#its giving the energy you receive in middle school or high school where you would date the same sex and then you would date the opposite sex

[draco-doodles]

the discourse between queer people arguing on the validity of bisexuality if a bisexual woman ends up with a man as her end game is Not something i wanted to see today

[newstfionline]

Monday, September 26, 2022

Canadian military to help clean up Fiona’s devastation (AP) Canadian troops are being sent to assist the recovery from the devastation of storm Fiona, which swept away houses, stripped off roofs and knocked out power across the country’s Atlantic provinces. After surging north from the Caribbean as a hurricane, Fiona came ashore before dawn Saturday as a post-tropical cyclone, battering Nova Scotia, Prince Edward Island, Newfoundland and Quebec with hurricane-strength winds, heavy rains and huge waves. Defense Minister Anita Anand said Saturday that troops would help remove fallen trees and other debris, restore transportation links and do whatever else is required for as long as it takes.

Inflation, spending cuts undermine Biden’s hunger policy (Reuters) Grace Melt made her first visit to the Nourishing Hope food pantry on Chicago’s North Side in August. Throughout the COVID-19 pandemic, she used food stamps issued by the federal government to buy groceries while out of work for a knee injury. But this summer, the food stamps couldn’t keep up with the grocery store’s rising prices, sending her in search of a food donation for the first time. “It’s definitely not enough. It never lasts ‘til the end of the month,” she said of the food stamp benefits. “And now they’ve increased prices... So now you have to resort to coming here to a food pantry, to fill in.” Rising hunger is a problem for U.S. President Joe Biden as he gears up to host the first White House Conference on Hunger, Nutrition and Health in more than 50 years and pledges to eliminate hunger in the United States by 2030. The Biden administration increased funding for food stamps nearly a year ago, but at the same time has purchased about half as much food as the Trump administration did in 2020, for food banks, schools and indigenous reservations. Escalating food prices are eroding the reach of food stamps, sending more people to food banks, that are in turn receiving less food from the government.

Florida monitors a growing Tropical Storm Ian in Caribbean (AP) Authorities and residents in Florida were keeping a cautious eye on Tropical Storm Ian as it rumbled through the Caribbean on Sunday, expected to continue gaining strength and become a major hurricane in the coming days on a forecast track toward the state. Gov. Ron DeSantis declared a state of emergency for all of Florida the previous day, expanding an initial order that had covered two dozen counties. He urged residents to prepare for a storm that could lash large swaths of the state with heavy rains, high winds and rising seas. The National Hurricane Center said Ian was expected to strengthen before moving over western Cuba and toward the west coast of Florida and the Florida Panhandle by the middle of the week.

Italy poised for glass ceiling-shattering vote, hard right turn (Washington Post) Italy is poised on Sunday for a norm-breaking election that’s expected to give the country its first-ever female prime minister—and its farthest-right government since the fall of Mussolini. The vote is forecast to deliver victory to a coalition that includes two far-right forces, including the Fratelli d’Italia party of Giorgia Meloni, a once-marginal figure who vows to defend “traditional” social values, close off pathways to undocumented immigrants and push back against the “obscure bureaucrats” of Brussels. While the rise of Meloni and the far right could ultimately turn into an epochal event in European politics—pushing Italy into an illiberal bloc with Poland and Hungary—it’s difficult for leaders to hold on to power in Rome, where zigzags are the norm, and the typical government lasts no more than 400 days. Meloni would face immediate tests at home and in Europe, given fatigue over soaring energy prices and divisions within her own coalition on Russia and its invasion of Ukraine.

In Ukraine’s South, Fierce Fighting and Deadly Costs (NYT) Ukraine’s southern offensive was the most highly anticipated military action of the summer. But the south remains a different story from the northeast. Interviews with dozens of commanders, ordinary soldiers, medics, village leaders and civilians who recently escaped the conflict zone portray a more difficult and costly campaign: The fighting is grinding, grueling and steep in casualties, perhaps the most heartbreaking battle in Ukraine right now. The Ukrainian government does not usually disclose casualty figures, but the soldiers and commanders interviewed in the past week portrayed the battlefield losses as “high” and “massive.” They described large offensives in which columns of Ukrainian tanks and armored vehicles tried to cross open fields only to be pounded mercilessly by Russian artillery and blown up by Russian mines. One Ukrainian soldier, speaking anonymously because he was not authorized to publicly discuss casualties, said that during a recent assault, “we lost 50 guys in two hours.” In another place, said the soldier, who works closely with different frontline units, “hundreds” of Ukrainian troops were killed or wounded while trying to take a single village, which is still in Russian hands.

As Ukraine’s fathers fight, mothers go it alone with their children (Washington Post) Millions of women with children have faced wrenching scenarios since Russia invaded. Many have left the country, becoming refugees with all the immense challenges that entails. Yet for those who stayed put in Ukraine as their husbands or partners fought, there are separate struggles and dangers. Some mothers have thrown themselves into volunteering and fundraising for their loved ones’ units. Others are consumed by child care, financial worries and family expectations. After more than half a year of fighting, the social services and networks that once helped to sustain the prewar country of more than 40 million people have largely broken down. NGOs are trying to house and assist newly single, displaced and widowed mothers. Their needs are daunting. And the start of the school year in September brought little respite: Just over half of schools reopened for in-person learning.

The New India: Expanding Influence Abroad, Straining Democracy at Home (NYT) On the margins of a summit meant as a show of force for a Russian leader seeking a turnaround on the battlefield, Prime Minister Narendra Modi of India leaned in with a different message. “Democracy, diplomacy and dialogue”—not war—is the answer, he told Vladimir V. Putin as the cameras rolled this month. It is India’s credentials as the world’s largest democracy that Mr. Modi rides on the global stage. But at home, diplomats, analysts and activists say, Mr. Modi’s government is undertaking a project to remake India’s democracy unlike any in its 75 years of independence—stifling dissent, sidelining civilian institutions and making minorities second-class citizens. While past Indian leaders exploited religious divisions and weaponized institutions to stay in power, Mr. Modi’s focus has been more fundamental: a systematic consolidation of power, achieved not through dramatic power grabs but through more subtle and lasting means, aimed at imprinting a majoritarian Hindu ideology on India’s constitutionally secular democracy. Mr. Modi has bent to his will the courts, the news media, the legislature and civil society—“referee” institutions that guarded India’s democracy in a region of military coups and entrenched dictatorships. As he has done so, the country’s indispensability on major global issues, coupled with challenges to democracy in both the United States and Europe, has ensured little pushback from Western allies.

Why Japan Is Angry About a State Funeral for an Assassinated Leader (NYT) Nearly three months after Shinzo Abe, Japan’s most influential and longest-serving prime minister, was gunned down in broad daylight at a campaign stop, his death is still reverberating, though in ways few would have predicted. An outpouring of anger prompted by the assassination has been directed not at the killer, his ability to make and deploy a firearm in a country where guns are tightly restricted, or the security detail that failed to protect Mr. Abe. Instead, the public has turned its ire toward the slain leader’s long-governing Liberal Democratic Party and its plan to hold a state funeral for him next week. Fumio Kishida, the current prime minister, is suffering his worst approval ratings since he became the party’s leader last fall. Any sense of public mourning seems to have faded as thousands of protesters have taken to the streets or signed petitions opposing the state funeral, complaining that the ceremony is a waste of public money and was unilaterally imposed upon the country by Mr. Kishida and his cabinet. Azumi Tamura, an associate professor of sociology at Shiga University, said that those critical of the state funeral believed it would wrongly elevate a politician who was involved in a number of controversial decisions and scandals, including accusations that his government had improperly granted favors to political friends and mishandled the early days of the coronavirus pandemic.

Poverty and inflation: Egypt’s economy hit by global turmoil (AP) Egypt, a country of more than 103 million people, is running low on foreign currency needed to buy essentials like grain and fuel. To keep U.S. dollars in the country, the government has tightened imports, meaning fewer new cars and summer dresses. For the nearly third of Egyptians living in poverty, and the millions more in poor conditions, the country’s economic woes mean life is much harder than off-season shopping—they’re finding it harder to put food on the table. A decade after deadly protests and political upheaval rocked the Middle East’s most populous nation, the economy is still staggering and has taken new hits. Fatima, a 32-year-old cleaner in Cairo, says her family stopped buying red meat five months ago. Chicken also has become a luxury. She’s borrowing from relatives to make ends meet. She’s worried about the impact of high prices on Egypt’s social fabric. Asking to be identified only by her first name for fear of reprisal, she worries that crime and theft will increase “because people won’t have enough money to feed themselves.”

Speeding Up Your Daily Walk Could Have Big Benefits (NYT) Many of us regularly wear an activity tracker, which counts the number of steps we take in a day. Based on these numbers, it can be hard to make sense of what they might mean for our overall health. Is it just the overall number of steps in a day that matter, or does exercise intensity, such as going for a brisk walk or jog, make a difference? In a new study, which looks at activity tracker data from 78,500 people, walking at a brisk pace for about 30 minutes a day led to a reduced risk of heart disease, cancer, dementia and death, compared with walking a similar number of steps but at a slower pace. These results were recently published in two papers in the journals JAMA Internal Medicine and JAMA Neurology.

[sukirichi]

earned it [01]

Gojo Satoru is a firm believer that if you work hard for it then you shall earn it.  But on the other side, he’s not unfamiliar with his own sins. He also believes that there is punishment due for his sins as he’s earned it.

request. (mafia au, sugar daddy au) + (dumbification, praising kink)

cw. smut, overstimulation, slight dumbification, praising kink, slight degradation, spanking, belt whipping, explicit murder, rough sex, shower sex, oral (f receiving), multiple sex scenes, riding, slight angst, veryyy unedited, sex when standing up, sex in pretzel position, dom! gojo, manhandling

notes. 🦋 anon, thanks so much for the request! i hope you love this one, i absolutely poured my heart and soul into this! minus the effort to edit, i’ll just edit this when i’m no longer sick lol

series masterlist

There he was again.

Working in a high-class restaurant located in the heart of the city meant you were no stranger to seeing people of power and titles, but he never failed to make everyone stop in their tasks every time he came around.

You don’t know his name, much less his usual orders since his usual table – middle 98 – wasn’t in your rotation. But you’re held captive in his presence, attention drawn to his broad shoulders clad in what seemed like a hand-stitched three piece suit, his striking white hair falling down in smooth tendrils. There’s something about the way he walks – confident doesn’t begin to describe it – that makes everyone surrounding him feel like they’re merely spectators to the enigma that was him, and he carries this observation proudly in his shoulders, that mischievous smile never absent from his face.

Your co-worker tugs at your sleeve, nearly knocking the empty wine glasses away from your tray. Barely catching them as you falter, you bow down to them in apology. No matter how intriguing the mysterious midnight comer was, you were still working. You needed to keep your head focused and in the game.

Hours pass by of shifting from one table to another, your hands beyond cramped from scribbling down such intricate orders. It’s a miracle you were hired in a place as luxurious as this in the first place when you couldn’t pronounce, much less spell the main dishes, but you proved through determination and hard work that the miracle was also accompanied by your grit. It didn’t matter that you were the youngest part-timer with little to no experience – unexpected things always happened when you’re backed in a corner, leaving you with no choice but to follow through.

This corner was nothing less than the struggle to make ends meet. While you’re lucky to have gotten accepted in one of the top state universities, there still came the issue of tuition fees, plus dorm occupations.

You don’t have the privilege to complain or whine that your experiences are probably not on par with what they expect of you, so you have to do your best; you have to keep pushing no matter how hard it gets and you’re barely awake for class the next day.

Clocking out, you bid goodbye to your co-workers and thank them for their hard work, about to leave through the back door when you hear his voice.

Your gaze lands on him from outside the kitchen, body twisted in the direction of where he sat, long legs crossed one another. He’s thanking the waiter for the wine, and you wince, because it isn’t just any wine. That’s one of the drinks locked in the special cellar because of its hefty price, yet there he was, swirling the red liquid around in his glass as if the amount of zeroes never bothered him. He’s reading something from his tablet, head tilted to the side as he drinks, and that’s when you see it.

It’s so miniscule you would’ve believed it’s just your eyes playing tricks on you, but you’ve seen in this class during one of your laboratory practices, the burn marks on your wrist a painful reminder of your carelessness.

Your boss’ shouts of warning fall onto deaf ears as you push past the double doors, feet moving on its own. The edge of the glass makes contact with his lips, gray lashes flattering across his cheeks, while time and sound becomes nothing but background noise to you. Your cry is inaudible when your hand pushes the glass away from his grip, the sounds of it shattering into pieces like a wake-up call to both of you.

For the first time since you’ve met him, the faintest look of surprise crosses over his face. His hands remain into a reflexive hold of the now missing glass, azure eyes cutting through yours.

You bow down to apologize – you can’t believe you’ve just done that and how his suit was stained and his pants soaked – but the words that left his lips stun you beyond disbelief, effectively freezing you in your state. His voice holds the same iciness as the blue of his pupils, but to you – just for you – there’s a tinge of awe behind them.

“Odd,” he says, “To think my life would be saved by you.”

You wake up with a gasp, hands clutched on the blanket covering your bare frame. There’s sweat forming on your hairline as you look around, wincing at the sliver of light passing through the curtains. Silver, ceiling length draperies obscure the view of the city skies outside, a huge reminder of where you are now – somewhere between the past and the future that’s about to come – and the king-sized bed you lay on almost feels like a dream.

Right. It’s been two years since you’ve met Satoru, the once mysterious customer turned into lover, an arrangement between financial aid and companionship solidifying your relationship with him now.

Your face burns at the sight of your clothes scattered all over your shared room. Your lace panties somehow end up on the chandeliers, the expensive material of your silk dress about to slide off the humongous TV and your bra hanging off the doorknob.

The light ache between your legs does nothing to appease your embarrassment. Even after two years of being with Satoru, it’s still difficult to believe he’s chosen you of all people.

He could’ve had anyone he wants. Not only is he beautiful, young, successful, and smart, he’s also an absolutely god in the sheets, your throbbing core attesting to his never ending array of his skills. Truly, Gojo Satoru was perfect, so much so that you pale in comparison to him no matter how much he’s assured you you’re the only he has eyes on.

It doesn’t make sense to you, but does it have to?

Love never required a logical reason for it to blossom, and you left it at that, fearful that it may just ruin whatever happened between the two of you. Besides, if Satoru wants you, then who were you to question that?

You swing your legs off the side of the bed to make him breakfast, but your legs shake upon contact to the floor, still very much sore after last night’s events.

Satoru’s been away for work for three days, and even though it wasn’t that much of a distance, he still acted like it’s been forever. He sure took his time with you, making you cum three times just with his tongue and fingers alone. He’s a cheeky and mischievous man; there’s no telling whether his words are just sweet lies or plain facts, but if there’s one thing you’re sure of, it’s that Satoru keeps his promises to heart. If he says he’s going to fuck you until you can’t walk the next day, he means it, and now you’re left groaning back onto the bed.

You’re thankful that it’s a weekend. Had it been a school day, it’s going to be an absolute pain in the ass. No matter how much he’s covered your school fees, you still won’t risk missing a day.

The door swings open, revealing your boyfriend clothed in nothing but his boxers, the smile on his face huge at seeing you glare at him. “Aw, baby,” he coos, sliding himself next to you, carrying a tray of pancakes topped with blueberries with him. Satoru wraps an arm around your shoulder and laughs into your air when you grumble at the soreness, which he tries to kiss away. “Sorry not sorry for last night. It’s not my fault I’m so addicted to you.”

“Whatever,” you mutter, fighting back that stupid fluttering feeling in your chest. Your attention is diverted to the luscious, fluffy pancakes, and your brows furrow at the sight. “Did you make this for me?”

“Yes, ma’am!”

You roll your eyes at him; his energy was always off the charts even after fucking you into oblivion. Thanking him under your breath, you reach for the breakfast, eternally grateful that it’s breakfast in bed because you can’t walk anywhere right now. However, Satoru pries your hands away from the fork, making you lean back instead as he spoon feeds you.

It’s a little humiliating – and he’s basking in this judging from the smirk he wears – but you give in anyway. Unlike him, your stamina isn’t monstrous. You’re still a human and you’re utterly tired, the glare endless through mouthfuls of the pancake. “I’m not a child, you know.”

“Yeah, but you’re my baby,” he retorts, smacking a kiss right at your lips.

You complain harder, ever so annoyed that you could never seem to throw him off guard and have the upper hand for once. Satoru eases the frown on your face by kissing you harder, his hand cradling your neck. He’s a fucking tease; his tongue languid and sensual as he tastes the honey coating your lips, sucking your bottom lip inside his mouth before nipping at it.

At the back of your mind, you’re wondering how each moment with him results into touching. Not that you really mind, of course, your stomach only flares up with heat at the thought he wants you just as much as you crave him.

Breakfast is soon forgotten right after seven bites as Satoru leans back against the headboard, thumb soothing circles at your hipbone to guide you on top of him.

He pulls away to breathe, a thin thread of saliva and honey between your lips present, and it’s so erotic that his eyes darken with lust, hands gripping a little tighter. You’re still bare on top of him, hardened breasts on display, but he holds himself back with heavy breaths, not wanting to ruin you further than he already has.

Satoru’s lips lands on your shoulder instead, thumb grazing under the weight of your breasts. He’s kissing you everywhere, almost as if he expects the flutter of his lips to heal you. You gladly let him taste you as he pleases, neck tilted to the side while you catch your breath.

The transition of him from an absolute freak in bed to the caring, compassionate boyfriend he is never fails to give you whiplash.

“How’s your studies?” he murmurs into your skin, his touch feather-like in caressing your back. You feel the hairs stand up at where he grazes them, shivering at the sensuality and tenderness he holds you with. “Doing good? My sweetheart still top of her class?”

“Hmm,” you hum back, planting yourself firm in his lap. He’s already hard under you, his cock twitching when your bare cunt presses on top of his tip, but he controls himself, focusing on your state instead. “My grades are tip-top, all thanks to your support,” Satoru smiles when you’re the one placing kisses all over his face this time, his giggles almost child-like.

Time flies by as you lay there in his arms. You’re lulled back into sleep at the sound of his heart beat, and just as you’re dozing off, Satoru pats your ass. “Baby,” he calls out, “Let me wash you first, then we’ll cuddle afterwards. What do you think about that?”

“That’d be great, I feel sticky.”

Satoru laughs, pulling panicked squeals from you when he suddenly hoisted you in his arms, carrying you bridal style. He kicks the door open before turning the heater on in the Jacuzzi, placing you under the shower first.

You close your eyes under the sprinkle of water, hands splayed all over his chest. Your legs are still wobbling, no thanks to him railing you as if there was no tomorrow, but he holds you upright, kneading his hands into your hair then washing every crevice of your body. When you open your eyes, you see him kneeling down to rub the loofah all over your legs, a slight pinch in his brows from sheer focus.

Your heart beats loudly on your chest, unable to process that the Gojo Satoru is on his knees, his touch nothing less of worshipping as if you were a divine being in his eyes.

It makes you breathe sharply as his face comes up before your core, his tongue darting out for a moment before he looks away, focusing on cleaning you up afterwards. His control and care for your well-being leaves you speechless, leaves you breathless, leaves you wanting him more and more and more that you’re kissing him again the moment he brings you both to his Jacuzzi.

He’s taken his boxers off to enjoy the feeling of skin brushing against skin, the fuzz of bubbles foaming up at your breasts only enticing him to kiss you with equal fervent passion.

You’re grinding down on his dick, his length encased between your lips that are extremely warm in comparison to the cool water. Finally, Satoru is stuttering beneath you, little whines leaving his breath as he kneads your ass, resisting the urge to slap the smooth flesh.

“Satoru,” you moan, “N-need you now, please.”

Fuck, his name on your lips mixed with your moans are enough to make him want to lose his restraint and just fuck you hard and deep there. He growls at how unaware you are of your effect on him, and he’s nothing short of starving in his kisses, never getting tired of tasting you over and over again. He wants to keep kissing you until your scent and taste is imprinted on his skin, to carry you around with him even when you’re not there, because he loves you, and he’s never loved anyone this much before. Especially for people like him, love was nothing but a myth.

Everything is a fantasy with you, a dream he doesn’t want to wake up from. If you were to ask him to give up everything for you this instant, he’d do it in a heartbeat.

His heart is enslaved by your existence, and he nods, helping you lift your hips up to align his cock to your entrance. He takes note of your soreness as you slowly sink down on his cock, swallowing your whimpers through open-mouthed kiss. You’re shaking inside his arms, tiny scratches mixed with mewls making its way on his chest, further adding to the litter of scars already painted on his body.

Your head lands on his shoulder the second he bottoms out. Satoru groans at the feeling of your walls fluttering down on him, so warm and so tight that he has to lean his head back on the headrest just to catch his breath.

“You ride me, baby,” he manages through pants. “I’ll let you set the pace – do what’s comfortable with you.”

Your jaw clenches at the same time you clamp down on him one more time, eliciting another sinful moan from your lover. A lazy smirk graces your face as you ride him slowly, the image of the almighty Gojo Satoru falling apart at your ministrations burned at the back of your mind. You’ll replay this memory every time he leaves for work again, and the dreadful thought of having to watch him leave one more time fuels you to bounce on him harder, nails dug into his shoulder.

Satoru winces at the slight sting but doesn’t stop you anyway; he’s no stranger to pain. In fact, he’s a master of that and many more in more ways than one, though you didn’t know that – and he’ll never let you know that.

His eyes snap open at the sounds of skin slapping against skin, the water sloshing out the Jacuzzi. He’s met with the sight of you clutching the edges of the tub, bottom lip caught between your teeth as you fuck yourself harder on his cock. Your breasts bounce right in front of his eyes, tempting him to latch a mouth around it, which he does, the sudden flicking of his warm tongue on your nipples driving you to the edge.

Your soreness becomes a hazy memory of the past with each slide down his dick, thighs burning from the exertion. Satoru is lapping up your breasts and palming the other expertly, his breath hot on your skin.

Something familiar coils into your lower abdomen with each hard thrust, and you throw your head back, moaning his name as if it’s the only thing you’ve ever known. You’re growing tired; he can tell from the way you’re barely lifting your hips, but you’re so close, so near, that Satoru takes it upon himself to push you both right where you wanted to be.

Your moan comes out breathless the moment Satoru grips at your hips, snapping his hips upwards at the same time he guides your body to crush down on him. He’s the one controlling your body, but you’re falling on top of him with no reserve, your weight slamming down to his groin in full force that he’s faltering. Satoru is entranced by the motion of your hips gyrating around the head of his cock, the wavering grin on your face a telltale you’re enjoying the act of destroying him, but he lets you – it’s only fair after the countless times he’s done the same with you. But oh, he’ll have you again and again, and he proves his endless desire for you by forcing himself deep to your most sensitive spots, the glimpse of your mouth hanging open as you come making his cock twitch.

Satoru squeezes your hips as he situates you flat on his cock, groaning as he came in thick spurts. You mewl, scratching at his chest as he rides his high out with a few more sloppy thrusts.

“I know, baby, I know,” he whispers at the top of your hair, well-aware that your oversensitivity is clouding your mind. But he can’t help it, not when you feel so good around him like this. “Just a little more, I’ll be – fuck – right there, oh yeahhh,” he drawls out breathlessly, his cock twitching with the last strings of cum until he grows boneless inside you.

Satoru pulls his cock out, chest heaving up and down from that earth-shattering orgasm. In all honesty, he’s confident he could give you an even better one, but your lids are already fluttering close that he chuckles, pressing a kiss on your temple as a silent you did well.

Somewhere through your half-awake state, you manage to card your fingers through his hair, voice small and weak as you ask, “Don’t you have to go to work?”

Satoru’s eyes lour with something unreadable, and he’s thankful you don’t get to see the sudden glooming of his face. He gently pushes your head to rest on his shoulder, his eyes narrowed at his rippling reflection in the water. In his eyes, he sees the truth – he sees a monster holding an innocent angel he lives to protect – the truth he wants to conceal. He can’t even fathom the possibility of you finding out about who he really is, much less what he does that enables him to provide you with everything you need.

He’s the demon himself, caressing someone as pure as you in his arms, his eyes and true self sinister except for the gentle kisses he leaves at the shell of your ear.

If it keeps you safe, he doesn’t mind becoming even more of a monster if it means keeping you safe.

So he keeps you right where you can’t witness the slight moments of vulnerability in which his horns reveal itself, hugging you tight and possessively in the fear he’ll lose the only thing that matters most to him.

“I have a meeting tonight,” is all he says, is what he always says.

He’s mysterious and aloof, too vague every time you inquire him about what he does for a living. Usually, you’d feel worried or even wary that maybe he doesn’t trust you as much as you originally thought, but you’re too tired to question him further, and he takes advantage of your weakness wholeheartedly. All to keep you safe.

Satoru closes his eyes as he takes a deep breath, no longer bothered by the fact each step he took is getting him closer and closer to a point of no redemption.

He’s not worried about that anymore, not when his salvation is right in his arms, wrapping him with your love and false sense of safety that it becomes the lie he feeds himself every night just to keep going on.

“I just want to be with you a little longer.”

This time around, Satoru tells the truth.

The rust of blood dripping off the concrete walls is as normal to Satoru as breathing is for everyone else. He doesn’t falter in his movements, doesn’t scrunch his nose at the stench, and he doesn’t waver from swinging his arm back, the heavy weight of the wrench already wielded in his hand.

Someone dared come up to their base to face him head-on.

He has to admit, he was impressed with their guts, but now he feels empty save for a slight sliver of irritation at the man’s bloodied face. He’s panting after coughing up blood so much, his face unrecognizable after the beating Satoru gave him, teeth splattered on the floor. Satoru’s right hand man, Geto, stands at the side, silently inspecting his nails.

They’d been going at this for hours now, yet they seemed to be right where they were at the beginning. Torture was usually an effective method of gathering information, but this hostage seemed to be on the same par of monstrous as Satoru from his unyielding nature, even had the audacity to laugh.

Satoru stops in his tracks, a brow raised at what seemed to be so funny.

“Everyone spoke highly of you,” he spat his blood out, his busted eye twitching under Satoru’s stone cold gaze. “They told me you were barbaric, ruthless, the most feared mafia boss out here, but you’re pathetic now, aren’t you? You’re not the same Six Eyes who sees all they claimed you to be,” Satoru watched warily when his hostage smirked, the same one he always wore just moments from bashing the skull out of someone. It’s because he’s so familiar with it that Satoru immediately puts up his walls, Geto stepping beside him with his gun gleaming under his coat. As expected, the man does not falter, his laughter merely increasing in volume. “You’ve grown soft, Gojo. Your little lover is your weakness, it’s written all over your face. Tell me, what’s stopping you from ending my life already? Afraid that if she finds out, she might push you away?” When Gojo doesn’t answer, the man clicks his tongue. “I fucking knew it.”

Geto moves quicker than his boss. He draws his gun and aims it right between his eyes, only to be stopped by Satoru’s indifferent tone. “Stop.”

“But boss-”

“Why did you come here?” he stabs the man in the thigh with a knife, his screams of pain alleviating enough to distract the painful clenching of his chest. “I don’t believe you came here just to prove the rumors true. Now you tell me, why have you come here?” Satoru slams his fist down on the knife, the blade pushing past through muscles and hitting deep to the bone. “Answer me.”

“Th-there’s a drive in my pocket. Open it and you’ll see.”

The man doesn’t stop squirming as Geto rummages through his jacket, nodding to his boss once they got hold of the slick black device. Geto immediately plugs it to the monitor, several photographs popping up in a few seconds, and those few seconds were all it took to bring the infamous mafia boss down.

Because they weren’t just photos, they were photos of you.

Of you laughing with your friends, of you hugging Satoru’s arm in one of your dates, of you kissing him under the streetlight and even an intimate photo of you going down on him while he’s driving. It must be taken from a street cam judging from the blurry quality, but it’s crystal clear to him anyway, and Satoru’s mind muddles with thoughts darker than he once believed he’s capable of. He feels his anger bloom like fire licking up at his skin, his nerves bursting through, and he’s so obvious, so predictable that his hostage guffaws.

“I was right, I was right-!”

“You mean her?” his voice drips down with so much indifference, it shocks even he himself. His hostage shuts up at the sudden change of Satoru’s aura, that dark, fearsome aura that had people begging him to kill them as an act of mercy coming back to life. The man clamps his mouth shut, chills running down his spine because it’s no longer the same Satoru he mocked pulling the knife out from his thigh.

No, this is the Gojo Satoru, the devil incarnate himself, and he’s made the huge mistake of believing he would be affected by a mere woman. Satoru reads the fear on his face too easily, not bothering to hide his sigh as he twirls the bloodied blade between his fingers.

“She’s nothing to me. She’s just another bitch, another paid pussy. Favorite of the month, you could say, but nothing of worth to me,” he announces, ignoring Geto who’s stiffened up at the corner. “Did you really come all the way here just to see if you could find my weakness? If so, then your organization is a lot dumber than I thought, and I hate people who waste my time.”

“No, no, please, I was just jok-” his eyes widen when Satoru snaps his fingers, and Geto rushes to his boss with his gun. “Please, no, I didn’t think she was just a bitch-”

The man never got to finish his words.

A loud ‘bang’ echoes around the room, followed by a slight snap when his head falls backwards. Blood drips from the hole sitting in between his head, the aim perfect and flawless even with Satoru not looking back. He’s still Gojo Satoru, leader of the Gojo Mafia Clan, and he’s not the most feared leader in history for no reason. He’s always been blessed with a physical prowess and fighting abilities that allowed him to take on other clans by himself, but he’s changing. There’s now a chink in his armour, and people are starting to notice.

If he doesn’t do anything about it soon…

“Sir,” Geto begins, following the rushed footsteps of Satoru outside the hall, where his security is lined up with guns poised and ready to risk their lives for him. This was his power, this was his legacy – and this is who he was.

A killer. A monster. A demon – he’s everything you wouldn’t love.

“I know, Geto, I know,” Satoru says through gritted teeth, his bloody hands clenched into fists. He already knows what he’s supposed to do; he doesn’t need another reminder of it. “You don’t have to tell me anything I know of already. Now send that body back as a warning. I’m going home for tonight.”

Geto is stunned, and he’s got every right to be. After all, in his boss’ 28 years of existence, not once has he called anywhere or anyone home.

He’s always claimed himself to be irredeemable, to be unworthy of love and forgiveness, but slowly yet surely, he was beginning to look at life differently after meeting you, after loving you. The word ‘home’ was never in his vocabulary, and yet, every time your face comes up in his mind, it’s the only word he can think of.

He came home a lot earlier than you expected him to. You’re hunched over the table, legs swinging back and forth as you finish your school packets when the door chimes with the familiar beep. It’s only midnight and he’s already here, the excitement manifesting in you as you jump off the stools, running to greet your beloved.

Satoru ends up as a blur of frantic hands tugging his tie off, his scowl seething with anger and regret pouring off of him in waves.

Before you could say anything, he has you pinned on the wall, one knee inside your legs to keep you upright. Satoru is kissing you, hard, one hand raised to keep both your wrists planted above your head. You’re moaning at his aggressiveness, the sounds encouraged by his erection poking at you from your silk robe.

It’s not rare for him to come home in need of a fuck to clear his head, but…something feels different this time around. He feels different, almost like an entirely new person.

Satoru pulls away to press his forehead to yours, his eyes hooded with lust and lips bruised from the kiss. You’re confuzzled; your lover is the exact same person standing before you, the same person grazing at your breasts until your nipples harden at his touch, so then why does it feel like the person who left and came back are entirely two different people.

“Can I fuck you, angel? Please?”

Your words die down your throat.

Satoru’s never said please before, much less look this devastated as he asks to have you. He always says it with exuberant confidence, his present frown usually a smile. There’s no trace of happiness or even playfulness in his eyes this time around. Instead, they’re filled with fear – desperation, even.

You say yes before you realize it, but it’s enough for Satoru. It feels like he’s only been waiting for that word before he goes on a rampage, for his lips are on yours again, patting your thighs as a silent command to jump. You follow his orders and kiss him feverishly until it becomes a battle for dominance, tongue and teeth clashing against the other. Your hands are tugging at his hair from how rough he’s grabbing at your hips, spanking the sensitive flesh that draws a whimper at you.

You don’t know how Satoru manages to find his way to the leather couch even with his eyes closed, but he takes you there, no longer gentle as he throws your weight down. You’re falling, falling, falling as your knees hit the material, cheeks pressed against the headrest. You turn back to kiss him one more time, but Satoru keeps you down there, the sound of his belt unbuckling reaching your ears.

Satoru wraps the leather around his palm, kissing you flat on the lips just as he slaps the material to your ass. He’s pushed your robe to bunch up at your waist, groaning into your mouth upon the realization you’ve been walking around the house butt-naked.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he nips at your lips, feeding off of the pained moans coating his senses at each whip of his belt. “No underwear while I’m gone – you’re begging to be fucked, angel. You’re so filthy,” he swings his arm back to extend the length of the belt, squeezing your ass before he whips it harder against your flesh. You scream at the contact, nails ripping the leather couch and a slight puddle of drool on your lips.

“S-Satoru!”

“What?” he snaps, gripping your jaw, his eyes replaced with something animalistic as he stares at you. The love is gone in his eyes, your lover almost unrecognizable from the way he whips you again. You jut forwards, arousal pooling and dripping down his sofa. His eyes trail down your gushing pussy, nostrils flared before throwing his belt to the other side of the room. The buckle hits one of his expensive vases until it comes crashing down, the sound of it nostalgic to the first time you met him. “Can’t talk, huh, baby? What do you want? Tell me what you want.”

“Fuck me,” you blurt out, wiggling your hips sensationally at his already throbbing dick. “Please fuck me.”

You suppose you should’ve been more careful with your words, because Satoru lives to please, and if you tell him to do something, you can expect he’ll give his everything.

He knocks the wind out of your lungs by squeezing your waist, sliding himself into you one, full thrust. You’re wet enough that he slides in easily, but it’s too fast, too early, that the sudden stretch is painfully pleasurable. Satoru delivers one more smack to your flesh that makes it bounce, his growls loud and ragged as he pounds into you.

You’re clutching at the backrest, eyes shut tight as all your attention diverts to the heat in your core. You wish you could see his face, hold his hand or see the way he admires you while he fucks you, but you can’t see anything. Tonight, you could only feel.

Each thrust sends the couch a little ways forward, his balls slapping against your ass. He’s cursing left and right, more focused on getting his anger out his system than pleasuring you. It’s a drastic change to your lover’s behavior in bed, yet you can’t find any muscle in your body that denies this. Satoru can be rough, but he never really goes all out. One way or another, he manages to hold back for your sake, but his mind’s a mess, the voices in his head screaming louder that it drowns out the need to make you cum first.

He’s relentless, grip bruising the harder he fucks into you. You know you’re gone in the instance Satoru plants one foot beside you, the angle causing him to hit deeper.

Satoru ends up fucking into your cervix with each hard thrust, fisting his hand under your robe while he slams forward. It’s so intense that your vision blurs, a faltered grip on the couch. You’re falling limp under his ministrations, his dick successfully hitting that spot that has you seeing white. You’re screaming, babbling nonsense while Satoru uses you as his own fuck toy, pushing past your tight walls and relishing in the way you hug his cock snugly.

He came first, his thrusts growing sloppy and stuttering for a moment. Satoru pulls out so quickly from you that you’re left gasping for air at the sudden emptiness, and that’s when you feel his cum landing on your lower back.

You’re too slow, too weak – or perhaps he’s too strong, too fast – to react properly to his movements.

Satoru doesn’t let you catch your breath as he throws you over his shoulder, your face nearly smacking his ass. You feel dizzy at this position, and the voice in your head tells you that you should be scared he’s manhandling you like this, but seeing him this way – so reveled, so angry, so out of control – has you rubbing your legs, core dripping at the thought of how he’s going to use you tonight.

Your eyes widen when he doesn’t head for the bedroom. You were so sure he’d take you there, but Satoru lays you flat on the marble countertops of the kitchen, the cold biting into your skin.

Satoru doesn’t waste another second before he spreads your legs open and dives into your cunt. You squeal, legs instinctively closing around his head when you feel his tongue lick a flat stripe at your pussy, but he only pushes them apart, encircling your ankles hard to keep you open.

You know he’s strong, but you’re still surprised that he’s capable of rendering you motionless, powerless like this. Your mind wanders off to a dangerous path in wonders of how else he’s hurt someone like this – whether intentionally or unintentionally – but he immediately pulls you back to reality when he sucks your clit, his eyes direct with yours.

His hands trail upwards to squeeze at your breasts, the immediacy of it all firing up that tight knot in your stomach that he failed to snap a while ago.

Satoru’s nose rubs at your skin the harder he sucks at your clit, tugging it upwards until you’re whining around him. It’s always so erotic to see his pretty face buried in your cunt like this; you’ll never get used to him eating you like you’re his last meal. He laps up your juices like a starved man, his tongue prodding between your lips and slurping everything you offer him, one of his arms retracting to slide two fingers inside your sopping hole.

You moan at the sudden intrusion. The sounds of your moans mixing in with the lewd squelching of your dripping pussy is extremely embarrassing, even more so because you’re actually gushing down his palm.

Your juices spread all over his face, and Satoru is greedy, thirsty for more. He pumps harder into you, curling them against the ridges of your walls, and finally, finally you’re there. Your orgasm washes down on you violently that Satoru has to keep a palm flat down on your stomach, his tongue not ceasing from lapping up your juices. You’re convulsing from his hold, stuttered moans rewarding to his ears.

He doesn’t stop coaxing your wetness out of your cunt, his fingers working you out and easing the previous pain of when he entered you without warning. Satoru leans up to help you sit up, his lips colliding with yours for a much gentler kiss this time around.

You cup his cheeks, feeling him slide your body across the counters. Your arousal that he’s failed to clean up remains there until it spreads all over the back of your thighs, the feeling sticky and uncomfortable, but you’re more focused in his tongue dancing with yours. He tastes sweet – like mint and sugar – but his moans are sweeter, the sound dulcet and making you weak on your knees as you taste yourself on him.

Satoru tugs you forward, panic flooding you when you feel nothing under you. You feel like you’re falling again and you immediately encircle your arms around his neck, but he chuckles through the kiss, quick reflexes put into work as he carries you.

The kiss is sloppy yet heated, both of you unable to focus properly when he’s growing hard again. You expect him to take you to the bedroom to finish things for once and for all, but he’s impatient – this much you know the moment he walked in, but somehow keep forgetting – wrapping your legs to his waist instead before slipping inside you.

You mewl into his mouth, eyes snapping open to look at him nervously. His legs are slightly bent as he bounces you on his cock like you weighed nothing.

In this position, he’s hitting deep each time you slide down his cock. Unable to help it, you graze your foreheads with his to stare him deep in the eyes, the usual passion in them slowly returning with each thrust. The work is placed on his shoulders as he holds you close to him, the mind numbing sensation of your erect nipples grazing his sensitive skin enticing him to rut harder into you, all to enjoy the way you fall apart above him.

You’ve been rendered speechless, mouth fallen open to release breathy gasps. Hell, you’re unable to moan, not when his cock is sliding in and out of you so lusciously that you feel every vein protruding from the base of his length. How he manages to walk while fucking you is beyond your comprehension by now, but he seems to be having the time of his life based on his grunting, continuously fucking deep into your pussy so much that he refuses to let you go. Satoru kicks the door to your room open and places you gently on the bed this time, trapping you in his arms but with enough space to let you crawl back up on the bed. You stop as your head hits the pillows, and the mood immediately changes.

Satoru stays still inside you, his large hand cupping your face while you both catch your breath. There’s something unreadable about him. He feels young yet old at the same time, giving you the impression that perhaps he’s still just a child trapped in an old man’s body.

There’s so much fear swirling through the blueness of his eyes that you frown, marveling about what happened to him.

In the intimacy of the moment, you swipe the stray tear that had fallen down his cheek, smiling up at him in hopes he’d realize you’re always there for him. “Satoru,” you whisper, breath hitching as he starts to move. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

Satoru props you sideways, your leg flat on the bed while he hooks the other one over his thigh that is spread beside your body. You have to tilt all the way to the side just to see his face, your hand now bent in an awkward position. Although he doesn’t answer vocally, his gentle thrusts are enough to tell you he doesn’t want to talk about it – he never does, and he never will – so you shut your mouth, focusing on the pleasure of him hitting deep.

Your heart aches for him. You wish he could tell you everything, to share you his worries, and you can’t enjoy him fucking you too much because you’re crying, chest clenching that he’s growing distant no matter how close he is.

You don’t want to lose him.

“Hey,” he easily reads you, leaning down to flutter his eyes at you. “Nothing’s wrong. I’m just tired, okay, angel? But you’re making me feel good, you always do, so let me do the same for you,” Satoru kisses your tears away, the saltiness of it making him fuck harder into you, all to ignore the screaming inside his head.

He wants to hold you, he wants to kiss you, he wants to keep loving you like this, he wants to be with you, he wants to touch you – but it’s not that easy.

It’ll only keep getting harder in the future, but the future isn’t now. Today is the present, and it’s even more precious because you’re there with him. Right now, you’re untouchable by anyone but him, and it’s only him that gets to fuck you like this, only him who gets to see you whimper under him, only him who gets to kiss you hard while he fucks you deep.

He wants to fuck you hard enough that you never forget the feeling of him inside you.

Maybe he’s selfish, maybe he really is demonic, because he wishes that after this you won’t be satisfied with anyone else. He wants to fuck you hard enough you’ll keep wishing it was him, that it’s him who’s hitting your sweet spots and making you see stars, that it’s only him who can make you feel this good.

Satoru interlaces his hand with yours as he feels you tighten around him, the clamping down of your walls a telltale you’re near. You’re moaning, eyes dropping to where your bodies are connected. His cock is slicked with your arousal and he’s still thrusting to passionately, his hands touching you everywhere with the same ardor and impatience one would have when they know time is limited. And Satoru knows better than everyone that no amount of money can buy enough time in this world, because if such was a case, then he’d have done so long ago.

He silences his demons with the only way he knows how to; by kissing you and burying himself deep inside you, snapping his hips angrily as if they would counterattack his fears. Your hold on him is slipping from the sweat dripping down your bodies, but he doesn’t stop, his cock further stretching you out because he’s growing impossibly bigger.

Satoru’s cock twitches inside you, the motion pulling a gasp from you. He bites down on your shoulder, one hand gripping your other leg open as he grunts into your skin, his thrusts focused more on power than speed. He hits deep each time, the sensation of him sliding out slowly only to push back in vigorously to make your pussy throb too intense for you to even form proper sentences. He’s getting nearer, his thrusts growing more fervent and impatient. Satoru thumbs at your clit to coax you into following him, and with his thumb rubbing your clit and flicking it side to side, you end up finishing before him, your moan high-pitched and broken. He eagerly swallows the sound by releasing after you, refusing to pull out even as he feels both your cum trickle afterwards.

The sensitivity is too much for you that you have to push him away, and he complies, falling at your side but not before wrapping an arm around you first. His heartbeat is pumping under you, your hands tracing circles at his chest while he holds you impossibly close, littering kisses at the crown of your head.

It’s clear that something is wrong, but he won’t tell you no matter how much you ask. You know firsthand how annoying it is when someone can’t respect your space, so you close your eyes and let sleep overtake you instead, basking in the after sex glow and relieved only by his touch.

Hopefully, you think to yourself, he can tell you another time.

“Satoru,” you murmur seconds before falling asleep.

“Yeah?”

“If there’s something wrong…you’ll let me know, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he lies through gritted chest, pushing your head deeper into his sweaty chest. He has a habit of doing this; of pushing you close so you don’t see his face, so you don’t see the tears streaming down his face that are soon lost in your hair. You think that maybe he’s just breathing hard after work and fucking you, but he’s torn inside, feeling too broken that not even you could help fix his heart.

But you’re still there, and that’s enough for him. So he keeps his lips planted on your forehead all the way until the first sliver of light extends its fingertips over the horizon, the orange glow bathing you in an ethereal light while his body remained in the darkness.

It serves as a painful reminder that he’ll never be worthy of your love, that he’ll never earn the blessing that is your heart, that you’ll never truly love him the way he’s always wanted to be loved. Maybe now you think you do, but it will change once the darkness reveals his true nature, and the thought of you pushing him away hurts a lot more than having never been loved in the first place. To him, it’s a thousand times worse when you get a taste of something, only to have it pulled away from you.

And the longer he stays there next to you, he can’t help but picture your smile soon turned into a look of fear, your body bruised with marks and blood instead of his love bites.

They call him the notorious mafia leader who bows and yields to no one, but it’s not true. Gojo Satoru most definitely has his weakness, one that came into a form of his lover, and he can’t handle that you’d get hurt because of him someday that he believes it’s just better to let things be this way.

He’s silent from when he leaves the bed, refusing to look at you one last time as a final resolve of whatever is left in his strength. He quickly dresses himself and picks up your discarded robe on the ground, folding it and leaving it on the counter before shutting the door, the sound of his footsteps mute compared to the frantic beating of his heart.

Geto is already there at the lobby, his face empty yet eyes filled with sympathy. He opens the door for Satoru who slides in wordlessly, his lips pulled into a thin line while he punches in zeroes upon zeroes.

The words transaction complete flashes before him, and for a split second, he gets the urge to run back inside to hold you. But Geto clears his throat from the passenger’s seat, nodding at his phone that Satoru visibly deflates. His hands are numb the whole time he deletes your photos, your videos, and erases your contact, but it only hits hard that its over once he chucked the phone out the window, watching through his sunglasses as the device is crushed under another speeding car.

Its over, its over, its over – it keeps chanting at his head, and he wants to punch himself, wants to never see another daylight again every time he imagines you waking up alone and unable to find him. He wants to be sad, and he is, but there’s that relief blossoming inside him anyway that whispers its over, you’re safe that he can’t help but think…its okay, its over.

With that, Satoru rolls up the windows and nods at the driver who’s been waiting for him the whole time. He makes eye contact with a proud Geto from the rearview mirror, concealing his heartbreak with a laugh as he crosses his leg over the other.

“It’s over,” he says more to himself, “Let’s go.”

Gojo Satoru is a firm believer that if you work hard for it then you shall earn it. That’s the reason he got this far in life in the first place, he’s got his tenacity and dedication to thank for. But on the other side, he’s not unfamiliar with his own sins as well, and he also believes that there is punishment due for his sins as he’s earned it.

And the punishment of loving you – only to have you slip from his arms – is a punishment he’ll wholeheartedly accept.

[havin-a-wee]

If Only She Knew

pairing: dad!harry x cheerleader!reader

word count: 4.2k

warnings: smut (fingering + unprotected sex), cheerleading position implies readers weight, 20 year age gap

hi! ive been having some really bad writers block but i wrote this and even though its def not my best work i like it enough to post it :) also, i totally didn't mean to imply the readers weight, i only realized afterwards, so im really sorry about that. also the age gap is kinda big, so if ur uncomfy with that you shouldn't read this <3

PLEASE REBLOG IF YOU ENJOY

“Geez watch where you’re going!”

You don’t even look up at the girl, recognizing her nasally voice easily from how annoying it is. You were nose deep in a book while walking down the school hallway, and of course your worst enemy had to be walking down the same hallway, at the same time, in the opposite direction. You are both at fault for the collision, considering Ella had her eyes locked on her instagram feed. But knowing the girl, there is no way in hell that she will take any responsibility, even though you are the one who has coffee dripping down the front of your white blouse.

Since middle school, Ella Styles has always hated you. You have never known why, but she seems to have a vendetta against you, and tries her best to make your life miserable. You never let her, always refraining from giving her the explosive reaction that she was looking for. And that makes her hate you even more.

High school is over in 2 months, and although you are going to miss the freedom of being a child, you most definitely won’t miss the people from the tiny town you’ve lived in since you were young. You’ve always been the type of person to have a small friend group, only 4 people in your circle. But that’s how you like it, because crippling social anxiety makes it difficult for you to meet new people.

“I- sorry.” You still don’t look at her, instead peeling the soaking wet top off of your stomach.

“You better be sorry.” She flips her blonde hair, ensuring that the fluffy locks hit you right in the face. You are lucky this time seeing as she didn’t take it further, because sometimes she would purposely embarrass you after small incidents such as this one.

Tears well at your waterline and you run into the nearest bathroom, pushing open the blue door and locking yourself in a stall.

After all these years of torment, Ella rarely was able to get to you. But sometimes, she does something that pushes you off the edge, leaving you with red, tear-stained cheeks. The final straw this time was her ruining your brand new shirt, the one you were anxiously waiting to debut at school.

But now there was coffee dripping down your chest and staining the bright white fabric. Your only saving grace is the cheerleading uniform in your backpack. In fact, you were walking to the locker room to change for practice, and then for the game at 6 tonight.

You had been excited for the game, knowing that Friday night games always led to parties and fun afterwards. You rarely go to parties of course, but the buzzing energy never fails to rub off on you. But now that stupid Ella had to go and mess up your day, you’re dreading seeing her smug face while she asserts her dominance as cheer captain.

You untie your top and rip it off in a haste, frustrated tears running down your face periodically. You could’ve put a jacket on and gone to the locker room, but Ella would be going there soon, and the last thing you want to do is run into her with teary eyes. She can’t know that you let her get to you.

You brush your hands down your uniform, pulling down the skimpy costume and stuffing your old clothes in your backpack. Once out of the stall, you pull your hair up into a high ponytail, reapply your lip gloss and walk back into the hallway, having already done your makeup that morning. You’re happy that it’s a home game today, because the home game uniforms are two pieces and the skirts are smaller than the ones on the away game uniforms. There is a certain someone you are looking to impress, and the way your tits spill out from the top of the outfit will most certainly help you in your mission.

It’s not like you need to impress him, because he’s shown time and time again that he finds you sexy no matter what you wear. And when he doesn’t tell you, he shows you, by pressing his hard on up against your ass after you just woke up, despite your messy hair and bare face.

However, he also loves when you tease him. And that’s exactly what you’re planning to do.

You sling your heavy backpack over one shoulder and trudge down the hallway, the old fluorescent lights practically blinding you on your journey. The locker room is dingy, smelling of cheap soap and Victoria’s Secret perfume. At least it doesn’t smell like the boys locker room, which smells like sweat and more sweat.

It's already bustling with people, your teammates scrambling to get ready in time as to not get yelled at by the coach.

“Y/N!” The familiar shout of your best friend Rose is like a breath of fresh air, and you bound over to her. She’s standing in front of your lockers, the two of you obviously picking ones next to each other. “Wait, why are you already changed?”

“The bitch spilled her coffee all over me,” you grumbled, your eyes shifting over to where Ella and her little goons are giggling.

“I keep telling you, anytime you want me to beat her up I will gladly do it.”

“Not that I doubt your abilities Rose, because I know you would have her on the ground in a heartbeat, but I can’t let you do that. She can’t know that she upsets me.” You lower your voice for the second sentence, irrationally fearing that she can hear you over the loud chatter echoing through the room.

“I still think you should let me beat her up, but you do you I guess.” Rose shrugged her shoulders and turned back to her locker, bursting out into laughter with you after a beat of silence.

The rest of the getting ready process goes smoothly, Rose distracting you from the girl side-eyeing you in the corner. Soon enough, the whole squad was in formation outside, and you have your hands on the shoulders of Rose and another girl named Bethany. You are a flyer, meaning that you’re the one who the bases support while you pose and flip in the air. Its a hard job, but you are one of only three girls on the team who is advanced enough at flying to be safe doing it in routines. One of the other three girls is Ella.

Ella is the flyer for the middle group, seeing as she is the captain. You are on the right and the other group is on the left. Luckily, Rose is a base in your group, so you feel a lot better putting your safety in the hands of someone you already trust with your life.

“ELLA! YOU’RE DOING IT WRONG!” Coach Habbiths voice is piercing, her angry shrieks bouncing off your ear drums. Ella audibly huffs, displaying her frustration with the critiques she has been receiving since we learned the routine weeks ago. That’s one of the biggest problems with Ella, she believes that she's always right.

Every single practice she has done a needle instead of a scale at the end of the routine. It's aggravating for everyone, and that frustration is amplified everytime she makes the same mistake over and over. “Alright, everyone down. group 1 and group 3 take five, Ella and group 2 stay on the field.

The team obliged to her instructions, and you are brought down from the air.

“Okay Ella, I want you to watch how Y/N does the last move, because she’s actually doing it correctly.” Coach is standing in front of you now, and she emphasized the word ‘correctly’. This is much to Ella’s dismay, and much to your excitement.

Nothing brings you more joy than seeing Ella’s face when you one up her, and this time is no exception.

Aside from a few eye rolls and nasty looks, Ella corrects the move without much fuss. By now there's 15 minutes until the game, and the players have been warming up on the field for about half an hour.

“Did you see her face!” Rose tugs on your arm while you walk back to the locker room, water bottles in hand.

“I know! I should’ve taken a picture!”

“We can only hope that it knocked her ego down a peg.”

“I doubt it” Rose nodded in agreement and you continued your chatter, talking about the random things that best friends talk about.

“It’s go time ladies!” You jumped in surprise when Coach Habbiths yelling booms through the locker room, the hefty amount of metal in the room enhancing the echo.

In a blur, your entire team rushed out onto the field, the crisp air cooling your warmed skin. There was a huge crowd. probably the biggest the teams ever had. But that makes sense, because this game was against your school's biggest rival. Luckily, despite the huge crowd you were able to lock eyes with those piercing green irises you have gotten to know so well over the past couple months. Everytime you see him he gets more and more attractive, and this time is no exception.

At this point, the teams routine is muscle memory and you’re done with it before you can blink. Most people would think that being thrown in the air is memorable, but your main concern is the growing wet patch on your panties that spreads each time you squeeze your thighs together. Just the thought of the man is enough to turn you on, and now that you’re sitting on the cold metal bench your imagination has time to go wild.

The only thing that snapped you out of your daze was the eruption of appaulause from the audience, and the realization that the other cheerleaders were standing up and running towards the players. You breath out a sigh of relief, recognizing the cheering as a signal that the game has ended.

“Hey, you coming?” Rose tugs on your arm, looking down at you still on the bench.

“Um, actually I don’t feel so well, I think I’m going to go home.”

“I should’ve known. You know, one day you’re going to have to go to a party.” Rose places her hands on her hips, giving you a sarcastically annoyed stare.

“And today is not that day.” You grab your backpack and sling it over your shoulder, turning back to Rose for a second. “Have fun and be safe.”

“I always do.” Rose places a chaste kiss on your cheek before turning back to the gathering crowd on the turf.

Instead of heading to the sidewalk and walking home, you duck under the bleachers and walk down the gravel path, pushing open the fence that separates the field and the school. The contents of your backpack slosh around while you sway your hips as you walk. Finally, you make it to the back wall of the school, leaning your back against it and plopping your heavy backpack down by your feet.

And now you wait.

Much to your convenience, the wait this time isn’t long, only five minutes passing before you see the familiar man following the same path you did earlier.

He has a pair of brown slacks on, pressing against his waist courtesy of his black belt. A button up white shirt hides the tattoos on his stomach, but he's rolling up his sleeves as he walks over to you. He's walking with intention, hungry eyes zeroed in on you.

When he’s only steps away, you cheekily bite your lip and use your finger to push up your skirt a little bit more.

Your actions have the intended effect, his eyes blowing wide and hands grasping at your waist.

“Y’can’t do that.”

Before you have a chance to ask what he means, his lips collide with yours, his tongue slipping in only moments after the initial kiss. But as soon as he started, he pulls away.

“Y’can’t be teasing me on the field like tha’, had me hard next t’my friends.” His hand is on the wall above your head, and his other arm is wrapped around your waist pulling you into his chest. He’s panting, and you are too.

“Sorry Mr. Styles,” you push your bottom lip out in a pout, giving him the most innocent look possible. “Just wanted to wear it cause I know how much you like it.”

“Aw, my babygirl wore this f’me? Well I guess y’can be forgiven. Now let’s get t’my house before I fuck yeh right on this wall.” He places a soft kiss to your lips picking up your backpack from the floor and turning to the direction of his car.

“But it hurts!” He turns around again, giving you a sympathetic look and caressing your cheek. The rings on his fingers are cold, but you’re used to the feeling.

“I know sweet girl, but I can’t take care of yeh here, s’too risky.” He pauses for a moment, thinking of a solution to your not so little problem. “How bout I give y’my fingers in the car? Hows that sound hm?” You nod eagerly, pulling his hand down from your cheek and holding it. He takes the signal and begins walking to his car while you follow him.

You never planned to sleep with your bullies dad. But a few months ago your parents dragged you to a family friends housewarming party, and that friend happened to be a friend of Harry’s too. There were no other teenagers there, so your focus was on the attractive older man who had been checking you out since you first locked eyes, and after ending up in the upstairs bathroom together the two of you have been fucking at least twice a week. You only learned that he’s a dad when you saw him for the first time outside the party. He didn’t look the part, and you actually thought he was in his 20s until he corrected you. He’s 38, having become a parent at only 20 years old. Your relationship is a bit taboo, but you’re a mature 18 year old and you and Harry get along well. So well that your time together has developed from casual sex to a mutually exclusive relationship. (Neither of you like labels, but you’re basically boyfriend and girlfriend).

He makes you really happy, and when you have to face off against Ella, it helps knowing that you have power over her, even though she doesn’t know it.

“Did she do anything today?” Harry is walking beside you, hands still intertwined.

“Besides spilling coffee on my shirt, nothing much.” Harry sighs in frustration and squeezes your hand as a show of affection.

“M’so sorry, I wish y’didn’t ‘ave to deal with her.”

The thing about Harry and Ella is they can barely be considered family. Ella’s mom is, for lack of a better word, a bitch. She’s snobby, conceited, and rude, and those behaviors have rubbed off on Ella. Another thing that rubbed off on her was her mom’s hatred for Harry. Being young parents put strain on their already struggling relationship, and they split before Ella’s first birthday. Harry said he tried his best to make it work for Ella’s sake, but her mom was looking for someone to pay for her life, and Harry had just started working his way up as a businessman.

Now, he’s a CEO, but luckily Ella’s mom already found a new beau with plenty of money, so she didn’t come crawling back to him. However, the success Harry achieved only a few years after their breakup made her jealous, and so she instilled that anger in their daughter. So currently Ella spends most of her time with her mother, and when she is with Harry she doesn’t treat him kindly.

“It’s not your fault Harry, you don’t have to apologize for her actions.”

“I know, I jus’ hate tha’ she treats yeh like that.” He sighs again, reaching into his pocket to grab his keys. In a few more steps you’re standing outside the sleek black suv, walking around to the passenger seat and sliding in once you hear the click of the door unlocking.

You both take a few seconds to breathe, an unspoken gesture to prepare for the night's events. Harry turns to you, a sexy smirk plastered on his face. “What d’ya think about fixin’ that ache darlin?” You nod eagerly, sliding down a bit in your seat to give your legs room to spread. “Think yeh can take off y’skirt fo’me?” Your head bobs once again as you nod, hooking your fingers under the elastic waistband and shimmying out of the skirt. While you’re doing that, Harry turns the car into the deserted street, using only one hand to steer.

You toss the tiny skirt into his lap, giving him a signal without distracting his eyes from the road. He reacts immediately, his free hand coming down to squeeze your thigh. You mewl at the contact and bite down on your lip, trying to stop your hips from bucking up in search of relief. His squeezes move up your thigh, and finally his fingers press against your weeping cunt. Swiftly, he pushes your soiled panties to the side, swiping his fingers up your folds collecting your juices. You shriek and buck your hips up into his hand, but much to your dismay he removes it from between your thighs. The car comes to a stop at a red light, and Harry takes the moment to look at you, his eyes wandering your squirming body. He’s practically drooling when he places his fingers in his mouth, tasting your sweet wetness.

“Sorry pup, jus’ needed t’taste yeh.” He chuckles again, and you whine softly in desperation. In one quick motion, he dives his hand back to your pussy, pressing his thumb on your swollen clit.

“Fuck!” The pleasure shoots up your spine, goosebumps raising across your body as he rubs circles on the puffy button. “Harry- please,”

“What d’ya want puppy? Want m’fingers?”

“Yes, yes,” you breathe out, words barely comprehensible through your panting.

“Alright, alright, I gotcha.” And with that his two fingers press into you, filling your tight hole perfectly. There is no hesitation before he begins pumping the digits in and out of you and his thumb never lets up on your bundle of nerves. “Such a needy puppy, got yeh soaking f’me from out in the stands hm?” His eyes are still on the road, but you can picture the lust filled eyes that are undoubtedly on his face.

“Get so wet jus- just thinkin’ about you,” you gasp, writhing as his fingers slam in and out of you.

“Yeah? This is my cunt, m’the only one who can make yeh this wet, isn’t tha’ right?”

“Only Harry.” At your confirmation he speeds his hand up, your vision clouding with white spots as the knot building in your stomach grows tighter and tighter.

All of a sudden, he pulls his fingers out of you, leaving you empty. “Wha-” You begin to question him but you realize that he’s pulling into his driveway. Instead of complaining, you sit up quickly and unbuckle your seatbelt, pulling your skirt back up your legs to avoid being nude on his front lawn.

As soon as you feel the little jolt your hand yanks on the handle and you hop out of the car. Your brain is fuzzy with need and all you are focused on is alleviating the aching between your thighs. You hear Harry lock the car while you're on the steps, and you turn back to ensure that he’s behind you. And sure enough, he’s hot on your trail, just as eager as you to get inside and onto his bed. Your foot is tapping on the ground anxiously, waiting for Harry to unlock the front door. After what seems like an hour, he is next to you again, fumbling with the silver keychain in his hand, eventually unlocking and pushing open the door. You both practically run inside, hands roaming each other's bodies and lips locking as you shuffle through the hall.

You disconnect breathlessly when you reach the stairs, subconsciously wrapping your hands around Harry’s neck so he can pick you up bridal style. He does so hastily, barely a second passing before he’s plopping you onto the fluffy mattress. “Finally,” he pants, hands fumbling with his belt buckle. There’s a prominent bulge in his trousers, and although you’ve seen it plenty, you are always in awe at how thick and big he is. While he’s busy removing his clothes, you are practically drooling at the sight of his bare cock, full, heavy, and dripping precome.

“Harry?”

He looks back down at you with his emerald green eyes, simultaneously dropping his recently-removed shirt on the floor. “Can I ride you?” The look he gives you is indescribable, a mixture of need, lust, cockiness, and beauty all rolled up into one.

“Whatever y’want puppy,” His hands scoop under your ass, and he lifts you up and switches your positions. Now it’s your turn to undress, and Harry makes himself busy by running his hands up and down your torso. “So gorgeous, y’know that?” You nod quickly then pull your shirt off of your head. “Most beautiful girl in the world I reckon.” You blush at the compliment, butterflies being added to the many sensations occuring in your body. You straddle his thighs, wrapping your hand around his length and tugging a few times. A loud groan rumbles through his throat, and you smile knowing you’re the one who made him feel like that. “Thought- thought yeh said y’wanted to ride me pup.”

“I do.” You keep your hand on his cock, sitting up on your knees and lining him up with your weeping cunt. All at once, your body is put at ease as his cock fills you up perfectly. He bottoms out inside of you, both of you moaning and groaning while you adjust. “So big-” Your words come out in choppy pants, the syllables being cut off by your heaves. You suck in one deep breath and move upwards, sinking back down onto him quickly. His large hands hold a tight grip on your waist, guiding you up and down his member. His lips attach to your neck, suckling on the supple skin just enough so that it doesn’t bruise.

“What a dirty little puppy you are,” he growls, eyes focusing heavily on where your bodies connect, watching himself disappear inside of you as you bounce up and down on his cock.

“Feel so full-” Tingles ricochet down every part of your body, and your legs are becoming weaker with each movement. Harry can feel your movement faltering, so his hips thrust upwards to meet yours, fucking you from underneath. “Harry!”

“I know pup, I know.” His thumb strokes your cheek and he leans in for another kiss, devouring your plump lips and swirling his tongue around yours. “So fuckin tight,” The words tumble from his mouth in a low growl, which sends the butterflies in your stomach into a frenzy. His cock twitches inside of you, encouraging you to muster all your energy and finish both of you off. Adrenaline kicks in and your strength returns, riding him faster and harder than before. “Let go f’me Y/N.” It only takes a few more thrusts for you to come undone, Harry’s orgasm following suit. The waves of pleasure roll through your body, and you throw your head back in ecstasy as you allow the feeling to overcome your body. Spurts of his hot cum cover your velvety walls and you ride out your orgasms together, resting your foreheads against one another.

You end up sleeping at his house, feeling safe knowing that Ella is staying with her mom today. It’s normal for you to sleep at his place, seeing as both of you are usually so tired that you pass out before you can leave. What isn’t normal is for you to be woken up in the morning by Harry’s phone ringing. Harry is a deep sleeper, and you laugh at the sight of him conked out while his ringtone blares on the nightstand just a few inches away. Carefully, you reach over his sleeping body and grab the phone, planning on hanging it up and going back to bed. However, when you saw that it was Ella calling, you changed your mind. Making a split second decision, you slide the icon to the right, holding it up to your ear.

“Hello?” Her whiney voice rings through your eardrum and you wince. Not the nicest thing to be woken up to.

“Hello,” you answer, your voice not reflecting the cocky grin that spread across your face.

“Who the hell is this!” she shrieks, and you make a mental note that she must not be a morning person.

“A friend of your dads.” Your response is once again calm and monotone, trying to stifle the laugh that is bubbling in your throat.

“Ugh! What’s your name?”

“Y/N. Y/N Y/L/N”

[soranihimawari]

Phenomenon like You

Once, when Miya Atsumu attended a press conference during his rookie season with the MSBY, it is rumored he tripped on stage because he saw his first love—and no, it wasn’t a volleyball…

Word count: 6.3+K

Pairing: MSBY!Miya. A x reader

Warning: adult relationships, non-in depth descriptive sex and days leading pre and post, malamutes are adorably affectionate// 🔞MDNI -> for reasons above

Heavy breathing followed by a pair of heavier footsteps can be heard outside of a closed gym. On the rotation sheet for conditioning training, the MSBY Black Jackals had scheduled a self-monitored practice. Granted, those with families waiting for their favorite player to come home do wind up free of cleaning duties postcool down calisthenics. So why and how did an adorable almost full-grown malamute pup navigate its way to the gym, one can’t figure out.

The barking is what threw off a majority of the team still on the floor picking up a few stray balls. Considering at least three out of the four second year starters had seen Bokuto’s favorite ‘away-game’ film, looking at you Air Bud, one could jump to the conclusion this was exactly the case.

Fifteen minutes go by and though the pup starts sniffing around the players the pup chooses to follow a blonde like a second shadow. A few of the others who had their phones on hand decide to record the shenanigans the dog and human create. In no particular order, the series of events are listed:

Pup nips at Miya’s heels during a recent receive drill.

Pup sniffs the open palm of one Hinata Shoyo who just melts.

Sakusa, contrary to popular belief, is the most calm because he thought of his cousin doing vet work for volunteering hours in high school.

Bokuto sprints with said special guest when aforementioned guest gets a burst of energy.

Another ten minutes pass until a tertiary set of rushed steps are heard. The janitor for the change of shift (mid to night) is heard talking to someone—said person is the owner and master of the adorable dog. You’re busy apologizing again when you noticed you are slowing down in front of a particular gym door. In one hand, you hold your phone and wallet attachment; in the other, the snapped tether of a frayed leash.

“Are you sure I won’t interrupt anything sir?”

Shaking his head, the janitor replies with a joke saying those boys might be up to trouble, but nothing their teammates (“or me”) can’t handle. You hear the ruckus and instinctively charge through the door to find a rather dashing collective of athletes entertaining your adorable unit of a companion.

Sticking your fore and middle fingers placed in a ‘finger gun’ position in your mouth, you inhale with a deep breath in one second and the next you give one of the loudest wolf whistles you can produce. Did you want to call attention to yourself? No, not really. Did having a v-league team comprised of the city’s most eligible bachelors whet your appetite? One -hundred percent of people would concur. Your dog whines when he sees his master with an annoyed, yet forgiving look. It’s similar to the second time your pup discovered where you hid the new treats for his age.

A couple seconds go by as the team sort of analyzed the newcomer to their practice. Clearly no one thought any of the support staff would be in due to a mini-team building retreat that was scheduled to have ended days early, yet when an attractive stranger with a killer whistle had practice come to a screeching halt, the guys were bound to notice.

Your running/trainer shoes squeaked a bit while approaching the center of the court. A majority of the balls were already put in their respective wheel carts and the nets there still were strung up. The player closest to you introduces themselves and as introductions were made, you gracefully bow and apologize for not coming sooner. You still hold the broken leash and you also explain the butcher’s shop you frequent on your routine shopping days is in the next street over, so your dog, energetic as six five year olds, suddenly jerked forward with enough force to snap the leash thus leading to where you are now.

The boys laugh a bit while your dog receives praises and headpats from the youngest members of the team (roster wise, not age).

“Thanks for finding him,” you smile. You beckon your pup to come toward you and though one final half bark, half whine is given, you have a thoughtful expression before kneeling down. You talk to your dog line a grown adult scolding a child, but it seems like you change your inflections in your voice to fit what you’re about to suggest:

“I know you had fun bub, but these guys are professionals,” you scratch the sweet spot behind your dog’s ear. “Maybe if we see them at the beach house auntie has next weekend I’m sure they’d love to play with ya ‘gain.”

The guys seemed to create a semi-circle behind you all giving varying degrees of nods and vocal iterations of, “hell yeah we would!” Your dog seemed to have more pep in their step while you had a moment to be distracted by a more bold member of the team. You hear your dog walk side by side after the captain allowed your dog to do a few final laps with the new friends he had acquired. Their number 13, on the other hand, had been meticulously checking you out. It’s not in a creepy way either, until he was called out privately by a snide remark made by another teammate.

Standing next to each other, you too almost get caught noticing the blonde’s redeeming qualities: like the way his workout uniform shirt with his number and burgundy shorts seem to accentuate the body he worked on during weight training days; the compression additions to his attire highlighted the muscle definitions under the false light in the gym; then the way he glistened underneath them making him seem a bit more intimidating.

“Ya like what ya see?”

You’re caught. In a slight moment of fight or flight, you let out an short laugh perhaps hinting at an “it depends who’s asking” response. Noticing the sport the gym was primarily used for, you recall certain key positons from days when you learned how to play, but the my don’t need to know that just yet, right? Right.

“You’re the setter, right?” You point at the net that was being folded.

“You play?” he chuckles at the way your eyes dance around the room.

“Nah, but acquaintances and friends of mine still do. Told me about numbers and some important ones designated positions depending on the team and traditions for wearing said number, Miya. Oops. Did I pronounce that right?”

Miya Atsumu blinks back at you a bit before nodding eagerly to move the conversation naturally along. To be fair, after you called your pup over a second time, you offer to exchange contact info with the blonde bombshell after handing your phone over to him. Funnily enough, you watch him take three selfies before settling on the second one to make his contact photo as. Upon hitting save, you turn to leave and say your final goodbyes over your shoulders.

Outside, your dog gives you a judgmental stare. It’s as though he was communicating a sassy, “Mmhm. Thought you’d like him best.”

“You definitely are the best wingman out here,” you say after leaving the front doors of the MSBY facilities.

A few weeks and couple promising texts later, you’re flying solo on this date with a cavalier individual. Your sister gracefully decided to clear her schedule to pick up her four-legged nephew to spend some time at the dog park on your side of the city. Across from you where you’re seated, your date bounces his leg anxiously hoping no one disturbs the date. Then again, it’s the talk of the town in the posh restaurant scene Miya Atsumu, second year starting setter for the MSBY Black Jackals, has been spotted with a mysterious date. Twitter and other social media outlets were either freaking out or a buzz with excitement when a vague post of his ought for the day went viral. Currently, as he wraps up his story about the last away game they just came home from, you tilt your head to one side before leaving back in your chair. You’ve got a playful smile on your face because you’re currently fighting a broadening blush which would have highlighted the sun freckles from your outdoor job.

“Quite an interesting story there Tsum-tsum,” you were on a first name basis with the young man.

Who knew meeting a professional athlete whose team absolutely adored your dog (though through a singular incident of an older leash snapping), would lead to having dinner with such a popular guy? Only movies and maybe plays grounded in reality would have this development, yeah? Yeah.

“Tsum-tsum?” He points at himself before leaning in to rest his chin on his arm situated on the table top.

You nod, your canines show through under your top lip seemingly pensive in the way it nibbles on your bottom lip.

“You don’t like it?” you sound like you’re five when you do.

He raises a hand telling you how endearing it was.

“As long as I can get to call you ‘baby’ someday soon. What do you think?”

The ice in the cocktail glasses clink when he does this and you have a hard time not losing yourself in the pools of amber honey. The new toner he used shimmers in his hair and you take into account how well his shirt stresses the buttons across his hardened chest. If he was a flirt like all the tabloids had said, he is doing exceptionally well for someone who was perpetually single. Is it any wonder at all when your sister pieces together the puzzle on your ambiguous date to the latest embarrassing story of how your dog practically became your wing-person? No, of course not.

You might be older than she is by a few years, but the fact of the matter is when a high caliber player from any v-league team asks you if you’re free on a Saturday night, you might as well say yes because it’s been a while since you’ve secured a date. The withdrawals are real when your sister and you have a heart to heart conversation about your tumultuous sex life or lack there of in the love life department regardless of ending things with a ‘shitty excuse for a salary man’. Your ex was a lawyer for a pretty popular firm handling business permits and the like, yet since the relationship was stagnant with no signs of marriage or homebuilding. Though everyone in your family thought he was the last person who you would marry, you manage to single handedly sabotage your mother’s holiday dinner by announcing your breakup. Surely the pompous lawyer ditched you admitting his infidelity (and you confirming it by saying his lover’s name in your speech about honesty), saying the other party he was headed to seemed more prestigious compared to your inner-city middle-class home. Your sister toasted to his leaving the second the rideshare app buzzed on his phone. However now that you’re enjoying the company of one Miya, you find yourself genuinely happier than you could recall. Even if it’s been over a year and a half, you didn’t expect yourself to be so fond of the man so quickly. Dinner was already on its way to the table when said man asked you that silly question.

“You may, if you want to,” you answer.

Once the plates arrive you raise your glass to toast to new beginnings with him and he winks at you mentioning you’d be the only one allowed to call him the nickname.

Dessert is shared between you both as he declares from tonight onward whenever he is with you, it is an automatic cheat day. You concur his statement as the latte paired with the creme brulee touches your lips. The mug remains warm, very much like how you feel when he whispers a charming, ‘sexier than a mug.’

“Are you jealous of a mug, Tsum?” you inquire with an eyebrow raised. You take a secondary sip while he polishes off the creme brulee; you already had your share of the dessert.

“Are you jealous of this spoon too, huh?” he licks the spoon as though it was a toothpick and you almost choke on your second to last sip of latte. “Don’t worry sweetness, I plan on letting you know what else my mouth can do.”

“Atsumu!” You gasp, laughing saying the probabilities of that happening was a little higher than he thinks.

As you exit the restaurant via the back door courtesy of the owner, you fall in line with your date. You allow him to ask questions about your past including your ‘son.’

“So, a malamute?” His hands are in his pockets, kicking a small pebble out of your way.

“Yeah, hah,” you place your arms behind your back to stretch a little bit. You bring your arms back to your side in a relaxed position, almost inviting your date to lace his fingers lazily through your own. You don’t stop him when he does as you both come to a pause at the pedestrian crosswalk; explaining how your pup eventually became adopted by you. You also explain the brief side story of having your heart on the mend because you needed someone who would be loyal—

“I’d be loyal and so much more,” he says, puffing his chest.

A laugh escapes from your lips and you glance up at his profile. He tells you despite what you think his intentions are by asking you out on this date, he wants you to be happy even if this doesn’t work. The light changes and as you both walk in tandem with each other, you wait until you cross the street to inform your charming companion his blush deepening the longer you walk. Eventually, you reach the valet lot designated for the restaurant as well as other businesses along the strip mall you went to. Atsumu still lingers by you, slowly loosening his grip on your hand to suavely move a bit higher, like the small of your back. You’re thankful for the jersey dress and kitten heels combo you chose to wear because out of all the ‘date’ outfits you own, you clearly hypnotized your date way before this part of the night.

“Yer ex was an idiot,” his observation makes you give your thanks for the same thought.

When the diver comes back with said vehicle, your date tips him for his trouble, then goes through the motions of opening the passenger doors for you.

The car ride back to your single story house in the middle of the south-eastern point from the surrounding neighborhood. The radio is taken over by your choice of loFi tunes. Your date reminds you that even though he is the driver, he defaults to the passenger’s taste for background music. Somehow you’re a firm believer in having music sharpen the driver;s abilities, yet here you sit at another red light while he’s painting a picture for one of those younger-years memories with him and his twin brother wreaking havoc on the gym prior to practice starting in Inarazki High School. As your neighborhood comes into view, you choose to roast him slightly saying how you’d secretly hope your dog was having a fun time at your sister’s. Once the car is parked in your driveway, your seatbelt is still unbuckled while turning to your date to wrap up this part of the date.

“Hey, ‘Tsum?”

“Yeah?”

You twist your body three-quarters of the way to face him, extending your right hand to touch his cheek. You mumble a ‘cute’ when you firmly turn his face to view you. His breathing suddenly slows and the atmosphere is charged with something else other than the radio signals. Be brave, your mind says before you make the simple decision to thank him for the outing with a chaste kiss. Though brief, you had seemed to caught the setter off guard and he nearly squeaked when you a break the kiss. You don’t apologize for doing so, no. Your smile and nod when you uttered a, “thank you for everything,” caused his heart to beat in the doki-doki rhythm. Your teeth flashes his own bewildered, yet satisfied stare in a large smile, as you make ready to take your leave. You remind him to call you when he arrives back to his own residence. Essentially, as he waits for you to walk inside your own home, you mentally count until you reach the number thirty-nine. Within those seconds, three things happen: one, you tell your sister to watch your pup for a while longer mentioning that you’ll pick him up tomorrow; two, both siblings (yours and Atsumu’s) tease both of you for teetering and teasing each other all night with those stolen glances and flirtatious footwork underneath the restaurant tables; and finally when you answer your door still somewhat dressed (your heels are put away as you currently wear knee-high stockings with bunny slippers) a familiar pair of lips crashes into your own.

A different type of hunger looms over you as you begin to walk backwards quietly ushering your guest to lock the door behind him. Murmuring your name against your lips in a ghostlike fashion, Atsumu realizes just how bad he might have fallen. Well, to be frank, since he did meet you, he proudly boasted to the rest of the team he called dibs on the pretty young thing whose dog was more friendlier to people like himself and for some odd reason, Sakusa. (“Probably because I use this product where the icon looks like a chibi version of him,” you send him a text of TEAM PUP & SUDS DOG WASH at the grocer’s store. Atsumu busts out laughing during practice right at the tail end of a water break).

You’re currently surrendering to the knee buckling way his hands are firmly holding you close to his chest. He might as well go fully into dipping you considering you both carry on until you reach the short step separating the genkan from the rest of the entranceway of your abode.

“Down boy,” your flustered breath tickles his ears and it is insane how your clothes still remain intact especially with how he groans, tilting his head back only to have yours cradle the soft blonde tufts at the end of his undercut.

“Devils be damned,” he nips at the corner of your mouth the moment he lets you come up for air shortly thereafter. His calloused hands wander up and down your rib cage, massaging small circles seeing if you’re more ticklish on one side than the other. Your laughter is something Miya Atsumu could memorize and it’s just as deadly as a siren’s song.

“Focus Tsum,” you egg him on, pouting with your eyes. He nods pecking various points of your face and neck, whatever exposed skin your clothes let him see, he kisses with a quiet resolve.

“Baby, I am, believe me,” he lets you round your initial corner toward your living room, but you have a very different end goal in mind. Your guest bedroom is the first room proper—this was a date, it just turned into a sleepover. And neither of you could fault the other for wanting more. Surely, neither of you regret being undressed quicker in the silence than the service at the posh restaurant from earlier. You’re sure you’d save a country in the past because when the moment your date’s shirt hits the floor next to the bed, he watches as your pupils dilate even further.

“Holy fuck,” you grumble.

“I should be sayin’ that about you babydoll,” Atsumu’s voice is dipped in a need to please and you beckon him to come closer. Your dress has since been thrown over your head, though he hovers above you, you notice he pays attention to the small scars from childhood surgeries. His hands trail over the ones on the back of your legs and he frowns slightly when you whisper a short whimper: “sensitive. Tread lightly.”

“Tell me,” he honors your request, ghosting over the tissue with lithe fingers. You ask him if he can help you sit up for a moment to give him more insight on how the scar came to be and you apologize for sort of dampening the mood.

“Ya got nothin’ to apologize fer,” he kisses your cheek.

“Mm…”

Atsumu sits across from you, holds your hands in his and brings them to his lips; his breath is warm when you notice the way he stares at your own eyes before you feel his lips once more press a final kiss to your knuckles giving you the courage to tell the story of how you narrowly escaped the clutches of sacrificing everything for the sport you love.

“It all happened when I was at speed skating practice the winter of the junior Olympics six years ago,” you begin.

Toward the end of the tale, you’re brought into a comforting embrace. Such a soft guy, you think. For Atsumu, being an athlete with rumors surrounding his participation in the trials four the Olympic team, he felt a sort of kinship with you. Your gift of speed was essentially sullied, but now that you were one-hundred percent back, you mention you’ve been sought out for professional qualifying teams for the upcoming seasons, yet you realize you’ve been more mindful of having your dog accompany you to away meets and the like. (Thankfully, your coaches adore the bejeesus out of your dog, so he’s allowed to travel too in the busier time of the season—yay!)

Atsumu takes a deep breath and upon his exhale, you suggest a different sort of bedtime act.

“I don’t wish to be coddled, but is it ok if,” you shift out of his hold to lie back down on the bed you currently share. “You hold me for a bit? You can leave if you want to, I won’t stop you if you have morning practice or something if you want to leave right now…”

He pouts at you. Great,

“Why would I do that, huh? My babe needs me, so I ain’t goin’ nowhere, angel.”

His hands make a sign to scoot over and though he is careful when he curls into you, you’re hearing him praise yo and congratulate you for a job well done…

“But I didn’t do anything,” your tone gives off an annoyed child.

Atsumu kisses your shoulder before his hands squeeze your love handles and you turn around with his help. Then he flicks your forehead second, teasing you so.

“Because it ain’t easy to admit yer shortcomings,” he whispers against the reddened skin at the apex of your brow. “Oh and don’t worry about killin’ the mood or whatever. I could always have ya get breakfast.”

“Tsum!”

You hit his chest with a soft fist only to fall into a case of the giggles with the man keeping your guest bed warm with you.

Essentially, you both keep talking until the clock towers by you chime with the latest hour, drawing a yawn from you. Your partner runs your shoulders affectionately whispering a sweet dreams on your shoulder’s skin, burrowing himself underneath the blanket you semi-cocooned yourself in a few minutes prior.

The mid-morning sun greets you and apparently your setter from last night becomes very possessive in how much wiggle room he gives you. He groans when you elbow him trying to sit up, but he also mutters a “quit squirmin’ or else” under his breath.

“Fine,” you chew your inner cheek a bit, trying so hard not to quake with laughter. His morning voice is coyly asking you to lay back down beside him and you over with a dreamy sigh.

Couple hours later, post mid-morning nap, you come to find yourself awake alone in bed: the spot where Atsumu had lain in was still a bit warm, the pillows and sheet smelled like his cologne. You easily sit up, covering your upper body with a blanket again before picking up on the voices coming from your kitchen. You hear the familiar padding of paws as well as the sizzling bacon. Your sister is in the kitchen probably after texting you she was on the way to drop off your pup before heading into diner for her mid-shift. Stumbling out of bed and performing your “just woke up” stretches, you dress yourself in some of the spare pajamas you stowed away in the guest bedroom dressers.

“You like my sister a lot, huh?” your sister was grilling the guy cooking breakfast at the moment. She meant it as a teasing joke, but when she herself notices how easy it is to fluster a successful smitten athlete, well who could blame him for stating the obvious. From where you stand, you notice Atsumu wears his shirt from last night, unbottoned though, with rolled sleeves. His pants though were still in the room atop the dresser, so even if nothing risque had occurred, he had to defend himself against your sister who sometimes forget she’s the younger of the two. She is feisty in terms of giving your new potential beaus the n’th degree because younger siblings, in your opinion, are kind of like aggressively cute malamute puppies. Lords and gods above know how easy your sister can figure out which guys are totally wrong for you via the vibes alone.

“I do like ‘er a lot. Even him too,” he pats the dog's head saying what a good boy he is. “Without this guy I don’t think our paths would ever cross.”

Your dog barks happily to be of service. Same fluffy pet also noticed how lonely you must have been after your ex stopped by to collect the last few boxes of his things. For a few months to almost a year, you and your pup spent a majority of time together working to move past the broken trust and though you went out with friends to places where people meet (and or date), you couldn’t find anyone who matched your interest. Except for now, because when you think about it, all night long your date in the kitchen never pressured you once into doing what you did—he was shy, charming, suggestively naughty, and all around kind. Kind like a young king learning to love a commoner despite what the public will say; kind like an athlete who wouldn’t mind being humbled during an interview when you’re pulled into the frame of the latest broadcast post-game; kind like he wants to always be there even if he’s a million miles away from home as long as he sees/talks to you at night. All these come in time, but for right now, your sister sits by the kitchen counter on the barstool observing the way his body language has her cackling on the inside since from where she stands, Miya Atsumu looks like he’s in love already. Your dog nudges his calloused hands to massage behind the ears and the blonde obliges. The kibble bowl is already half empty, but that is to be expected since it’s a bit later than originally planned (in terms of waking up).

“You’re lucky she likes ya too Mr Handsome-Setter,” she casually said.

Atsumu nods, biting into a strip of bacon from the pile on the plate. Your sister aids him in portioning out the side dishes and as you look in at the scene in front of you, you think you could get used to lazy Sunday mornings.

“I think I like him too,” You admit your feelings easily that morning. You greet them both and after a tense teasing between the three of you, you kneel down to hug your dog. Few licks over your cheek makes you laugh, mumbling a “missed ya too bud” into his fur.

Your sister, once she had eaten per share of the breakfast that was prepared, leaves to start her commute to the diner mentioning a lewd joke over her shoulder before you politely slam the door on her face.

Meanwhile Atsumu is busy trying not to give you anymore reason to be embarrassed, but here he was trying to eat the rice in the bowl without acting on what your sister insinuated with her joke. Your dog yawns as he finds his plump cushion of a bed by the window near the backyard.

“Thanks for the breakfast,” you said returning to the bacon plate and ‘southeastern Asian style fried eggs’ in front of you.

“Anytime,” he winks at you. The coffee in the percolator is almost done and as your thoughts lead into last night's conversations and this morning’s third wheel by proxy, you decide to give Atsumu a taste of what else you had in mind. You ask him if he wants any of the beverages and he does, so you serve him his cup with the cream on the table and sugar cubes from the pantry. You watch as he meticulously finds the right ratio for this morning’s cup, but you instead prefer it black with the lightest hint of salt to cut the acidity.

Regardless, as you sit across from him, a whole conversation happens silently. As the coffee and food essentially dwindle down to the last bits and with your pup enjoying a nap, you find yourself being raised on to the kitchen counter by a pair of stronger arms. Though you make a silent sign for him to be a bit quieter in his act, he defies what you asked the moment those amber eyes harden into a mischievous glare. He growls into your exposed skin a negative response along the lines of, “I believe yer the one who might need ya’ watch how loud ya get…”

It’s how he worms his way between your legs and how he catches you from falling backwards all the way with his lips breaking his fall as you pull him above you. Kissing him is like learning to breathe underwater. If you were a swimmer, you’d drown for him and his love. Your hands roam his body, learning every dip and curve and you feel him smiling into the next kiss that leaves you gasping. He holds you firmly with one arm curled behind until you the other cages you between the counter and him. You’re pressing against him with enough vigor as of now you’re essentially pushing the fabric off his shoulders again. Wondering hands of his move against the granite as you take over the dominant control of this morning kiss: you tilt your head slightly more, humming when you feel his fingertips trail higher until he pulls away noticing something isn’t there on your back.

“For me?”

You pressed your forehead against his, nodding. Though he says nothing, his arms slide smoothly away from your back and right before your lips meet again, you feel him hook his forearms under your legs as he drags you forward to meet his hips. Your bottoms make you slide to this new position with ease and you huff out a breathy whine.

“My room…now.”

The faux blonde doesn’t need to be told twice as he hoists you into his arms; your legs wrap around him and one of the best feelings in the world right now is hearing how his laughter rumbles through his chest. Your door is not that far from the kitchen, so when Atsumu comes into contact with your bed, he bends with the intent of having you straddle him. He groans when your fingers trace mindless patterns and you know you have him where you want him when you gently buck your hips against his in an effort to get him to lie down. He obeys only after he helps you out of the shirt you wear.

“Let me see you,” four words he breathlessly says between kiss bruised lips. His arms holds your wrists aside before aiding you to hover above him; your hands twirl the blonde locks on either side of his face.

“Tsum,” your finger curls to caress his cheek.

“Hmm?” A softness in the way he sees the sunshine through your blinds makes him wonder if all mornings can be like this.

“You’re welcome to stay,” you sheepishly admit.

“Hon, I’d stay even if ya kick me out,” he chuckles, hugging you with enough force to have you lay comfortably atop of him. Chest to chest, and as he plays with your hair strewn lazily along your back, he kisses your forehead.

Eventually, as this series of soft touches progresses, you fidget underneath your covers now. A rough hand sneaks its way between you’re love bitten thighs. It’s only two in the afternoon and you’ve already cursed the man currently building you up again. How did you get here? Like it wasn’t too long ago you had breakfast with a handsome devil, making out with said athlete and now this? Atsumu called you out for being a bit turned on, but you teased him right back saying he started it by making breakfast. You reminded him about the “or else” anecdote too, so when he flips you on your back, he begins his onslaught to making you feel good, great, even. Lips of his trace a linear road from your head, down your neck and collar bones, toward the middle and underside of your chest, ribs, hips then with a final, “may I?”—

“Ah~! Hurry up,” you bite the back of your palm while the other is gripping the pillow supporting your head.

“And miss seeing your face?”

Another breathy moan has you trying to focus on something other than how skilled he actually is. You actual let curses fall from your mouth, only to be silenced when the theoretical chord snaps. Your high is rewarded with a breathy “god damn gorgeous.”

You’re panting like a rabid dog right before you blink away the tears making your vision blurry enough to see him bob his head between your legs to begin cleaning you prematurely with his tongue. Sensitive though you were, you eventually remove your hand from the pillow as you gently push your partner’s head down further. This afternoon, as you come around his tongue for a third time, you realize you might be in love with a demon. However, all bets are off when you tell him a few moments later where your latest stash of contraceptives are kept and if he is eager enough, you give your consent to ruin the mattress and sheets you lie in. Trying to out do the other would make sense, but when he eventually raises you by your arms, you let him set the pace when he guides your body up and down. The initial stretch and burn has your eyes roll to the back of your skull. He’s too busy listening to you adjust and create broken sobs of his name.

“I know, baby, I know,” he hums into your hairline.

“Tak-take it easy,” you hold his shoulders as he angles you a bit and with the next brute jab, your nails leave crescent marks.

“Ya like that huh?”

“Mm-hmm, s’good.”

Miya “I aim to please” Atsumu, slowly and steadily, loses to you. Your body has him surrendering himself to a love that heals your spirit; a force neither he nor you could have predicted possible.

Elsewhere in the guest bedroom, a phone buzzes several times. Certain names whom you will come to know as his best friends and former teammates leave behind messages of “enjoy your day off from practice ;)” and or “tell yn-san and mala-kun (your dog) I say hi! 🐾”

Regardless, you’re busy entertaining each other to care about the outside world. Not when your entire world in one person is busy rocking you steady between breathier confessions and when you eventually open your eyes to observe the way atsumu’s contorts when he is driven off his theoretical cliff, you realize perhaps you could (and are) getting used to this.

Panting and wanting more but knowing the limit might have been reached, you both agree to put a pause in your coital act for a moment.

“We should clean up,” you suggest.

“Not yet,” he pours.

“Eager to claim me again?”

You smoosh his cheeks together with your hands and as you relax, his lips teasingly tickle your palms. For whatever reason, you’re still joined from the waist down, however, considering the pounding you just went through, you know how sore he’d made you.

“Don’t tempt me.”

Hissing as he guides you off him, he wraps a well crinkled blanket around your shoulders as he disposes of the used barrier between your bodies. You tell him the bathroom is adjacent to the towel closet and he essentially returns to your room with a tender expression on his brow. You adjust the blanket to create a make-shift toga, and in all his nude glory, Atsumu nearly pounces on you, by passing your shirt on the floor, kissing you profusely muttering “cute brat of mine,” and you laugh peppering his face with the same sentiment.

It’s not surprising as the day progresses, you encourage him, once fully clothed, to return home for a little while. When asked why, you teasingly suggest if what happened last night and the is morning was any indication of how most of your dates would end or start, he might need to carry an overnight bag in his trunk. And the occasional squeaky toy makes it’s way into the same bag. Suffice to say if you were asked who would win a canine fight between a malamute and a jackal, you always bet on the jackal ecause of how they eventually learned to fall for a curious, lovingly compassionate, malamute. After all, you hear his new nickname for you uttered on tv post game: “I have a phenomenon waiting for me at home. See ya soon babs.”

You shake your head while your sister teases you handing you a bottle of cider toasting to the latest win (and further advancement) of the MSBY team. Your boyfriend though makes no further comments on the relationship he alludes to as he is called to do another repost game interview with the other teammates huddled together for a team photo. Suffice to say with what Atsumu had said, his official social media accounts are a buzz congratulating him not only on the win at the court, but in his private life as well.

You’re half asleep when he arrives home: the replay of the game is on commercial break after the third set. The glow of the tv stops when your now boyfriend scoops you up in his arms, kissing you gently, holding you like a child being transferred to their bedroom. Bridal style is the latest way you Iola to be held, and Atsumu being charmingly handsome, he always obliges your wishes. Especially now, seeing as you inhale deeply and you recognize the scent of your shared detergent. Lately, he’s been spending more time with you, so he lives with you rent free until your contract is up. The next phase is finding a place together, which can be discussed come the morning. Right now, you don’t stray too far from his hold, lazily kissing him with the intent of waking yourself further.

“Miss me pretty?” His voice asks, rubbing soothing circles on your back.

“Mmmhm,” you nod. You seemed drunk on the lightest bit of attention he gives, and neither of you have the heart to poke fun at the other.

“Sleep well,” his lips mould atop yours, a bit more languidly than before. You oblige the act, encouraging a deeper understanding of how he came home a bit earlier than the last time.

“Red eye flights are great,” he says, voice above a whispered tone.

“Mm, that they are handsome,” you kiss him sternly before you knock out yourself.

Come the morning, he has you snoozing in his arms wondering if life can get any better. Your dog stands guard at the foot of the bed happy that his human’s favorite human is back.

[helliontherapscallion]

Heya. I know that requests are closed and I totally respect if you ignore this because of that. Two hours ago my dog had a seizure and my mom and I are currently in the parking lot of the emergency vet waiting for an update. I’m normally “the rock” for my family (if that makes sense) when shit hits the fan, so I feel like I need to hide my panic so my mom doesn’t worry more. I claimed to need to use the restroom (there’s those portable bathrooms outside) but I’m actually just having a panic attack on a stairway nearby. Most of my friends are asleep or offline right now so I don’t have anyone to help ground me. I know my mom would, but she’s already dealing with enough. Your writing has never failed to calm me down or cheer me up, so I was wondering if you could maybe make headcannons or something about how texts or a quick phone call with the SBI would go and how they would help a teen friend who’s going through this situation.

I don’t want you to feel pressured to do this because of guilt or anything of the sort. I understand that requests are closed, but I thought it was worth shooting my shot. So it’s completely okay if you ignore this.

(A/N): I wrote this as fast as I could, so there might be a few mistakes here and there. I really hope your dog gets better soon and nothing major is wrong with them, I’ll keep you guys in my thoughts. If you wanna talk about it, my DMs are always open love <3

Warnings: mentions of dog seizures, vets, panic attacks

Your pleasant day had gone so wrong so fast 

You had a blast hanging out with your neighbor and childhood friend Techno and his brothers

You spent most of the day at the park hanging out and generally goofing around

That was until you received a phone call from your mother 

She was in a panic telling you to come home, telling you that there was something wrong with your dog

You quickly excused yourself by telling them that your mom wanted you home as soon as possible suddenly and ran home in tears when you were out of their line of sight

When you were running you could feel yourself being filled with dread

Your chest felt tight as you fought off a panic attack, you needed to be strong for your mom

You were her rock

It was only natural to comfort her, she helped you so much with your anxiety and panic attacks even when facing her own troubles and stress

So you did your best to stifle your panic

When you got home, you could hear the loud sobbing of your mother, the faint sound of heavy breathing, and rustling 

The sight in the living room broke your heart

Your beloved pet was on the floor having a violent seizure while your mother was looking on in horror

You quickly took action, moving the stuff around the dog away from it

The only thing you could do was wait it out, so you made quick work of comforting your mother

After the seizure, your dog was looking around confusedly and whining slightly 

He seemed very tired 

Doing some research, you found out that it was best to let the dog rest after such a seizure because it takes a lot of energy out of it

The nearest emergency vet was about ten minutes away so you picked up your dog and escorted your mom to the car

You drove to the vet, your mom was too distraught to drive

The vet immediately took him in and got to work, leaving you and your mom in the car waiting for an update on the pooch

She had calmed down for the most part, but you could still feel the panic brewing in your chest threatening you with a full blown panic attack

You held it off so you could be strong for your mother, but you were spiraling and fast

When it got to the point where you couldn’t hold it back anymore, you quickly excused yourself to the portable bathrooms

You ducked into an abandoned staircase and the panic attack quickly reared its ugly head

Your breaths came out in short hyperventilations, your chest feeling like an elephant was sat on it

You couldn’t breathe

When it got to the point where you were dry heaving, you knew that this one wasn’t one that you could calm yourself down from

You had to call someone

Your mom was immediately out of question, even if she would gladly help you

In your point of view, she had enough to worry about

Your best bet would be to call Techno

You had extreme difficulty finding his contact because your vision was tunneled and blurred and your hands were shaking, but you eventually found it

He and his brothers should still be at the park

You felt guilty for calling, but you knew you needed help and Techno and his brothers were your best bet

“Hey (y/n), uh is everything alright with your mom? You left in a hurry.” Techno saw his twin and Tommy look at him in question. He wove them off.

He was only met with heavy breathing and sobbing from your end, which worried him to no end. He knew damn well about your anxiety and panic attacks, in fact he was the one that encouraged you to open up to your mom about it and ask her for therapy sessions. He’s calmed you down from enough panic attacks to know exactly what to do to help you.

“Hey you’re alright,” he cooed to you in a soft voice, “take deep breaths. Where are you?” His brothers looked at him in alarm. They also knew about your panic attacks as you were basically like another sibling to them. Wilbur grabbed the car keys and the three made a dash towards the family car. 

“Techno…” Your breathless and strained whimper on the other end made his heart break for you. “Where are you?”

When you told him that you were at the nearby emergency vet, he could feel his heart sink. Your dog was growing older and older and his health was declining. That dog was with you two through thick and thin when your family got him in middle school. You were seniors in high school now, so that dog was old for his breed. 

“We’re on our way, just hang on tight buddy. What’re five things you can see?”

After you got through the 5-4-3-2-1 technique, you still were in the midst of an intense panic attack and it worried Techno to no end. Usually you would be calmed down by now. Luckily, they arrived at the vet and quickly found a parking space. 

You could hear running coming towards you and looked up to see the brothers running towards you. Techno kneeled next to you and attempted to give you a smile, “we’re here. Is it okay for me to touch you?” At your nod, he grabbed your hand and put it on his chest. “Breathe with me, okay? Do you think you can do that for me?” You didn’t respond to him. Your hazy eyes darted to his face when he gently called your name and asked you again. You nodded making him smile at you, “good, we’re gonna do the 4-7-8 breathing technique,” he told you softly, “do you remember that? You breathe in through your nose for four seconds, hold it for seven, and exhale slowly through your mouth for eight. I’ll do it with you,” he took in a deep breath through his nose and you tried to follow suit but failed. Your breathing was just too erratic. 

“Tech, I-I can’t. I…”

“Hey you can do this, I know you can. Let’s try again, it takes time to even out breathing.” He said something to his brothers you couldn’t hear and they ran off. “Deep breath in,” he breathed in and you tried to follow him, “hold,” you held in the breath for about two seconds, “and out,” the breath ripped itself from your lungs. “You’re doing so good, I’m proud of you (y/n).”

The breathing continued for a bit with you getting nowhere before you heard the boys return. They had a couple of ice cold water bottles in their hands. Techno let go of your hand and grabbed one of them. He turned to you with an encouraging smile, “okay, we’re gonna try something new. I’m gonna have you touch this, is that alright?”

You reached out with a shaky hand to touch the plastic and jolted slightly at the temperature, a gasp ripping itself from your lungs and your eyes focusing slightly better than before. “I’m gonna run this up and down your arms, focus on the feeling of the temperature and the feeling.” As he ran the bottle down your arms, you could feel your heart rate drop at the temperature and your heated skin cooling down. Your breathing eventually evens itself out leaving you panting and shakily reaching up to wipe at your tears. 

“Are you good now?” You nodded and leaned against the brick wall tiredly. An open water bottle was put into your hands. You drank it and relished in the feeling of the ice cold drink slithering down your throat. It even heightened your senses. 

Wilbur sat on your other side and slung an arm over your shoulders, giving you a side hug. Tommy sat across from you while Techno sat on your other side holding your hand, lazily rubbing his thumb over your knuckles. 

“Do you wanna talk about what caused this?” You nodded and told the three everything that happened today and why you were at an emergency vet. 

After you finished telling them, Wilbur turned to give you a full hug. Your face was against his chest, faintly you noted that he smelled like grass with hints of earth. “He’s gonna be alright. He’s a fighter, do you remember when he ate that bee?” You nodded, remembering that even if he was swollen, his tail was still wagging and he was as happy as he could be. He recovered quickly from that, never once losing his excited and loving personality. You thought about how even in the car he was licking away your mother’s tears and nuzzling into your hand even though he was exhausted. 

“That dog has lived through so much health shit,” Tommy chimed in, “a seizure isn’t gonna take him out anytime soon.” 

They stayed there for a while with you giving you reassurances and reminiscing on stories of him until you felt better 

Eventually you had to go back to the car to wait with your mother, so they left to go to their house

Your dog was returned to you and your mom with the instruction to give him some medicine and come back for further examination

They didn’t find the cause for the seizure, which bothered you but relieved you that he was alright

When you got home, it was late at night and you honestly felt so drained 

The next day, your dog was still slightly tired but he was slowly returning to his playful nature as the day progressed

When you were laying in the grass in the backyard with him reading a book, you saw Techno poke his head over the fence and smile at you. “Hey, how’s (dog name)?”

You ran your fingers through his fur as he slept peacefully, “he’s doing better. The vet still doesn’t know what’s going on with him, but he’s still himself.”

“We’re having some cookies and lemonade over here, do you wanna come over? (Dog name) can come too.”

“You’re more than welcome, (y/n)!” You could hear Philza’s voice chime out from their backyard. You got up and (dog name) followed you into their backyard slowly. They were sitting at the picnic table that was there since you and Techno were kids. The paint had long since chipped and faded with each year that passed. Tommy loudly cheered while Wilbur and Philza gave you gentle smiles as you walked next to Technoblade. 

You sat next to Techno and a glass of lemonade was placed in front of you. (Dog name) laid at your feet and resumed his nap. You grabbed a cookie and took a bite, humming at the taste of your favorite flavor dancing across your tongue. 

Being with the family was something that always made your worries fade away into nothingness and get replaced by lighthearted and refreshing happiness. You spent most of the day laughing with the family and petting your sleeping dog. Everything was going to be okay with them.

[andreafmn]

Collision - Chapter 1

Word Count: 3,434

Characters: Female Reader Uley Character, Sam Uley, Allison Uley, Charlie Swan, Bella Swan, Seth Clearwater, Billy Black, Jacob Black, Emily Young, Paul Lahote, Harry and Sue Clearwater, Leah Clearwater

Story Description: (Y/N) Uley is back home after being away for four years. Her life at it’s first standstill and she is taking this time to find out who she is without school. But she never thought that coming back to the reservation would turn her whole life around. In the midst of secrets and mystery, a man crashes into (Y/N)’s and her life will never be the same. 

*DISCLAIMER* I do not own in any way Twilight, all credits of the pre-established characters, script, and storyline belong to Stephanie Meyer and Summit Entertainment. The only thing I own is Uley Reader insert, any upcoming characters, and her storyline, as well as her effects in the others’ story line.

Chapter: 1/?

A/N: There’s no Cullen’s in the first chapter, we’ll see them soon though. Also, Esme is in the story but her and Carlisle are not together romantically. If you enjoy my writing I’ll also be posting them in AO3 and Wattpad along with other stories (I also hope to start taking requests if ya’ll want) Hope you enjoy and all constructive criticism is encouraged.

Next->

Chapter 1

Going back home felt bizarre for (Y/N). It had been 4 years since she had moved away from the La Push Reservation on a scholarship to a prep boarding school in Seattle. Although students were expected to go back home during summer break, she spent her time in summer taking college classes or attending internships in the area, so going back didn’t fit into her plans.

But she had just graduated from high school and decided that taking a gap year could not hurt. Seeing her family wouldn’t be that bad either.

(Y/N) Uley had not reunited physically with Sam and Allison Uley since she left for school, only calling occasionally but always being to busy for anything else. The mother and son duo had grown accustomed to the short phone calls and vague emails they would receive from their studious family member. The Uley siblings used to be a very close pair, being only a year apart helped their bond. But since (Y/N) had invested all her energy into her high school career, their relationship rapidly dissipated; replaced by untold secrets and life-changing details.

The Uley girl had no idea what was in store when she went back home. She had left when she was 14 and was coming back an 18-year-old with a high school diploma and a bachelor’s degree. (Y/N) had always been an over achiever and applying to the school she had and taking dual enrollment was no surprise to her mother and brother.

The bus ride from Seattle to La Push lasted almost eight hours, so (Y/N) equipped herself with two books, plenty of snacks, and a fully charged iPod to handle the ride. She had gotten the earliest ride available always enjoying the intriguing mystery that 3 am travels brought. Her brown eyes surveyed the curious characters that voyaged alongside her a young woman sat with a sleeping baby in her arms, the dark circles under her eyes signaled the baby was still a newborn getting adapted to a sleep schedule; there was a middle-aged man, his eyes attached to a computer and a briefcase tight to his side; there were two teenagers, backpacks at their feet and shared headphones in between them. They were wearing light blue polo shirt and her school insignia embroidered on the left side of their shirt. She had seen them in passing, two freshmen still energetic and excited for their school life. She looked at them and smiled, remembering being in their shoes four years ago.

Four hours in, (Y/N) had finished one book, and the bus made its first stop in Port Angeles, the place where everyone that traveled with her got off. It wasn’t surprising to see from the top of her book as everyone got off, she didn’t recognize any of them from the reservation so it would have been surprising if any of them had stayed in the bus. For the next four hours, (Y/N) continued to read her second book surrounded by a comforting silence. The sun had risen about an hour ago and a nice warmth was streaming from the bus window and (Y/N) felt herself drift in bliss.

Her eyes fluttered open once again when she felt the bus finally rolling to a stop. She blinked a few times as she adjusted her vision to the bright midday sun and her brain restarted normal functions. The brunette gathered the bag with her travel companions and got up from the chair she had been glued to for eight hours.

“Have a good day,” the driver chimed as (Y/N) was walking down the bus.

“You too, drive safe!” The girl smiled and got her two suitcases out of the side of the bus.

(Y/N) got startled as she felt two arms wrap around her midriff and quickly swung her elbow back.

“Woah, woah, careful with those arms, (Y/N). It’s just me,” the girl turned around, a gleaming grin adorning her face.

“Sam!” She jumped onto the open arms of her older brother, seeing the years that had passed on his tired face.

“Look at you, darling. All grown up,” Allison Uley smiled, tears threatening to spill from her eyes.

“Mom, I’ve missed you.” (Y/N) hugged her mother tightly, noticing the difference in heights of her and her mother. Another thing she noticed was the strain between her mother and her brother. Before she left, they all had a very close relationship but now it felt like so many things had interlaced into their bond. “Let’s go home yeah?”

“I’m, actually I gotta go to my house,” Sam scratched the back of his neck.

“What house?” (Y/N) chuckled.

“I moved out, but I’ll come over for your welcome dinner.”

“Sam, she just came back. Don’t you wanna spend time with your sister?” Allison begged, wanting to have both of her children under the same roof again.

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I just can’t, mom. Leave it.” Sam sighed. “I’ll see you at dinner, (Y/N).”

He kissed the top of his sister’s head and left. He wanted to tell them the whole truth, but he knew he couldn’t. Knowing that information would put them in a level of danger that he didn’t want them to be aware of.

(Y/N) stared at the retreating figure of his brother as he ran down the street, leaving her and their mother.

“What’s up with him?”

“Oh darling, if only I knew.” Allison sighed grabbing one of the suitcases her daughter had brought. “Let’s just head to the house so you can rest.”

“Yeah, let’s.” (Y/N) gave Allison a comforting smile and wheeled the second suitcase towards the truck.

The drive home was as short as she remembered, and the house hadn’t changed a bit. She walked up the steps to the porch and opened the old wooden door; it still made the same creaking sound. The house still smelled of seawater and pine, an odd mix but a comforting scent. (Y/N) regretted all the summers she missed here and all the days she spent away from her family.

She made her way up the stairs and entered the first door to the right. She ran her fingers through the stickers she had pasted on there when she was 13: a wolf, a rainbow, a heart, and a picture of her family. Her name still carved at the highest point of the door and she smiled at the memory of that. She sat atop Sam’s shoulder when she was just 12 years old, a trembling hand holding a pick as she carved as best as she could the name “(Y/N)”.

The doorknob as it was turned let out a squeaky groan and the door needed an extra push to open. The room had not changed at all. The walls were still painted a light green, the light switch still had the pink princess cover, the bedding had the little purple butterflies embroidered on them, and the pillows were all pink and purple. In a corner rested the five boxes (Y/N) had sent to the house from her dorm room.

“It hasn’t changed a bit,” (Y/N) commented as she felt her mother’s presence behind her.

“I didn’t want to change it until you came back,” Allison smiled. “But I’m sure you’d like to give this place a bit of a makeover.”

“Definitely,” she laughed. “I think I’ll go to Port Angeles this weekend, doing some shopping can’t hurt.”

“That’s true.” Allison side hugged her daughter as she laughed. She headed towards the door but stopped when she was called upon by her daughter.

“Hey, mom?”

“Yes, darling?”

“By any chance, do you know where Sam’s living?” Allison’s body stiffened but shared the information with her daughter. Maybe she could figure out why he’d just disappeared.

(Y/N) was surprised to hear he was living with a girl she barely knew. She knew of Emily Young through Leah Clearwater, but not much after that. Last thing she had heard Leah and Sam had been dating. She certainly had missed some very important pivotal points in her brother’s life.

The house wasn’t far, so she decided to walk there. Upon arrival she could feel the warm and inviting aura that the quaint house emanated. The blue door called to her as she knocked on it. It finally opened and revealed her brother.

“(Y/N), what’re you doing here?”

“I’m here to see my big brother. Is that such a crime?” She laughed.

“No, of course. Come in,” he smiled begrudgingly. “I don’t have much time so we gotta make this quick.”

“Wow, feeling the love there,” she chuckled passing through the doorframe.

“There’s just some things that I have to do before dinner tonight.”

“It’s okay, I get it. I just wanted to ask if you could help me on the weekend with my room. I’m bringing it four years into the present, gotta make sure it looks like an 18-year-old sleeps there.”

“Yeah, I’ll come over Sunday afternoon and help you then. Anything else you need?”

“Well, not exactly, but it wouldn’t help to catch up. You know make up for four years of chit chat conversations and get me up to date with at the happenings in your life.”

“There’s not much to say other than I moved out and I’m engaged.” He said nonchalantly.

“Excuse me?! You’re engaged and failed to mention that to me?”

“It’s not that big of a deal, (Y/N).”

“Yes, it is, Sam! You’re getting married and this is the first I’m ever hearing of this or the fact that you moved out or the fact that you’re engaged to your ex-girlfriend’s cousin. I think it is a big deal.”

“Okay, yeah. Kind of a long story on that one.”

“Enough time to tell it to me?” Sam hesitated. He could hear Emily’s truck approaching and two male voices coming back from patrol. He needed to get (Y/N) out of the house before they got here.

“Maybe another time. I’ll call you on Sunday, yeah?” Sam asked as he nudged his sister out of his house.

“I guess.” (Y/N) mumbled as she was pushed out the front door. “Bye.”

“See ya.” Sam kissed the side of her head and closed the door.

(Y/N) left the house with more questions about her brother that she had begun with but didn’t want to press on. There was no use if he wasn’t going to talk, so she walked back home.

Her mother had gone out, possibly grocery shopping for tonight’s dinner, giving (Y/N) time to catch up on some much-needed sleep. She walked up the stairs and into her room, plopping down on the bed not caring how she landed. All she wanted was to close her eyes and rest.

By six in the afternoon her eyes fluttered open once again. She could smell the dinner her mother had been cooking. The room had darkened as the sun was going down and thankfully her mother had turned on a lamp for (Y/N) to have some vision. The girl got up from bed and grabbed some clothes from her suitcase to take a quick shower before dinner. She stripped all her clothes off and let the water wash away all the hours of the day. As soon as the water started turning cold, she shut it off and got out.

For a second, (Y/N) stopped and stared at herself in the mirror above the sink. She barely recognized the girl staring back. The bags under her eyes were deeper than the last time she had seen herself in this specific mirror, her cheekbones were more defined than before, her skin paler than usual since she hadn’t really seen the sun in a while.

It didn’t take her long to change into some new clothes and head downstairs, where she saw her mother on the phone. Disappointment evident in her eyes.

“Sam, it’s your sister… please… ok, fine. Just don’t flake on her on Sunday,” Allison sighed, turning off her phone and slamming it on the counter.

“Everything okay, mom?”

“Oh, yeah, darling. Your brother won’t be able to join us, but Billy and Jacob, and the Clearwaters are on their way, and I also invited Charlie and Bella Swan. I hope you don’t mind that they join in.”

“No, I don’t mind. What about Paul?”

“You know I’ve never liked that boy, honey.” (Y/N) stared at her mother. Refusing to continue the conversation until Allison answered the question. “I did invite him, but he couldn’t come.”

“I love seeing you make an effort,” (Y/N) laughed and kissed her mother on the cheek. “I’ll set the table.”

“Thank you, darling.”

(Y/N) grabbed the 10 plates needed for the night and the respective cutlery. She still remembered how her mother liked the table arranged and set it as such. She set the vase filled with fresh flowers in the middle of the table, leaving space on the sides for the dinner platters. The arrival of the guests was soon after. (Y/N) had grown alongside Jacob and Leah, and on the summers, she would spend her times with the Swan girl. Once Seth was born, he became very close with the Uley girl.

“My oh my, (Y/N), how you’ve grown.” Billy Black grabbed Uley’s hand and smiled up at her, with the warmness that summer brought.

“Indeed, I have, and you haven’t aged a day in four years. What’s your secret?”

“It’s in the genes,” he laughed alongside the young girl. She’d always been a charmer, he thought “You remember my boy, Jacob, right?”

“How could I ever forget? Hey, Jake!”

“How you’ve been, (Y/N)?” Jacob approached his friend and wrapped her in a hug. “Been an awful long time.”

“Four years, that’s not much,” she smiled. “Come in.”

The father and son duo entered the house, and next came the Clearwaters. Harry, Sue, and Seth. No Leah. They had always been close to the Uleys, a bit of divide coming after the rupture between the eldest offspring of each family.

“Oh, wow, where has the time gone?” Sue commented, greeting the girl with a tight hug.

“4 years really do go by quick, don’t they?”

“They sure do, Harry.” (Y/N) smiled, motioning the couple in.

Finally, Seth walked in and engulfed (Y/N) in a tight hug. The girl was 5 years his elder, but he considered her one of his best friends. Seth and Paul were the only two people (Y/N) kept in close contact other than her family. For some time, Paul and (Y/N) had drifted apart but Seth always sent his monthly excited letters, updating her on what he had been up to.

“I missed you, (Y/N)!” Little Seth spoke into a bundle of brunette hair.

“I missed you too, Seth.” She smiled as he walked past her, joining his parents.

The last to enter were Sheriff Swan and Bella. The cop smiled at the girl and gave her a quick hug, commenting on how much she had grown, a low chuckle leaving his throat. Bella entered with hunched shoulders, possibly not wanting to be there but she still smiled at her old friend. Vague memories filled the girls’ heads of summer play dates and days at the beach.

“It’s been quite some time, huh?” Bella muttered.

“It sure has. It’s great to see you again,” (Y/N) smiled. “How have you liked Forks now that you’re back full time. Still hating cold weather?”

“Yeah,” the pale girl chuckled. “But it has its better days.”

The girls joined in a quick giggled before joining the rest of the group at the dinner table. Allison had already set the table and had said her hellos to the group.

The three males had engaged in sports conversations and the teens were all huddled in the kitchen munching on cheese and crackers and engaging in small chit chat.

“So, (Y/N), 18 and already a degree, how does that feel?” Jacob asked, stuffing his mouth with cheese and ham.

“Well, as good as it can be. Don’t know exactly what I’m gonna do now. All I know is that I’m taking a year off and taking a breather for the first time.” (Y/N) chuckled.

“I just can’t believe you’d spend all this time going to school, twice as much. I don’t like school at all,” Seth chimed in, picking apart the cheese and filling his mouth.

“So, you spent these past four years studying, including your summers?” Bella added.

“That’s correct,” (Y/N) smiled. “And now I have a degree and nothing to do with it.”

The group chuckled and moved towards the adults as they were being called to dinner. In the center of the table was a big platter of spaghetti and meatballs, (Y/N)’s favorite food, a tray of toasted garlic bread, and a bowl of a colorful mix of spring salad.

(Y/N) always enjoyed her mother’s cooking. Even on her saddest days, Allison’s cooking could warm her heart at any time. She and her mother had a very close relationship, even after four years of distance. Since her father left early in her life, her mother had always tried her hardest to make sure both her children were loved and cared for. And she stayed wondering where she had gone wrong with Sam and hoping (Y/N) didn’t stray away as her eldest had.

The dinner group had all taken their seats at the dinner table and were passing around the various platters, serving themselves their desired portions. Jacob and Seth were overfilling their plates, receiving a laugh from their respective parents. Charlie, Harry, and Billy were filling their plates with more protein than carbohydrates and the moms at the table smiled at the males engulfing the meatballs. (Y/N) looked around the table and smiled. It had been a long time since she had sat down with the important people in her life and was relaxed, even if two of them were missing.

After everyone was served, everything went almost quiet. Some background music could be heard from the living room and the sound of forks hitting plates and mouths chewing filled the environment. Everyone was comfortable with the silence, but there was still one question in everyone’s mind.

“Where’s Sam?” Seth spoke up, voicing everyone’s question. The whole table paused in action and Seth felt like a deer caught in the headlights. Sue softly elbowed her son. “What?”

“It’s okay, Sue,” (Y/N) smiled. “He couldn’t be here, bud.”

“Maybe he was feeling bad, like Leah.” He added earning a burning stare from both his parents.

“Maybe, Seth.”

“I just wanna apologize for our daughter missing this dinner. I know she really wanted to see you, (Y/N).”

“Oh, Harry, it’s really no problem. I’m sure I’ll catch up with her soon enough.” (Y/N) smiled trying to ease the tension felt in the room. She could see her mother gripping her fork tightly as she kept her head down. “But I would also like to apologize on behalf of Sam, I know he wanted to be here.”

Everyone simply nodded and went back to their plates. The rest of the evening was enjoyable. No one mentioned the pair that was missing, and (Y/N)’s past four years were questioned in depth. She had an answer for everything except “What are you gonna do now?”

She didn’t know and that’s what she answered. She mentioned she wanted to study medicine, having finished a degree in biology and always loved taking care of other people. Sue was excited, being a nurse herself. But (Y/N) had landed at a standstill in terms of her life and career. A vast portion of her life had been defined as a student and now that this part was over, she didn’t know who she was.  

The dinner festivities were over soon thereafter, leaving Allison and (Y/N) to clean up after the group. The Uley pair put everything away in silence, exhausted from the eventful day. (Y/N) could see as her mother wiped away a few stray tears, sniffling behind her hair. The girl knew better than to bring the topic back up and left her mother with a kiss on the temple and a good night.

Upstairs, (Y/N) prepared herself for bed. The event had drained nay energy still left in her and she plopped down on the bed with a small thud. She had prepared her clothes for the next day, knowing her energy would also be drained but still excited to have this change. Her eyes fluttered close as she heard in the distance her mother’s quiet footsteps on the staircase, darkness overtaking her.

Next->

A/N: if you wish to be tagged for the next parts, please let me know. I’d be happy to. <3

[yelena-bellova]

Safe Haven: tfatws!Bucky Barnes  x fem!reader - Chapter Five

chapter four - Chapter Five: Come A Little Closer - chapter six

Series Masterlist

Plot: As the hunt continues for Dr. Nagal and the super serum, Y/n learns the ugly side of being a superhero while also finding herself drawing closer to Bucky.

Warnings: spoilers for episode.3, angst, fluff, language, description of injuries, unwanted touching, blood, character death (minor), anxiety, *cue Start of Something New from High School Musical playing in the background*, idiots in their feelings getting interrupted a lot, dancing Bucky. did I mention feelings?

Word Count: 6.9k

A/N: So this is semi rushed because I didn’t have as much time to work on it as I typically do but hopefully it still holds up. I’m currently in a stupor right now after today’s episode and trying to plan out where the rest of this goes, exciting and nerve wracking lol. 

----

Lay low, blend in, enjoy the party and stay out of trouble. Those were Sharon’s instructions. Not only did she know how to throw a party but the Madripoorians knew how to enjoy themselves. The pomp and circumstance didn’t match New Orleans by a long shot, but they sure as hell threw themselves into it.

Sharon was in charge of asking around to see if anyone had any information on Wilfred Nagal while we were stationed at the bar. After Sharon’s talk, I was nursing a glass of whiskey trying to blur the various scenarios she’d put in my head. Each step we’d taken so far had landed us somewhere more dangerous. Within days we’d gone from an impromptu fight with Super Soldiers to breaking Zemo out of prison to a shootout in the streets of Madripoor. The deeper we got, the higher the risk. I’d never thought of Sam’s job as easy, but I could have never understood how difficult it was until I was doing it with him.

I looked over to Sam, Bucky and Zemo who were doing the exact opposite of what Sharon had told us to do. They couldn’t have looked more out of place. They looked like a bar joke; a superhero, a 100 year old assassin and an escaped Sokovian convict walk into a bar…

“Have any of you ever stepped foot in a club?” I asked, leaned up against the side of the bar. The three of them looked lost, causing me to roll my eyes, “Dance, drink, do something!” 

“Excuse me,” a masculine voice that didn’t belong to anyone in our group said from behind me, I turned and faced his presence, “It’s a crime that someone as beautiful as you hasn’t been out on that dance floor tonight. Care to join me?” Was it a cheesy line? Extremely so. But blending in meant blending in. “Why not?” I downed the last of my whiskey and allowed him to take my hand and lead me into the middle of the action.

The center of the room was packed body to body, filled with people innocent moving to the house music to those grinding against one another in the most sinful of ways. The handsome stranger put his hands on my waist, I placed mine loosely around his neck and we began to dance. There was enough space between us that it wasn’t uncomfortable and I found myself actually enjoying myself. But the longer the song went on, the more the guy’s hands started to wander. It started with a few circles in my hips that I wasn’t a fan of to rubbing up and down my sides, when they trailed around my back and down to my ass was when I wriggled out of his grip. “C’mon sweetheart,” he shouted over the music, “It’s a party, lighten up.” I was fully prepared to tell him exactly what I thought of men like him when a gloved hand grabbed his shoulder roughly, I looked to my side to see the body belonged to Bucky. “You’re done, pal.” The creep was inches shorter than Bucky and couldn’t match his intimidating steely stare. He put up no fight and simply backed away in fear, bumping into a few people on his way out of the main room. Bucky moved in front of me to act as some type of shield in case he was stupid enough to come back, “Are you okay?” “Yeah, I’m fine,” I assured him, “You didn’t have to come over, I can handle myself, y’know.” “I know you’ve got no problem telling people off,” he smirked, “But I couldn’t help myself. That kind of stuff doesn’t set well with me.” “Well, thank you,” I said, “But you’ve made one fatal mistake, Barnes.” His brows knitted together in confusion as I smiled, “You’re out on the dance floor with me.” I watched as he connected the dots, “No, no, no…” “Yes, yes, yes,” I contested, lightly tugging on his non-metal arm as he started to walk away, “You need to blend in and there could be another handsy creep nearby, so consider it a public service.” His 1940’s origins wouldn’t allow him to leave a woman by herself in a potentially uncomfortable situation, this much I knew. With a heavy sigh that I could practically hear over the loud music, he met my eyes. “I don’t know how to dance to this, it doesn’t even sound like music to me.” I rolled my eyes, “If only you had someone to teach you…Give me your hands,” he offered me his flesh one, “Both of them.”

He defeatedly put out his gloved metal hand and I took hold of them both, carefully placing them on my hips. They hesitantly held onto me as if maybe I didn’t want him touching me despite the fact that I initiated it. I watched him to make sure he was okay with me positioning us, his eyes stayed glued to where his fingers rested. Not wanting to make him any more uncomfortable than he already was, I settled my hands on his broad shoulders. Receiving no arguments from him, I continued moving us. We looked too much like middle schoolers in the middle of a gymnasium with all the space between us. I took a step towards him to shorten the distance, still watching him to make sure he was okay with what I was doing.

“Don’t focus on perfect steps,” I called over the noise, “Just try and feel the beat.” I took a step to the side, pulling Bucky along with me clunkily. His eyes were locked on the floor watching our feet as I began to alternate steps to the beat. I placed a finger under his chin and brought his line of vision up to meet mine, “Stop thinking so much.” I picked up the rhythm again and began to sway my hips a little with each movement I made, trying to take my own advice. Bucky looked like he didn’t know what to do, this was so far from any type of dancing he’d ever taken part in. But the more he felt me loosen up, the more his body started to feel less rigid. Where I’d been guiding us, Bucky met me and took the reins and started to move us. The heat I felt from his hands through our mutual layers of fabric sent tingles up my sides. We’d unconsciously moved closer to each other, our chests brushing with each movement. I peeked up at Bucky through my eyelashes under the pretense of making sure he was still comfortable, but I lost myself once I got there. His normally bright blue eyes had darkened significantly as he looked down on me. It felt like a shot of adrenaline straight down my spine while simultaneously making my knees weaken. I dared to slide my hands down from their resting position on his shoulders to his thickened biceps, giving me something to hold onto. It set off a chain reaction of his hands still lightly holding onto my waist to tighten, putting my body fully in his control. He started to guide my hips in figure eights, his heated gaze flicking between the motions and my eyes. With a shockingly little amount of hesitation, I snaked my arms to wrap around his neck pulling us what a few days ago would have been defined as too close. Now as I drowned in his blackened, dilated orbs and felt each breath he took against me, it didn’t feel nearly close enough. I found myself craving as much of him as I could get. Something had taken over both of us and I didn’t want it to loosen its hold.

“Hey,” Sharon’s voice flooded my ear from behind, “I found our guy, let’s go.” As soon as I felt her leave to go fetch the others, Bucky and I ceased our movements. Our chests pressed into one another as we panted, his pouty lips parted with each breath he drew. I swallowed harshly as I struggled not to notice how tempting they looked, trying to focus on anything else. The shine of a light layer of sweat down his neck, the sharpness of the jawline I suspected I could cut myself on, the scent of his cologne enveloping me, the pressure of his thumbs pressed into my hipbones, the way his dilated pupils sent a wave of heat through me…Bucky was all I could see or feel and I didn’t want it to end.

“W-we should…We should go,” I stumbled over myself, still unable to look away.

“Yeah,” he answered, breaking our stare only for a second to look down at my lips. I had to force myself to unwrap my arms from his neck, he immediately followed and let go of my waist. I wanted to grab his long, slender fingers and slide them back in place, but stopped the urge in its tracks. Now was the time to get to work, no matter how inconvenient of a time it had come at.

——

In the early hours of the morning, after Sharon had gotten everyone out of her gallery, we departed for the shipping yard Nagal was supposedly at. Awkward wasn’t a strong enough word to describe how Bucky and I were acting around each other. We’d barely said two words to one another, averting our eyes anytime they met. Something had happened out on that dance floor and we were both determined to ignore it.

“Madripoor could give New York a run for its money,” Sam commented as we walked between shipping containers.

“They know how to party,” Zemo responded, he’d spent plenty of his evening out on the dance floor demonstrating his off-beat moves.

“With that bounty on your head, the longer you’re in Madripoor, the less likely you’re ever leaving,” Sharon said as she guided us, using the coordinates she had on her phone. I followed her, relieved to have a little extra feminine energy around. “All right,” she stopped in front of a unit, “He’s in there. Container four-two-six-one. I’ll keep an eye out while you guys talk to Nagal but hurry, we’re on borrowed time.” We each took an earpiece she offered.

“I’m coming with you,” I said, immediately turning on my heel to block my brother’s argument, “I’m of better use out here if there are any problems. Let me do my job, Sam.” 

He took a deep breath and blinked, silently conceding to me. “Just stay safe,” he urged.

Inevitably, I met Bucky’s eyes that were already trained on me. He didn’t need to voice any of his concerns, they were all etched on his face. “I’ll be fine,” I said, trying to reassure both men that I could handle myself. I broke from the group to head off with Sharon, falling in step with her. 

“Hey, Sharon, you sure this is the right one? It’s completely empty,” Sam’s voice came through our comms. “Positive, it has to be,” she answered as we hurried through the yard, “How good are you and those hands in combat?” “Energy blasts, force fields, levitation,” we turned a corner and ducked behind a container, “Tell me what you need.” She threw a hand out to stop me from going any further, pressing a finger to her lips after. She peeked out from behind the unit and quickly hid again, “Guys, we’ve got company.” “What do we do?” I whispered.

Sharon raised the hood of one of her jackets and looked around us, spotting and grabbing a small metal pipe. “We buy them some time.” I nodded firmly, creating a ball of energy with my hands and waiting for her signal. When she darted out, I followed and we stealthily snuck up on the three bounty hunters nearby. Sharon began brutally attacking them with the pipe while I focused on throwing a blast at one of them, he fell to the ground unconscious. The two that Sharon had been taking on kept getting up after her beatings, I levitated one of them and threw him against a container.

“Every bounty hunter in the city is here, we gotta go!” she said into the comms, turning to me after, “Watch yourself, these people fight dirty.” As soon as the words had left her lips, another hunter appeared. He came towards us with  large knife, trying to tackle Sharon and forgoing me. I used my energy to shove him backwards, giving Sharon time to form a plan of attack. She ran towards him as he rose and twisted his arm, body slamming him to the ground and wrenching the knife out of his hand. She didn’t waste time in stabbing him in the back, quickly throwing the bloodied knife at another approaching hunter who was now trying to pull the weapon out of his forearm. Sharon kicked him into a container just as burly arms wrapped around me, pinning my arms at my sides. I kicked and flailed as he lifted me off the ground before moving to slam me facedown, I created a force field just in time and the two of us bounced off it and landed on his back. The second his grip loosened, I levitated out of it and landed on top of one of the shipping units. With an outstretched palm, I raised the wriggling man to my level and threw him across the ship yard. Below me, Sharon had a struggling hunter trapped between her legs and was choking him. I watched the man wheeze as he desperately tried to get her off of him and regain air. When his flailing began to cease, I was unable to watch the life drain from him and turned away.

A bullet flew past my head and I dropped to my belly, spotting a bounty hunter below firing a machine gun aimed where I’d been standing. When Sharon jumped out and kicked him in the back, his attention turned to her and he slammed her back against a shipping container. She pulled the barrel of his gun up and he fired a round in the sky as she held him off. She grabbed a knife stuck out of the waist of his pants and stabbed him, using his body as a shield as another hunter fired at her. I created a force field around her, allowing her to get safely behind a container to plan her next move. Pulling out the knife again, she nodded at me and dropped the corpse as I dropped my energy. She stabbed the guy lurking around the corner of the container before firing a fatal shot. I watched one last hunter come around to where she had just been standing, waiting for her to come around. I raised him in the air and flicked my fingers towards him, the gun dropping from his hands before I slammed him into another unit. After sweeping the area to make sure nobody was left, I floated down to where Sharon stood trying to catch her breath.

“We gotta go,” she panted as we ran back in the direction of the shipping container that held Nagal.

We weaved through the unit quickly, landing in the doctor’s hidden lab. “Guys, we’re seriously outta time here,” Sharon announced.

The sudden sound of a gunshot made us all jump, Sam and Sharon running to apprehend Zemo who had just fatally wounded Nagal. “What did you do?” Sharon trembled.

Bucky reached out to grab my arm and pulled me behind him, shielding me from any further attack. Just as my hand had nervously sought out his forearm, a sudden explosion threw us backwards. We harshly hit the floor, a symphony of groans escaping us all. Bucky and I had gotten separated as we’d flown and I blindly reached around for him, for Sam, anybody. “Anybody see Zemo?” Sam’s voice came through my ear.

I rose to my knees and started pushing myself up, my body screaming at me to stop. Bucky raised me up the rest of the way before pulling Sam and Sharon to their feet as well. We’d barely gotten our footing when a second explosion hit, this time from the chemicals in the lab rather than an attack. Luckily, we had gotten out before we’d been injured further. I stood behind Sharon, my head on a swivel trying to find the culprits of the ambush. “All right!” Bucky yelled, “Wait for my signal!” He hadn’t even finished speaking when Sam started shooting towards a pack of bounty hunters and taking off on his own. “Damn it!” Bucky came out from around the corner of the smoking unit and started firing at the men while Sharon and I ran around to the back where Sam was. “Can you create a force field?” Sharon shouted at me over the gunfire. “If I do, whatever bullets we fire will stay in it with us,” I shouted back at her, ducking below the barricade we now had for ourselves and next to Sam. The three of us crouched down and I began shooting out balls of energy towards each incoming bullet, deflecting each one away from us.

“And you like living here?” Sam yelled at Sharon.

“It’s not terrible!” she replied, popping up and down behind the fallen piece of metal giving us protection.

Bucky came down from his position to join us, “I thought we were gonna go left!” “You went the wrong way!” Sam stopped firing to berate him. “I was clearing the way!” Bucky argued. “Really? Right now?” I yelled.

“I came out first, you were supposed to follow me!” “And where are we now?!” “Guys, not the time!” Sharon attempted to quell their petty argument, dropping behind the barricade when her gun was out of bullets. I tuned the fighting out as I worked on redirecting the bullets. The blue energy streamed from my hands, my reflexes quick and my mind never more focused. One hunter loaded his machine gun and aimed it at me, as soon as the ammo started flying I used my energy to shove them back his way before levitating him and slamming him into a shipping unit. It was only for the split second he was suspended in the air after the hit that I caught the sight of the bullets lodged in his chest and his head cracked open from the power of my hit. He limply fell to the ground, his eyes still open yet cold and hollow.

I had killed a man.

The shock took over my body and I quickly absorbed the energy back into my body immediately. I stood there unprotected as I stared at his corpse, ripe with life a moment ago and now devoid of anything. If it hadn’t been for Sam shoving me down behind our barricade, I would have stupidly continued to leave myself exposed in horror of what I’d just done. 

Another explosion kept us down, we hesitantly peeked over the shards of metal to see a fight breaking out. While the mask was new, I knew the coat belonged to Zemo, who was now taking out bounty hunters left and right. Through the flames I could see him shove, flip, shoot and punch. He looked back at us as if to signal that he’d cleared the way to escape. The four of us took the chance and made our way out of the wreckage, sprinting through the maze of shipping containers. 

“Buck!” Sam yelled, opening the nearest unit’s door and using it as a shield while Sharon and I leapt in, avoiding the gunfire. He pulled Bucky in shortly after and closed the door, the attacker having been dealt with.

The container was dark, the only light seeping in from a few cracks in the corners. When a hand grabbed my arm, I shrieked in terror and readied my energy “Hey, hey, it’s just me,” Sam hurriedly announced his presence, “Are you okay?” Was I okay? I had just ended someone’s life, I was the furthest thing from okay. But to reassure him that physically I was fine, I hummed my answer, there were too many words swirling in my brain to say anything more.

We waited a few more minutes until there was no noise and nobody had come for us. Bucky used his super strength to punch the metal doors open, the sound of screeching tires greeting us as a vintage model drove up in front of us.

“Supercharged,” Zemo smiled from the driver’s seat.

“You’re going back to jail,” Sam said.

Zemo sighed, exhausted with Sam’s fixation on placing him back where he belonged, “Do you want to find Karli or not?”

“He’s right, we need him,” Bucky opened the passenger’s side door and climbed into the vehicle, “And there’s two of us and at least twenty of them. Come on.” “Wait, when did it become twenty?” I asked, not yet approaching the car.

“We’ll fill you in on the way,” Bucky answered. “Fine,” Sam begrudgingly agreed, “But if you try that shit again-“ “I wouldn’t dream of it,” Zemo said, somewhat unconvincingly but beggars couldn’t be choosers when it came to help and we were beggars. “Well, that was one hell of a reunion,” Sharon shut the door to Sam’s side.

“Come back to the States with us,” Sam offered.

“I told you, I can’t,” Sharon declined, the sadness I sensed in her making a flash of an appearance, “Just get me that pardon you promised me and,” she turned to smile at me, “Keep her alive, I like her.” I put a hand on her shoulder, still a little breathless from the fight. “You do the same.” 

With that, Sharon walked off into the ship yard while Sam said a quick thanks. I walked around to the other side of the car, ignoring Sam and Bucky’s back and forth as I climbed in and sunk into the seat. Even though we were safe from immediate danger, my heart was still racing and I could feel its beat pounding in my ears. I shut my eyes and held my head in my hand as we drove off, the image of the bullet stricken bounty hunter laying motionless on the ground at the forefront of my mind.

——

On the plane, everybody had retired to their separate corners and tasks. Zemo was fixing food in the kitchenette, Sam was on the phone with Torres, Bucky was cleaning his vibranium hand and I was curled up in one of the chairs with unshed tears flooding my eyes. I had never ever wanted to hurt anybody with my powers and in the heat of battle, I had used them to murder someone. I had taken a life and there was no coming back from that. Some innocent part of me that had remained through the trauma I’d seen in my life had been stripped away and I wasn’t going to have it returned. The moment played and played and played in my head, I didn’t think I would ever forget the sight…

I had been blocking out Sam and Bucky’s conversation until I heard the shield come up, or as they were referring to it, the hunk of metal.

“Maybe I made a mistake,” Sam said. “You did,” Bucky immediately agreed.

“Yeah, maybe I shouldn’t have put it in a museum. Maybe I should’ve destroyed it.”

Bucky paused before answering, “Look, that shield represents a lotta things to a lotta people, including me. The world is upside down, and we need a new Cap, and it ain’t gonna be Walker. So before you destroy it, I’m gonna take it from him myself.” The tears I was trying so hard to withhold unavoidably fell to my cheeks, I was overwhelmed. Anxiety began to fill my body as the day’s events flashed across the inside of my eyelids. It was too much. Too much.

“Y/n,” Sam’s voice across the aisle punctured the bubble of my mind, “You okay?”

“I don’t care,” I whispered, my palm digging into my forehead. “What?” 

“I don’t care,” I exclaimed, leaping out of my seat and turning to face Bucky and Sam, “About the shield, about Walker, about whatever happened on that phone call, about anything. I killed someone today, I actually ended somebody’s life and now we’re just sitting around like nothing happened. I don’t understand how you guys can be so relaxed about any of this when a few hours ago, we were landing bullets in people’s chests!” 

Sam and Bucky, to their credit, were silent as I blew up on them. When I’d finished with more tears down my face than I’d started with and a strained voice, I hurriedly made my way down the aisle and to the bathroom, locking myself in and the world out. My back slid against the nearest wall and my body sank to the floor, I finally allowed myself to sob my sorrow out.

——

Sam and Bucky sat in stunned silence after Y/n had left, only daring to consider speaking when they heard her muffled cries from the jet’s bathroom. Sam’s phone rang, it was Torres calling with information about Donya Madani most likely. He looked over to Bucky, “Someone’s gotta talk to her,” he stated, care and concern laced in his tone, “You and I both know what it feels like to make that first kill.”

Bucky sighed loudly, he knew exactly what Y/n was feeling and wanted to help her, but he wasn’t sure how he could do that. He could barely make it through a therapy session without feeling like he wanted to jump out the window, especially when Raynor started bringing up his dark past. But on the other side of the door was a woman he cared about for reasons he didn’t fully understand and she was hurting, and that was enough motivation for him to get up from his seat and rise to the occasion.

He raised his fist to knock, hovering over the door for a second before he made contact with it. “Hey,” he said, his voice raised so she could hear him, “You wanna let me in?” The silence that followed let him know that wasn’t going to happen.

With his concern growing, he grasped the metal door knob with his metal hand and twisted it till the lock broke and the knob detached. Zemo could take it up with him later, all Bucky could focus on in that moment was Y/n and the river of tears flowing steadily down her face stemming from her puffy, bloodshot eyes. 

——

I took my hands off my eyes when I heard the creaking of metal, looking up to see Bucky holding the now broken doorknob in his hand and watching him discard it on the floor. He entered the room slowly, approaching me with just as much caution and shutting the door as much as he could. The bathroom was small but he still managed to find enough room to slide down next to me, our bodies packed tightly against one another.

We rested in the heavy silence for a moment before Bucky spoke up. “I get it.” When I didn’t respond, he continued. “But he was gonna kill you and if it were my choice, I’d have saved you too.” “Yeah, I know, it was self defense but, Bucky,” I paused to look at him through my tears that were holding firm, “I still killed someone. Bad guy, good guy, it doesn’t matter. He was somebody’s son o-or husband.” “He was a low life, Y/n, and you probably saved a lot more people than you think,” Bucky said, beginning to fiddle with his thumbs like I’d watched him do frequently. “Stop trying to make me feel better about this,” I muttered, sniffling and wiping the wetter side of my face, “You were trained for this kind of thing, you volunteered for the war and knew you’d have to make these kinda calls. I promised myself a long time ago that if I ever revealed my powers, I would only use them for good. Because that’s all I’ve ever wanted to do. But after today…” I trailed off and looked down at my lap, resting my forehead against my knees, “I don’t know how to look myself in the mirror.”

The only sound filling the room was the sounds of my trembling breaths and Bucky’s steady ones. I knew he was only trying to help, but I wasn’t sure if there was anything he could say to make me feel better. “You helped save our asses today,” Bucky eventually said, his rough voice low in his chest, “If you don’t want to think about having saved your own life, think about protecting me and Sharon and Sam. Today could’ve gone south real quick and part of the reason it didn’t is because of you. This kind of stuff…it’s not easy. But it gets a little easier knowing that you’re doing the hard stuff to save good people.” I leaned back as he spoke and rested my head against the wall, watching his lips move and try to ease my conscious.  It didn’t help, but it didn’t not help. When joining Sam, I hadn’t thought about the possibility that I would have to make split second calls like the ones I made today. My naivety was my own fault. I knew that the person I’d killed today would have slaughtered  any one of us without a second thought and Bucky was right, I probably saved one of us from dying by deflecting the bullets. The deed would weigh heavily on my mind for a long time, but maybe listening to Bucky was the first step in making peace with it.

I wiped underneath my eyes until they were as dry as they could get, “Thanks, for trying at least.” Bucky sadly smiled, watching me collect myself with a deep breath and a sniffle. “Are you okay?” I asked, hoping I wasn’t crossing any lines but needing an answer, “After the whole scene in the bar?” His demeanor changed quickly, his softened features hardening and his body going stiff once again. He cleared his throat awkwardly and mumbled an ‘I’m fine’ before rising to his feet. I stood up fast enough for the blood to rush to my head but couldn’t find it in me to care. “Bucky,” I said, reaching out to wrap a hand around his vibranium wrist, “Stop.” He listened and robotically turned to face me without actually looking at me. I knew that I could never come close to understanding how traumatic acting as his past alter ego could have been, but I was determined not to let him stew in his feelings longer than necessary. Words may not have been enough in the moment, but any other option was just as risky. Maybe a little risk was what the situation called for. 

I let go of his wrist, my hands awkwardly held in the space between our chests before I surged forward to capture him in a hug. His body only tensed further as I pressed myself against him, his hands at his sides unknowing of what to do. No matter how bad I sensed it was going, I continued nonetheless. “I’m so sorry,” I whispered, my face close enough to his ear for it to create goosebumps on his neck. 

Internally I told myself to let go, I was probably making him feel wildly uncomfortable. The second I loosened my grip, his flesh arm shot out and wrapped around my waist. With a small smile, I sunk back into the embrace and let myself be enveloped by Bucky once again. His scent invaded me, a mixture of the sweat of battle and whatever cologne had remained on his body from earlier. The attractive scruff he wore brushed the side of my face, sending electric sensations through me. The arm that firmly held him to me made me feel protected, it was the first time on our journey that I’d felt well and truly safe. Bucky shifted so that his cheek was now against the back of my head, pressed into my hair. The act struck a different type of feeling in me than when we’d danced, it didn’t hold the intensity and heat. This was warm and pure, like light itself. Surrounded by him and feeling his warmth radiating through me, I was convinced that I was experiencing a glimpse of heaven.

I couldn’t tell who broke apart first but Bucky’s arm wasn’t yet ready to leave my waist. My hands lost their place around his neck and were forced to slide down to his firm chest. I looked down at their placement, trying not to think too much about what lay underneath.

“You’re not nearly as bad as you think you are,” Bucky said quietly, sparing me a small smirk.

“Neither are you,” I smiled, soaking in the rare softness that we’d been given and wondering why my pulse quickened the second our eyes met. 

A sudden knock on the door startled both of us. “Hey, Torres got intel on Madani, you guys gotta hear it.” Sam’s voice carried through.

Bucky and I instantly separated at the sound of my brother’s voice, him awkwardly putting his hands on his hips and me shoving mine in the pockets of my jacket. Whatever feeling had been in the air dissolved at the remembrance that there were so many other important matters on the other side of the door demanding our attention. Bucky pushed the slightly ajar door open and moved aside to let me out first. 

“What’d you get from Torres?” I asked, pausing outside the bathroom and leaning against the wall. I could feel the heat radiating off Bucky’s body as he stood behind me.

“Madani died yesterday,” Sam answered, reclined in his seat looking stressed, “In Riga, a city near the Baltic Sea. Zemo,” he gestured to the Baron, lounging in his seat, “He’s got a place for us to stay there.”

“Latvia,” I sighed, looking over my shoulder to glance at Bucky, “Here we come.”

——

A few short hours later, the plane’s cabin lights were dimmed and each piece of the foursome was asleep in their seats, except for one.

Bucky sat awake, switching between staring at the ceiling and Y/n’s sleeping form. She had curled up in the chair across from him and went to sleep surprisingly fast. He envied her, his thoughts were going to keep him up all night.

Once he’d gotten both feet on the ground after the Blip, losing Steve and starting his new life on his own, Bucky had recognized that he didn’t want to be alone. He still had the same dream as he had in the ’40’s; to meet a nice girl, settle down and raise some kids. Now in modern times, everything was so much more complicated than it had been then. He’d tried online dating, failing miserably and finding the whole process unnatural. He had humored Yori and gone on a date with Leah, a waitress at their favorite sushi place, the conversation turning too dark for him to handle. He wasn’t sure how he was supposed to meet the mythical One when every avenue left him confused or overwhelmed by the dirty deeds of his past.

Until she came along.

Y/n came into his life unapologetically and in the last minute he would have ever thought he’d meet someone. She had dazzled him from the start, despite his initial annoyance, and had kept him on his toes since their first meeting in the hanger. She held the same level of strength when she was telling him off in the therapy session as she had revealing her broken past. She was the only person in a long time that had been able to make him smile, genuinely smile. Not the kind his therapist told him to flash during his three step process for making amends. Bucky was jaded and cynical about the world around him, but she brought him something that looked a whole lot like happiness. But the biggest and loudest quality of hers was that she cared. She cared for everyone around her, even those that didn’t deserve it. He’d been nothing but snarky to her on their first day together and she’d still rushed to save him when she’d heard he was in trouble. She was making sure that he was alright every chance possible, not because she thought he would slip back into his old programming, but because she simply didn’t want him to suffer. All of it led up to the moment in the bathroom where she had pointed out that he had volunteered for WW2. To anyone else it wouldn’t have mattered why she chose that example, but it was everything to Bucky.

She had chosen to bring up his history as a soldier, not the soldier.

That was the moment where Bucky realized he was falling for her. It finally made sense to him why when he’d held her on the dance floor his skin felt like it was on fire, why he hadn’t wanted to let her go, why her safety had become one of his top priorities. Rather than have something to fight, he now had something to protect.

But Bucky couldn’t forget to fear in her eyes when he’d sought them out in the Madripoor bar. When he had his metal hand wrapped around the neck of the Winter Soldier’s latest “victim.” He didn’t blame her, she’d be insane not to be afraid of him. Yet she was still there for him, trying to help him through his trauma that she was knowledgable on. The thought both hurt and warmed his heart. 

As he watched her sleep, light snores coming from her lips every once in a while and her feet tucked so tightly below her legs he didn’t see how she could be comfortable, he smiled. Even unconscious she could make him smile. Y/n was a new sensation he was still getting used to but damn it all, he loved it and wished they had met under different circumstances. He could have asked her to dinner, brought her flowers, strolled through the city with her…Bucky finally felt relaxed enough to shut his eyes, drifting away and dreaming of the woman who had wormed her way into his heart.

—— We touched down in Riga in the early morning and headed for Zemo’s hideout he had in the city. Even if we were here under unfortunate circumstances, I still tried to take in as much of the city as I could. When was the next time a girl from NOLA was going to have to opportunity to be in Latvia? The four of us strolled down the sidewalk, Zemo talking more to Sam about the remnants of Sokovia than Bucky and I. We hadn’t spoken much since our conversation in the bathroom but he had made an effort to ask me if I was okay after I’d woken up. I wasn’t sure what I was but I knew that when Bucky was around, I felt a little better. 

“I’m gonna go for a walk,” he announced as we approached the stoop of Zemo’s place.

“You good?” Sam asked, only seconds before I could get the same words out.

“Yeah,” Bucky nodded, already backing away from the group, “I’ll see you guys in a bit.”

I watched him walk back down the sidewalk, fighting the overwhelming urge to follow him and wondering if there was something to it. He may have been a super soldier, but I could still protect him. If there was anything I’d learned about Bucky in the short time I’d known him was that he didn’t have any qualms about running headfirst into a fight. Bucky was also a terrible liar. Those facts were what made me worry the further I watched him head down the road.

When had this happened? When did this man I’d know only a few days become someone I cared so deeply about? Why were all my thoughts beginning to orbit around Bucky? Since the first time we’d actually sat and talked, when I’d opened up to him about my powers and my father, I’d felt something for him. Something that had only started to increase the more time we spent around each other. On the dance floor in Madripoor had been another significant incident, one that had been harder to recover from without acknowledging that there had been some sort of spark. The moment I realized I wanted as much of Bucky as I could get was in the bathroom the night before, when he’d held me in his arms until he was forced to let go. When he’d felt like an oasis in the middle of the nightmare we were in. For all his faults and demons, the man he was rang louder than anything else and had captured my heart in a matter of days.

Shit.

I had fallen for Bucky Barnes without even realizing it.

“Y/n,” Sam interrupted my thoughts, “You coming?”

His beckoning couldn’t have come at a worse moment, as I’d just broken through the barriers my mind had built. “Yeah,” I mumbled, forcing myself to turn away from keeping a watchful eye of Bucky’s departing figure. As it had been with any moment regarding the Super Soldier and I, the world always found a way to remind us there were more important matters at hand.

----

A/N: OH, we’re really in it now...Hope everybody enjoyed, feel free to let me know what you thought or if you’d like to be tagged! 

Safe Haven taglist: @tanyaherondale​ @wanniiieeee​ @asoftie4bucky​ @edencherries​ @i-reblog-fics-i-like​ @ttalisa​ @gcfty @withyoutilltheendofthismess​ @rinaispunk​ @weirdowithnobeardo​ @felicityofbakerstreet​ @godlypotterwhodiaries @eternalharry​ @voguesir​ @mizz-kraziii​ @okayline​ @smellmymisunderstoodfluff @wanderin-stories​ @nicklet94 @intricate-melody​ @aesthethickks​ @stumbleonmywords​ @simplybarnes​ @21bruhs​ @lostinwonderland314​ @superbookishhufflepuff​ @kaelyn-lobrutto24​ @zozebo​ @fandomxreaders @kittengirl998​ @sarai-ibn-la-ahad​ @i-know-i-can​ @x-judyjude-x​

[knjoodles]

sallang; taehyung | 01

pairing: singlefather!taehyung x reader

genre: fluff

recommended song: come on get higher by matt nathanson

word count: 2K

warnings/author’s note: this first chapter is slightly suggestive. nothing that i’d consider smut-worthy, but a warning never hurts! i’m also starting this as a mini-series, with short chapters and an overall short story. glad to be back!

summary: handsome, intelligent, fashionably late: taehyung seems to be a total package, and you’re all for it. that is, until his rain-checks and delayed appearances become so frequent that you feel left in the dark. what could he possibly be hiding?

sallang - a word describing the manner of the wind blowing lightly.

lowercase intended

this is a major waste of my time is what you thought as you rhythmically tapped your fingers against the clothed wooden table of a local restaurant, your knee bouncing impatiently against the floor, your free hand holding your head, glancing around in pure boredom. with how much time you’d spent staring at the wall beside you, you’d probably noted every color its paint compiled. it was your first date with a man from tinder who you realized was way out of your league — and you began to fear that he realized it way before you did.

snaking your phone from your back pocket, leg still bouncing, a deep sigh escaping your lips, you opened his profile once again. “kim taehyung, twenty-five, huh?” you filed through his tab once again, mumbling as you read. “likes reading, going to the beach… do you like being late, too?” you hissed, “because, from the looks of it, its like you get off on—”

“excuse me?”  

your thoughts of innermost annoyance suddenly subsided at the sound of a deep, masculine voice from above you. your head darted upwards to find none other than kim taehyung standing in black slacks with a complementary white shirt to match, his chest rising and falling, almost like he’d run to your date. “are you (y/n)? i’m taehyung… from tinder?” his eyebrow pricked up as he finished his sentence, an embarrassed smile cracking across his face. you stared at him for a moment, taking in the man standing before you. (y/n)? upset at kim taehyung? never. seeing him in person, you’d almost completely forgotten you were irritated.  

“yeah, that’s me. have a seat,” you smiled awkwardly, chuckling softly. you watched as taehyung hooked his casual blazer, previously wrung lazily around his arm, onto his chair. he sat down quietly, moving his seat closer to the table, adjusting his glasses and jet black hair. a moment of silence fell between the two of you, taehyung picking up his menu to appear preoccupied in the dinner menu. you smiled to yourself, catching glimpses of his eyes blinking rapidly as he excitedly scanned the text, a habit that’d already made itself known. you began to notice how he’d glance up at you every so often, chewing his lip, flustered, almost as though he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words to do it.

“i’m sorry for being so late,” he admit, sighing. “i had something to take care of earlier, and it took a lot longer than i’d hoped,” he set his menu down, toying with its edge with his finger. “i...” he paused, “i apologize. i know it must’ve been inconvenient for you.” you took this moment to eye taehyung's hands, slender and dainty, his fingers long and adequate.  

you laughed at his slightly frantic tone. “it’s fine, don’t worry about it. you’re here now, right? let’s focus on that. you wanna tell me a little more about yourself, ot should i go first?” you assured, smiling comfortingly. “your bio only tells me so much.”

“uh, okay!” he nodded, resting his hands on the table. “well, i’m taehyung, i recently received my bachelor’s and i’m aiming for a phd in english, i don’t care for coffee all that much, i love pretty much all animals you can find, and… i’m 5’11".” he introduced himself with detail as he adjusted the cuffs of his shirt, pulling them up to only reach past his elbows. “how about you?”

“oh, my turn?” you questioned, earning a giggle from the man facing you. “i guess it’s only fair. i’m (y/n), i’m pursuing law as of now, we can lay low on coffee if you’d like — i don’t really mind. i like going on simple dates, i love music recommendations, i love musicians, and i’m significantly shorter without these heels on.” you finished, content that either taehyung had a really bad sense of humor or that your finishing line made a better impression than you’d thought it ever could. 

“does this fulfill your requirement of a simple date?” taehyung inquired playfully, lightly patting the table.

“it does,” you replied, tone flirtatious. you noticed taehyung eyebrow raise and jaw tighten at your response as he cracked a smirk, entertained at the shift in energy. that look jumbled your insides, but there was no time for that. you expelled those thoughts from your mind as you cleared your throat, silently scolding yourself. your moment was interrupted by a waitress, the same one who’d pitifully watched you poke at the complimentary sourdough bread slices with an empty seat in front of you. offering to kindly take your menus and your orders, the two of you obliged. as she scurried away from your table, a notepad with messy handwriting scribbled across it dangling from her waist apron, you turned back to taehyung, whose eyes were glued to you, one of his hands caught in his hair as he ran a hand through it. “hey,” he muttered, his voice deep, his eyebrow habitually twitching upwards once more. was he trying to make you unravel in the middle of your date?

“oh my god,” you laughed, trying to shake off how flustered you were. “you can’t just do that and expect me to be okay!” you joked.

“do what?” he chuckled in return. “the deep voice? i can’t control that; it just happens sometimes,” he smiled at his lap, looking back up at you soon after. “you said you were interested in musicians?”

“i mean, it’s not a necessity, but yeah, i find musicians especially interesting.” you explained, reaching for your glass of cold water, ice half melted.  

“i don’t want to brag, but when i was in high school, i was in a band.” he grinned as your jaw dropped. your mind raced with thoughts of how flawless he was, from how well he dressed to how every secret of his made him ten times more attractive. “it was just seven of us, seven of my friends. some would rap, some would sing. i was a singer, and i was really invested in the group. after we all graduated, the group kind of fell out, but we’re all still friends. cool, huh? i would play a little bit of everything, from piano to guitar. more piano, though.” he added, tilting his glass of water towards you, his attractive grin infectious.  

“that’s crazy,” you gasped, leaning forward in your chair. “ever thought of getting the band back together? you’ve got the looks!”

“the looks?” he repeated, laughing excitedly. “you’re giving me too much credit here, (y/n),”

“i don’t think you’re giving yourself enough,” you replied, raising your eyebrows, challenging his humble temperament.  

the two of you dined contentedly, taehyung's charismatic personality and contagious smile catching you every time. the conversation, surprisingly, were never boring, they flowed into one another the way good friends converse after not seeing each other for a long time. his mannerisms and aura struck you as welcoming and comforting, as if he was a bright, warm light you wanted to step into. he was safety embodied, he was a simple, gentle man, with kindness and love pouring out of his soul. to your multiple objections, taehyung covered the bill, still feeling guilty over arriving late. a part of you inexplicably pitied him; you felt as though you should’ve at least pitched in half. it may have just been your morals being challenged, but you almost felt obligated to pay him back.  

dusting off his trousers, taehyung arose from his chair, your date coming to a close. a wave of childish frustration fell over you: you didn’t want it to end, not yet! to your surprise, he glided to your side of the table, chivalrously offering his hand to help you up. you smiled and took his hand graciously, his endless good-natured acts perplexing you. who was this guy? other than being late, was there really a flaw?

as you arose from your seat, you decided the answer to the latter question was no. this was absolutely the best date you’d ever been on: he wasn’t obnoxious, he wasn’t boisterous, he didn’t ask you for anything afterwards… you’d been with your fair share of unforgettably horrible men. taehyung was different, though: it wasn’t that he was just more decent than the men you’d previously gone out with, it was his aura, his persona, it was something above physicality that made you fall for him more than you thought you should.  

“thank you for the lunch,” you smiled graciously as he accompanied you out of the restaurant, opening the door for you as well. “this was really enjoyable! i hope we can do this again soon.”

“me too! thank you for being so nice to me despite me being late.” he returned your kind grin before grasping for his buzzing phone in his pocket, pulling it out to check an apparent text. “i, uh…” he swallowed, now visibly anxious. “would you like me to walk you to your car?” his tone completely different from his physical state.  

“i’m just over there!” you motioned to your car, stammering, confused by his sudden shift in energy. “if you have something important to get to, you go ahead!” he relaxed slightly, thanking you kindly and pulling you into a warm embrace. it felt shocking, but not in a bad way — his very intimidatingly handsome appearance contrasted with how gentle he had been with you. should you have liked him this much on the first date alone?

“i’ll see you soon! i can text you my number on tinder later. thank you again!” he jogged backwards, still making eye contact before he finished his statement, where he then turned completely and began dashing towards his car. you found him charming and funny and it made you smile.  

spinning on your heel to walk towards your car, you spun the chain of your car keys on your finger, the thought of taehyung still with you. he’d been perfect: good-hearted, humble, witty… you could go on. you sat quietly in the front seat of your car, thumbing the leather of your steering wheel. part of this felt very suspicious — how could someone be this perfect? how could someone be this enjoyable, this wonderful, this considerate? you didn’t want to feel this way about him as he felt wholly genuine, but you couldn’t ignore the feeling of possibly being lied to. was he messing with you? he absolutely could be. what would you know?

you'd thought yourself into a corner. suddenly, you felt very bad, sitting alone in your car in a silent parking lot. you closed your eyes tightly and sighed loudly, trying to expel as much upset as you could from your body. you’d just had an amazing date! you shouldn’t be feeling this bad afterwards. taking a moment to collect yourself once more, you started your car, dusting yourself off before driving yourself home, the scent of taehyung’s faint cologne lingering in your mind.

i missed u guys :}. enjoy this piece from me!

[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.

[paulbunyanstatue]

“You are being ridiculous. Just give it up.”

“I will not,” Damian growled fiercely, glowering up at Jason with a look that could rival that of a madman. He was still clad in his Robin suit save only the cape, which he detached and dropped to the cave entrance as soon as he stepped out of the Batmobile. Despite a disappointed tisk from Bruce, the black cape remained in a crumpled heap by the passenger door, where it would stay for the few remaining hours of the night. Patrol with his father was boring that particular evening, giving Damian ample energy to waste arguing with Jason now in the cave.

“You are not stronger than me.” It was obvious Jason was trying not to laugh at the absurdity, which only infuriated Damian further.

“I am.” Damian snarled. “My training greatly surpasses yours. No offense, Father,” he added softly and Bruce rolled his eyes from his chair at the computer to the side. He still wore his suit, but his cowl was pushed back to reveal tired eyes scanning the files on the screen before him. “I was trained by my mother, my grandfather, and now my father, in case you have managed to forget. Therefore, I am far superior than you in every aspect. Including physical strength.”

“Funny you should mention your mom, kid-"

“Jason!” Bruce snapped and turned in his chair to glare warning daggers at his second child.

“I was just going to say, I was also trained by his mother,” Jason hissed back, but he couldn’t hide his obvious amusement. “And you, for that matter.”

“Your time with the League was more considered babysitting, Todd, since your brain was equivalent to a scrambled egg.”

“Damian,” Bruce sighed, rubbing at his temples with his pointed fingers and turning back to the computer screen.

“You’re insane,” Jason chuckled passively, and he thought Damian was going to screech like a pterodactyl at the dismissal.

Tim entered the cave from the main staircase digging the palm of his hand into his eyelid and chewing loudly on the tip of an empty plastic Go-Gurt tube. Bruce looked him up and down, taking in his pajama shirt and boxers with a frown. His hair stuck up in several directions, like his head had met a pillow for a short time before he got up again.

“What are you doing down here, ziskayt? Shouldn’t you be in bed?” Bruce asked, voice low with a specific kindness he reserved just for his family.

Tim should have been in bed. He and Bruce made an agreement that Tim would stay in bed tonight and sleep before they worked intently together on a fast-approaching case the following day and evening.

Tim perked up with sudden intensity and approached Bruce with fast footfalls while ripping the yogurt tube from his teeth. His cheeks were only slightly pinkened at the endearment Bruce called him, as it was one his grandmother used when he was very young. “Well, hang on a sec, B. I actually had to come down here and inform you of a break through I found in our case. Check this...” he unfolded the stapled packet of papers previously tucked securely under one arm, and he smoothed it out over the table in front of Bruce. The man listened silently while Tim quickly explained his findings, leaning over the table and occasionally pushing the bangs back from his heavy eyes. Tim’s hair was longer now than it had been when he first became Robin at thirteen, to the point that he sometimes pulled it up into a runt of a ponytail just to keep it from cutting irritatingly into his eyes.

“Very impressive,” Bruce murmured after the presentation, picking up the packet for himself and flipping through the discoveries. Tim beamed and hopped up onto the computer desk, sitting down next to the monitor and facing Bruce. He returned the plastic to his mouth and chewed aimlessly, watching Bruce for his next instructions and kicking his legs lightly. His thoughts were interrupted when he heard Jason speak next.

“I bet you can’t even lift Tim,” Jason planted his hands on his hips and smirked, knowing exactly how this challenge was going to end.

Tim wrinkled his nose and furrowed his eyebrows. From his perch on Bruce’s desk, he quickly intervened before this developed further.  “No, no. Absolutely not. I am not getting involved in-“

“Too easy. Drake maintains atrocious self-care habits,” Damian interrupted with an eye roll directed toward Jason, acting as though he didn’t hear Tim at all.

Tim frowned at the blatant insult to his person, and lifted his arms up with irritation. “Hey, wait a sec-"

“He’s far thinner than he should be. That’s way too easy. Pick something harder,” Damian demanded, pointing an aggressive finger at Jason and nearly growling.

Tim scoffed and muttered, chewing furiously on the plastic, “Bruce, your kid is out of control. You should consider muzzling the mashuganas whelp.”

“Timothy Jackson-“ Bruce reprimanded and reached up to yank the Go-gurt tube from Tim’s mouth. The plastic ripped from his lips with a pop and left behind a surprised O-shaped mouth in its wake. Bruce crumbled the garbage and tossed it into the trash can tucked beneath the desk.

“He started it, didn’t you hear what he said about me?” Tim asked in bewilderment, still spinning after receiving the dreaded middle name.

“I did hear him. And shouldn’t you be in bed now?” Bruce repeated his earlier question with an eyebrow ticked in curiosity.

Tim wrinkled his nose. “I will. But I was hungry and also I had to tell you about this case first, and-" Bruce leveled a warning look at him and Tim rolled his eyes, crossing his arms across his chest. “Point stands, he is being a mashuganas whelp.”

“Drake, you should learn to keep your opinions to yourself and save us all the wasted time of listening to you speak,” Damian snapped in defense, fists clutches firmly at his sides.

Tim laughed loud and harsh at that, a sound that felt grating in Bruce’s ears with the onset of a headache. “I should keep my opinions to myself? Have you even heard-“

“Boys, that’s enough,” Bruce demanded, voice low and holding up a hand to cease all arguing. The only sounds resonating in the dimly lit cave were the quiet snickers of Jason, muffled by his own hand pressed firmly to his mouth. “I am going upstairs now.” He faced Damian with a serious eyebrow raised and stated factually. “You have school in the morning. And you,” he faced Tim, who was silently chewing on the inside of his cheek in the absence of his Go-gurt tube, “will be staying home from school tomorrow because you obviously have several hours of sleep to catch up on yourself." When Bruce found out that Tim had dropped out of school during his unfortunate leave of absence, it took him nearly an entire month of near-begging and vague threatening to get Tim to go back. Once Alfred got involved and asked Tim in the kindest, softest voice if he would please consider finishing high school, Tim was unable to refuse. "I expect to hear both of you upstairs and walking into your rooms within the next fifteen minutes.” He stood up from his chair and walked toward the cave entrance with long strides. “You do not want me to come back down here and collect you, trust me.” And without another word or a look back at the stunned faces left in his wake, he strode into the locker room to change, and then reappeared just to walk up the stairs.

But Jason wasn’t quite finished yet. “I can pick up Tim, Damian. Prove to me that you can and I’ll admit that your training was ‘far superior.’” He crossed his arms with a smirk, and Damian could no longer deny the thrilling desire to annihilate his brother in this argument.

“And that I am stronger than you,” Damian demanded and Jason agreed. “Fine then!” He threw his arms up and spun toward Tim, who scowled deeply and shook his head in response. “Oh come on, Drake. This will only take a minute. Might as well make your time down in the cave useful, for once.”

Tim scoffed and slid off the counter. He flipped his middle finger up in an insult directed toward Damian and stalked off toward the cave exit, following Bruce’s path to the main part of the house. Before he reached the stairs, Jason appeared next to him, grinning hugely like a villainous cartoon cat and wrapping a halting hand around Tim’s wrist.

“No, Jay. Stop it!” Tim hissed and tried to pull away, but Jason ducked down and scooped him up, holding him tightly in a bridal hold. “He can’t carry me, this is a waste of time.”

“Lies!” Damian protested.

Jason ignored Tim and approached the youngest. “You have to hold him for thirty whole seconds. Count starts as soon as I let go. Ready?”

Damian straightened and raised his chin, nodding with confirmation and reaching his arms out in preparation.

“Jason.” The last-second plea fell on deaf ears as Jason bent forward and delivered him into Damian’s arms. The transfer was shaky and Tim grasped at the collar of Damian’s robin suit, wishing to drag the brat down to the floor with him when he would inevitably end up there.

Jason stepped back and waited, smirking.

Tim realized with an eye roll just how annoyingly close to the ground he was in the arms of the child, but his grip didn’t loosen based on principle. Damian was huffing quietly, redness tinted his cheeks.

“See, Todd?” He hissed through teeth clenched tight with effort. “Easy.”

“Sure, bud,” Jason snickered. “You make this look so easy. Twenty seconds left.”

“This is a bad idea,” Tim muttered as he felt Damian’s legs shake beneath his carrier.

“Fifteen,” Jason announced, watching with raised eyebrows that Damian misread as surprise, when instead he was waiting for the expected result. “Ten.”

Tim grimaced, bracing himself for a hard landing. At Jason’s announcement of five seconds, and right on his expected schedule, Damian’s legs buckled and he fell forward, dropping Tim to the ground and landing with his sharp knees digging ruthlessly into his brother’s side.

Tim huffed and slapped his palms to the cold ground beneath him. “Shocker,” he murmured sarcastically and stood up, pushing Damian off of him in the process.

“That landing was pathetic, Drake. No wonder Grayson chose me,” the kid growled, wiping at the suit covering his knees.

Tim’s mouth fell open in response, a hurt crease created between his furrowed brows. But before he could respond, Jason reached out and lightly smacked the back of Damian’s head, sending him a furious warning look.

“The brat is only joking, Tim,” Jason confirmed quickly. “He’s just lashing out because he’s angry that he is the weakest person in the room.”

“The room? Absolutely not, I demand a do-over! I know I’m stronger than Drake.”

Half an hour after Bruce’s departure from the cave, he groaned dramatically under his covers. He never heard his children walk past his door and retreat to their own bedrooms. So now, due to his thin-veiled threat, he had to go get them. He threw the covers aside and heaved himself from the mattress with a grumble. Upon walking down the cold steps to the cave, he heard loud shouts that he was unable to decipher. His feet quickened on the tile until he reached the bottom, where he froze and watched with an irritated, and slightly amused, frown.

“Damian, lift more!” Tim shouted, his arms tucked under Jason’s armpits, and straining to lift his top half to Tim’s bellybutton. Damian held Jason’s calves on his shoulders and was groaning near-constant.

“Focus on your own side!” Damian cried out, more desperate than Bruce has heard from him. Damian pushed his palms up against Jason’s calves but they hardly lifted.

“Ha!” Jason crooned, sounding comically relaxed compared to his struggling brothers. “Told ya you two couldn’t lift me above your heads. My weak, baby brothers.”

Damian growled at the taunt and Tim laughed, his shaking arms dropping Jason’s top half an inch closer toward the ground before he recovered again.

“Boys!” Bruce snapped and looked at their frozen forms with narrowed eyes. “I told you to go to bed. Come up here right now before I carry all three of you up.”

They gracelessly released Jason to the floor, who landed with an “oof” that brought a chuckle to Damian’s throat and a twitch to the corner of Bruce’s mouth.

Tim and Damian fell in line to follow Bruce up the stairs when Damian asked, “Father, can you really carry all three of us at once?”

He did.

:) From my fic: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32502511/chapters/80612944#workskin

[mystic-deep]

"Sensei said girls love swans." | Okkotsu Yuuta x fem!reader

♡ ♡ ♡ description: Just a small box of chocolates, bought on a whim, gifted for no apparent reason. Or so you say.

♡ ♡ ♡ warnings: none, good bad advices from Gojo.

♡ ♡ ♡ notes: I'm working on three other stories with Nanami, Gojo and Toji but had to write something for best boy Yuuta. We're getting volume 0 animated! This was done at the speed of light so please forgive any errors.

♡ ♡ ♡ word count: 2.29 k

Valentine’s Day was quite a surprise this year. You didn’t expect the world to just revert back to old habits so soon, but then again you understood the craving for what was once considered normal. More than a year had passed since the Shibuya incident and with Gojo Satoru finally being released from his prison, things were slowly calming down.

Two major changes came as a result of the near annihilation of Tokyo, one was that now the world was aware of the existence of curses and two was the high number of people that had awoken cursed energy. What were once empty classrooms and training grounds of the Jujutsu Tokyo High School, were now filled with first year students ready to learn from the best. Although the older generation was composed of just a handful of students, they were really the top of the Jujutsu world.

All of your senpais were impressive in their own right so all of them had gathered quite a following of first years. The most popular, by far, was Fushiguro Megumi, the one that possessed the Ten Shadows Technique of the Zen’in clan. A lethal combination of looks, power and status, or so your classmates claimed.

On the opposite end of the spectrum was the third year Okkotsu Yuuta. He was a rare sight on campus and whenever he was present he didn’t interact much with any of the first years. The first time you’ve met him was during a group mission where he was there to supervise. The curse ended up being a special grade and if Yuuta hadn’t jumped in to help you, you’d all be dead. You still remember the bitterness of your classmates when he offered his feedback. Clearly he was right on all points but he didn’t honey glazed any of his words. That incident had caused a string of nasty rumours to spread and everyone in your class began to avoid him as much as possible. You guessed no one was in a hurry to offer him any gifts today.

As for yourself, you tagged along with some of the girls from your class as they chose the best chocolates for their favourite senpais. You didn’t have anyone you really wanted to gift them to, so you bought a small box purely for selfish reasons.

You headed back to campus and as you approached the training grounds you noticed that a small crowd of students were already gathered there. In the middle of them stood Megumi whose arms could barely hold the large number of gifts he had received. The deadpan expression on his face made it clear he wasn’t enjoying the attention.

“You girls better hurry, Megumi-kun looks like he has reached his limit.”

Turning around you were greeted by Gojo who was also carrying quite an impressive quantity of Valentine’s gifts.

“Sensei is really popular.”

“Please don’t sound so surprised.”

As your little conversation went on, your friends quickly abandoned you in order to join the crowd.

“Not gonna join them?” You shook your head as your hands tighten on the handle of your backpack where your box of chocolates was hiding.

“I didn’t buy any chocolates...I mean I did buy chocolates just not for...I should probably head to class.” Feeling too ashamed to admit your selfish purchase, you hurried down the path to the main entrance before Gojo could question you further.

Just as you were about to reach your destination you suddenly noticed a figure not too far from you. Yuuta was strolling along the same path and his expression was not a happy one. Your earlier guess must have been correct judging by his slumped shoulders. Now you never truly worried yourself with his well being, but it just felt so incredibly unfair that he was marginalized like this. At the end of the day, even if he wasn’t easy to talk to, he was a responsible senpai who wouldn’t hesitate to jump in to help others when needed. With that thought in mind, you quickened your pace and called out to him.

“Okkotsu-senpai! Okkotsu-senpai, please wait!”

He stopped in his track and turned to look at you with a surprised expression.

“Y/n-chan, are you okay?”

You nodded as you caught up with him, impressed that he even bothered to remember your name, and opened your backpack to retrieve the box of chocolates.

“For you senpai, Happy Valentine’s Day!” You gave him the most sincere smile you could muster and handed him the small box. Oh well, better for your cavities you suppose.

With a trembling hand he took the small gift and grinned from ear to ear. “Thank you! I’ll treasure it!” It was just a box of cheap chocolates, you thought, definitely not worth the excitement.

“Urm I’m happy you like them. Anyway, have a good day, see you around!” You practically dashed to your classroom, cheeks red from embarrassment. You didn’t know why you were so nervous or why that silly grin of his made you so flustered.

As you sat down at your desk, you wondered if you did the right thing. You didn’t want him to believe you had feelings for him and you also hoped he didn’t think you did it out of pity. You just thought it was the right thing to do at that time and it was just a small gesture, definitely not worth a second thought.

Or so you hoped until White Day arrived and you found quite a surprising gift on your desk that morning. A large bouquet of roses, there must have been over a hundred. No note though, as if the person that had left them just expected for you to know whom they were from.

You could hear the whispers of your classmates and you shifted uncomfortably. You weren’t really popular, no reasons for someone to give you such an impressive present, so of course rumours began to spread.

As you sat on a bench during lunch break with the bouquet in your lap, you raked up your brain trying to figure out who would offer you flowers.

“Oh no, you don’t like them!”

Yuuta’s voice brought you back to reality and you blinked ever so slowly as you looked at his worried expression. Your eyes dropped to the red roses in your lap and then back to your senpai that was just a few feet away from the bench you were sitting.

“These...these are from you?” Well you did gift him that box of chocolates and this was White Day, technically he was supposed to return the gift. Still, a cheap box of bonbons couldn’t compare to the expensive bouquet that he had gifted back.

“Gojo-sensei said you’re supposed to buy something impressive in order to show your appreciation for the gift you received. I didn’t know what you liked and he suggested roses, he said all girls loved red roses.”

Of course it was Gojo Satoru, it was always Gojo Satoru.

“Senpai, thank you, but this is too much! Those chocolates weren’t really that expensive.”

“No, no, they were pretty good! I ended up eating the whole box! Gojo-sensei tried to steal one away, that didn’t end up well for him.” Good, you thought, he deserved it for unnecessarily complicating things.

“Well if you say so, then I’m happy. I’ve never received flowers before, well my father bought me a bouquet when I graduated middle school but I don’t think that counts.”

“I’ve never received chocolates before, so I guess we’re both at the beginning.” The beginning of what, you wondered, as he offered you a somewhat sly smile.

“I should get these to my room before they wither.”

“Yeah I should probably head to the training ground.” You said your respective farewells before going in opposite directions. This had been awkward to say the least and you were glad it was over.

However, naivety got the best of you. The next morning you were greeted by a large teddy bear that was placed in your seat. Your eyebrow began to twitch as you heard whispers spreading in the classroom.

“Hey is that from Okkotsu? Super creepy!”

“Yeah, poor Y/n-chan.”

“What do you mean by that?” Your patience had reached its limit and with narrowed eyes you turned to look at the girls you heard whispering.

“Don’t you know, Okkotsu curses his lovers!”

“Yeah, he becomes obsessed with them and then they die in mysterious ways!”

“That is literally the most idiotic thing I’ve heard in my life.” Sure, you knew the story of Rika, but from actual reliable sources you also knew that it was a tragic accident that happened when Yuuta was only a child. It was disturbing how they twisted the story just because they were afraid of him.

“If you have this much time to waste on spreading such stupid rumours then I suggest you channel that energy in training. Otherwise you’ll be stuck at grade 4 until the end of days.” As a grade 2 sorcerer yourself, maybe you shouldn’t have looked down on them, but for some reason the way they were acting towards Yuuta was just infuriating and you found yourself becoming quite protective.

You never snapped at them like this before, if anything you were considered quite docile, so the whole class fell silent. You grabbed the giant teddy bear from your seat and stomped towards the door, nearly bumping into Gojo as the later stepped inside the room.

“Where you going Y/n-chan? Class is about the start.”

“I’m going to find Yuuta!” You huffed and walked out of the classroom, knowing full well that you will probably get punished for your actions.

“Y/n-chan is so determined! Everyone, you should have more determination as well!” That was the last thing you heard as Gojo closed the door behind you.

You began your search for Yuuta, trying to ignore the looks that the faculty members you came across were giving you. You must have looked quite ridiculous, carrying that large teddy bear around.

You finally found him near the armoury, and judging from his sweaty appearance you guessed he had just finished training.

“Senpai!”

He looked at you, almost in a panicked way and you quickened your pace so he couldn’t make a run for it.

“Y/n-chan, what-”

“Senpai, this has to stop.” You really didn’t want to tell him your real motives from that day but you also couldn’t let this chain of gifts continue.

“That box of chocolates wasn’t initially for you. I bought it for myself, I only gave it to you because senpai looked so upset. I’m sorry that you misunderstood, it’s not pity or anything, I just thought you deserved it.” You didn’t even stop to breath, you had to let it all out and explain before you lost your nerve. “I’m really happy you liked them but I don’t deserve all these presents in return.”

You looked at him and expected to see anger or disappointment, instead you were greeted with light laughter.

“You’re really cute! Maki-san said not to tease you too much because you’re such a good girl. I guess she didn’t realize how much of a good girl you actually are.” The way he said ‘good girl’ made your heart skip a beat. It sounded almost provocative.

Within a second, he had closed the distance between the two of you and his hand reached to stroke your cheek ever so gentle. Suddenly he was there and you became hyperaware of his powerful presence. You noticed the pretty colour of his eyes, how his hand was just a bit rough and how that small smirk of his made your knees weak and your cheeks burn. You gulped and he seemed to enjoy your reaction.

“I don’t mind that the box of chocolates wasn’t for me. I’m just glad it gave me the opportunity to talk to you.” At this point you felt so bad you hoped the earth beneath you would just crack open and swallow you whole.

“Anyway, you should probably head to class before Gojo-sensei gets upset. Let me get that for you.” He reached for the teddy bear in your arms but you gripped it and pulled back.

“I would like to keep this, it’s a special gift from senpai and I’ll treasure it.” Sure this all began because of a silly box of chocolates but you were also happy that you finally got to see a glimpse of him that not many people got the chance to see. Now that you had a taste of it, you wanted more.

“Well I wasn’t planning on taking it away, just wanted to help you carry it.”

“It’s fine, the whole school saw me already so I might as well parade with it back to class.”

He studied your face for a few moments before his expression turned serious.

“Y/n-chan, do you think we could go-”

“I’d love to go on a date!”

You beat him to it but you wanted to make sure he knew, even before asking, that you really wanted to get to know him better.

“I see, I’m really happy.” His hand reached for yours and gripped it gently. It never failed to surprise you how cool and confident he looked at times and then he did a one hundred eighty and turned into this awkward and adorable mess.

“I must admit this is the first time I’ve asked someone out. I’ll be sure to ask Gojo-sensei-”

“Oh no, please promise me to never ask Gojo-sensei for advice concerning girls.” He was probably laughing like a mad man while giving Yuuta such cringe worthy ideas for your gifts.

“Oh but sensei said girls love swans and-”

“Never!”

[heyitsyn]

There Once Was A Man With No Arms-

Goshiki x Manager!Tendou!FirstYear!Sister!Reader

a/n: that was a mouthful

anon request: ahhh i loved your headcanons of iwaizumi dating oikawa's sister!!! this time, can i request goshiki x tendou's first year sis na manager din ng team nila? salamatttt hehe ingat ka lagiii💞

this cute little bowl cut babie

so you are the little baby sister of our favorite red hair cutie and he was the one who offered you the manager position

ofc you accepted bc hello, you get to hang out w your brother and tease semi-semi-senpai everyday

pls let semi live

everyone likes you though bc you are their manager and you do a lot of things for them even though you dont need to

like sometimes, you stop by the store and pick up all kinds of snacks and if its really hot, popsicles and ice cream

ushijima farmer-san is known to be quite stoic and serious but he’s pretty chill around you and even ruffles your hair whenever you make a stupid joke

as a tendou, you are basically like a ctrl+v  with your brother 

the same cute teasing and bubbly personality but the quick change to serious and demeaning

the team gets stressed, especially mom, bc he has to take care of not one red-head freak but two

but he liked you more though bc you were a first year and you were this short little pumpkin and you were so nice and just all around A D O R A B L E

but you just didnt rub goshiki the right way

maybe bc he thought you were just doing this as an act and no person could really be this bubbly and cheerful

or hes just jealous his senpais attention is directed to you

he will DIE FOR HIS SENPAIS

whenever he gets a good spike, you cheer him on and say things like, ‘nice spike, tsu-chan!’ and he swears youre just doing this bc you want to kill him with a heart attack and he doesnt like feeling like this but you like torturing him

boi what is with this logic

even though he lives for praises, your praises and compliments just hits different than his senpais

before he even realized it, he started all out glaring at you and tendou, being the overprotective brother he was, pointed him out on it

‘oi, little kouhai, you got a problem with our y/n?’

at the mention of your name you turned around from talking to the coach and everyone turned to goshiki, expecting him to answer

unfortunately you didnt hear what your brother said so you were just confused

‘hm? i read the room and i am not comfortable with the energy in the gym today’

someone snorted while goshiki turned red at the attention being on him with the topic of you so he just walks away back to the court

‘oh? what was that all about?’ 

semi shushes tendou and gives you a smile

‘y/n, can you help tossing the ball for us?’

you nodded and quickly ran to the chair and waddled over to put it by the net before standing on it

everyone turned red, including goshiki and even shirabu, and busted their uwus

‘okay! let’s go!’

youve always noticed tsutomu and his determination to beat ushijima which youve appreciated bc he was so hard-working and he was talented enough

‘good one, tsu-chan!’

‘t-thanks, y/n-san’

even when no one noticed it, you were always there to give him compliments and he always grows flustered and hes just a big idiot babie and doesnt realize that your praises makes his heart beat faster bc he thinks youre freaking pretty and someone pretty complimenting him in his spikes boosts his ego

but eventually, it grew on him

instead of looking around for any senpai to praise him, he now turned to you and you would give him that adorable smile and he would bite his lip to stop himself from running over and hugging the life out of you

then he remembers who your brother is, well more like how protective the boys were

‘waka-senpai, nii-chan got sick so he wants you to stop by his dorm later today!’

‘okay’

since you were their teammate’s sister, theyve known you for a while and watched you grow from being this little middle school girl to a first year high schooler 

you were practically their sister

goshiki went to a different middle school so he never really realized how the guys treated you so differently but he knew it would be difficult to win them over for your hand

oops wait what

this thought struck him just as he was drinking water and he ended up choking on water causing you to run over from talking to semi so you could pat his back

‘omg, tsu-chan, you need to be careful!’

this was only the beginning of weeks of being weird

like he was so distracted and different that shirabu actually yelled at him and refused to give him any tosses

‘you talk big about being the ace but the slightest distraction could cost you a match. are you really being serious about being the ace or is it all just talk?’

he got all sad and mopey and he had to sit on the bench 

goshiki never got benched

he was too good to be benched!

but he was and he did not like it

you went over to him and sat next to him

‘tsu-chan, can you follow me?’

he looked up from the floor and he shrugged before following you out of the door

the others watched their first years exit the gym and they contemplated following

but tendou, surprise!, actually stopped them

‘my sister can sort him out herself. trust me’

goshiki didnt exactly know where you were taking him to until you stopped by by the baseball field where there was mud

‘y/n-san, why-’

‘you always say my name formally, why is that? im a first year too, tsu-chan’

he looked down

‘um, i-i don’t know-’

‘y/n-chan, tsu-chan. try it out’

‘y-y/n-chan’

you squealed at how cute he looked w red ears and a red face but you refrained from hugging him

then you remembered why you brought him out

‘oh right! come here, tsu-chan!’

you took a branch from a nearby tree and encouraged him to crouch down with you as you began to draw on the mud

‘there was once a man with no arms-’

you started happily singing and this was when goshiki really realized the resemblance between you and your brother

you both were happy and cheerful bc you wanted to radiate the energy to the others to be happy too

and it worked

tendou’s funny songs and jokes always made the others laugh and you did too

goshiki was happy that he was able to absorb that energy and he soon completely forgot about shirabu’s comments

once you were done, you have drawn a dog on the mud and the boy was so amazed at the sudden creation

he looked up at you with wide eyes and you laughed with a wide grin at his expression

‘hehe, its cool, right? nii-chan showed me something like that before when i got sad and it made me happy again. i thought it would work on you too’

he might have questionable feelings around you bc when you mentioned being sad, he felt weird

like he was relieved he wasnt there to see you sad bc he couldnt take it seeing your usual grin into a frown and your bright shining eyes filled with tears

‘y/n-chan, when you get sad, call me, okay? so i can go to you and make you smile like you did with me’

your eyes widened in surprise but you nodded, your grin even wider

‘im counting on you, tsu-chan!’

and he did

when he received a call late at night from you, he easily snuck out from his dorm and ran to the baseball field where he saw your crouching figure aimlessly dragging the stick in circles

‘y/n-chan!’

he huffed and panted after running so fast and you looked up before running to hug him

‘im here now. youre okay’

you didnt release out your problems on him bc you didnt want to burden him

but he understood and just hugged you until you felt better enough to return to your crouching

goshiki hurriedly grabbed the stick and began to do the same thing you did for him before

‘then he jumped onto the lake and got stung by bees?’

he stopped and frowned, realizing he wasnt right

but the frown lifted when he heard your giggle

‘tsu-chan, he got stung by bees first and then he jumped on the lake!’

the corners of his mouth lifted and he chuckled

‘heh, i guess he did. but this is my version so listen closely, okay y/n-chan?’

this might be the reason you got close w the first year

the others noticed it too since you seem to pamper him and take more time taking care of him than them

like you even started wiping his sweat for him while he just giggles when you pull on the long strands of his hair

‘tsu-chan, i want to cut it!’

‘no, y/n-chan!’

‘but-!’

he grabbed your hands and your arms around his torso so he could do the same to you and gently tugged on the ends of your long hair

‘you too then, y/n-chan. your hair is long too’

you pouted then gently punched his chest

‘mean, tsu-chan’

‘heh?! mean?! how?!’

tendou is like the best big brother ever and hes just like ‘yuhhhh get it tsutomu!!!!’

eventually, goshiki began playing even better

his complete spike percentage has increased and his jumping has gotten higher

but the team predicts that this was all because he’s trying to show off to you and your praising and compliments have motivated him to play better

forget being ace, he just wants you to praise him

‘y/n-chan! y/n-chan! did you see that?’

‘wahh!!!! so cool, tsu-chan!!”

bus trips to matches are so cute but yall lowkey annoy the players a bit

yall sit next to each other and are just leaning together as you giggle over stupid cat videos

like we get, goshiki is getting some quicker than us

i feel like before moving on to relationships, goshiki and you would be best friends first and then move on to the dating stuff

tbh, theres no difference bc yall have always been like that but theres just an offical label now

‘hey, tsu-chan, wanna date?’

‘u-um,, sure?’

yall would hang out in either his dorm or yours and yall would be alone bc the team actually trusts you but you dont know that they pass by the door ever 5 minutes and listen in to just to make sure yall are not doing anything bad

smh they so nosy but we luv them

you know of his insecurities about not being enough and his fears of not being the ace and his dreams of playing to the big leagues and his passion to continue playing on the court for as long as he can and how excited he is to be able to spend all those years with you

he knows of your insecurities about the way you look and being associated with your apparent freak of a brother but you didnt care about that and even fought someone when they said something and your deep protectiveness for the boys, especially your brother but it’s all because the boys were the ones to accept you with open arms and treat you like family

yall shared a lot of secrets amongst yourselves and tbh, your communication is just *chefs kiss*

so serious fights dont happen, like ever, just stupid little arguments that are usually resolved like an hour later

since youre also a manager, its also your job to make sure the boys are maintaining their good grades and you know that shira-senpai has given up on tutoring tsutomu

i mean,,, goshiki is smart but he gets distracted easily and ends up spacing out during lessons

yknow?

thats when the little arguments bc youd be trying to teach him the damn phythagorean theorem and hed be distracted at how come your hair was styled like that today

‘goshiki tsutomu, i will leave your ass to fail right now if you dont stop touching my hair’

‘but babyyyyyy’

‘no, ‘dont baby’ me, you idiot! you’ll be crying like a baby when you fail and you’re bench during the next game!’

oof also!

hes a protective little babie and he gets jealous easily so whenever yall have games, he literally hangs all over you 

like he makes a show of putting his jacket over you and kissing your forehead so that the other teams know to stop looking over at your direction and whispering about you

ofc this gets on your nerves but you cant help but think how cute he looks when he gets jealous

he gets all pouty and touchy and youre just like, take my uwus you big babie

even tendou is like, ‘im her brother yet hes more protective than me’

he demands to be hugged 24/7 but thats not appropriate if youre in public so he ltr drags you outside and away from people just so he could hug you

he likes hugging you bc youre shorter than him and it makes him feel all special and soft since you like to burrow your face into his chest and your sweater paws are just like ugggggghhhhhhhhh

whenever he gets nervous, you kiss his fingers and his knuckles bc it soothes him and youre just his good luck charm and he feels like he can take over the world w a single kiss from you

‘baby, didja see that?! i was so cool, right?!’

‘so proud of you, tsu-chan! youre so cool!’

‘i love y/n like a sister but if she inflates his ego more, i will have to tape her mouth’

can you guess who said that?

overall a relationship i strive for and i really want a goshiki now thanks byeeeeeee

a/n: ngl goshiki’s hair lowkey triggered me when i first saw him bc why the heck does it look like that?! but now i actually like it on him and i cant imagine any other hairstyle fitting him

[poc-movie-supremacy]

I’m coming home to you

Christopher wanted to see his Buck today and who was Eddie to refuse? They picked up Buck for a nice day at the pier. When things go from great to catastrophic, will Eddie reunite with Buck and Christopher. Based off this tumblr post by @sexyapplemilk

This story is for @sexyapplemilk/ @fandom-101 @its-like-looking-in-3d

Thank you to @not-falling-but-flying for reading over this long long fic!

I hope you guys like it!

----

Eddie and Buck had the same day off. Well Eddie had the day off and Buck didn’t have work but potato potatoe. It was Saturday so Chris didn’t have school today either. 

Eddie was sitting across from Chris at the breakfast table munching their way through breakfast. It had been a quiet morning so far, Chris was lost in his own thoughts. Eddie wondered if his kid was planning anything, but decided not to put much thought into it. 

“Daddy can we see Bucky today?” The question made Eddie cock his eyebrow. He knew that Buck had been wallowing in his bed for the past few days after he got the news he couldn’t go back to work just yet. Part of him didn’t want to disturb the younger man, but the other part of him figured this could be good for Buck. Also he can’t say no to his kid. 

“Let me ask him if he’s free.” Eddie will probably come over anyways, Buck can’t get mad at him, he had Chris. “Finish your breakfast first though mijo.” Chris shouts in joy and resumes eating his breakfast, bagel with fruits cause eddie can’t mess that up, with renewed rigour. Eddie smiles fondly at his kid while he takes a bit of fruit. 

Eddie made Chris finish getting ready for the day. They had to do Chris’s PT, get changed, fix their hair. Eddie combed his hair back, put on a nice white shirt and a plaid button up, jeans, and some sneakers. Chris put on a yellow stripped shirt and blue pants. He waited impatiently for his dad by the door. Eddie chuckled, unlocked the door then walked with his kid to the car. “What do you want to do for today Chris?”

“We can color or Bucky says he got a new video game!”

“You don’t want to go outside?” 

Chris looks at his dad curiously. Eddie helps him into the car then doubling back to get into the drivers seat. He starts the car and starts to drive. “What could we do outside?” 

“You could go to the park, play on the play structure?”

Chris wrinkles his nose. “Bucky can’t fit on it though, I know, we’ve tried.” Eddie laughs out loud at that. The idea of Buck trying to fit into a play structure is way too amusing. 

“Well okay then, no park, we could… go to the laser tag?”

“I promised I’d go with Denny next week though.”

“Hmmm yea we gotta keep our promises don’t we?”

“That’s what you always say.”

“Well maybe Buck will have better ideas huh?”

“Bucky has the best ideas!” 

---

They get up to Buck’s apartment and Eddie doesn’t knock, instead he just lets himself in. The apartment is eerily quiet and Eddie wonders if Buck wasn’t home. “Buck, Hey Buck me and Chris are here to hang out.” He looks around the apartment for any signs of his best friend. 

“Daddy look.” Chris points up to the loft to the mass on the bed.

Eddie smiles proudly at his kid. “Good job mijo. Go sit in the living room while I go rouse Buck.”

“Can I watch tv?”

“Sure kid.”

Eddie sets Chris up in the living room before heading up to Buck. The bedroom is a bit messy, loose clothes strung everywhere. The blinds are closed and all the lights are off. Any evidence Buck is here is the gigantic mass on the bed. Eddie frowns in worry, before getting to work. He opens up all the blinds and repeatedly pulled the covers off of Buck to force him to get up.

“Dude I have nothing to do today.”

“Nope, you're taking me and Chris, more importantly Chris, somewhere today. Heads up, he’s vetoed the park and laser tag and he’s downstairs. Get changed and start thinking of places to go. I’ll make you something to eat.”

Buck looks at him incredulously. “Eddie, you can’t cook.”

“Yea it’ll probably be toast or a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, but food is food and you need to eat.”

Eddie watches Buck calmly. Anger, confusion, acceptance and happiness flit across his face. He gives Eddie a smile before turning around. “Okay Eddie. Anything for my favorite Diaz.”

Eddie knows he means Chris, he still leaves the loft with a small smile.

---

The Diaz’s make Buck a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with some strawberries Eddie found in Buck’s fridge. Buck’s in a white shirt and a plain pink button up. His hair is slightly gelled up and any trace of sadness was gone from his eyes. Happily he let Chris pull him to the kitchen table. “Wow this all looks so good buddy, did you make it?”

Chris beamed. “No Dad helped a bit.”

“You coulda convinced me otherwise.” 

Chris giggled as Eddie rolled his eyes, “I cut up the strawberries.” Buck made a small noise of understanding before starting to eat. Chris quietly colored beside him. Occasionally he stole Buck’s strawberries. If Buck cared he didn’t comment on it.

“So have you picked where we’re going Buck?” Eddie asked.

“Yes actually, May’s been talking about visiting the Pier with her friends and I figured  if it was good enough for her, it’s good enough for us right? You wanna go to the pier buddy?”

“What’s on the pier?”

Buck’s face lit up in a blinding smile. Quickly he starts listing off all the unhealthy snacks sold at the pier. Eddie shakes his head and mock glares at Buck, but he only gets a cheeky grin in response. 

“You’re going to give him such a sugar high. Ugh, if you want to do this you have to put him to bed tonight.”

“You’re going to stay with us for the whole day?!” Chris smile could put the sun to shame. He looked eagerly between his father and his Buck.

“Sure Buddy if that’s what you want.” Chris nodded his head so fast he looked like a bobble head. 

Buck chuckled, “Okay buddy, I’ll hop you up on sugar then have the pleasure of tucking you in.” Buck sent Eddie a teasing smile, only to receive an eye roll in response. 

Once Buck finishes his food, the boys head for Buck’s jeep. They could’ve ridden in Eddie’s truck, but Buck likes driving more than Eddie. Chris’s car seat is transferred to the back of Buck’s jeep and they all pile in. Some top 40s song blares from the radio as they head to their destination. 

The wind feels nice in Eddie’s hair. He stares out the window as he listens to Chris and Buck have an animated conversation. Eddie doesn’t really pay attention to it, but it still sounds nice, his son and best friend being happy.  

“Will you ride with us Eddie?”

“Hmm?”

“The bumper cars? Do you want to ride on the bumper cars with us?”

“Oh why not. You sure though, I’ll kick your butt.”

Buck squacks offendedly. “As if, I’m a pro at bumper cars Diaz. In fact I should be asking if you’re okay going against me.” Buck flashes him a cocky smile and Eddie gives him a deadpan stare. He’s impossible yet so endearing. Eddie can’t bring himself to hate it, any of it for a second. 

----

Going to the pier, Eddie will admit, was a very good choice. The smell of fried food and the noise of the amusement park rides was relaxing. It felt like being back at the state fairs in Texas. Buck and Chris dragged him along to every ride and Eddie went willingly. He doesn’t remember the last time he had so much fun. 

Eventually they tired down. Eddie was sitting on a bench next to Buck with a frankly gigantic brown bear on his lap. Chris is watching the surfers surf the waves down below with Buck holding onto his shirt. Eddie let himself relax after spending a whole day running after a child and a golden retriever. When Chris comforted Buck, Eddie snuck a photo of the moment. Buck was smiling sadly up at Chris while Chris held Buck’s chin in his hand. It was so sweet Eddie could’ve gotten a toothache.

He went about saving the photo when Chris started talking again. “Where did all the water go?”

---

So there was a Tsunami in California, and Eddie was in the middle of it. He really can’t have nice things. Immediately Buck grabbed Chris and together they started running off the pier. Man can’t outrun nature though and they were barely halfway across the pier when they got swept away.

---

Buck tightened his hold on Chris as he felt the water slap them around. As much as he wanted to keep Chris with him, he wasn’t stronger than the water. Eventually Buck felt Chris get torn away from him. Debris the tsunami picked up hurtled toward him. He could feel little nicks appear on his arms and legs. 

When he finally broke through the surface, he spotted Chris clinging to a pole twenty feet in front of him. Carefully he angled his body so the water would take him to Chris. When he got close enough he leaped and wrapped his arms around Chris. With the same intensity, Chris clung to Buck tightly. It was nice to have proof that Chris was safe. After hearing the little guy cry out for him and Eddie, he wasn’t letting Chris go anytime soon. 

For a while the duo was at the mercy of the water, but when Buck spotted a half submerged fire truck, he used his reserved energy to swim towards it. Once there, he lifted Chris onto it and then lifted himself onto it. The whole act hurt his leg, but Buck didn’t voice his pain. Quietly he breathed a sigh of relief. The open air stung his fresh cuts and his soaked clothes clung to him uncomfortably. Chris climbed into his lap and rested his head on Buck’s chest.

“Bucky, where’s my dad?”

Buck sighed, not wanted or knowing how to answer this question. “It appears that we got separated when the wave hit, but that can’t be permanent right buddy? When the water recedes we’ll go search for him okay?” Silently Chris nodded. Buck carded his hand through his curls and let his head gently hit against the truck. He breathed deeply once before getting into action.

“Hey superman, can I give you a quick check-up? I wanna make sure you aren’t too injured.” Chris nodded and Buck went about a modified version of the paramedic check up. (He’s been around Hen and Chimney to know it by heart. He also is a certified EMT.)

“You’re all healthy, kid, just a few cuts but that’s okay. Pretty amazing, I need to know your secrets.” Buck poked Chris’s cheek to make him giggle. He succeeded.

“I had you. You saved me.”

---

Somewhere along the way Eddie got separated. In the water he tried to reach for Chris or Buck, but his hand kept getting smacked by debriefs. He did it enough times that he was sure his wrist was sprained. 

When he finally broke free from the waves he couldn’t tell where he was. There were string lights hanging above him and a row of nondescript red buildings. Eddie let himself be dragged along with the waves while he thought of something to do. Buck and Chris weren’t beside him, making him officially alone. He hoped they were still together, the thought of all three of them trying to survive this on their own was enough to puke. 

He clutched onto his St. Christopher’s medal as he searched for someplace to grab onto.  There were inflatable toys, scraps of metal, and spare tires; but nothing safe to actually hold onto. Eddie tries to groan in frustration, but he ends up swallowing a mouthful of water instead. 

After another half-hour he finally sees an awning of a restaurant. He makes his way over and lies down on the awning. He breathes in deeply and lets out a slow breath. He’s safe. He’s safe and alive and all alone. Dread tries to settle in his stomach at the thought of his son. He knows he can’t think like this, but god it’s so easy too. He can only hope that Buck is with Chris, Buck will keep Chris safe. 

--- 

When the water finally recedes, Buck climbs down the truck. The nice lady, Mrs. Violet, hands Buck Chris before climbing down herself. “Stay safe you two. Good bye.” Chris waves goodbye and Buck gives her a megawatt smile. She’s nice company while they were stuck on the truck. Buck hopes they find their husband. He waits to make sure everyone else gets down safely too. 

The winds from earlier have died down. The warmth from the midday sun beaming down on him feels nice. His clothes have dried into uncomfortable messes, but it’s fine. He gave his pink button to use a tourniquet for a man with a bloody arm. 

Chris tightens his hold on Buck, shifts around to get comfortable, then goes lax in his arms. “You don’t want to be let down buddy?” Chris shakes his head. Buck hmmed in acquiescence . 

As an eight year old, Chris is hesitant to let people hold him. He says he’s too old for it now. The first time it happened Eddie called Buck to drink with him. Buck agreed and listened as Eddie complained at how big his kid was getting. The fact that Chris was willing to be held right now meant that he was more scared than he appeared. It made Buck worry and want Eddie. He shouldn’t be here, Eddie needs to be here to console his kid. 

Buck hiked up Chris further up his hip then started walking. He didn’t know which way he should go, just hoped wherever he went would lead him to Eddie. 

---

Eddie fell asleep. He fell asleep on top of the awning waiting for something to happen. It wasn’t a great sleep, he kept seeing Christopher get torn away from him. Eddie shocked himself awake and took stock of his surroundings. The water was gone, leaving in its wake the debris it swept away. Also dead bodies. If Eddie had anything to puke up he’d be hurling. 

Okay, okay, you can’t stay here. You gotta go find your kid. How… Eddie thought. Call someone? Call Buck! Or Bobby or Carla! Hope invigorated him to pull his phone out despite the fact that his wrist was definitely broken. Hope left him when he saw his completely waterlogged phone. Okay Plan A was bust on to Plan B… whatever that was. 

The awning was connected to a pole that he could climb down. Best way to find his kid and his best friend was to look for them. Slowly he made his way to an edge of an awning. Then he edged himself off the edge slowly and feet first. Eddie wrapped his feet around the pole and shimmied down. 

There were a few stranglers around him, similarly confused and lost. He tried asking them if they’d seen his lost kid or best friend. Unhelpfully they shook their heads no. Eddie sighed and continued walking. 

----

Buck’s arms were on fire. His leg was also on fire. He’s pretty sure he was also bleeding something… not good. Holding Chris and walking around for hours in the hot sun hadn’t been kind to him. Buck was still searching for Eddie or a hospital. Finding Eddie was better than finding a hospital, but at this point he’d take either.   

Technically he had found two hospitals already, but they were filled to the brink. The wait was astronomical and there was no place to sit. And there was no Eddie. He let a nurse check Chris out and give them some supplies, water and granola bars, before heading out. In hindsight he should’ve also asked for a phone to call someone but he forgot. 

Chris had long since passed out in his arms. The kid's soft breaths on his necks was very reassuring. It was part of the reason Buck didn’t want to let him down. Another reason was because he wanted to physically pass Chris off to Eddie. Who is fine. He’s healthy and fit and able to carry his kid when Buck finds him. ‘Cause he will find him, Buck can’t not find him.

Chris shifting in his arm brought Buck back to the present. “Bucky? Bucky, I'm tired.”

“I know superman, you’re okay. I heard there's a new hospital a few blocks from here. They’ll be able to help us.”

“Okay Bucky. Can I have ice cream when we get there?”

“We deserve it don’t we? Still need to ask your dad though buddy.”

“Why? He’s not the boss of you?”

“This is a trick.”

--- 

After searching for Buck and Chris for five hours (and getting nowhere his evil mind adds) he’s starting to lose hope he can find them on his own. No one has seen a tall man in a pink button up nor a little boy in a yellow striped shirt. Eddie’s poor heart doesn’t know whether or not to implode at that. By now the sun has started setting. The winds aren’t as refreshing as they once were. 

As he made his way down another debris filled street, two first responders found him. Eddie resists their attempts at checking him over for any injuries at first. He needs to find his partner and his kid, but he’s also tired. The first responders seem to pick up on this. They promise him that they’ll help him find his kid and partner if he just cooperates. This is how they cajoole him into going to a hospital. With promises of phone calls to his kid and a message passed around to the other first responders that Firefighter Eddie Diaz of the 118 is looking for his partner Evan Buckley and his son Chris Diaz. 

This satisfies Eddie a great deal and he then becomes a much better patient. (He’s still grumpy and aloof, but now he’s tolerant). He’s almost fine, acquired a cut on his right arm, broke his left wrist, is dehydrated and exhausted. One of the first responders tosses him a bottle of water on the way to their destination. Eddie finds out when they arrive that it’s a VA hospital set up specifically as a halfway point for the sick and wounded. 

The first responders usher him in through the door and into the hands of a nurse. They describe his injuries, and tell her about his missing family. He’d correct them but the statement doesn’t feel wrong anyways. The nurse takes him to a free cot before giving him a check up too. 

The first responders hit the nail on the head with his list of injuries. Since it’s not severe he doesn’t need to be transported to the hospital right away, although it is recommended. She leaves to go get him pain meds and once again, Eddie is alone. The people in the cots beside him don’t count. Hell one’s unconscious and the other one is having an intimate looking conversion with a loved one. There are tears, Eddie looks away.

To keep himself busy Eddie makes a to do list of what he needs to do next. Find Christopher. Give him a big hug. Give Buck a big hug. Sleep. Tell people he’s okay. Buy a new phone. Buy ice cream. The last one isn’t technically an emergency but forgive him he’s in pain. 

The nurse comes back with a wrap for his wrist and disinfectant and band aids. He finishes his water while she works. The nurse tells him he’s lucky his wound isn’t infected. Eddie nods, mind focused on something else.

“This is awkward, but my phone got damaged in the tsunami and I need to tell some people I’m okay. Is it alright if I borrow your phone and make some calls?” 

The nurse smiles and nodds. She gets out her iphone, unlocks it and gets out the phone app. Eddie takes it gingerly and thinks of who to call first. His parents? Ha. He could call his sisters, but if they don’t know then he didn’t want to worry them. He’d call Tia Pepa but she’s probably with Abuela already so calling Abuela’s home phone is the best bet. 

She’s calm if not incredibly saddened when she picks up the phone. Abuela  lets out a fast stream of spanish that’s said through tears once she realizes its him. He waits patiently for her to finish talking before reassuring her she’s fine. Eddie wants to tell her about Christopher, but he’s worried about Abuela having a heart attack so instead he promises to bring Chris over for lunch tomorrow. He then talks to Tia Pepa for a bit, but there’s not much new to say because Abuela had the phone call on speaker. She thanks god that he’s okay and that he better see her as soon as possible.

When they hang up he immediately calls Bobby. As he waits for him to pick up the phone he gives the nurse a sheepish smile and promises that this is the last call. 

“Hello Bobby Nash, who is this?”

“Bobby? It’s Eddie, listen, my phone got damaged in the tsunami. Buck, Chris and I were at the pier and I can’t find them anymore Bobby.”

“Hey, hey, hey, Eddie, you need to breathe. Okay breathe.” Eddie rubs his hand over his eyes as he takes a deep breath. 

“Okay Where are you right now.”

“The new VA hospital they set up.”

“Okay I know where that is. I’m going to send out a message to keep an eye out for Buck and Christopher. I’ll also ask Maddie to start calling the hospitals to see if they have Buck. We’re going to find them okay Eddie. Buck’s a fighter, we’re going to find him and Chris.”

“I know Cap it’s just-.”

“Hey Hey, this isn’t your fault, you can’t blame yourself for this. Stay there at the hospital so we know where to send Buck and Chris when we find them.”

“Yeah okay, okay, okay.” 

“Okay, are you okay?”

“Umm yeah I’m fine, shallow cut and sprained wrist. I’m fine Cap, it's Buck and Chris.”

“I know that, but I worry about you too. I gotta go, they need me, but take care of yourself okay? Stay safe?”

“Yes sir.” Bobby hung up and Eddie gave the nurse back her phone. 

The nurse left almost immediately to tend to other patients. Eddie took a deep breath before taking the next step. He knew someone had to have a list of patients at this hospital somewhere, he just had to figure out who. Eddie got up from his cot to start looking around. 

The first few people were a bust. Lady #1 was actually a nurse who just finished tending to a patient. Man #2 was actually an off duty first responder helping out. Lady and Man #3 and #4 were family of some of the victims of the tsumai. Eddie was starting to get frustrated. He needed to find his son and partner quickly. The longer they were out there the more Eddie’s insides turned into knots. 

He walked forward towards the entrance and saw a woman with a clipboard. “Hello ma’am is that a list of patients for the VA hospital?”

The woman turned toward him and smiled politely. “Yes it is. Who are you looking for?”

“My son Christopher Diaz. He’s 8 years old and about 4 feet 5 inches tall. He was wearing a yellow striped shirt and khakis. I’m also looking for my partner Evan Buckley. Late twenties 6’2’’ wearing a pink button up, white shirt and some jeans. He has an identifiable birth mark on his right eyebrow that could be mistaken for a burn scar.”

The lady pursed her lips as she scanned through the papers. Eddie tried not to loom or tap his foot as he waited. When her face fell and she frowned he tried not to cry or get violent. “No, I’m sorry sir, I don’t have anyone like that listed here. They could be at another hospital, or,” the lady pointed to a nearby tent, “they could be there.” 

Eddie followed his gaze to the place she was pointing at. “The, the-” black trash bags were piled in front of a stark white tent. That could mean it was only one type of place. 

“I’m so sorry sir, if your family is actually there.” Eddie barely nodded at her, listlessly making his way over to the tent. Part of him wanted to believe that Buck and Christopher was at another hospital, but if they were, wouldn’t they have been found by someone. Wouldn’t Eddie have tangible proof that they were alive? Tears started streaming down Eddie’s face. His knees started to wobble as he started scanning through the list of the deceased kept just outside the doors of the tent.

---

“Eddie! Has anyone seen an Eddie Diaz?!” A loud voice echoed in the background. Eddie frowned. It sounded a lot like Buck, but he- the lady said he was-

“My name is Evan Buckley, have you seen Edmundo Diaz?” The voice was slightly softer this time. Eddie turned around and almost fell to his knees. There, bathed in the LED lights was his best friend clutching his child in his arms. Eddie sobbed and started running to them.

“Buck! Buck!” 

“Eddie?” Buck wanted to run to Eddie, but walking was hard enough. He stayed where he was and let Eddie run into him. It didn’t take long. Buck quickly felt Eddie wrap his arms around both him and Christopher. 

It was then in his best friend's arms that Buck finally let the weight of the day catch up to him. His knees buckled and he went boneless in Eddie’s arms. Said man took it like a champ, first he made sure he had a secure hold on Chris, then he let himself sink to the ground with Buck. The younger man rested his back on Eddie’s chest and relaxed. The uncomfortable, burning pressure on his legs and arms was finally eased. Buck made a happy little sigh and burrowed further into Eddie, just as Chris was doing in his sleep. Maybe he should’ve been embarrassed by it but he just spent over five hours slowly losing hope that he would ever find Eddie alive. It would take the fear of God to separate them. 

Eddie seemed to have the same idea. The arm that wasn’t around Christopher tightened around Buck’s waist. The younger man could hear his partner murmur prayers in what he thought was spanish. Tears, of what Buck hoped was relief fell from Eddie’s face onto Buck’s shoulder. 

“Oh god, oh my god, I thought- I-” Eddie rambled, finding his voice again.

“Hey, hey hey, I’m fine. Me and Chris are all right.”

Eddie made a disbelieving noise. “Okay my leg hurts like a bitch and I probably have one too many cuts, but it’s nothing life threatening.” 

“You wouldn’t lie to me?”

“Not after the day I’ve had.”

“In a minute we should get you checked out.”

“Aww you can’t do it for me?” Buck shifted his head slightly to bat his eyes at Eddie.

“No, an unbiased professional should handle you,” Eddie whispered hoping the night sky would hide his blush. Buck nodded and listened to Eddie breathing. 

“We’re okay, we’re okay, we’re okay,” Buck whispered, like a mantra. He brought Eddie’s hand up to rest above his heart so Eddie could feel his heart beat. “We’re okay, we’re okay, we’re okay,” Even though Buck actually did need medical help, the trio stayed like that a little while longer, basking in the fact that all three of them were lucky enough to make it out alive and to return to each other. 

[twisted-tales-of-all]

A Trip Through Memory Woods

human!reader x wolf-hybrid!Jaehyun ;; Kinktober Masterlist sub!female!reader

“Anon” Request

Summary: Your life-long friend and now boyfriend wants to celebrate your 3 year anniversary with a surprise. Remembering the old days, you decide to make new memories at the same time.

Word Count: 2371

Contains: long-term relationship!au, friends-to-lovers!au, outdoor sex, unprotected sex, mating, knotting, oral sex (female receiving), praise, lots of fluff

A/N: I am posting this one now because yesterday was the anniversary of me and the requester being mutuals for a year. Love you bby, enjoy ^^ also there’s one line that I hate because it’s lowkey meta but couldn’t bring myself to remove because it’s stupid funny to me

As a child, you lived in an area where the only neighbors you had were the creatures that lived in the woods behind your house. Whenever you'd get bored, you would roam the woods and try to make friends with the animals you'd find. One evening, you stay later than usual, humming a tune as you sit on a tree stump and enjoy the scenery. You hear some rustling that draws your attention to a nearby bush, where you see a silver tail resting on the side.

Without thinking, you get off the stump and kneel on the ground, hoping the animal would come out of hiding. More rustling accompanies its movements as it peeks out from behind the bush. You're shocked when you see a human face emerge.

"Hello? I haven't seen you here before. Where are you from?" You ask as you stand up and slowly walk towards the stranger.

Immediately, they flee. You go back to that same spot every day for the next few weeks. When he shows up, he gradually moves closer each day, so long as you don't move from the tree. After a while, he sits next to the stump and bumps his head against you lightly to let you know that he feels safe enough to talk with you.

"Hi! I'm Y/N. Don't worry, I'm nice. Do you have a name?"

He stares up at you for a bit, and you can almost see the mental debate he has with himself.

"Jaehyun... I'm Jaehyun."

"Nice to meet you. Why do you have a tail, Jaehyun?"

He doesn't quite know how to respond, so you brush it off, and the two of you talk until your mom yells at you to go back inside. Over time, you become very close to Jaehyun, telling him about school and your parents. He takes an interest in school, asking you numerous questions and asking you to teach him how to read and write. You teach him four days a week, and, by your 14th birthday, he can read and write as well as anyone your age. 

As the years go by, you continue teaching him everything you learn, including giving him college applications. He asks where you're applying, only applying to those same schools. When you both receive acceptances, he keeps track of which ones you both get, and he follows you to the school you end up choosing.

Rather than living in the dorms, your mom pays for you to have an apartment nearby. Jaehyun moves in with you, and the two of you adjust to college and city life together for the first year. In the summer following that year, Jaehyun asks you to be his girlfriend. You accept, teasing that you thought he friend-zoned you since he waited so long to ask. Now, nearly three years later, you two are happier than ever.

"Y/N, do you think you can take Saturday off from work? There's something I'd like to do for our anniversary."

"Hm? Sure, I can try. Do I get to know, or is this one of your wacky surprises again?"

"I'm planning a trip, baby. It'll be fun." His innocent smile lights up the room as he says just enough to pique your interest without giving anything away.

When Saturday rolls around, your boyfriend wakes you up earlier than usual. He already loaded the car with a picnic basket and some blankets, so he tells you to dress comfortably and come to the kitchen for a quick breakfast before leaving. While you groan and complain about being awake, his boundless energy never falters. Once you're on the road, Jaehyun puts on a playlist of songs that came out the year you met. You compliment him on going all out, but the sleepiness takes over again, so you sleep for the second half of the trip and miss a good majority of the playlist.

He wakes you gently when you reach your destination, and you open your eyes to countless trees.

"Where are we? Did you take me to a forest to murder me? I knew this day would come. Damn, I wasn't prepared."

He flicks your forehead, "Quit joking, you idiot. Look." He points to the left, towards a cabin, "Recognize where we are yet?"

At first, you don't. When you look at the building for a bit longer, however, you realize he brought you back to where you lived when the two of you first met.

You turn to him, wide-eyed, "Oh god, you brought us home!"

His proud smile beams at you as he nods, "I contacted the people who bought it after your family moved out, and they said we could come over today and visit the area. They're out vacationing this week, but they left me the key if you wanna look inside."

You're already halfway out of the car when he finishes talking, but you don't really care to explore the house at all. Even though you lived there most of your life, the surrounding woods hold much more significance than the building itself. So, to Jaehyun's surprise, you walk past the house, trying to find the small clearing you used to sit in. Jaehyun follows you wordlessly until you stop at one particular tree stump, slowly lowering yourself onto it.

"It's here, isn't it? This is the spot we met. I remember it clearly. I'm so glad I eventually stopped hiding and went up to you." He sits down on the floor next to you, just like that first time when you were kids.

You tease him for taking forever to approach, just like he took forever to finally ask you out, but then a comfortable silence falls over the two of you as you both embrace the familiar sights, sounds, and smells of these woods. Neither of you would admit it, but you both missed this feeling while in the bustling, never-sleeping city.

When you stand up to break the silence, you question your boyfriend, "You said the owners won't be home today, right?"

"Uh huh. Why?"

"There's something I had a dream about a while ago that I wanna try out. Do you think you'd be down?"

"What do you have in mind, babe?"

"Well, if nobody is around... We could have some fun here. Make more memories for this spot."

"Oh~ I see what you mean." He stands up and puts his hands on the stump on either side of you, leaning his face close to yours and forcing you back to a seated position out of shock, "How do you wanna do this?"

Seeing his tail swaying behind him, you realize that you've forced him to adapt fully to human life, so you want to experience at least one thing from the other side of him, "How do wolves have sex? They mate, right? Wouldn't it be super special if we mate here? Mating right where we first met attaches another special first to this spot."

He moves one hand up to cover the embarrassment written clearly on his face, "Y-You know wolves mate for life, right? Asking to mate with me is a stronger pact than marriage."

You reach up and ruffle his hair, "As if I'd want anyone else. You're so oblivious sometimes, Jaehyun. I waited years for you to ask me out. I'll gladly be linked with you for life."

His hand and jaw drop at the same time as he looks at with the widest eyes you've seen on him. You can't help but laugh at him for not even suspecting you felt this way despite you being so obvious about it. You leave a quick peck on his nose to bring him back to reality, which results in him pulling you to his chest, hugging tightly. You can feel his body sway as his tail swings wildly from joy.

As he pulls away, he verifies with a bright smile, closely watching your eyes, "Should we mate here, then?"

You simply nod, smiling just as brightly back at him. Without wasting more time, he pushes his lips against yours. The kiss is rough, but not forceful. He reaches one hand behind your neck, supporting your head as his tongue parts your lips and dances with your tongue. Clearly, your boyfriend planned this moment in his head, as he works through the process just as a writer would describe the perfect make-out session. As his free hand lightly pushes you down until you're laying on the stump, he positions his body in between your legs.

With one hand now holding himself up, he pulls away from you to bring his free hand to your stomach. He hooks his thumb under the edge of your shirt, slowly lifting it to reveal your simple, black bra. He lifts the shirt over your head, and you quickly unhook the bra to help him out. He piles the clothes on the ground, throwing his shirt there as well. The cool air hits your hot skin, but he keeps removing clothes despite the cold.

He removes his pants first, then reaches for yours. He looks at your face to verify your consent and begins removing them only after you give him a nod. Soon enough, you're both naked in the middle of the woods as the sun begins to set. Jaehyun drops to his knees, deciding to give you some attention before the sex.

He starts with one big lick, then adds soft licks to your clit. He adds two fingers into your hole, slowly moving them in and out as he alternates between licking and sucking your clit. Your soft moans encourage him to continue, so he keeps it up as your moans get louder. When he hits the right spot inside you, a hand flies to his hair, and you let him know to aim for that same spot.

You feel the tension in your muscles as you get closer to your high. He never once lets up, even when you scream that you're about to cum. You buck your hips against him as you cum, riding out your high as all the tension releases. He pulls his fingers out, sucking the juices off them as he stands up again. He leans over you, smiling at the look on your face.

"That feel good, baby?" He asks as he brushes a stray hair out of your face.

"It felt amazing, Jaehyun." You watch his eyes as they follow his hand's caring movements around your hairline and jawline.

"God, you're so gorgeous."

He continues tracing parts of your body as he waits for you to recover from the orgasm. When he notices your breathing returns to normal, he stands up straight once again, asking if you're ready. You mumble out an agreement, so he lines himself up with your entry. He pushes in slowly, both of you holding your breath until he's fully in. You both exhale and stay there quietly for a bit, adjusting to each other's bodies. When Jaehyun begins moving, he starts slow. You feel everything he does; every little movement feels amplified due to the speed. You beg him to go faster, hoping to feel him hit the right spots. He listens to your request without hesitation, his breathing getting heavier as he does every movement in an attempt to please you.

When he starts losing control, he pulls out, cursing under his breath. You look at him, confused and slightly upset by the emptiness, but he motions for you to turn around. You stand up and turn, bending over the stump and using both hands to keep yourself steady. He holds onto your hips tightly as he pushes back inside you. With the curve of his dick, he immediately brushes against your soft spot, making your legs quiver.

"You alright, babygirl?" He freezes, worried he hurt you.

"Yes, babe. Please, keep going. It feels amazing."

He starts moving again, faster than before. The grip on your hips tightens, sure to leave bruises. After a few minutes, you scream about being close to orgasming again. He replies in between grunts, stating that he's close, too.

"Cum with me, babe." His voice sounds huskier than usual, and it pushes you over the edge.

He lets himself release as he feels your walls clench around him. The warm liquid fills you as he knots, keeping it all inside. His nails dig into your skin as it happens, but you barely notice during the seconds of bliss you experience.

He slumps slightly, resting his forehead on your back as he catches his breath and calms himself down. After pulling out, he takes a seat on the tree stump and pulls you into his lap, hugging you close. You cuddle into his chest and listen to his heartbeat. Your beat syncs with his as you begin drifting asleep in his embrace.

"Don't fall asleep yet, baby. Let's get cleaned up inside and get dressed. You can sleep when I drive us back." He pats your head to keep your attention.

You grumble, not wanting to get up, and mumble out an excuse to sleep now, "But then I'll miss the playlist you made again. I wanna hear it."

He stands up, carrying you in his arms, "It's a playlist, Y/N. You can listen to it whenever you want. Now, let's go, lazy butt."

You wiggle around until he puts you down, accepting your defeat. You grab the pile of clothes and follow Jaehyun into the cabin.

From the looks of it, the new owners haven't changed much at all, so walking inside feels very nostalgic. You sigh, relieved, as some part of you expected it to be entirely remodeled. Jaehyun sees your relief and smiles to himself, proud that he planned this trip. At this point, you take the lead since you know the house layout. You quickly rinse off with Jaehyun before getting dressed and heading back to the car. The water woke you up fully, so you stay awake as you both eat the food he packed and head home, singing to old favorites at the top of your lungs as the beautiful sights fly past the window in the night.

[silkeris]

I’m the Strongest | JJK

characters : sorcerer!reader x itadori yuji x megumi fushiguro ft. a crumb of satoru gojo

summary : you’re a special grade sorcerer with a mysterious cursed energy and is introduced to itadori yuji

word count : 1291

warnings : slight blood and violence

author’s notes : this was very rushed and ~spoiler alert~ drew inspiration for reader’s cursed energy from naruto. now i know the nine-tailed fox doesn’t work like that but just work with me here lol. oh, and grammatical errors. let me know if you enjoy and want me to make another part!

You were laying on your back, under the shade of a tree, gazing up at the clouds when you heard your teacher walking by. You propped yourself up on your elbows when you saw that he was walking with a pink hair boy. You were about to return to your position when something caught your eye.

A mouth on his cheek?

The boy quickly slapped a hand where the mouth appeared but as if the mouth had a mind of its own, had made itself known once again on the back of his palm.

Interesting, You had thought. Maybe Megumi knew something about this.

Turns out, Megumi was knocked out in his dorm room, bandages covering his body. You stood above him, with your hands on your hips as you assessed him. You leaned down and gently poked his cheek.

“Megumiii,” You said his name in a sing-song voice.

“Me-gu-mi!” You poked his cheek with every pause in his name.

He stirred awake and looked at you annoyed, “What is it?”

“Who’s the pink-haired kid?” You asked and seated yourself on his bed.

He huffed a sigh at your action. He answered, “New student that’s gonna join us. He’s also Sukuna’s vessel.”

Your eyes widened in disbelief. “No way! Hmm, so that mouth was probably Sukuna’s.” The last part you mumbled, mainly to yourself.

Megumi looked at you in confusion.

“Don’t worry about it. Also Megumi, ever since you graduated middle school I feel like the roles are reversed. Why is it that you’re constantly getting beat up now?” You giggled at him.

He sighed at you and threw a pillow in your direction. You quickly dodged it. You were about to tease him more when you heard Gojo’s voice in the hall. You both quickly got up and peaked your head in the hall.

“Fushiguro! A girl? Woah, were we interrupting something?” The pink-haired boy exclaimed.

“Ugh, as if. As beautiful as Megumi is, he keeps rejecting my feelings.” You told the boy.

Megumi sighed again and said, “There’re a bunch of empty rooms aren’t there?”

When Megumi started talking to Gojo, you introduced yourself to the pink-haired boy. “I’m L/N F/N!”

The pink-haired boy said, “I’m Itadori Yuji. Also known as Sukuna’s vessel!”

“So I’ve heard. So how does it feel to be with an old man inside you?” You asked him curiously.

“Hmm…” He looked up in thought, “I can hear him in my head so it’s interesting. He was also not a fan of being called an old man.”

He looked like he wanted to say more when Gojo interrupted, “Ahh! There’s my favorite student! I’ve seen that you have acquainted yourself with dear F/N-chan!”

You sighed at your teacher, “You act like I wasn’t here the whole time.”

“Oh! I forgot to mention! You have a mission tomorrow! Come see me later to see the details!” Gojo said to you. He turned to the two boys, “You two! We’re going out tomorrow! We’re going to get the third first-year student!”

“Uh, don’t your mean the fourth?” Yuji questioned.

“Nope,” Gojo replied and pointed at him, “Because you’re technically the fourth one.”

“Gojo-sensei!” He said.

“Yes, Yuji-kun!” Gojo said back.

“Why isn’t L/N-san coming with us?” He questioned.

“Because, she’s needed for a special-grade mission.” This time, it was Megumi who had answered.

“Uh,” Yuji said, “What does that mean?”

“Basically, it means I’m the strongest!” You had replied to him with the grin.

The two boys looked like they were experiencing deja vu.

You had just gotten back to Japan when you received a call from Jujutsu High’s assistant manager, Kiyotaka Ijichi.

“Hello?”

“L/N-san. I’m sending you coordinates. Please get here immediately. It’s an emergency.” He rushed out.

You immediately straightened up, “Got it. Please fill me in while I’m on my way.”

As you made your way to the detention center, you had gotten all the details about the situation.

“Where is Megumi and Yuji right now?” You asked Ijichi.

“It seems that they are around apartments in the area. I would advise going up onto a roof to get a view.” He answered.

You nodded and took off.

Crap, you thought. This was bad. Megumi, I swear, you’re just asking to be beat up this time. Seriously, the next time you wanna pull this stunt, I’ll give you a real beating.

You were running on a rooftop when something caught you eye. Two people fighting. More like one person fighting and the other taking all of the hits. You quickly ran and jumped off the building, landing in between the two.

“Hmm… What is this?” Yuji- no, Sukuna asked.

“I see. You don’t actually look like an old man.” You had replied to him. You quickly assessed the situation and saw that there was a whole in Yuji’s chest.

Holding Yuji hostage. But what does he want from Megumi?

“Megumi. Break time. I’ll handle this.” You smiled at him.

You activated your cursed energy, nine tails of red energy came out behind you.

Sukuna maniacally grinned and yelled out, “Show me what you got, Jujutsu Sorcerer!”

Before you could even attack, Megumi yelled out, “L/N! Stop!”

Megumi stumbled in front of you, facing Yuji’s body. “I didn’t save you because it was the right thing to do. I’m not a hero. I’m a jujutsu sorcerer. That’s why I never regretted saving you. Not even for a moment.”

The black markings started disappearing on Yuji’s body. He responded while smiling, “I see.”

Yuji looked away, bashful, “You’re so smart, Fushiguro. Thinking about all sorts of stuff, unlike me.”

Blood started dripping from his mouth.

“Oh! Sorry… Time’s up. Fushiguro, as for you, Kugisaki, L/N and Gojo-sensei… Well I guess I don’t have to worry about you two. Live a long life, okay?”

Yuji’s body dropped to the ground. There was a pregnant pause of silence.

“Y-yuji?” You stepped forward.

You crouched down to him, turned him onto his back and laid his head on your lap. You looked up to the sky and closed your eyes.

I’m going to kill them. I’m going to kill those goddamn elders and everyone who was involved with this.

You took a deep breath.

“Fushiguro-kun. Please go get Ichiji-san.” You told Megumi.

He hesitated for a moment, then realizing that this was almost like an order, using his last name to emphasize it. He nodded in response.

When he left, you focussed your cursed energy into a tail behind you, to touch Yuji’s the center of Yuji’s forehead.

You were suddenly transported into a different place. No, almost like a different realm. You were at the bottom of a blood soaked and skeleton flooding shrine. You looked up at the pile of bones and saw Sukuna sitting atop, on a throne made of bones.

“Oh, what’s this?” He questioned. “Never has a soul forced its way into my domain.”

“What’s your plan?” You pressed him. “There has to be a reason why you’re still taking shelter in Yuji’s body when he’s dead?”

“The game has changed.” Sukuna replied simply. His silence after his reply told you that this was the end of the conversation for this topic.

He cocked his head and looked up to the never ending ceiling. “It seems that it’s time for you to go, little fox.”

Before you could say anything more, you were forced out and awoke to Ichiji shaking your shoulders. You looked around, a bit disoriented, and saw Ichiji. You grabbed his wrist tightly, your claws drawing the slightest bit of blood and said, “Get Gojo now.”