire a replacement in the summer,” he says. “Though, I suspect the only person in here who will care is Mr. Makar. Perhaps the position will be yours, young man.”

“Possibly Sir,” Cale says shyly, blush creeping onto his cheeks.

The lesson the headmaster turned substitute teacher gives is boring. Apparently very little Mr. Bednar taught was in the curriculum, so he plays catch up as quickly as possible. Fran barely pays attention, wondering what her old teacher is doing at the very moment. Could he already be out of the state, driven out by shame? A knock at the door pulls her from the daydream.

“I left some personal belongings in my office. Should I collect them after class?”

The voice of Mr. Bednar rings out through the room, and Fran whips around in her seat. There he is, looking like he hadn’t slept a wink, but still here and present. He lets the class have a small smile, informing them all he would be okay without having to say anything.

Dr. Sakic doesn’t look thrilled. “It’s fine Bednar, grab them now,” he sighs, corralling the class’s attention back to him.

Too afraid to meet his gaze, Fran stares at her textbook while he passes by. There’s some rustling in the small room behind the main classroom, and then her former teacher emerges. Knowing it’s the last time she’ll ever see the man, and that the guilt will eat her alive if she doesn’t, Fran speaks.

“Mr. Bednar, they made me sign those papers. Made all of us sign them,” she explains, words so rushed they jumble together.

He smiles kindly. “I know.”

“Miss Winters, that’s enough,” Dr. Sakic shouts before narrowing his eyes at the other man. “Your time has expired Mr. Bednar. It’s time for you to leave.”

Mr. Bednar heads for the door. No one else looks at him, too afraid of getting reprimanded by their new teacher. The lesson continues around her but Fran isn't paying attention. Suddenly there’s more rustling, and Tyson is standing on top of his desk.

“Oh Captain, my Captain,” he yells, completely disrupting the studious atmosphere.

The phrase stops Mr. Bednar in his tracks, and he turns around.

“Mr. Jost, get down this instant,” Sakic screeches.

Nate follows his friend’s lead, popping up and repeating the words. “Oh Captain, my Captain,” he says, adding a small salute for flair.

The courage of her friends nestles inside Fran’s stomach and pushes her to act. She rises in solidarity with them, and Charlotte and Cale follow suit. Dr. Sakic yells at the group repeatedly, threatening disciplinary measures that won’t be fun, but Fran could care less. All that matters to her in the moment is letting Mr. Bednar know that she’ll never stop caring about him or forget everything he did for her.

“Thank you kids,” he whispers, a single tear rolling down his left cheek.

Only the five of them stand in sendoff, but it feels like the entire world is on their side. Fran realizes that this is her world – her friends, her idol, and the wealth of memories and possibilities made possible because of them. That will always be enough.

[snarkwrites]

ssw | pietro maximoff; you make my heart beat faster. [ suggestive ]

Notes:

Okay, so.. This is kind of a follow up to the one shot I wrote a few months ago, happy birthday. So this picks up the next day. Idk where this idea came from or if it even makes sense when read immediately after that one, but ah well. My brain kept nagging at me to write the thing so I wrote the thing.

[ happy birthday ] for those who haven't read it already.

The translation: ty chuvstvuyesh', chto delayesh' so mnoy, kotenok = "do you feel what you're doing to me, kitten?" loosely via Google translate.

Prompts:

taken from either [ HERE ] or [ HERE ] give or take. It could be one or the other or a mix of both at my own choosing.

the daydream of him inside you // seeing the bulge in his pants // you make my heart beat faster. - those were all the prompts / inspiration used to write this.

Fandom / Character:

MCU / Pietro Maximoff x Barton!OFC, Nicola.

Other Writing Nicola / Pietro can be found in:

[ happy birthday ] + several other oooold posts way back on the blog I think. I wanna write a fic for them one day. We shall see, though.

Warnings:

[ NSFW. Absolutely no minors.] If you're underage, this was not written for you -nor should you be reading it. If you choose to keep reading, this is strictly a you problem. I can't do anything about it. I warned you.

Things you need to be warned about before reading: implied sexual encounter.

Yes. I realize that I don't go full into writing out the scene. But there's enough here that anyone underage has zero business reading it. So, I'm warning you guys now.

Tagging:

@chasingeverybreakingwave

@kyleoreillysknee

@micolegg

@mrsstevenbuchananstark

Other Stuff:

[ ABOUT MY WRITING | TAG LIST DOC - IF YOU WANT TO BE TAGGED, THAT IS. ]

“Are you feeling okay? You’ve barely touched your food, Nicola.”

My mom’s concerned question cut through my thoughts and I made myself smile, nodding. Taking a bite as I replied through a mouthful, “I’m fine. Was just thinking. That’s all.”

“About?” my mom eyed me expectantly. Hints of an amused smile played at her lips. I hesitated for a moment. If I didn’t know any better, I’d almost swear that somehow she knew something was up.

,, would it be a stretch to think so? One, she is my mom and two, I’ve been acting skittish and just plain out of it all damn day...” the thought came and as quickly as it did, I shoved it down in the depths of my brain.

I shrugged. “ Nothing in particular.” I gave the vaguest answer I could come up with. If she had one tenth of a clue what I’d really been thinking about just now, I’m honestly not sure how she’d react to it.

I’d been replaying last night over and over again in my mind all day. Every single part of me was dying to ask Pietro if it meant anything or not but at the same time, every single part of me was also scared to death to do that very thing. The one or two times we’d been alone with each other today and I did try, the words got stuck in my throat. And he wasn’t behaving any differently than he normally did, so I kind of just… Let it go. Started to convince myself that making the two of us love the night before was just a one time thing. As my best friend Simone would put it, “Sometimes, you just need to scratch that itch.”

The whole problem with her theory is that even now, having scratched this particular itch.. I wanted to do it again. And again.

I wanted so much more than that too. The brief glimpse I’d gotten of Pietro beneath the sarcasm and the flirty swagger the night before completely did me in. I’d gone from trying hard to keep him at arms length to falling head over feet in love with him and knowing this drove me crazy.

I felt someone staring at me.

I looked up just as Pietro was looking down. Pouting to myself a little, I reached out to grab the spoon in the bowl of mashed potatoes to scoop another serving onto my plate. Pietro reached for the spoon at the same time and when our hands brushed, I felt this little jolt.

He moved his hand but not until he’d let it linger against mine for a second or two. His gaze not leaving mine for the entirety of it. Under the table, my thighs clenched tight. I could see his hands all over me again in my head. Feel his cock buried deep inside me.

I went from a little wet to full on soaked between the mental imagery and the brush of his hand against mine. My stomach coiled.

My body tensed a little.

I dropped my gaze first, busying myself with putting more potatoes on my plate. Pietro kept watching me.

My parents were talking at the head of the table as my mom fed Nathaniel some smushed peas and carrots... My little sister scarfed down her food and then shot out of her chair and out the backdoor to go play a game of tag with my brother in the backyard before it got to dark to play and they had to come inside.

I dared to glance up from shoveling food into my mouth and Pietro gave a teasing wink. Biting his lip as he openly fucked me with his eyes.

And there it went.. The lazy flip flop of my stomach. And no matter what I tried, I couldn’t tear my eyes out of the ocean blue depths of his.

I couldn’t take any more of the torture that was being around him and not having the courage to ask what I was dying to know so I stood and grabbed my plate as soon as I finished eating, making my way into the kitchen to put it in the sink.

I went ahead and washed it while I stood there. I was just drying the plate and about to put it away in the cabinet overhead when I felt Pietro’s muscular body press against me from behind. Wordlessly, he took the plate from my hand and sat it on the top of the stack inside. I turned to face him.

This put us body to body.

I swallowed hard. My mouth opened and closed and for about five or six seconds, I willed myself to say something. Do something.

But I couldn’t bring myself to. Because as much as I was dying to know whether last night was a one time thing or if there was really something between us… Parts of me were scared to death that if I asked, I wouldn’t like the answer.

And that kept me quiet.

Pietro’s hand raised. Reaching out. Brushing strands of hair out of my eyes. I barely restrained a whimper at the touch. His eyes flashed a brighter blue and his head tilted slightly as he stared down at me.

Lost in thought.

His hips pressed into mine harder. When I felt the bulge in his jeans, I took a few shaky breaths. His hand rested on my hip, squeezing. Digging the tips of his fingers into it. He leaned down slightly and his mouth grazed the shell of my ear as he asked, “ty chuvstvuyesh', chto ty delayesh' so mnoy, kotenok?” in a breathless whisper.

If I thought I was wet before, hearing him speak to me in his native tongue had me soaked. Absolutely flooded. The only word I could pick out of whatever he’d asked was kitten. And as usual, when he called me kitten, my heart fluttered just a little more in my chest. He rocked himself into me clumsily and I sucked in a breath.

“Pietro.” I muttered. I was right on the verge of asking him what he’d just said. And asking him about what the night before truly was, if he felt anything or if it just kinda… happened. But just as I thought I’d finally be able to get the words out, it’s like my brain froze up all over again. I frowned at myself in frustration and sighed, shaking my head. “Nothing. It’s silly.”

I heard my dad calling my name from the next room, so I stepped away from Pietro reluctantly and went to leave the kitchen. Pietro grabbed hold of my hips, holding me in place for a few seconds. Staring down at me.

“ I need to talk to you later, kotenok. Alone.”

All I could do was nod. Tell him that I was going to go up to my room in a few minutes.

He nodded.

I stepped away and walked into the next room, only barely managing to pull myself together enough to talk to my parents without either one of them seeming to be aware of just how flustered I truly was.

As soon as I got done talking to my dad, I made my way upstairs. Shutting the door to my room and leaning against it just to hopefully pull myself together.

I still couldn’t.

I flopped across my bed, picking up the Anatomy book and my notebook, preparing to start studying again for the final I had coming up soon and just as I settled into it, there were two knocks at my bedroom door.

I slipped off the bed, wandering over to the door. Opening it.

Pietro leaned in the doorway, gazing down at me. That hungry look in his eyes again.

I stepped out of the doorway and let him into my room, shutting the door behind me. When I turned around to face him, we were body to body. Leaning into me, he put a hand against the door, just above my head. I could feel him straining even harder against his jeans. His other hand raised, resting against the side of my face. Cradling my cheek as he closed the distance between our mouths.

I started out with my palm down. Determined to keep distance between us until I finally worked up the courage to ask my question, hear my dreaded answer and be done, but by the time his tongue slipped past my lips and started to trace my teeth, I was clutching at the front of his fitted black shirt instead. He nipped at my bottom lip, tugging until I felt it swelling under pressure. The kiss deepened until I got so lightheaded I thought I’d melt.

He seemed to sense this because he crushed me against him and the hand cupping my face drifted down. Skimming down my side. Stopping at my hip.

The kiss finally broke so we could breathe and we pulled apart; breathless. Staring at each other quietly. Wide-eyed.

“Kotenok…” he muttered softly. Fondly. His voice dying away as he stared down at me like he was lost in thought. Trying to say something.

“What’s up?” I mumbled, my stomach flipping and flopping lazily.

“Last night was..” he went quiet on me again and I tensed a little, bracing myself for him to continue. Preparing myself in the event that what he was about to say wasn’t what I longed to hear.

So it shocked me when he was closing the distance between our mouths all over again as he muttered in a lust-filled whisper, “Last night was more than just sex. You make me feel things that I haven’t before, kotenok.”

My breath caught in my throat and I didn’t realize it until I finally took a breath and it was shaky. I gazed up at him, letting his words sink in. Trying to wrap my head around it. I went to say something, to tell him that I felt the same way and I didn’t do what we’d done last night often, but he pressed the side of his finger against my lips, silencing me and continued to speak.

“You make my heart beat faster.” he took hold of the hand I had rested against his chest, placing it over his heart. I gasped quietly as I looked up at him again and saw the way he was looking back down at me, a look of pure and total adoration.

He looked nervous as hell. Fidgeting a little. Not quite sure what to do with his hands after he moved one off my hip and let go of my hand with the other. He went to step away, swearing under his breath and I realized that he wanted me to react somehow.

I pressed against him from behind. My hand wrapping around his where it lingered on the knob to my bedroom door. “Don’t go. Please?” I asked in a hushed whisper. Pietro turned around and when he did, I melted against him. Raising my arms to wrap them around his neck. Dragging my fingers through a thick mess of platinum blond. Tugging at it as I rose to tiptoe and crashed my mouth against his. Laughing softly when our noses bumped and our lips connected all over again; hungry. Desperate. Frenzied.

He reached down, twisting the lock on my door knob so that it was locked and no one could come in by accident. A low growl rose up from the depths of his chest, hanging in the air between us only to be swallowed by the kiss as our mouths reconnected and it deepened. I rubbed myself against him clumsily. Needy.

His hands locked across my ass and he slipped me up his body, stepping over to my bed. Dropping me against my mattress softly and positioning himself on top of me. Pressing his hips into mine. Bucking against me as his mouth strayed from my own, working it’s way down the side of my neck. His lips caught on my pulse, making me shiver and rock myself up into him as I gave a needy whine and raised my legs, squeezing his hips with my knees. The kiss broke and he muttered against my mouth with a teasing grin, “ Think you can be quiet for me, kotenok?”

“ I can try.” I whimpered as his mouth worked down the front of my throat, teeth scraping against skin. Stubble tickling me. Making me cling to him as he snapped his hips against me and his hands moved down between us, catching in the hem of my shirt. He pulled me up to a sitting position and pulled my shirt off, tossing it onto my bedroom floor. I tugged at his shirt, whining impatiently and he chuckled. Nipping softly at my bottom lip as he teased, “Patience.”

“Pietro.” I pleaded.

He tugged his shirt over his head, letting it settle on the floor near mine. And then he was leaning in. His hands moving up my sides. Stopping to squeeze my breasts, growling to himself quietly before reaching around. Hooking a thick digit beneath the band of my bra and working the clasps free. He pulled it off, balling it up and tossing it on the floor with the rest of our clothes as he leaned into me even more, my back pressed flat against my bed all over again. He positioned himself on top of me, his body spreading my legs wide and as his head dipped down, my fingers curled in my blanket and thick blond hair.

His mouth worked across my collarbones. Then lower. He squeezed my tits together, mouth diving down. Latching onto one of my nipples. Tongue circling lazily until he’d teased it to a point and I was squirming beneath him, rocking my hips, desperate for any kind of friction I could get. My fingers caught in the waistband of his jeans and I worked the button and the zipper free. He pulled away and slipped off the bed to shed his jeans and underwear and eyed me hungrily. Leaning down. Meeting my gaze with a mischief filled smirk as he took off my pants. Holding my gaze the entire time.

I kicked my pants free at the ankle and he was on top of me again. The tip of his thick cock brushing right against my fabric covered crotch as he bucked into me and muttered against my mouth, “Are you ready for me, kotenok?”

“Please?” I begged breathlessly, barely managing to keep my voice a whisper as I did so. When he smirked at me as if he were pleased with himself, I realized exactly what his goal was.

He wanted to see just how close he could get me to getting loud.

I pouted up at him and he chuckled. “What’s wrong?”

“You’re being a tease. I know what you’re trying to do.”

“Oh?” he muttered, his hand disappearing between us. Slipping into my panties. Fingers working me open. Burying deep in my throbbing, wet sex. I arched my back and gasped, my fingers tangling in his hair, tugging at it as I rocked against his hand.

It wasn’t enough. I wanted him buried to the hilt inside of me. Now.

But Pietro was in a teasing mood tonight. Something told me that the more I begged, the more he was going to prolong it. And if I didn’t beg? He’d prolong it.

I was absolutely fucked.

One way or another, he was going to have me screaming his name by the end of the night.

[ificouldhelpyouforget]

Part 12: Egypt Vacation (Yu-Gi-Oh! SMAU)

MASTERLIST | SMAU MASTERLIST

A/N: This one is pretty spicy. But enjoy it. ;) I'm sorry if this is too spicy. I sorta let my brain go. Heh.

Summary: What happens when Mika Burke’s best friend decides to set her up with one of his friends (again)? Will it end badly like the others or work surprisingly well?

Rating: M for language, future images, and themes; sexual content in this one

Tags: @captainmeowvelwrites

If you want to be tagged in future parts, let me know!

••• A few days later •••

I flop back onto the bed I'm sharing with Marik in his sister's house, sighing happily after a delicious dinner in Cairo with everyone. I don't see Marik gazing down at me sweetly as he removes his light jacket and tosses it onto his suitcase.

"I can't believe we have to go home tomorrow night. I could stay here forever," I say, closing my eyes.

"I'm glad you like it here so much," Marik replies. "It means a lot for you to say that about where I'm from."

Sitting up, I look at Marik with a soft smile. "I love you, so naturally, I'm going to love where you're from. I don't mind that we're in the middle of the desert or that we're so far away from Japan. I want to come here often because this place is a part of who you are."

"Once again, you remind me of how lucky I am to know you, Mika."

I hold my arms open, beckoning my boyfriend closer. As soon as he's within grabbing distance, I tug him by his belt loops into my arms, my chin resting against his abdomen to allow me to look up at him. "I hate to give Yugi credit after his many failed attempts to set me up before, but I'm happy he had us meet at that party. Even though my asshole ex is poking his nose around where he shouldn't, you've brought me a lot of happiness."

Marik brushes my hair out of my face and steps back just enough to bend over and press his lips to mine. "You've done the same for me, too. We should probably thank Yugi one day."

"Yeah," I say, kissing him again. "We're done doing stuff for the rest of the night, right?"

"Yeah. Ishizu has to do some work tonight and after all the time we've spent around the city, I kinda want to stay in until we have to leave tomorrow. But if you would like to do something else, I'll happily join you."

"Staying in sounds perfect right now," I smile, standing up to go to my suitcase. "I'm going to change into my pajamas then and not change out of them until we have to leave."

"Sounds good."

I gather my clothes and rush to the attached bathroom with a little wave of my fingers as I close the door. By the time I'm done and step out of the room, Marik is pulling a tank top over his head, giving me a peek at the tan skin of his torso before it's covered. "That's a shame," I mutter, stuffing my dirty clothes into the bag I brought for them.

He turns to look at me curiously. "What?"

"I came out too late to enjoy the view."

"You act like a horny teenager sometimes, Mika. Did you know that?" Marik chuckles despite his words.

"I mean, you're not wrong about that, but I can't help it." I go over to him and wrap my arms around his waist and stare up at him with a smile. "I really like you – love you – because you're so caring and kind and all around a sweetheart, which only makes you a thousand times more attractive than you already are. I don't mean to make you feel uncomfortable about it though. I can keep those thoughts to myself if you'd prefer."

He gives me a lingering kiss, his hands cupping my face. "I don't mind because it's you. Your love goes far beyond just appreciating the way I look."

"What did past girlfriends do?" My hands slip under his shirt to allow me to lovingly scratch his lower back. "You don't have to tell me anything if you don't want to though."

Marik's face looks a little more flushed and the flesh on his arms bumps up from my light touches. "I had one other girlfriend who treated me like you do, but she was using me to cheat on her fiancé. Looking back, the girls I thought loved me only wanted me for how I looked. I learned early on to take things a little slower when it comes to intimacy."

"You don't feel like we've gone too fast, do you?"

"We've been together for a while now and kissing is the most we've done... and this is the longest I've gone in a relationship without my girlfriend trying to get in my pants."

I frown. "Did they even ask you if you wanted to do that?"

"Some did. Some... I was in a dark place for a while after what I did to Yugi and everyone – not that that's an excuse – and I made a lot of poor decisions... I didn't stand up for myself because I was recovering from that. I followed their lead when I shouldn't have."

"It's okay, Marik." Leaning forward, I press a kiss to his chest through his shirt. "We've all made mistakes in our pasts. I see you no differently than before and I will never make you do something you don't want to do, okay?"

"The same goes for you, Mika." His fingers comb through my hair before he presses his lips to my forehead. "I've never felt pressured to do anything when it comes to you. Even when you compliment me, it feels genuine and not a ploy to get me to sleep with you."

"Well... even though I know you would never ever do what Duke did to me... it's hard to not feel a little scared..."

"I understand and that's okay to take time to be comfortable with it. And if it doesn't happen, that's perfectly all right with me."

How did I get this lucky? "I love you."

He smiles. "I love you."

"Wanna lie in bed and watch a movie?"

"That sounds like a great idea, Mika. We can watch on my phone since I have plenty of battery left."

"Okay. Come on then. Let's cuddle."

••• In the middle of the night •••

Instead of the expected relaxed night Marik and I decided on, it is way too tense after the film. Unknowingly, we picked a romance movie that had far too many steamy scenes that made us feel uncomfortable. Well, that's how I imagined Marik feeling each time a scene started. My mind kept wandering, replacing the characters in the scenes with, well, us. And that made me embarrassed especially after we established we're okay where we are.

Marik clears his throat. "Interesting movie."

"Yeah... Sorry. I heard great things about the movie, but I guess people liked it because it was kinda dirty. Maybe we'll look into the movies we pick beforehand next time, so we don't feel so uncomfortable." I roll onto my back and stare at the ceiling. "That was so awkward."

"I wasn't uncomfortable for me, Mika," he says quietly.

"What?"

"It didn't make me feel uncomfortable... I... I'm ashamed to admit where my thoughts drifted to during the movie..."

I feel my face heat up, my gaze drifting away from Marik. "Oh... I also... I had the same problem."

He lets out a nervous chuckle. "How unfortunate, huh?"

I sit up and shrug, playing with a loose thread on my pajama pants. "Is it though? I know what we just said, but... I don't know. I've had a bad experience, yet I'm not that afraid of being with you like that. I trust you."

"I completely understand. I trust you, too. Maybe too much if I'm being honest."

There's a short moment of silence between us, the tension seemingly stronger, until I decide to break it. "What if we... try?"

"We don't have to, Mika."

"I know." I pull my knees up to my chin and look into his eyes. "Clearly, we are attracted to each other in that way and we trust each other... And if either one of us feels uncomfortable, we stop. No matter what, we stop and talk about it. Of course, we don't have to do anything at all. It's just a suggestion. I don't want to be like the other women in your past."

"That's impossible because you're already so different." Marik sits up and brushes some of my hair behind my ear. "I don't want to do anything you're not okay with and don't use that movie to decide what we do next. Is this something you truly want to do?"

I study his eyes, the lavender even prettier with the soft lamplight reflecting in them. There isn't an ounce of ill intent in his gaze, only warmth and reassurance... patience. I can't help pressing my lips against his shortly. "Yes. Do you want to? Be honest."

It's flattering to see the way his skin reddens some under my gaze.

Marik takes both of my hands in his and answers rather quickly. "Yes."

A nervous laugh spills from my lips. "Really?"

"You told me to be honest."

"I know, I know. It just surprises me that you are interested in me like that."

"If you let me, I'll show you how deep my interest goes." Marik leans in close as if he's going to kiss me, but his lips never meet mine, waiting for me to respond. "Mika..."

I'm so weak for him. "Show me, Marik. Please..."

He finally kisses me, cradling the back of my head to keep me from pulling away too soon. It's Marik who pauses the kiss to look me in the eyes while caressing my cheek. "Tell me what you like. What you want."

"What if I don't know? Duke is... he's the only guy I've been with like that..." I scoot so close to him that I'm practically sitting on his lap. I reach up to comb my fingers through his hair. "We didn't do anything special – definitely nothing that happened in that movie."

Marik's hand trails from the back of my head down my spine to my lower back where he guides me to straddle his lap, his hand moving to caress my hip. "Have you done anything by yourself?"

That makes my whole body flush crimson. "Yeah, but nothing that's really worked well. Just enough to get some sort of relief..."

He kisses me, barely pulling away to speak. "I want you to tell me if you like something or not. Don't be shy. Talk to me, okay?"

I nod, my nose brushing against his. "Okay."

"Good." And his lips meet mine again without any intention of separating.

I'm surprised by the length of time he spends kissing my lips – a few gentle nips and licks thrown in – until his kisses trail across my jaw and down the side of my neck. An embarrassing sound of pleasure escapes me, making me laugh and hide my face in his hair. It only urges him further, both of his hands trailing along my hips to my butt where he kneads and guides me to grind down on him. Another similar noise sounds deep in my throat, the friction building up the tingling sensation in my lower abdomen. My lips attach to the smooth skin just below his ear where I use the tips he gave me to leave a lovely reddish purple mark. The near growl he makes has me moving against him a second time without his guidance.

"Mika..." His hands shift again, but sit just under my breasts. "Can I?"

I don't even know what he's asking for, but I nod as I go back to kissing his mouth, eager to find out what he's going to do. And even as I felt his hands drift higher up my chest, I couldn't silence the moan that so easily comes out of my mouth when he squeezes.

"Fuck," I mutter, my head falling back.

Marik chuckles and presses kisses to my throat and collarbone. "Is that a good response?"

I'm breathless. "Yes. Don't stop."

"We're not even to the best part, sweet girl."

That term of endearment has my heart racing and my breath coming shortly. "Say it again, Marik."

Another chuckle and something wet traces the length of my throat up to the underside of my chin. "Sweet girl."

"Why is that so hot?" I almost feel as if I can't catch my breath especially once I realize the something wet is Marik's tongue. It makes my stomach twist excitably when I feel it at the shell of my ear.

"Good to know you like that..." Marik's hands focus on the buttons of my sleep shirt, causing me to miss the warmth of his hands on me. "Is 'baby girl' too much?"

My hands find the hem of his shirt and slip under it, giving me access to the smooth skin of his abs. "Sounds too much like... like a father-daughter th-thing..."

"I'll refrain from using it then," he says, unbuttoning the last two buttons before draping it off my shoulders, revealing my chest to the air. "Are you still okay?"

"Yeah..." I let my fingers play with the waistband of his pajama pants. "Are you?"

"Definitely." Marik finally pulls away far enough to take in the flesh he revealed, his eyes settling on my chest. I half expect him to just stare, but he lovingly leans in to kiss me. "You're so beautiful, Mika."

"You say that only because my boobs are out," I joke.

He hums while taking my face in his hands. "I mean it." A little half smile appears on Marik's face. "Boobs out or not, you're beautiful."

"You're making me feel shy," I say, tucking myself against him to hide even though my shirt is still hanging off my shoulders. "You can't go from getting me all hot and bothered to all sweet on me."

"But you're so cute when you're shy." Marik makes me look at him again, sliding my shirt down my arms. His eyes never leave my face. "Why don't you make us even?" After tossing my shirt off to the side, he takes my hands and puts them under his tank top. "Take this off for me. Touch me. Stare at me. Enjoy yourself."

He doesn't have to tell me twice as I slowly lift his shirt off his body, revealing his torso to me bit by bit. I also throw his shirt somewhere in the room and lean in to leave a few trailing kisses along his neck. "I am enjoying myself, Marik." I sit back to reach out and trace the shape of his muscles, taking in the way his abs are more defined when he breathes out or how different muscles twitch at my touch. "I didn't get to explore any of my boyfriends before, so thank you for letting me." I quickly kiss his lips, hands drifting upward to massage his pecs.

"Their loss," he breathes, leaning into my neck to leave open-mouthed kisses. "And you're welcome."

I can't help whining when Marik's hands come back to my breasts to mimic the same massaging techniques I used on him until I got distracted by his hot kisses. "Marik..."

"What is it... sweet girl?"

"I need more... I need you."

"Lie back for me then," he says after kissing the corner of my mouth.

I pout, wrapping my arms around him. "I don't want to let go of you."

Chuckling under his breath, Marik takes my arms off his shoulders. "I can't give you more if you're still dressed, Mika."

"Oh. Oh..." That's all I need to do as he says, catching the way his eyes glance at my chest when I settle back.

"Good girl," he says, hand on my stomach with his fingers spread apart until he uses both hands to tug both my pajama pants and underwear down my legs.

The way Marik stares at me in all my naked glory makes me want to hide, but I watch him instead. Duke didn't even bother to look at me the way Marik is, too interested in getting himself off than taking in my body. My heart stops and I squeak when he casually bends down to kiss the burning flesh of where I want him the most. I can't help gasp out his name with such a bold and surprising action.

"Still okay?" His voice is soft.

I nod quickly.

He trails his kisses up my stomach, my chest, and my neck, before leaving a passionate kiss to my parted lips. "You're so perfect, Mika. Everything about you... I love you."

My eyes lock to his loving gaze, fighting against the deeply rooted urge to sob at his sweet words. I know he can see moisture collecting at my lower lids because he quickly cradles my face and peppers my face with butterfly kisses to make me giggle. "I love you, too," I say softly. "Thank you for saying such sweet things to me."

"I mean everything I say, Mika."

Nodding, I pull him back to my lips and show him how happy I am to have him in my life... to have him hovering above me with every intention to treat me right. And God did I trust he'd do just that.

"Do you trust me?"

"Yes," I nod, nudging my nose against his as I kiss him again before he can pull too far away from me.

Marik rolls off the bed, but grabs my ankles to pull me to the edge so when he kneels in front of me, my legs comfortably drape over his shoulders. His lavender eyes lazily drift from my exposed core up to my blushing face. "Will you let me?" His long fingers stretch out across the pale expanse of my thighs, making his tan skin even prettier in comparison.

My eyes go wide in shock that he even wants to do something so... naughty, but I nod eagerly and brush his pretty bleached hair back. "Please..."

The sultry smirk I get in response causes my breath to hitch and it takes a few more practiced breaths to settle down when he scoots closer, a single finger trailing up my thigh, across my stomach, and downward. There is no stopping the whimper in my throat at the feeling of his exploration, a sound that only gets louder when that finger finds its way inside me.

"Marik," I whine, leaning forward to kiss him.

He cuts the kiss short though. "Lie back for me, Mika."

I can only nod, listening so willingly with the feeling of his finger sliding out and back in at a leisurely pace. As much as I want to have some hold on him, it's nearly impossible to concentrate on anything except what he's doing to me. Especially when his lips press against the very spot that has me reeling the second his breath fans over it. If I thought I was loud before, it was even worse with the kitten licks Marik switches to while adding a second finger. The coil in my abdomen tightens.

His name becomes a whispered chant with each passing second, one of my hands reaching out to him, which Marik quickly grabs it and tangles our fingers together. All it takes for the coil inside me to finally snap is the push of a third digit and a gentle nibble. That brings me over the edge with a guttural moan. The soft kisses he continues to leave there as he removes his fingers makes me whine, needy for his kisses to return to my lips.

"Feeling good?" Marik asks, getting to his feet to lean over me. His hips slot between my legs, the fabric of his pants making my skin tingle.

I hum, opening my eyes to look at his content face, a sheen to his lips. "No one's ever done that to me."

"Did you like it?"

"Yeah... I liked it a lot." I caress his cheek. "Did you like it?"

There's a deep rumble in his chest as he laughs, bending down to kiss my forehead. "Yes, I did. It was very enjoyable for me."

I flush, the red somehow evident under my already flustered skin. "I didn't think guys liked that."

"Mm, some don't. I do." Marik kisses my mouth. "Next time I might have you sit on my face."

"Marik!" I squeal, covering my mouth in shock. "Won't that suffocate you?"

"What a way to go," he winks as he stands back onto his feet, thumbs tucking into the waistband of his pants.

I sit up fast and pause his movements as he starts to push them over his hipbones. I glance at the evident bulge in front of me. "Let me do it. Please?"

Marik nods, but lifts my chin with his fingers to make me look at him. "Don't worry about returning the favor." He kisses my nose. "Save that for another day."

My fingers grasp at his waistband. "Are you sure? I know how to and would be happy to make you feel good, too."

"As tempting as it is, I won't last if you do."

"Really?"

He nods and hums. "It doesn't take much when it comes to you."

I nibble on my bottom lip before kissing his stomach. "Okay. I won't... I'll control myself for now." And then I slowly tug down the rest of his clothes. Resisting the desire to take him into my mouth is almost impossible as I stare. The look Marik gives me when I peer up at him doesn't help either. I can tell he's imagining exactly what I could do with my face so close, but he runs his fingers through my hair at the top of my head and pulls me away from the temptation. But of course, as soon as he lets go of my hair, I can't resist leaving a kiss at the tip, unbothered by what sticks to my lips.

"Mika," he groans, going back to pulling me away from his body. "Just that is too much."

"I'm sorry," I say, licking my lips. "I won't do it again. This time."

Marik climbs onto the bed, forcing me to lie back so I'm under him once more after scooting away from the edge a little bit. "Another day, I'll happily spend hours with you like this... taking our time to explore each other more, but right now? I feel like all my control is slipping. All I want is you. Right now."

"You have me," I say, leaning upward to plant sloppy wet kisses along his jawline and throat. The hum he lets out has me grinning against his skin.

"I don't have protection, Mika," he says, looking into my eyes with a worried expression.

I shrug. "That's okay. I know I'm clean and I trust that you are."

He nods.

"As for the chances of having your baby? I'm willing to take that chance only if you intend to stick around. Don't go running if I come to you with a positive test, okay?"

"You want to have a baby with me?" That questions alone shifts the entire mood.

Nodding and reaching out to touch his face, I smile at him. "Everything from the moment we met has felt so right even as we've taken each step in our relationship faster than some couples. If we take this step and end up with a little surprise nine months later, I will be happy to become a mom to your baby. But I can't do it if you won't be in my life... our life." My index finger traces the outline of his lips. "If you can't promise that, then we either have to wait or figure out something else."

Marik's lips crash against mine, his hands cradling my face after he settles on top of me. Neither one of us seem to notice any other feeling but our kisses, our tongues meeting frantically. "I promise I'll be there," he mutters against my lips, thin strings of saliva breaking between us as he speaks. "I want you to be it for me. I don't want anyone else after you except... you."

"You mean it?" Our eyes meet and I see nothing but honesty in his. "I want you to be it for me, too. I can't imagine my life without you."

Another several kisses are left on my lips. I can suddenly feel that they've gotten a little swollen and that makes my skin flush some.

"So we agree we're okay with this happening?"

"Yeah," I breathe, aware of the limb squished between us that is somehow growing harder than it already is.

"I can't begin to explain what this means to me, Mika." Marik hovers over me once more, his lips quickly attaching to the skin of my neck.

I giggle when his teeth graze my pulse point and then my earlobe. "Then show me, Marik." I can't resist reaching down between us to run my hand along the length of him, humming at the soft hiss he lets out. When I wrap my fingers around him, Marik bucks his hips unintentionally and nearly thrusts completely into me. Only a few centimeters manages to push into me before Marik jerks away at the guttural moan that spills from my mouth followed by a few curses. "Why'd you... Why'd you stop?" For barely anything, I feel so out of breath.

"I thought I hurt you," he says, letting his head drop onto my shoulder. "I didn't mean to... The way you touched me..." Marik shifts his hips forward just enough so I can feel him near where I need him. "I need you so badly, Mika."

"Then move," I whine, involuntarily grinding down on nothing in hopes to feel him closer as I close my eyes. "Please..."

I feel him reach between us and guide himself perfectly to where he needs to go, the tip barely pushing into me again to allow him to bring his hand back up by my head.

I beg him pathetically to keep going, opening my eyes to stare up at him with so much need. It's the last sign he needs before urging his hips forward so carefully that I swear I can feel every ridge and bump and vein as he slides into me inch by inch. And the sounds we make the deeper he goes fuel our desires to keep going.

As soon as he bottoms out, Marik releases the breath he was apparently holding and presses his face into my neck. "I want to... to stay like this forever," he groans against my skin.

The flutter of my muscles around him as I get used to the intrusion make it unbelievably difficult to stay still. "Me, too," I say as I unintentionally clench my pelvic muscles. "Sh-Shit," I moan, my back arching up into him.

"Hang on, sweet girl," he says, testing the waters with a gentle shift of his hips. Out a little and back in a few times until my gasps turn into pleas for him to move more. "Okay... O-Okay." And then he slides nearly all the way out only to thrust into me a little harder.

"Fuck," I groan as he speeds up and alternates between deep and shallow movements. My arms fall from his shoulders to above my head when he pushes one of my legs up and over his shoulder, managing to hit spots inside me I didn't know existed. The sounds that come from my lungs are sinful and fill our room along with Marik's cute groans that even kisses can't mute.

The soft mutterings of how well I'm doing for him and how good I feel around him build up the pressure in my abdomen a second time, the subtle twitches of him inside me when he pauses to lift my other leg over his shoulder also adding to it. And the half-lidded, lustful gaze of Marik's when he watches the way my chest moves with every thrust brings me even closer to my second orgasm of the night. All it takes is a few short circular movements of his fingers against the bundle of hypersensitive nerves to send me over that final crest, my throat releasing a couple of whiney moans as Marik helps me come down from my high just as he reaches his. He's much quieter than me, only his heavy breaths sounding under my whines as he stills inside me, his body carefully resting on mine.

My fingers instinctively brush through his hair when his head comes to rest on my chest while we both catch our breaths, my muscles occasionally still twitching around him.

"I love you," he whispers, finally lifting his head to look at my blissed out expression. "You're incredible and so perfect... my sweet Mika."

I'm embarrassed to feel my body react to that when I know he can feel it, too. "Ditto to all of that," I sigh and press my lips to his. "I don't have a cute endearing nickname to call you though."

"Mm... I'm okay with you saying just my name unless you want to think of something." Marik slowly lifts his body off mine just enough to slip out of me – both of us groaning at the sensation. "I'm going to grab a towel to clean up, okay?"

I nod. "Shower in the morning?" I ask, watching him get up and go to the bathroom where he comes out second later with two towels. He only nods.

Marik is overly gentle as he wipes off my body, leaving a soft kiss there again after I'm cleaned up. Then he takes the other towel to clean himself off, tossing both in the corner before climbing back into bed with me and covering our naked bodies with the sheets.

"Do you feel okay?" he asks, wrapping an arm around my waist when I scoot myself against his chest. I feel so warm with my back pressed against the hard muscles of his front with nothing there to separate us.

"Yes. I feel amazing and happy."

"Good."

I jump when I hear my phone go off on the beside table. I reach for it and immediately feel all the blood drain from my face.

"Oh, my God," I groan, hiding my face in my hands after I toss my phone aside. "Your sister and Odion heard everything, Marik."

A choked laugh sounds deep in his chest. "She did? Shit... I forgot they were here. What did Ishizu say?"

"That next time we should work on being quieter because we left little to the imagination... and that I should cuddle you and enjoy the 'post-sex bliss,' which... I think I can do that." I turn around in his arms and smile at Marik. He looks so pretty with the gentle smile on his face that tells me he's gazing at his world. Me. "Do you think you're good for plenty of cuddles from now until we leave?"

He chuckles, leaning close to kiss my lips and then my forehead. "I think I'm good for that. Just... let's not get dressed until tomorrow afternoon because you never know when we might need to get a little messy again." Marik smirks at the red blooming across my cheeks and kisses me again.

"O-Okay."

"I love you."

Despite my warm face, I tuck my head under Marik's chin and hug him close. "I love you, too."

[gingerale2017]

Say No To This

This is from my most recent story which is just a bunch of kaider short stories. You can find it on my wattpad. Enjoy!

Okay, so this is a modern world AU where Kai is dating *bleh* Levana, and he invites Cinder to study with him. Based on the song 'Say No To This' from Hamilton- If you watched Hamilton, you already know what to expect (minus the inappropriate parts)

"There's nothing like summer in the city!" Thorne exclaimed from wherever he was. Kai sighed and distinctly picked up the violin playing in the background.

"Is that Cress? Is she performing in the square again?" he asked while folding his laundry. He was wearing the AirPods his father gave him for Christmas last year before his father was diagnosed with cancer. That felt like so long ago when Kai didn't have to freak out every time Dr. Erland called or have to be free every Saturday for the chemotherapy treatments. It hurt him to see his father suffer so much.

"Yeah, she's a freakin' prodigy!" Kai could practically hear Thorne smile. Cress and Thorne started dating three weeks ago and were as happy as can be. That was more he could say about Kai and his romantic choices, "you okay, dude? It sounds like your under stress."

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"Oooh, there's trouble in the air here; you can smell it, " Kai thought he heard shouting mixed with the beautiful violin noises in the background now, "I gotta go, but one question first."

"Shoot."

"Are you by yourself?"

"Yes, why?"

"I'll let you figure it out, " and with that, Thorne ended the call. Kai began to wonder he called in the first place.

He finished folding the last of the shirts and moved to the living room. He flopped on the couch and groaned, covering his face with his hands.

He hadn't slept in a week; he was weak; he had to stay awake. Anytime now, his phone would ring, and Dr. Erland would tell Kai that his father got positive results for the major surgery that could remove his father's large tumor. Not only that, there was a huge test next week, and he had been preparing for it all week.

No one had ever seen a-could-be orphan more in need in a break. He was longing for a friend, missing his father, and that's when Miss Cinder Linh knocked on his door.

Kai couldn't see Cinder from the living room. Still, he knew it was her because he'd been expecting her... unless Levana decided to pay him a surprise visit.

He met Cinder and her little sister during a chemotherapy session and immediately felt a connection with her. One that he hadn't ever felt before. And they met every Saturday and usually left their loved ones to get coffee and return, and those were the moments Kai looked forward to every week. He then realized that he might be falling for her, just a tiny bit.

He walked to the door and was relieved to find dark brown eyes greeting him.

"I know you are a man of honor," Cinder teased, her eyes sparkling as Kai noticed a dark splotch above her brow. He managed to stifle a laugh; he knew that she did a part-time mechanic job in some old guy's warehouse, "I'm so sorry to bother you at home, but I don't know where to go, and I came here all alone," she waved her hand in the air, keys jingling, and winked at him.

"Hi, Cinder, thanks for coming," he said softly. He let her in, and, already knowing the answer, he asked, "how's your family?"

Cinder huffed, "My family? Adri's doing me wrong; she's beating me, cheating, mistreated. And suddenly Iko's up and gone. I don't have the means to go on."

She gratefully took place on the oversized couch. Kai hated Adri with every inch of his being with a burning passion. Every time Cinder told him about all the horrible things that bitch did to her; he would imagine the worst fate to come upon Adri while Cinder would just shrug it off.

He grabbed the ever-hated science book from the kitchen counter and went to sit with Cinder. She smiled at him, and his heart drummed unexpectedly.

"Ah, science, your worst subject, if I remember your ranting correctly," she said.

"What can I say? I'm stronger in history and ELA."

"Which are my weak points."

"Exactly, we help each other," she shifted, and her hand touched Kai's elbow and lingered before she brought her legs up and sat criss-cross-applesauce.

"So, we should get started for your big test, right?" Cinder coughed.

"Right."

At one point, she asked for coffee, and he bashfully admitted there was none and suggested that they could buy some from a dollar store about a block away with the thirty dollars he had socked away in his pocket. Cinder shook her head and said they should study instead.

And they did study for about an hour until Kai started laughing for no apparent reason. She began to laugh with him and placed a hand on his chest to balance her laughter out. He tried to stop, but then she'll snort, and he started laughing again, which proceeded to make Cinder do the same thing. So they were stuck in this cycle of laughter until she leaned on him, and he fell backward on the couch, bringing her down with him.

The laughter died out with a new emotion taking its place. Kai couldn't tell what it was, but he saw it in her eyes. Her gorgeous, chocolate brown eyes. Her gaze dipped towards his lips so quick he almost missed it. He was aware of her hands on his chest, the left one moving towards his neck. He shivered.

"I should- we should probably get back up," he whispered.

Cinder looked at his lips once again and licked hers, "I think I'll stay," and Kai suddenly figured out what the feeling was; yearning.

He wanted to kiss her, to envelop her in his arms until daylight, and to whisper compliments every minute. He so desperately wanted to.

Oh stars, someone shows him to say no to this because he had no idea how to say no to this. He was with Levana as much as he hated it. His father and Levana's parents wanted the relationship- said it would be good for both of their businesses. But he didn't want it. Instead of objecting, he was kind and open to the cruel witch who was now his girlfriend. The girlfriend who he was most likely to cheat on this very minute.

But with Cinder, it didn't feel like cheating. It felt more like cheating on her with Levana, and the thought disgusted him. She looked helpless, and at the same time, her body was saying 'hell yes.'

Kai tried to think about his next move, and in his mind, he was trying to go, but then her mouth was on his, and he did not say no. He grabbed her waist, and she clung to his hoodie, her grip tightening when his right hand traced her figure. Her hand moved to his hair and gripped it while kissing him harder.

He ignored his imaginary father in his head, screaming at him to say no, as well as a furious Levana and her family. He only focused on the girl he was making out with and pretended that Levana didn't exist. He pretended that his dad was fine and everything was fine, that he had nothing to worry about. He pretended that he was in a wonderful relationship with Cinder and that everything would be fine.

-------------------------------------------------------------------

As it turns out, everything was not fine. Kai wished (although not really) that he could say that was the last time he made out with Cinder. He said that last time, it became a pastime.

A month into this endeavor, he received a text from a Pearl Linh; even better, it said:

Dear Kai, I hope this text finds you in good health and in a prosperous position to put wealth in the pockets of people like me who are down on their luck; you see, that was my (step) sister you decided to-.

Kai suddenly dropped the cookie he had been holding in his mouth to eat and looked at an insignificant place on the wall in horror, "fu-."

He was cut off by Pearl calling him. When did he give her his number?! He answered and shoved his groan down his throat.

"I assume you got my text," Pearl said, somewhat sickly-sweet.

"Mhm."

"Uh oh," she mocked, and Kai imagined her jousting her lip out in mock sympathy, "you chose the wrong loser to mess with. So time to pay the price for whatever you did to the bitch. And, hey, you can keep seeing my whore sister if the price is right; if not, I'm telling Levana."

She hung up, and Kai couldn't move from shock. He heard the screech of tires braking in the driveway and banging on his door. Once he broke free from the ice that was keeping him still, he opened the door for the girl who had spilled their whole relationship to his brand-new blackmailer.

He stared at Cinder for a while before blurting out, "how could you!" in her face.

"No Kai-," she groaned and pinched the space between her eyes. She was poorly dressed, apologetic, a mess; she looked almost pathetic. He started to close the door when Cinder thrust her hand out and cried, "please don't go, Kai!"

"You told Pearl everything-!"

"I don't know how she found out until she was accusing it to me in my face!"

"She told me everything just now through text!" Kai frustratedly ran a hand through his hair, "So was this whole thing a setup, so you could help Pearl do whatever?!"

"I don't know about any text!" Cinder was getting angry now too, "I- I didn't know any better," she said at the same time he said:

"Goddamit, I'm ruined, the business is ruined, my father is- agh!"

The following words came out as a rush from her mouth, "please don't do anything; I'll fix it."

"Cinder, you're helpless. It's me. How could I do this to you?!" she ignored him.

"Maybe if we give her what she wants.. If you pay... I can stay?" Kai decided that it was too awkward to continue arguing on the porch, so he let her inside. She tripped on the doorframe, and he caught her, and once again, Cinder was in his arms.

He could stop right then and there. He could wait until he found the best way to break up with Levana and make both families happy to date Cinder. But, he still didn't know how to say no to this, to her. And the situations helpless.

How could he say no to this?! It was practically impossible. Cinder shut the door with her foot as her hands rubbed his chest before finding their way to his neck. Kai began to lean in, and the chorus of screaming voices had never been louder.

Then right before they kissed, she whispered, "I- I think I love you, Kai. Do you-" she never got to finish her sentence before he dug his hand in her hair and kissed her. Hard. The chorus came back and was screaming NO at full force. Yes, he thought in retaliation, and two of the voices (Levana's parents) left. NO, they cried again, though not as strong. Yes, Kai reconsidered the topic. Did he love Cinder? NO! shouted Levana. Yes! he called back in his mind. Cinder's words came back to him; so hopeful and helpless: 'Do you love me?' she meant to say. NO! his father was the last one left.

Kai pulled away from Cinder, and her eyes fluttered open, "yes," he whispered back, and she smiled her beautiful smile that could make even the most heartless man smile. Then he kissed her again, but more soft this time, and thought about how much he loved her. Which was a lot because he loves her more than he ever thought he could.

Kai dwelled on that thought as a new idea formed in his head.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

"So?" Pearl asked Kai behind the hidden trailer at their private school. It bewildered him to know that Adri could send two of her girls to a prestigious private school while Cinder ended up at a public school to save money. IF she wants to save money, send all of your girls to public school, and she needs to, now with Peony's medical bills.

He looked at Pearl with utmost hatred, and her cheeks flushed, reasons unbeknownst to Kai, "nobody needs to know," he growled.

Pearl asked for twenty-bucks to keep their 'secret' safe, but there was no reason to since he was going to end it today. He walked away with a smirk, and she called out for him, but he had no time for her. Kai had a plan. He was going to break up with Levana. It might make Kai deal with Levana's fury, along with her family's and his father's, but it was going to make him happy.

Kai could finally be with Cinder, and he wouldn't care what they say about it because Cinder made him happy. She made him feel like the most significant human in the world, even though he knew he was not.

He walked across the courtyard to continue with his plan with newfound confidence. He could've sworn Cress playing her violin beautifully, successfully giving him the final burst of courage to do the riskiest thing in his life.

[pheohunch]

Within the halls - a fun lil obey me fic oc x lucifer (kinda?? But not really? It's mostly just banter)

This is just a little obey me fanfic featuring my oc anwill who I use as the mc lol. He's got a lot of depth to his character and I really wanna play around with him in this universe so I am going to be posting obey me fanfics. We'll see how far down the rabbit hole this gets me lol.

If you want to see what anwill looks like I'll also make a separate post of him lolol.

----------------------------------------~•^•~---------------------------------

This is set after anwill had settled into the house of lamentation belphegor was still locked away yet anwill had managed to make a pact with all of the brothers except lucifer. Although they had made pacts with anwill the brothers knew quite little about anwill mostly because everyone in the house of lamentation usually kept to themselves and rarely interacted unless it was meal time, school or a scheme was brewing.

Anwill was currently in his bedroom having just returned from classes he tossed his bag full of books onto the floor flopped onto his bed which was covered in cushions, pillows, teddybears and lots of blankets. A teddy bear falls to the carpet as anwill lets out a sigh. He was finally free for the day no work, no school bo chores no nothing. A silence falls as anwill opens his eyes after his face buried within his pillows and looks around.

He looks at the tv in his room and realises he hasnt watched many of his favourite reality shows that he used to watch when he was in the human world. "I wonder if the devildom have any next top model" he muttered to himself rolling off of the bed with an oomph, holding his stomach a few seconds before grabbing the remote.

The anime that he watched for when he wanted to make a pact with Levi pops on the screen and although he's grown to see levi as a great friend and has seemingly warmed up to anwill, anime was not his thing although on some occasions if levi wanted to play a game or watch a show with him, anwill would do it but simply because this was levi's way of wanting to get along with Anwill.

Levi wasn't in the room right now though so the long blondhaired human immediately switches the anime off and begins scrolling through the shows to see that they did not have a single reality show on at all. With a look of anger anwill whips out his phone to get onto akuzon typing in the names of shows.

Hours and hours go by and lucifer was walking down the halls towards his bedroom. The pink door with star stickers covering it first open with a short and squishy blonde jumping into his arms cheering and hugging the oldest brothers body close. "FINALLY TODAY IS A GOOD DAY TO BE A BEAUTIFUL BITCH LUCIFER" anwill calls out in a fit of giggles and profanity. lucifer had to widen his eyes at this before glaring down at the human whose arms were wrapped around him. Anwill looks up to red eyes glaring down at him. "Shit sorry ". he forgot that lucifer has quite the stick up his ass but it's whatever his fault for being in front of the door.

anwill internally pouts lucifer royally pissed him off and to be honest he scared him but that doesn't mean he hated lucifer. Anwill respected Lucifer and understood where he came from and why he was so protective over his younger brothers, anwill was like that with his twin sister back in the human world. But he still pissed anwill off the most out of the seven and the words that left his lips next didn't change that opinion either.

"Do you always get this touchy feely when expressing yourself mr carnie? If you don't want to make an enemy out of me I suggest you keep to yourself I'm not as welcome to touch like my brothers " gloved hands brushed off non existent dirt. red angered eyes met unbothered pink ones which closed when anwill scoffed.

Turning his soft face away from the fallen angel who stood with him in the halls, the human crosses his arms over his chest only glancing at Lucifer once. "Please as if I wanted to fall into the arms of a dic-" anwill remember you're talking to a being with more power than superman who can and will kill you. choose your words wisely "person whose pride is higher than Asmodeus on a Friday night at the club". That shouldn't of been funny to lucifer he shouldn't of cracked a smile at that so he turns his face away and clears his throat explaining he had a tickle in his throat. Anwill called bullshit but whatever he doesn't care at all nope. "You just happened to be here when I left the room. I would never press myself against the likes of you I'd basically be handing you a loaded gun and aim it at my forehead" The Two both roll their eyes not looking at the other.

"well enough of this back and fourth what are you so excited about?" Raising an eyebrow lucifer walks a little closer only for anwill to turn his back on him with high pitched "HMPH!". Arms fall to his sides and manicured hands ball into fists and pink eyes open looking over his shoulder "I don't feel like telling you anymore ".

A little pink tongue slides from between anwill's lips before turning his head away again and walking down the hallway with his hips sauntering and head held high. "Fine have it your way as if I'd stoop to the level of a nosey good for nothing human" lucifer mirrors anwill's body language but heads in the opposite direction. "I HEARD THAT!" "GOOD!" ---------------------•×•---------------------------

I hope you enjoyed this part so far! I apologise if an will is a little bratty he gets like that LMAO he is not a perfect character at all so I'm really looking forward to playing around with his character. He definitely clashes with insider's that's for sure.

#obeyme, #otomegames, #obeymeoc, #obeymemc, #obeymefanfiction

[chuuyas--boo]

a h y e s f i c t i m e.

Soooo for this- uH Riley meets the Masons BEFORE ending up in the building. Oh and uh, I call the Mason's house a manor cause they got a big ass house ✋

TW: abuse/abuse mention.

AN: I APOLOGIZE IF I COMPLETELY SLAUGHTER ANYONE'S PERSONALITY I AM SHIT AT COPYING PERSONALITIES ALBERT IS SOFT HERE BECAUSE I SAID SO

"Riley-- Oh...- What happened!?" Riley glanced at the ginger haired boy in front of her; Eddie.

"Hm?"

Eddie pointed at her busted lip, and bruised and cut arms and legs, visibly concerned.

"It's nothing..I was just playing with my brother-" "Playing? And you got a busted lip, and all those bruises and cuts?" a deeper voice spoke, standing behind Eddie; Albert.

"We were playing rough..." "Stop lying idiot, just tell us."

Riley shook her head as tears started rolling down her cheeks.

"S-she hits me...and beats me! She's always drunk or high..." Albert's ivy green gaze met Riley's. "Who?"

"My mom..."

"God fuckin- does your dad know?"

Riley nodded silently.

"And he's not doing anything?!"

"N-no...but he's not even there most of the time 'cause he's got w–"

"That's not an excuse to just fucking sit there and not do anything"

Eddie held out his hand to Riley, who grabbed his hand and stood up.

"Is there anywhere else badly cut or bruised?"

"Probably...but it's fine"

"It's not fine. Where are they?"

Riley just looked at the ground as the three of them walked towards the Mason's Manor.

"Riley. Where are the other bruises?"

"I don't know...I wasn't really paying attention... It hurt too much"

"W-well I can't look!"

"It's 'ungentlemanly' or whatever...I know."

Riley was still trembling badly as they walked, unable to keep her hands steady, she pulled her hand away from Eddie's so it wouldn't bother him and then shoved her hands in her pockets.

"Does anyone else live with you?" Riley glanced at Eddie and nodded, "My younger brother, Jack. And my older sister, Lexi." "And they don't do anything to stop her...?" Riley just shook her head, not wanting to explain why they didn't interfere.

Albert stopped abruptly, ivy green gaze darkening. "Did she do that too?" and pointed at the bruises on Riley's neck.

Eddie stopped as well and stood in front of her, Riley nodded even though it was a lie, not wanting to get anyone else involved. Little did she know the two bothers could see right past the lie.

"Who actually did it...?", Eddie gently put his hands on her face, Riley tilted her head back slightly, making the bruises more visible, they looked as if someone had tried to choke her.

"Jordan..." Albert's gaze changed from slightly sympathetic to filled with anger and hatred, he was pissed. Sure Riley went to a different school, but no one should hurt a girl, especially not a boy.

Eddie's gaze remained soft and sympathetic, "Who's that?"

Riley hesitated before answering quietly "Someone at school..."

"ah...lets go so we can get you bandaged up!" Riley nodded and the three of them continued walking

✿

When Riley, Albert and Eddie got to the Manor, the youngest, George looked over at them.

"Big brooo!!" Eddie smiled softly and hugged George. Albert walked past them, hands balled into fists and shoved into his pockets.

A tall(ish? I don't really know how tall she is) woman with medium(it shows her with short hair in the manga, but slightly longer in Episode.Eddie so??) length ginger hair walked into the room, her gaze shifted towards Riley and she looked almost startled.

"What happened to you, dear?" Riley glanced at her nervously, unable to respond.

"Momma, we need to get her bandaged up! She can explain later if she wants..."

Mrs. Mason(Shanon) nodded and rushed off to go get the first aid stuff.

One of the cats walked up to Riley, who picked them up and held them while she waited.

"Oooh...what happened to you?"

Riley glanced at the younger boy quietly

"I was just playing with my brother..." Riley lied, again.

George tilted his head, suspecting it wasn't true but didn't say anything else and ran off.

Carl came downstairs and just looked at Riley worried, too nervous to say anything.

Shanon came back with the first aid kit and had Riley sit at the counter.

Riley pulled her sleeves back again, revealing lots of cuts and bruises.

"Do you mind telling me what happened?"

Riley sighed as Shanon began to clean the cuts, wincing every now and then. "My mom's abusive...and is almost always drunk or high...and takes it out on me...a-and Jordan does it too..."

Shanon's blue eyes gleamed with worry and sympathy as Riley explained. "You're welcome to stay here if you'd-"

"No she's not."

Both Shanon and Riley glanced towards the voice, Henry. "She needs to leave."

"I-i can go now...it's fine..." George ran over and hugged her. "Don't go! Pleaseeeee! You'll get hurt..."

Riley hugged the smaller boy "Don't worry about me, I'll be fine." she pulled her sleeves back down over her bandaged arms. "Do you have to goooo?" "Yes George, she has to go."

George pouted and flopped onto the floor

"I'll be back soon..!"

[roguerogerss]

Sorry is a Sorry Word

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Henderson!Reader

Plot: Steve fucked up - bad. He doesn’t really know how, or if, he should say sorry, until Dustin gives him a pep talk.

W/C: 3.1k

A/N: Just now realising how long this is oops, sorry. My first Stranger Things fic! Finally. (watch this flop so hard lmao) Remember to like and reblog if you enjoy! It really helps me out. As always, requests are open and any and all feedback is appreciated <3

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"Dustin, Please, just leave me alone." She lay back on her bed, tears streaming down her face and hair amiss from where she'd run her fingers through it. "I'm fine, I just...give me some time."

"But, we tell eachother everything." Her little brother sounded so small and defeated that it almost broke her heart in two. She could hear him leaning his back against the door, the back of his head thumping dully against the wood a second later. "I feel like we're drifting apart. You don't talk to me anymore."

"Dustin-"

"No, it's okay. Don't worry." Dustin cleared the remnants of his upset from his throat, "We can talk later. I get that you need time."

And with that, he'd left. She could hear his muffled footsteps on the carpeted floor of the hallway, walking away from her bedroom and back to his own. She knew that she wanted to talk to him and vent about all of the happenings of the day, but she couldn't bring herself to let her walls down in front of anyone about her current situation just yet.

It was Steve. And it was bad.

They'd been together for a year and ten months. He'd been there for her through thick and thin. Whenever their mom went MIA, something that happened more often than not, during the days and weeks and months that Y/N was left to take care of her thirteen year old brother on her own with no notice whatsoever, Steve was there. And he'd take Dustin out to the cinema, give him free ice cream, play Dungeons and Dragons with him and his friends - even though Steve had no idea how to play Dungeons and Dragons. He'd sleep over, make her feel like she wasn't alone. It filled her with pride to see him taking Dustin under his wing, more like a dad than even an older brother.

When they lost Hopper, who'd become more of a parental figure than she and Dustin's mom was to her, he was standing by her side at the funeral, hand grasping her own smaller one with force and squeezing it every so often, just to remind her that he was there. He was there after the funeral, too, when they went to the cabin and went through Hopper's things. He was there when she found the birthday present that Hopper had bought for her, a necklace with, 'you're pretty cool, kid', engraved on it. Hopper's way of saying that he loved her. It came with a letter, one that she cried so hard while reading that she couldn't see the words on the page.

The point was, that Steve had been there through everything. And now that they'd had a huge argument over - of all things - Nancy Wheeler, she was unsure of whether or not she'd have Steve to lean on anymore.

It wasn't so much a stupid argument as it was a stupid mistake on Steve's end. He even admitted to himself that what he'd done was more than a dick move. Tina was having a party, a big one, for old time's sake. Y/N wasn't invited, having been socially considered as 'uncool' while in High School, while Steve was invited. He said that it wasn't a big deal, it didn't matter, he wouldn't go.

Except that it was a big deal, it did matter, and, well, he did go.

He'd gotten really drunk, so drunk, in fact, that he had no recollection of the night at all and managed to stumble to Y/N's front door at five in the morning.

He'd told her that he went to the party, that he was sorry. She'd been mad, but she was so tired that she said she'd deal with it in the morning and told Steve to sleep it off on the sofa. Before going to sleep, however, Steve had told Y/N that he 'thought he might've kissed Nancy' that night.

They'd argued about it the next day. She'd dropped him off at home, neither of them speaking at all in the car, and they'd screamed at eachother in Steve's living room. Little did either of them know, Steve hadn't actually kissed Nancy, he was just so drunk that he made himself believe that he had. And then, Y/N told Steve that they were done, and he'd said 'fine', and she'd left and cried in her car for an hour.

And now, she was here. Crying on her bed, little brother probably thinking that one of her friends had died or something.

She hated herself for blowing up and flying off the handle and literally breaking up with Steve. Steve, on the other hand, hated himself for even going to the party, hated himself for - possibly - kissing Nancy, hated himself for going to Y/N's front door and waking her up so early in the morning.

In the grand scheme of things, Steve Harrington had been an asshole. And he was all too aware of it.

It had been around half an hour since she got home when Dustin knocked on the door again. This time, she'd managed to calm down enough to allow him to come inside. She looked horrifying, hair messed up, tear stained face, cuddling a pillow and wearing one of Steve's shirts, but Dustin was her brother, he had no right to judge her.

The door swung open slowly, and Dustin was there, grinning and holding two pints of ice cream, spoons, and some movies. "Thought we could put a movie on and eat. And you can tell me about your problems and I promise I'll listen."

"Is the ice cream cookie dough?" Y/N asked, sniffling, and a watery smile crossed her face. Dustin laughed, happy to see his sister perking up at least a little bit, even if it was over ice cream, and turned the carton to reveal to her that it was, in fact, cookie dough.

"Only the best." He tossed one of the cartons and a spoon at her, and turned on the TV set that sat across from her bed. "Besides, I know it's the only one you'll eat when you're sad."

"You know me entirely too well." She hugged her knees to her chest and dug into her ice cream, relishing in the taste of it for a second, "Oh my God, I haven't had this in so long. And the Scoops cookie dough is so bad."

"Right? I know Steve thinks it's the best, but he is so wrong." Little did Dustin know, one mention of his name would make Y/N's meltdown begin all over again. Soon enough, she was crying hot tears into her ice cream, and she allowed Dustin to lay his head on her shoulder while she explained everything.

"Okay, I have to go somewhere." Dustin knew what he had to do, and Y/N's eyebrows furrowed as he got swiftly up from her bed. "I'll be like, maybe half an hour. But you can eat my ice cream if it starts to melt."

"Dustin! Don't leave me!"

"Watch the movie!"

And then he was gone, and she was by herself, with only some ice cream and E.T. to keep her company.

Meanwhile, Dustin had found Steve at work. He was insanely hungover - although, the headache and sickness had gone away thanks to Robin and her Tylenol, but the tiredness still remained - and reminded Dustin faintly of a particular zombie in Day of the Dead when he walked into Family Video to find him leaning on the counter. The grim look on his face wasn't so much because of the hangover, though, it was more to do with the fact that he and his girlfriend of nearly two years had broken up half an hour ago, and he'd been forced to go to work.

"If you're here to talk to Steve, I wouldn't. He nearly punched me when I asked him if he wanted Tylenol. And I'm a girl." Robin stopped Dustin at the front door, a serious look on her face, but he shrugged her off.

"It's fine. He won't do anything. Besides, I know what this whole thing's about. That's why I'm here." He tried to walk off again, but Robin grabbed his upper arm, tugging him back and making him elaborate.

"Is it Y/N? I think there was a fight between them or something. He’s never looked this rough.” Robin looked concerned, and she was. She’d never seen Steve so upset before. “He was crying when he came in.” She added.

Dustin shrugged, “Yeah, I’m gonna talk to him. He’ll be fine tomorrow.” He decided not to give Robin any more information on the situation in case Y/N or Steve would've gotten mad at him for it.

"Henderson, hey." Steve said quietly when he noticed that Dustin had entered the store. He looked like he'd been crying, and Robin was definitely right when she said he’d never looked rougher. "If you're here to hang out-"

"I'm not here to hang out, Steve. We have to talk." Dustin crossed his arms sternly over his chest, raising his eyebrows and nodding his head in the direction of the store room. Steve grumbled and complied, unlocking the door and ushering Dustin inside.

"You have to apologise."

"Apologise? Apologise for - what exactly are we talking about?" Steve rubbed a hand exhaustedly over his face, leaning against a sealed box of movies that he was supposed to have put away by now.

"You know what for, Steve. Y/N. You hurt her. Like, really badly. I don't think I've ever seen her so upset." Steve already wanted Dustin to stop, but he continued, really wanting him to get the message of just how hurt his sister was. "She cried in her room for half an hour before she even let me talk to her, and now she's at home by herself, probably crying some more because you went to a stupid party. I mean, seriously man, couldn't you just have stayed home? What was so important about it?"

Steve threw his head back and hid his face with his hands, wanting the floor to open up and swallow him whole. He knew that he'd been a dick, he knew that he'd hurt her, but, Jesus, knowing the details made his heart flip in his chest and his stomach hurt. He hated seeing Y/N upset at the best of times, nevermind when it was his fault.

"Yeah. Yeah, I should've just left it. Jeez, Dustin, I'm such an asshole."

"Yes. An asshole, you are. And what was that other shit? About you kissing Nancy?"

"I didn't kiss Nancy, okay? My drunk mind just kinda...made me believe that I did. I called her today just to confirm." Steve swallowed, suddenly having the nausea of his hangover coming back to him.

"Does Y/N know that?" Dustin had his arms crossed, back against the wall, looking unimpressed as Steve shook his head. "Seriously man? Don't you think that the first thing you should've done after finding out that you didn't actually cheat on your girlfriend, was tell your girlfriend that you didn't actually cheat on her?"

"My head's all over the place, Henderson. Cut me some slack, okay?"

"You have to come say sorry, you know that, right?"

"I will. I will, I promise. I finish in an hour, why don't you go home, I'll buy some flowers, take a shower and get changed, and I'll come chap on your door like none of this even happened." Steve had suddenly perked up, gesturing with his arms and almost getting excited to initiate his plan.

"Yeah. Sure. But it better be good, Harrington. You better make her happy."

Steve didn't even have time to respond before Dustin was running off, getting on his bike, and cycling back home to his sister. He promised himself internally that he'd do all it took to make her happy.

Y/N had finished her ice cream and Dustin's had started to melt by the time he got home. She hadn't cried any more, had been too focussed on the movie, and Dustin was relieved to see her laughing at something on the screen when he entered her bedroom.

"Hey." She smiled. "Your ice cream's melting, you'd better eat it."

Dustin smiled and bellyflopped onto her bed, sending her into a fit of laughter. They both laughed so hard, in fact, that they barely heard the doorbell ring, and Dustin almost got up to go and get it.

He stopped himself though, not wanting Steve to call him an idiot or something along those lines. "You should go. I have to eat my ice cream before it melts." He said sheepishly, sitting back down from where he'd jumped up. Y/N rolled her eyes and threw the pillow that she was holding at Dustin's face.

"Alright, make your sad sister get the door because you have to eat ice cream." She stood up even as she spoke, knowing that Dustin wasn't going to budge. "Nice one, asshole."

Y/N had left her bedroom before Dustin could retaliate, bounding down the stairs and realising that, if anyone saw her the way that she looked now, they'd probably never respect her again. The doorbell went again, and she sighed quietly at the lack of patience from whoever was on the other side.

She - stupidly - didn't even bother to look out of the window that stood next to the door to check who it was before opening it, and nearly closed it again when she realised who was standing there.

"Hey, woah, don't close the door yet!" It was Steve, his eyes widened from the possibility that he'd come all the way to her house so that she could slam the door in his face, holding white lilies and a box of chocolates, which was - in Y/N's opinion - the cheesiest apology ever. "Just...listen? For like, a minute."

She slowly let her hand slide off of the door knob, watching as Steve relaxed a significant amount even from seeing her do that. "A minute." She crossed her arms over her chest, chewing her cheek. "You have a minute."

"Okay, uh, yeah, okay." Steve began his rambling. "Listen, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I know I shouldn't have gone to that party, I know I shouldn't have gotten so drunk that I managed to convince myself that I kissed Nancy. Did I already say that I didn't actually kiss Nancy? I called her, and she said we didn't even speak. Bottom line is, I'm an asshole. I know that, and I hate myself for hurting you. Dustin told me how upset you were and I...I couldn't even comprehend the fact that I did that."

He paused, looking down at his feet and waiting for Y/N to say something. Something that didn't come, she simply stood, looking at and biting her fingernails, trying to figure out whether or not she should give in and forgive him or not, so he stopped waiting and spoke some more.

"I'm sorry. I love you. I love you so much. And I know that I fucked up, and I don't expect you to forgive me-"

"Steve." Y/N stopped him. He looked up at her, expecting that she'd look upset or annoyed, but she was smiling and shaking her head. "Come here."

"Seriously?" He already wished he hadn't said what he did before he'd even finished speaking. Seriously? What kind of thing to say was that? "I mean, you know-"

She was already hugging him before he could finish speaking. She knew that he'd ramble on for hours if he could, but she also knew that she already forgave him and didn't need to listen to his rambling. "It's okay. I forgive you."

"Oh, thank God. I thought I'd lost you, really, I did." He sighed into her hair, realising that he was probably ruining the bouquet of flowers with the way that he was crushing them against her back.

"Well, you were an asshole. You had every right to think you'd lost me." Steve had always loved her subtle sassiness, it was a habit that she often fell into unknowingly, but it made him chuckle.

"Yeah. Yeah, you're right. I was an asshole."

She let go of him, finally, and stood back. He was wearing his light blue jeans, a black t-shirt and belt, with a blue jacket. It was an outfit that she'd seen him in before, quite a few times, but he never failed to look good in it anyway. His hair was slightly amiss, as though he'd gotten ready as quickly as he could - which was true, but she didn't know that for sure - but it still had his Steve 'the hair' Harrington charm.

"So, can I come in, or are you just gonna stand there and mock me?" He grinned and she stood to the side, allowing him to join her in the hallway. He went straight for the kitchen, taking out a vase and filling it up with water, then placing the flowers in it and leaving it on the kitchen counter.

"I didn't say you could-" She was trying to joke with him, but he didn't seem to care much, as he cut her off by dipping his head towards hers and kissing her passionately. He hated to admit it, probably something to do with the small part of his King Steve persona that he still carried around with him, but he'd missed her, and it had only been a few hours.

"Woah, easy tiger." Y/N laughed, pulling away when Steve's hands started to travel downwards. "We haven't even properly spoken yet."

"Yeah. Sorry." Steve said sheepishly. He pushed his hands into the pockets of his jeans and smiled down at the floor. "Do you wanna talk?"

She shrugged. "Not particularly."

"So, really, it's okay for me to do this," He closed the gap between them again, beaming at her while he searched her face for any sign of disapproval and admired the little flecks of contrasting colours that danced in her eyes. And then he kissed her again, lips soft against her own, gentle - something that wasn't widely believed, Steve Harrington was actually one of the most gentle people that Y/N had ever met.

"Well, yeah." She grinned, breathless. "But I'm sort of in the middle of watching a movie, wanna join?"

And so they spent the rest of the day, wrapped in the blankets on Y/N's bed and Y/N wrapped in Steve's arms, watching movies that Dustin fished out from the cabinet under the TV that Y/N didn't even know that they had.

She had to say, Steve's apologies were often cheesy and terrible, but this one wasn’t so bad as it was enjoyable.