#not my car I have a bright orange/yellow truck

[macleod]

Color has been disappearing from the world.

A new research group used machine learning to track color changes in common materials and items, below is their findings for all color changes over time, they used 7000+ items from the 1800s to now to determine color changes in the most common items.

Below are the colors of cars by year, notice how the majority of cars are grey, white, or black compared to twenty years ago.

These aren't data points, but they are comparisons between the 'modern' homes of the 70s and 80s compared to the modern homes of today.

Carpets have equally had the same treatment of grey added to them! The most common color of carpet is now grey or beige.

Even locations that used to scream with color for decades have now modernized to becoming boring minimalist (and I love minimalism) personality-less locations.

The world is becoming colorless, why?

source paper

#color #color theory #science #research #machine learning #mine #tweets #not my car I have a bright orange/yellow truck #tweet source removed as fascist tendencies have been pointed out

[intheorangebedroom]

Tonight you belong to me, chapter 1

Summary: He comes to you every Friday, in a shady motel on the outskirts of town. 

Guilt is a wild trip, but so is desire. How the hell did you end up in this divvy motel? And now, what's next?

Pairing: Frankie Morales x fem!Reader (OFC)

Rating: Explicit 🔞

A/N: Happy Frankie Friday, orange besties 🧡 PLEASE, see series masterlist for extensive trigger warnings. Now I'm off to disappear for another month, heehee. To anyone who celebrates anything, happy whatever you celebrate. Ily 🧡

@frannyzooey And to you, Kelli… Thank you 🧡 Thank for your help on this chapter, without you it wouldn’t exist. Arguably, without you I wouldn’t exist (my gothic ass) and without you I would certainly not be writing at all. You’re the kindest, most generous, most beautiful person I’ve ever met, you shine so brightly and I love you more than all the Frankies from all the universes put together 🧡✨

Word count: 6.5k

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Chapter 1: Dirt

Guilt, you’re about to find out, is an interesting feeling. 

A viscous, gluey business that sticks to your skin and clings to your frame. It’s a prickling tickle under your armpits, a rigidity in your legs. It’s a tightness in your shoulders, and it pulls on your face. It has a density, and it’s tangible, not only do you feel it, you see it in every mirror, every reflective surface. 

A pervasive, shape-shifting torment that unfurls gradually, and comes in many colorful shades, when you begin to take in the gravity and the ramifications of your actions. 

The first wave is darkened by fear, black as petrol, trickling down your insides when he says his name. 

Frankie.

Like an invitation, an opening. Gaping, abysmal, pulling you in and you remain silent, struggling on the edge of it, grasping for balance. Drawn in, but too stunned to let go and dive in yet.

It’s a violent crimson, next, shame creeping over you when you walk back inside the bar to retrieve your purse. 

Facing Mark is difficult, but talking to him is beyond your strength. You gesture toward the handbag waiting for you on the other side of the counter. He hands it to you in appraising silence, judgmental, surely, and you smile, or you wince, you can’t even tell. With shaky hands, you fumble inside it for your wallet, his green gaze strained on your face. 

You know that your entire appearance gives away the narrative of what just took place in the back lot of his establishment. Your face is flushed, your lips swollen, your hair undone. Your clothes are rumpled and in his eyes, you will from now on and forever be this woman. 

After what feels like several minutes, he takes pity on you, and reiterates his offer. You’re good, he says. Sweetheart. The first pint’s on him. 

You don’t stay long enough for a second drink, however. 

Back outside into the muggy night, you crumble onto the passenger seat of your car. The polyester lining of your skirt clings to the bare skin at the back of your thighs, damp with sweat and what is left of your inconsequential desire, and you feel appallingly filthy, bone-deep disgusting. 

Guilt washes over you in blue waves of regret, welling under your eyelids when you notice that the red truck is gone. And with it, the gaping, abysmal possibilities of another you, reinvented with him. 

The shaking starts as you’re driving, trembling hands gripping the steering wheel. A brutal, chilling comedown, guilt experienced in bright and blinding yellow at the belated realization of your betrayal. 

How easily, how rapidly you forgot, trapped under Frankie’s gaze, coming undone between Frankie’s hands, that your life isn’t truly yours. That it has never been. You’re not on your own, no matter how much you long to be. You have never been afforded the privilege of independence, nor do you possess the necessary strength to break free from your family. 

And who has Frankie betrayed? What faceless, nameless woman has he gone back to? Remorse blends in with envy and resentment, painting green ring-shaped stains in your peripheral vision as you get out of your car and into the lobby of your building. 

Eyes to the floor, you step into the elevator, this oversized coffin lined with mirrors reflecting your image with a silent scoff. There’s dust from the gravel on your leather pumps. 

Inside your apartment, the clickety-click of your heels on the tiled floor bounces off the walls of your skull. You hate that sound, eminently cold and giving away your presence. 

The living-room television is on, probably set to a news channel, most likely broadcasting a financial show in which white men over 50 listen to the sound of their own voice and debate about obscure economical regulations you’re supposed to care about. 

Adrian’s already here. Uncharacteristically early. Friday evenings usually mean late night poker or whatever his own excuse is to get away from your cribless home.

Hoping to go unnoticed so as to avoid him, you take off your shoes, but it’s too late. He calls out your name from the kitchen, his intonation surprised but cheerful. 

Head hanging low, heartbeat picking up, you make a silent dash for the upstairs bathroom, remorse so pungent you fear no shower can ever wash it off your skin.  

Under the scolding high-pressure stream, you scrub your body raw with a soapless loofah, but there is no scrubbing away the feeling of those hands over your skin. 

Eyes drifting closed, you lean your forehead against the anthracite marble of your Italian shower, and let your chest heave around a suppressed sob. 

Guilt, shame, and remorse are powerless to outweigh your want, undeterred, unabated, unquenched. 

Back in the parking lot, it had been a moment before you were able to push away from the side of the truck and stand upright. He stood there, silent and immobile in front of you. Waiting, as if to shield you from the street and the rest of the world. Silence hanging charged and heavy between you, as you wouldn’t offer your name in return. 

When you started moving toward the bar’s entrance, he stepped aside, and that’s when your body moved of its own volition. You took his hand in yours, palm against palm, trembling fingers wrapped around his knuckles.

“Can I see you again?” you asked, pleaded, begged. You didn’t recognize your voice.

He swallowed hard, shook his head at you for the third time, and squeezed your hand in his bigger one. 

“I don’t think so. You know that’s not a good idea,” he said. 

—

Grief settles like dust over the first weeks of September. 

You are surprised, almost shocked, to observe how little your life has changed. You get up in the morning, you shower and get dressed, drink coffee, go to work. You attend meetings about maritime trade regulation, sitting at your father’s side, go over endless spreadsheets detailing import-export profit and loss, you pretend to understand them, and you pretend to care, like a pretty human puppet. 

You come home at night, skip dinner when you can. You lie in bed next to Adrian. You seek out warmth where there is none. You perform sex without satisfaction. 

There has been no question asked. No suspicion, no doubt cast. 

You wear the same clothes, drive along the same roads, walk around the same hallways. 

And no one seems to notice that you are different. That you experienced imperious want and incandescent pleasure. That you carry a secret. Nestled, dormant and quiet, between your lungs, like a wild and unknown creature. 

Whatever part of him you welcomed inside you transformed the hollowed spaces of your existence. It redefined the void, creating a place of your own where to curate your new desires. 

His lips on your lips, your body molded into his, and pressed against your hips, an unfulfilled promise for more. 

In the palm of your hand, the ghost sensation of Frankie’s hold, now forever gone and lost, and your highlighted loneliness feels like a barless prison. On your own, always, again, to divert the old familiar pain of being you.

Weeks go by. The guilt recedes, and sadness takes its place, like clockwork, like physics. Like a new sort of weight coating your limbs. A nostalgic longing without any object. 

In the idle moments of your day, when you’re stuck in traffic, in a meeting, or in a conversation, your mind wanders back to him. The solid slope of his shoulders. The strong span of his back. Muscles bunching up under your grip. His scent, his curls, his taste. An organic trace seared into your being. 

His rebuttal, after he’d given you so much, felt less like a rejection than like a refusal to heed a deeply rooted instinct. 

His stare was no longer hard and cold. It carried only sorrow and loss. 

Does he think of you like you think of him? Does he miss the contact of your skin, or the abandon of your kiss? 

Did he walk away from your embrace with something to keep, like you did? 

Day after day, summer fades into fall, the change hardly perceptible through the consistently sweltering weather. 

Day after day, focusing becomes tricky, finding sleep more and more difficult and your train of thought turns downright maniacal. 

Ava’s calls go straight to voicemail.

More often than not, you start drinking as soon as you come home to fence off the tears of exhaustion, hoping Adrian won’t notice. Another line you had promised yourself never to cross, and under the combined effects of the alcohol and the antidepressants, you feel drowsy and dizzy, increasingly disconnected from your reality. A nagging sting settles on the left side of your lower abdomen. But you don’t mind the pain as much as you mind turning into your mother.

Some days, you think you’d like nothing more than to give way, allow yourself to drown into the proven refuge of self-abuse. Whenever you indulge the thought, soothing images spring to mind, oil on canvas, deep green, tender brown. Ophelia, crowned with wild flowers and rings of violets, sleeping peacefully in a shallow stream. 

When you finally return to the Hole in the Wall, it’s only with the hope of hindering your impending tailspin.

In the parking, after turning off the ignition, you sit in your car for the whole of five minutes, staring numbly at the dark lot where the red truck had been parked.

Mark’s hesitant greeting puzzles you; by now you have lost most of your ability to read people’s reactions. 

You walk to the counter and choose to sit on one of the high stools. Somewhere deep down, you enjoy his distance; you relish the sadistic pleasure of reliving the humiliation you felt standing before him, freshly fucked dumb on a total stranger’s fingers. 

Besides, you’ll take the attention, however uncomfortable it may be.

“Long time no see,” Mark says, and you produce a poorly executed smile. 

“I don’t know… two weeks? I’ve been busy,” you add as a way of apologizing.

“It’s been a month,” he replies curtly.

You try a brown ale, this time, rich and bitter. He busies himself behind the counter, cleaning and wiping, while you drain your glass in silence. You haven’t eaten all day, and you’re drinking too fast. Nausea laps against your diaphragm. It’s the last missing scene from this scenario: you, throwing up in the toilet of his bar. 

You’re considering leaving when he speaks again. 

“Trucker hat dude came by.”

Your head shots up and you glare at him, eyes widening under your pinched brow, a new wave of sickness nudging further up. He gauges your face, twirling a towel inside a pint glass, waiting for your answer, but when you give him none, he goes on.  

“Did he…” he starts, and his eyes slowly go back and forth between yours, “he didn’t hurt you or anything? Cause if he did, if you wanna press charges, I can—“

“No,” you cut him off, “god no, I’m fine. I’m perfectly ok,” you add unnecessarily when his gaze narrows. 

He pauses for a moment, like he’s the only one who can judge if you are, indeed, perfectly ok, before he faces away from you to put back the clean glasses on the lower shelves behind him.  

When he’s done, he turns back around, props his hands low on his hips, and for the first time since you’ve entered the place, he stands perfectly still. 

“He’s been asking about you.”

Between your lungs, the creature begins to stir. 

“He came back,” you say, surprisingly matter-of-factly.

“Yeah, that’s what I said. Asked if you come here every Friday.”

Piece by piece, your mind starts swiveling, sluggish and blunt after being successfully dulled out by the past couple of weeks of excessive drinking. You picture his tall figure standing in the small bar, perhaps he sat on the stool you’re sitting on now? Did he lift his cap to comb his hair with his fingers before he spoke?

Mark is talking again, and it’s a conscious effort to bring your attention back to his words.

“Asked if you always come on your own. If I know your name.”

“I never told you my name,” you panic, “what did you tell him?”

“I see your name every week on your AmEx Gold, sweetheart, but I kindly told him to go fuck himself,” he scoffs.

His sardonic tone snaps you out of your drifting daydreaming. Your face immediately hardens. You sit up straight, drawing further away from him and he seems to change his mind. He’s softer when he speaks next. 

“Look, I don’t know what’s the lowdown between you two, you understand? And anyway, I’m not in the habit of discussing my regulars with just about anyone. That kinda goes against the job’s ethics, you know what I mean?”

You shrug away the rational, albeit patronizing explanation with a huff of annoyance. You feel more alert than you have in weeks.  

“When was that?” you ask.

“Last week. Thursday, I think.”

“Shit.” 

Mark lets out a heavy sigh, resembling that of an exhausted father, and he opens the cash register. 

“He left a note for you.”

—

An address. Written in all caps, black ink on a white piece of paper torn from a lined notebook. No phone number, not date, no time… and no name. Just the address. Under the feeble cabin light of your car, the paper looks old, like it’s been carried around tucked inside a wallet for years, and time has turned it yellow. 

The coordinates on the dashboard GPS are identical to the ones on the paper. They were identical back in the parking, at the bar, when you typed them in; they were identical at every single red light you stopped at and checked. And they’re still identical now, glowing in blue letters, cold and synthetic, above the message You have reached your destination.

You raise your head again and stare at the building in front of you. 

It’s a motel. One floor, L shaped, slightly sloping roof. With wrought iron details, a porch hanging low and square wooden pillars demarcating each room, nine of them in total. On the right, underneath a bare bulb, a large ice machine gleams like a beacon for lost time-travelers, next to a pay phone with a cut-off cord and a missing receiver. On the rear end of the building, to the left, above what looks like the reception, a 4 feet tall sign spells MOTEL in red neon letters. 

At its height, the place probably looked nice. But that was a rough 55, 60 years ago, you estimate. Now it’s nearly derelict, with visible cracks streaking the yellowing walls, several broken drainpipes, and a missing number on the door of room 7. 

If you cared about these kinds of things, you’d figure that the diversion of the main road further south is responsible for the motel’s decaying state. 

Your attention is elsewhere, as usual. The parking lot is deserted, save for three vehicles. The red truck is here, parked a couple of places away to your right. Engine off. Empty. 

The drive here from the Hall in the Wall was nearly an hour long. The car cruised along poorly lit, narrow two-lane roads, lined with luxuriant vegetation, dense and confining in the pitch darkness of the suburban night. You’ve lived in Tampa your entire life and have never set a foot in this part of the Bay Area. Technically, you’re not even in Tampa anymore. 

He’s inside one of these rooms, somewhere. Waiting for you, and that thought alone makes your breathing difficult and your hands clammy.

What now? What’s next? Are you supposed to walk up to the reception and ask about him?  A tall man wearing a trucker hat? Frankie?

And what will happen, once you’ve found him?

This is ridiculous. Sordid. It’s gone too far, whatever that is. A motel outside of town. The worst possible cliché. The most degrading place. 

Between your lungs, the creature is clawing at your chest. 

You shift nervously on the creaking leather seat, exhaling long and shaky, no longer repressing the memory of his sturdy fingers curling inside your warmth, of his tongue swirling inside your mouth. The instant intimacy of your furtive encounter, that turning point, when he briefly relinquished his control. 

A chorus of voices rumbles like tumbling boulders inside your head, a cacophony of rules and guidelines, tacit and unspoken, ingrained and internalized. But with every passing minute staring at the bright motel sign, your resolve grows surer. 

The yellow curtains ripple behind the rectangular window of room number 2 and you quickly pull the key out of the ignition. Grabbing your phone from the dashboard, you stuff it inside your purse, which you slide under the driver's seat. 

Eyes locked on the curtains, you make a fast-paced beeline to the door. Around you, the night is bustling with the sounds and noises of the invisible wildlife. Revealing nothing, containing so much. 

With a quick rattle of your heels, you step under the porch, hand extended and ready to knock on the door when it opens for you. 

Oh he’s broad, so much broader than you even remembered, blocking the entire doorway with his frame, blue jeans, black shirt, and this goddamn hat that’s already haunting your dreams and your nightmares. 

Looking down on you, irate, defiant, daring you to push him aside and enter. Behind him, the room is plunged in darkness. Above you, the porch lights cast a warm hue on his face, that fails to soften his expression. The crease between his brow is deeper than your fears. 

You take a step closer, on instinct, but he moves to the side as if to avoid any contact with you and you enter the dark bedroom, carried by your momentum.

Guilt will come back to you later, sporadically, in episodes, but for the most part, you forfeit it wholly when you cross the threshold of room number 2.

He closes the door behind you and flicks up the toggle switch near the door frame. Two quaint lampshades blink to life on the headboard, casting a warm, subdued light. There’s no AC, or he hasn’t turned it on, and the atmosphere inside the room is already stifling, charged with his scent.  

“Took you long enough. Thought you wanted to see me,” he grunts, and the creature purrs inside your chest. 

“I did. I do.”

Stopping in the middle of the room, you turn around to face him. He’s standing tall and firm and mighty, feet planted apart on the carpeted floor, arms crossed over his chest. Yet you note his hands are splayed across his biceps, as if he were attempting to hug himself.

Perhaps that’s when you convince yourself Frankie is not his real name. Somehow, it makes it easier to believe you’re not the object of his ire. 

“Your friend didn’t tell you–”

“He’s not my friend,” you interrupt. “I only got your note earlier. Tonight.”

You let the implication sink in and your gaze travels down to the dip at the base of his neck and back up. The square, yellow bedroom provides you with the brightest environment you’ve ever had the leisure of observing him in. 

He’s beautiful, stunning, really, with unique and complex features. Almost pretty, but in a reluctant way, as if it was irrelevant to the life he’s chosen and led. His face speaks so loud, washed over by so many emotions, frustration, doubt and anger, and that lingering sadness in his dark eyes that tugs at your heart and twitches your fingers. 

“What’s your name?” he asks, tilting his chin in your direction.

Janet Leigh’s face pops up in black and white inside your mind, driving through a curtain of strident violins, skittish eyes flicking between the road ahead of her and the rearview mirror. 

“Marion,” you answer, inexplicably. 

“Marion,” he repeats, and you know he knows you’re lying. 

Unable to hold his gaze, you look away to the side, and he gives you time to take in the surroundings. The medium size bed with a stained, synthetic bedspread, the practical, shipped furniture, an angular chair and a desk surmounted by a rectangular framed mirror, the antique cathodic TV set hanging from the wall in the corner. The brown carpet. The yellow curtains. The painting of the Appalachian. 

And whatever your face says then makes him huff.

“Not what you expected? How did you think this was gonna be? How do you think these things go?”

You look at him again, stunned, lost, hurt maybe, that he should recognize you for what you don’t want to be. 

“I don’t know. I’ve never done this before,” you tell him in a small voice. 

He shakes his head, like you aimed to wound, and unconsciously, your fingers find your sternum, jittery, anxious to appease this wild creature scrabbling against your rib cage. 

“I shouldn’t be here,” he mutters hoarsely, shaking his head again, or still, “and you shouldn’t be here either, this is bullshit.”

And he’s right, once more, he is right, neither of you should be here. All the lines you walked, all the rules you abided by, meeting expectations and doing as you were told, and you still end up here, on the outskirts of town, in this gloomy motel. Facing this stranger, begging to surrender to him, with your heart in your hand and your life on your lips. 

Eyes strained on his, you move closer, cautious, with your palms upward, as if he were to jolt and scurry away if you were too sudden. If you tame him, perhaps you will tame the wild creature between your lungs as well.

Drawn to his skin, you brush the tips of your fingers along his bicep, and the taut muscle thrums under the freckled, tanned surface of him.

He’s holding his breath, hardened face, hardened stare, deepening crease, and your fingers skate up along the slope of his arm until they meet his hand. 

He’s difficult to catch, you think, even when willing to be caught, but it’s now very clear what you want for yourself. You want him. 

It matters not that he belongs to somebody else. If you’re here, it’s because he wants you too. Despair and desire have brought you together, combined, conjoined, converging.  

Your hand travels round to the back of his arm, soft and feather-like, up under the hem of his t-shirt, lifting his sleeve. His eyes are boring into yours. You lick your lips, slowly, and lower them to his skin. A light kiss, testing, tender and wet, and underneath it, a tremor. 

There’s a terrible density to his body. He’s tension and heat. Pressing your parted lips to his shoulder, you let your tongue peek out between them. You take in the tangy taste of him, it travels through your body like lava, like syrup, heavy and sticky and sweet and it pools down between your hips.

He’s completely still, eerily so. Emboldened, hopeful, you tug on his t-shirt, tentatively at first, and when he doesn’t stop you, when he unfolds his arms, you pull it off his frame, the hat coming off with it. You suck in a sharp breath at the sight of his naked head full of curls, lush and tousled. You want to run your fingers through them. You know that’s probably not a good idea. 

His chest, broad and solid, fills your vision, and your hands fly to his sternum where you press them, chasing something invisible, roaming up the plane of his chest, as delicately as possible. Your fingertips drum lightly along his collarbone, as if you were seeing him with your hands, as if all your senses were necessary to take in the whole of him. 

His frown turns imploring, his breathing shallow. 

“Tell me your name,” he murmurs, his deep baritone a pleading husk.

“You can call me whatever you like,” you answer, lifting his hand and taking his two first fingers into your mouth, eyelids fluttering. You cradle them with the flat of your tongue, brushing against the callous tips of them, saliva flooding your mouth around the salty taste. A moan escapes you, imperceptible, and his jaw ticks around a curse, something you don’t make out, something in Spanish, you’re too dazed with want, too dumb with thirst. 

Fire licks up your spine when he moves, fast and sure. His hand tangles in your hair and he sharply tugs your head back, his fingers popping out of your mouth with a hanging thread of saliva. His face has become a threat, a warning, a promise. He’ll give you what you want until you regret asking for it.

His mouth crushes yours, teeth colliding, and his tongue is inside you, swirling and licking. 

Like a dam that gives, his strength breaks and sweeps over you, crushing you into his chest with his hold and his kiss, fingers gripping your hair, your ass, and you let him have it, let him bruise your flesh with his need, scraping your fingernails up his arms, on his back. 

You’re smiling into the kiss, with relief and eagerness, squirming into him and he hardens his hold before releasing you, swift and sudden, grabbing your blouse and pulling it up in a feverish movement that you follow, lifting your arms like a docile little girl. A seam of the silky fabric rips around your shoulders. You don’t notice it. 

His face dives into the crook of your neck, the scruff of his beard grating your skin, and he sinks in his teeth, sucking hard and feral, and at first, you melt into it, before you remember. You force his chest away with both palms, whining, urgent, plaintive, “I can’t– can’t have marks,” when what you really want is to be covered in him. 

It makes him chuckle, and it sounds like a growl, so terribly dark, so profoundly disillusioned, that you shiver in the heat of his body. He squeezes your breasts through the thin cotton of your bra, it’s brutal and it hurts like retaliation.

“Get fucking naked, Marion.” 

Drawing away from him, you start working the button and zip fly of your skirt with fumbling fingers, blood beating fast and booming in your eardrums, while he toes off his shoes and undoes his belt buckle. Hard metal, the same one that was scraping against your belly when he was crushing you into his red truck, into white-hot pleasure. 

His skin looks amber and smooth under the mellow lighting, the harmonious muscles you guessed under his shirt on the very first night highlighted in shadows. A soft belly, and a long, sideways scar on his left side. Would he tell you the history of his wounds? Will you ever have the chance to ask? 

Your skirt crumples at your feet, you’re lost in the sight of him, arms falling limp at your sides. Self-consciousness skirts the edges of your lust. This body that you neglect and ignore at best, despise and mistreat if given the chance, will it be worth anything to him? Will he want you like you want him? With determination. Without dignity.  

When he pulls down his jeans and his boxer briefs in one deft motion, your eyes widen, but he’s grabbing your arm already, spinning you around like a doll and throwing you onto the bedspread. He climbs on the bed after you, the mattress dips with his weight. 

His firm hands spread your legs; he’s manhandled other bodies before yours, the skill evident with his dexterity, the experience obvious in his assurance, and you want to be all of them at once, lovers and enemies. 

His hand rubs over your damp panties and you buck into it, trying to raise yourself on your elbows to turn around. You want to see his face as he touches you, see his reaction at the evidence of your arousal, you want to watch his eyes when his cock breaches you, but he presses a large hand between your shoulder blades and pins you into the mattress with a grunt. 

He’s unlike anyone you’ve known before, brisk and rough and domineering, and you blush at your inexperience, at his irreverence, when he yanks your panties to the side and spits on your folds. The sheer obscenity feels like a reward for coming this far.  

Sprawling your arms forward, bunching the slippery fabric of the bedspread in your fists, you brace yourself, the round tip of his cock lining up at your entrance. 

He shoves himself inside you to the base, and you cry out at the blinding intrusion, the strength of his thrust hauling your body forward on the bed. With a harsh grasp, he slides you back down on his length and you bite down another cry, flesh gushing through the splayed fingers clutching your hips. 

Crouching over you, he presses his forehead heavy against the back of your head.

“Don’t move,” he hisses through clenched teeth, “don’t fucking move.”

His cock pulsates angry and swollen inside your throbbing pussy, his chest pressing down on your back with each uneven, shaky breath burning your nape.

Sitting back, he wraps his right hand around the strap of your bra and twists it around his fist, pulling on it for leverage as he begins to fuck into you. The thin elastic bands bite into your shoulders, raspy vibrations echoing from your throat straight into the bedding with each of his rhythmic pushes forward. 

He’s too much, too fast, too sudden. And he picks up the pace, forcing your right leg up with his knee and angling up his strokes, reaching deeper inside your core. He’s going to puncture your body from the inside, and you contract tight and rigid around his length, writhing underneath him, until he leans into your neck, close to your ear with a command, voice low and gravelly. 

“You want it, just fucking take it, then.” 

That wild thing inside your chest is swelling, madly swirling, your slick floods around his drilling length. Closing your eyes, the side of your face smearing makeup on the bedspread, you nod with just enough strength to exhale a breathless yes. 

Yes. Yes, you want it, just like so. You want to be used, shattered, obliterated by this man.

And so you relent. Curling your fists and sinking your fingernails into your palms, as the pain turns to pleasure and he rams into your taut heat, rams against your cervix, bending you backward, spine ready to snap with each forceful shove. 

The room is filled with the explicit sounds and noises of your emerging dirty secret. The relentless smack of his hips against your ass, the lewd squelch of his cock slamming in and out of your cunt, the creaking bedding, his feral groans, your grateful moans.

He’s miles away from you, but that’s what you came here for, drain the sadness from his eyes, make it yours, understand. If you’re only going to have him once, then you want it all. 

But his rhythm is faltering already, and it stops abruptly. He releases his grip on you and pulls out with a loud curse, leaving you empty, for all those things you never wanted in the first place to fill you up again.

You feel his knuckles brushing against the swell of your ass as he strokes himself into his release. He loses his balance, and braces his hand next to your face to catch himself as come spurts hot and rich into the curve of your arched back. 

He slaps his cock into the cleft of your cheeks once, twice, pumping out the last drops of his spend, and he collapses next to you, with a grunt when his back hits the bed, his chest heaving with exertion. 

Unshed tears weigh down your eyelids. Your heart rattles against your rib cage, frantic and irregular. Your blood is thick as molasses, of amber and gold, coursing dense and languid down your limbs, but your nerves are crackling like electrical wires of blue and purple. 

The creature between your lungs has tripled in size and your sore cunt throbs with your suspended orgasm. 

Sunk into the mattress, you’re unable to round your back or turn your head towards him. Everything hurts. Everything is alive.  

Reaching back blindly, you dip the tip of your fingers into the pool of his spend, and bring them back to your lips. Tasting him with delight and a quiet, strengthless moan. 

The mattress moves with him as he shifts on the bed, and you feel the warmth of his large hand covering the expanse of your lower back. 

Before you can relax into it, he flips you on your back with an easy strength, and you wince with the sudden change of position. What a mess you must look like, flushed face, sweat-damp hair, clotted mascara. 

He’s heavy, in his straddle of your thighs. He brings his hand to your mouth, and you open up for him, pulling out your tongue to lick his come-coated palm, wrapping your lips around his fingers as they glide over the hot wet muscle. You swallow his essence with fluttering eyelids, grateful, tears rolling down your temples. 

The soft light catches at the sheen of sweat gleaming over his chest, like he’s made of gold, leaning over you like a magnificent and merciful god, like you’ll grant him everything, and you bask into his radiance, your lips pursed into a new smile around his digits. 

The frown that hasn’t left his brow softens ever so slightly. His throat bobs, corded muscles, pebbled skin, the tension barely relieved. His fingers slip out of your mouth and come to cup your chin, so gentle your mind fails to comprehend. His touch lingers, warm and relenting and it becomes a caress, trailing down the line of your throat and coming to rest over your beating pulse at the base of your neck. 

“Are you real?” he asks, sorrow blurring his dark eyes. 

“I don’t know,” you murmur, beading sweat, beading tears. “Make me be.”

He breathes in deeply, and perhaps it’s the first time in years he breathes in so freely.  

“Okay,” he nods.

Slowly, with the tip of his tongue darting between his parted lips, he tugs down your bra to the side. His calloused palm finds the soft swell of your breast, and his warmth radiates through your skin. His hold strengthens, he pinches your nipples with his two first fingers, the ones you took in your mouth earlier, harder, until your mouth goes slack with pleasure and with pain, and you keep smiling at him through it all.

Loose, trustful, pliant, you watch as he drags your panties down along your damp skin and spreads your thighs. He pauses, eyes on your core and you lie still, exposed and opened, feeling no shame. 

His curls, matted with sweat, are stuck in locks to his forehead. Where was he, when you were still hopeful? Were you too young for him, then?

He dives between your hips, and his teeth bite into the soft skin of your inner thigh. You jerk, palm pushing feebly onto the crown of his head and he freezes, eyes shut, like he doesn’t have enough willpower to let go, like too much of his control has already waned and thawed.

“Please,” you coo, “please. I’ll get in so much trouble.”

And your heart sinks a little with apprehension because, surely, he’ll scoff at you again, but instead he just lets go, bringing his fingers to your swollen folds to part them. 

A small whimpering sound escapes you when he latches his lips around your clit, but the sensation is nothing like what you anticipated. Of his previous roughness, only the bruising digging of his fingers into the plush of your hips remains.

His mouth is warm and soothing, a liquid caress, the touch from the tip of his tongue precise but gentle. He shifts with a soft groan, applying more pressure and you keen, head trashed back into the bed. Instantly, he adjusts his grasp, pulling you closer to his face, suckling on your clit with more insistence. 

The smooth skin of your calves brushes over his shoulders, your heels digging into the muscles of his back and you’re reminded of that first night again, when he swiveled around to meet your gaze, soft sad eyes, hard cold stare. Your orgasm builds up fast, embarrassingly so, encouraged by his heavy breathing fanning the soft curls on your mound.

The wild creature melts into your blood and flows down to your core, branching out to every nerve from the top of your head to the tip of your toes. And when you come, you come sharp and bright, with your hand clasped over your mouth to muffle a loud mewl and your back arched from the bed. 

He forsakes his restored restraint when you recoil from the overstimulation, hardening his hold and fastening his mouth over your cunt to lap up your release, tongue diving in, greedy, burning your walls. 

You’re still shaking with the aftershock when he releases you and rises above your trembling body. Lying his forehead on your belly, heavy head, heavy breathing, sweat dripping on your skin, he stays there until his breathing slows down, falling in rhythm with yours. You reach down for his hair, threading your fingers through his curls, at last, and he gives in, leans into the tenderness of your touch. 

A stray tear slides down into your hairline and it’s over, he’s gone, standing up, his broad back turned to you, gathering his clothes and dressing up. 

The notion of the world around you resurfaces. Outside, tucked away in the heart of the night, countless other wild creatures dwell and carry on, moved by fear or desire, and you lie still in that crushing knowledge. Soon, you will have to leave this bed, confront your solitude to theirs.

You roll to your side and curl up on yourself, drifting with the soft droning from the sleeping creature between your lungs and the sweet soreness thrumming between your hips. 

He’s at the door, putting his hat back on, when you call out his name. 

“Frankie.” 

It passes your lips for the very first time, a long kept secret, a forbidden vow, a usurped oath, and immediately you want to say it again. You want it to be real. You want it to be yours.

Frankie pauses and tilts his head towards the bed without facing you completely. 

“Thank you,” you say.

He opens the door to a draft of air wafting in, charged with the salty, humid scent of the faraway bay. He’s about to cross the threshold, and disappear into the night, when he speaks. 

“The room is paid for til morning. I’ll see you next Friday.”

****

Additional note: I woke up on day and decided to build a multiverse of orange bedroom Frankies 🧡 For those who've read PTMY, can you spot all the clues? This Frankie is really pissed off, though, but I kinda like it. I hope you'll like it too 🧡

Taglist (thank you 🧡): @elegantduckturtle @mashomasho @lola766 @flowersandpotplantsandsunshine @nicolethered @littleone65 @bands-tv-movies-is-me @the-rambling-nerd @saintbedelia @pedrostories @trickstersp8 @all-the-way-down-here @deadmantis @hbc8 @princessdjarin @harriedandharassed @girlofchaos @gracie7209 @mrsparknuts @your-voice-is-mellifluous @mylostloversbookmarks @readingiskeepingmegoing @lovesbiggerthanpride @youandmeand5bucks-blog @sarcasm-theotherwhitemeat @southernbe @blackvelveteen1339 @anoverwhelmingdin @casa-boiardi @nandan11 @jessthebaker @pedroshotwifey @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @noisynightmarepoetry

#tonight you belong to me #happy frankie friday #tybtm #Francisco Catfish Morales #frankie morales #the pilot™️ #frankie morales x fem!reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x ofc #frankie morales / fem!reader #frankie morales / you #frankie morales / ofc #triple frontier fic #triple frontier #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fic #frankie friday #will miller #benny miller #santiago pope garcia #william ironhead miller #triple frontier fanfiction

[jungle-angel]

Out in the Middle: Part 1 (Rhett Abbott x Reader)

Summary: You and Rhett decide to spend some time with some old family friends and let the kids run loose. The trip turns out to be some of the best memories you ever make

Tags: @fanboygarcia @nobody7102​ I know you guys probably haven’t seen Yellowstone yet but I couldn’t help myself and this is only part one (lol)

Bozeman, MT

8:30 am

October 2022

You and Rhett could hardly wait to see the looks on the kids faces when you finally reached your destination. You had all gotten up at the crack of ass, loaded the kids all up into the truck and schlepped it on off to Bozeman to beat the rush of traffic on the highways.

But you knew the trip would be worth it in the end. 

Three of the kids rode with you while the other three rode with Royal and Cecelia and Amy with her dad. You were grateful that the littler ones would sleep the whole way through, but you pitied Royal when Tatum and Tanner would start playing the “stop-hitting-yourself” game. The first time around, Rhett had almost dislocated his shoulder trying to discipline the two little monsters.

“We almost there?” you yawned. 

“Almost there darlin,” Rhett told you. “One more turn off and we’re there.” 

“Oh thank God,” you sighed. 

One more turn off and the destination began to approach. As soon as you saw the sign that read: Dutton Ranch, 5 Miles, a heat of excitement began to well up inside you. “God, the kids are gonna freak when they see their cousins,” you remarked. 

“Which oughtta be good seeing as they’ve been locked in a car for six hours,” Rhett chuckled. “But I hear you. It’ll be good to see John and the others again.” 

You couldn’t have agreed more. Even just the thought of the kids running around on that vast expanse of property, completely free of all the problems of the world made you happier than you had ever been. 

When at last the land came into view, you and Rhett let the others follow behind you as the trucks made their way up the drive to that imposing log house at the top of the hill. God, Bozeman was gorgeous in the fall, the trees burned bright shades of orange, red, yellow, green and brown, the pines looming and towering into the bright blue field of sky. The mists of early morning rolled over the hills and mountains like the tails of ghosts wisping their way across the crests. 

At last you pulled to a stop, waking Hannah and your second set of twins, Franklin and Harvey. God, they were getting big, already two and a half and getting into everything. Hannah of course jumped from the truck when she saw John, Beth and Rip all making their way over. 

“PAPA JOHNNY!!!!!!!!” she screamed. 

John laughed as he scooped her right off the ground. “How’s my favorite grandniece?” he laughed. “You and your brothers and sisters up to no good?” 

“I solemnly swear I’m up to no good!” Hannah answered. 

“That’s what I wanna hear!” John said proudly, high-fiving her and shooing her off to the barn before the other kids nearly football tackled him. The other cousins came charging up from the stables, eager to see everyone and cause as much mischief as they could. 

“You two thought you’d get away without me coming to see you?” John joked. 

“Hi John,” you chuckled as he caught you in a tight hug, the smell of leather, hay and horses lingering in his jacket. 

“Uncle John, good to see you,” Rhett said before he too was caught by his uncle.

“Heard you had a hell of a rodeo before comin up here,” John remarked. “How’s the shoulder?” 

“A little bruised but I’ll live,” Rhett laughed half-heartedly. “How’s everybody else?” 

“Can’t complain,” Beth answered. “Kids are all driving us up the wall. I went to go and get Evie and Joey after work from school and all their teacher did was complain that they were covered in mud.” 

“Oh c’mon, let the kids be kids,” Rhett scoffed. 

“Oh! Oh-ho now, do we hear a Rhett and (y/n)?” a woman’s voice asked, coming from the porch. 

You screamed when you saw Monica running to you with her arms open and Kayce holding a four month old baby girl in his arms. “You told us you were gonna call before you got here!” Monica exclaimed.

“I promised no such thing!” 

“Yes you did!” 

“No I didn’t!” 

You and Monica bantered back and forth before Kayce came over to greet Rhett while John did the same for Royal and Cecelia, the two of them shooing Amy and the other kids off to the stables to play with their cousins. “You slimy little son of a bitch,” John chuckled. “How are ya?” 

“Not a complaint in the world,” Royal answered. “Still fightin with that bitch, Carline Warner?” 

“Yeah, Beth had it out with her about two days ago,” John answered. “Thomas did too but he kept it a little quieter.” 

“Is he here?” 

“Comin by with the grandkids around eleven,” John told him. “We’ll have more midgets on the property than we’ll know what to do with.” 

Royal laughed as everyone made their way into the house to catch up, yourself brimming with excitement at the fact that you, Rhett and the kids would get to spend an entire year here. 

#rhett abbott #rhett abbott x reader #outer range #yellowstone tv #outer range yellowstone crossover #royal x cecelia abbott #amy abbott #perry abbott #original child characters #john dutton #beth dutton #kayce dutton #rip wheeler #rip x beth #monica dutton #kayce x monica

[spaceprincessem]

happy valentine’s day everyone! here’s a lil buddie treat and a gift to all my lovely mutuals for all the love and support you give me! this one is for you @mumucow @shortsighted-owl @colonoscopys @elvensorceress @ajunerose @alyxmastershipper @sibylsleaves   @monsterrae1 and @spotsandsocks 😘💖

from the soft prompt list

12.   “Awfully convenient, you know. I have an empty hand… you have an empty hand…”

Eddie exhales long and slow, his breath fanning out in small wisp, curling in the chilly morning air. He’s exhausted, but not in that grueling way that he sometimes feels after a terrible shift where everything’s gone wrong and they lost more people than they saved. It was a good twenty-four hours and Eddie left the station remembering why being part of the 118 means so much to him. Why coming back all those months ago was a battle worth fighting for even when he was at his lowest. 

The bench he’s sitting at is perfectly placed to watch the sunrise, the morning quiet despite the usual noise of a city that never sleeps. He’s not one to linger from home after a long day at work, but Buck asked if he wanted to watch the sunrise and how could Eddie say no? Eddie had sunk into the passenger seat of Buck’s Jeep, eyes fluttering closed as he listened to Buck hum softly along with the radio. 

Eddie can never really put into words what those few minutes with Buck by his side as they drive — to breakfast to Christopher to home to anywhere in the world — does for him. Good or bad whenever Eddie leaves work there’s always a buzzing beneath his skin. A never ending thrum of adrenaline that keeps him ready for anything. All of it fades away when he steps outside, Buck’s shoulder brushing his own as they walk to their cars. Most times Eddie lets Buck drive and he wonders if his shape is permanently imprinted in the worn fabric of the passenger seat. On Buck’s harder days Eddie pulls him into the truck, plays the mixed CD Buck made him forever ago and takes the long way home just to give Buck time to breathe.

“Just in time,” Buck smiles as he hands Eddie a cup of coffee, the warmth bleeding through the cardboard sleeve.

He sits down, leaving little space between them, knees knocking together like they always do. Eddie tilts his head, eyeing Buck’s profile as the first, golden rays of the morning sun. There’s a little heart sticker with a goofy smile on his sweater on his right shoulder, something Chimney slapped on all of them (Happy Valentine’s Day from Jee!) before leaving the locker room this morning (Eddie’s is a little frog with heart eyes on his chest pocket). Eddie’s reminded of the heart Buck drew when he came back from therapy. The way he ducked his head, cheeks turning a pretty pink when Eddie looked up at him. 

And Eddie’s always known the depth of Buck’s love. From the small act of a car ride to Christopher’s school after an earthquake to the achingly harsh press of his palm to keep Eddie alive.

They sit in companionable silence, the sunrise — warm yellows, fiery oranges, bright pinks, and soft blues —  spilling over them in a cacophony of color. 

Eddie wants Buck to know the depth of his love too.

“Awfully convenient, you know.” Eddie says in a moment of bravery as he keeps his gaze on Buck’s face. Buck lifts an eyebrow, a smile tucked in the corner of his mouth. “I have an empty hand…” he wiggles the fingers of his left hand, the one closest to Buck, “you have an empty hand…”

“Eddie,” Buck says as he trails his pointer finger along the wood of the bench, stopping right as he brushes against Eddie, “are you asking to hold my hand?”

Eddie just shrugs, but his smile gives him away. Buck intertwines their fingers and Eddie swipes his thumb over sun-warmed skin.

“How cheesy is it to profess my love on Valentine’s Day?” Eddie asks after a moment, eyes locked on their hands.

“Pretty cheesy,” Buck grins, tugging on Eddie’s hand to get his attention, “but I love you too, so you should brie my Valentine.”

Eddie groans, his head dropping back as Buck laughs. “Never mind,” he says, “I take it back.” He blinks against the sun, catching Buck’s pout and pulls their joined hands against his chest. “Fine,” he smiles, “I camembertly contain my love for you.”

Buck tips into him with how hard he’s laughing and Eddie thinks it’s the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard. He squeezes Buck’s hand and never plans on letting go.

#buddie #buddie fic #911 fox #valentine's day #blowing kisses to all of you!

[redheadspark]

For the prompt time ❝  my favorite color changes but it’s always the same,  whatever color you’re wearing.  ❞ and [ LOOK ]  for receiver to catch sender gazing adoringly at them.

With Druig

A/N: Bestie!!! Your wish is my command!

Kaleidoscope Eyes

Summary: You never believed in heart eyes. Not until you met Druig and saw him direct those eyes to you.

Warnings: FLUFFY FLUFF!

"Picture yourself in a boat on the river...with tangerine trees and marmalade skies...."

You played your favorite Beatles song on on your phone, letting the Bluetooth float into your car as you were driving across town at 2am from a house party you were at. The party was at the outskirts of town, a bit of a drive for you since you were the Designated Driver with your group of friends. So when the party was done and over with, you had to haul all your friends back to their homes since they were all a bit buzzed. It left you with one more drop off: You're boyfriend Druig. He lived with the leader of your ragtag group of misfits, Ajak. She was working on her dissertation at home and couldn't make it to the party, if she could have she would have been the DD. But you didn't mind not drinking, it wasn't as fun anymore since you hated the hangovers and how fast the alcohol got to your head. Druig had to live with Ajak and was with her for the past few months after his ex-roommate Ikaris kicked him out. Druig had no nowhere else to go, and Ajak had a spare room for him to crash in as soon as he called her. If you weren't as cramped in your apartment with Makkari, you would have taken him in. He practically lived there anyways with how long he would stay at your place throughout the day or the weekend. Somebody calls you, you answer quite slowly...the girl with kaleidoscope eyes... You two met in college in your first class in philosophy class. He claimed he was already smitten with you when you sat down next to him with your perfectly planned out binder with no paper out of place and nicely sharpened pencils at the ready. Although he too was handsome in his leather jacket and aviator glasses hanging off his shirt, and you two hit it off instantly. He asked you out after 2 months of talking and getting to know each other, you thinking that he was a bit crazy to ask you so soon. "You barely know me," You reasoned as you two walked together near the library. He just grinned. "I know enough to like ya," He replied smoothly, "What can I say? You fascinate me,"

You said yes, and the rest was history. He would always tell you how great you looked in anything you wear, and you mean anything. It was all about colors for him, which was ironic since he mostly wore black and dark grey colors. The night you wore a green dress on your first date to a concert in a pub, he was floored with how you looked and how it smoothed out the curves along you hips and your calves. "Makes your eyes pop," He hummed as he took your hand in his, draping his leather jacket over your shoulders. You wore blue overalls with a white tank top on a Saturday morning when you were helping Gilgamesh and Thena move into their new place, the others in the group there to help too. Druig's eyes looked bright as he picked you up in his truck. You just blushed as he pressed a kiss against our cheek, you feeling the softness of his lips on your skin. "Blue makes your skin look soft, m'lady," He teased, you smacking his arm and he chuckled. Any color you wore he would tell you that you looked wonderful in it. He loved the orange pants you wore one day when you two were sitting under the trees in front of the library and reading books in silence together. Druig adored the yellow sundress you wore to the beach on a group outing when the sun was too unbearable at the college and you all needed the escape. The red lipstick you sported to the opening of Thena's gallery showcase, making Druig almost loose his breath for a moment as he looked at you from across the gallery floor as you talked with some college friends. That night, lipstick smeared on his skin and near his neck, he groaned from witnessing the deep purple lingerie set you wore under your outfit as he stripped your clothes off of you at your place. You felt so loved by him by night, like any other night. You laid next to him, the pair of you still in a sheen of sweat and gasping for air as you cocked an eyebrow at him, "You really like any color I wear?" Druig grinned at you, the blissed out look he was giving you made your header summersault as he turned to lay on his stomach, facing you with his bare back shining in the night atmosphere. His smile never left his face as he reached over to trace your arm with his fingers with gentleness and fascination "You remind me of a kaleidoscope," He hummed, his eyes never leaving yours as you listening to him while he spoke, "The kind I had when I was a kid. Any color in a kaleidoscope is bright and divine to watch. When I see you, in whatever you wear with that big grin on your face...I can't breathe for a moment or two. My favorite color changes but it’s always the same,  whatever color you’re wearing. To me, you're a living kaleidoscope for me to see everyday, and I don't wanna ever loose it, or you,"

Cellophane flowers of yellow and green, towering of your head. Look for the girl with the light in her eyes and she's gone.....

You kept driving, feeling Druig reach over to lace your hands together and have them rest in the middle of the arm rest. Looking over briefly, you saw the same stare in his eyes and in his smile as he gazed at you, watching you like you were in the last human on the planet with the bright lights of colors zooming past you while you drive. The flashes of yellows, blues and greens, reds and purples, were lighting up on your face and he beamed even brighter from seeing it. You almost felt like a living kaleidoscope then, the colors washing over your face briefly as you drove on. But you saw the same colors flash in his eyes, and it reminded you of the very song floating in the bar as love was felt there too. His kaleidoscope eyes were just as entrancing, and you saw what he saw in you then too.

The End.

Tagged: @ftrmrs-barry-keoghan @botanicalbarnes @a-lumos-in-the-nox @heartofwritiing @basicrese @multixfandomwriter

#druig x reader #druig x oc #druig eternals #druig #druig fluff #druig prompt

[brinkofdiscovery]

Andrew Gets Punched

“Is that your car out there?” He snapped, pointing just outside the doors to a beat up yellow sprinter van. Andrew followed the man’s finger. That was his car. He sucked in his lips with a frown and looked back at the stranger. “Nope.” He answered, shaking his head.

You’ll never guess what happens to Andrew in this piece! Stole Andrew’s hot manager, Mariano from @crash-bump-bring-the-whump for this one!

Contains: Blood, broken bones (falsely assumed), panic attack, a punch 👊

__

The sun always set through the windows in the afternoon. In the summer it heated the coffee shop to an ungodly degree, but in the winter it was nice. They typically didn’t have to lower the blinds until a customer complained, and in the meantime it made things that much warmer and cast a pretty orange light across the whole room.

Plus, it made Mariano look incredible. The heat always made him take his hoodie off, and the light made his arms look like they’d been carved out of gold. Andrew always felt like he was being subtle, sneaking glances at him while he pretended to clean the espresso Machine.

But this time there was no golden-statue Mariano pretending not to notice Andrew’s staring; the afternoon rush had run long, which had pushed Andrew’s lunch out, and in turn pushed Mariano’s lunch out even further. So Andrew manned the front counter by himself, idly spinning a quarter on the countertop and making bets with himself on which side it would land on.

The front door chimed as someone came in off the street. Andrew snatched the quarter mid-spin and looked up with a sudden bright eyed smile to greet them. He paused at the sight of a slightly older man, filling the frame of the open door with his massive shoulders alone as he scanned the occupants of the shop. He was wearing camouflage pants, Andrew noticed. He wondered if it was half of some uniform, or if he just wanted everyone to know that he liked his legs to be invisible sometimes.

Invisible Legs looked sharply at Andrew; Andrew snapped his eyes up to make eye contact. He was close to inviting him inside, making some joke about not letting the heat out, but the man cut him off before he could open his mouth.

“Is that your car out there?” He snapped, pointing just outside the doors to a beat up yellow sprinter van.

Andrew followed the man’s finger. That was his car. He sucked in his lips with a frown and looked back at the stranger.

“Nope.” He answered, shaking his head.

“Alright,” The man said, his jaw set and tense and he scanned the shop again. He finally approached the counter, speaking to Andrew like he was still halfway across the room. “Well whoever it is, they fucking boxed me in.”

Andrew looked outside again, the car parked on the curb beside his van was a large silver pick-up. He had noticed it when it’d pulled in on account of just how massive and pristine it was. Andrew had been working since earlier that morning, he absolutely had not boxed this guy in.

Andrew looked back at the man in front of him; he hadn’t taken his eyes off of him yet, it was like he knew somehow that it was Andrew’s van crammed between his truck and the curb.

“I’m sorry, let m–”

“Yeah, I bet you are. They dented my shit, too.” The man interjected again. Andrew almost visibly balked at that. He had been here since 10am. He had watched this asshole pull in next to his van. He hadn’t boxed him in, and he absolutely hadn’t hit his dumb, jacked up truck.

“...I’m sorry.” He repeated, fully turning away from the counter now. Maybe he could give Mariano his keys, let him move the van. Mariano could handle this guy if he needed to.

“Let me uh, let me see what I can do. Do you want a coffee while you–”

His words cut off with a flinch as the man slammed his hands down on the counter. He turned around to see him with his head rolled back in exasperation. Andrew stood still, watching him in concern.

“I don’t want a fucking coffee! I want you to move that piece of shit van out there!”

Bananarama is not a piece of shit. Andrew thought, immediately thinking better of choosing that particular hill to die on right now. He looked over his shoulder to the storeroom door. Where was Mariano? This guy was full-on shouting now, and he looked like he was about to come over the counter for Andrew.

Before he could think of his next move, a patron across the shop stood up with his keys in hand.

Andrew knew him, an average looking guy in a clean-pressed button up. He always came in for remote work about this time. Andrew had dubbed him Scary Regular, on account of the six shots of espresso he always ordered in his drink. He’d come in about 20 minutes ago in the little blue Prius parked on the opposite side of the truck right now. Now that Andrew thought about it, this guy had boxed Invisible Legs in.

“Listen,” Scary Regular said, holding his hands up in a cautious surrender. “I’ll move, alright?”

“That’s your van?” Invisible Legs turned away from Andrew, standing between Scary Regular and the door.

“N-no. I’m–” Scary Regular stepped back. Invisible Legs stepped forward. Andrew was already moving to get out from behind the counter.

“No? No? That’s not your fucking van out there? That’s not your fucking van you hit my truck with?”

Scary Regular stammered, trying again to back away from the increasingly angry, massive stranger in front of him. This time, though, Andrew stepped in between before he could close the gap again. He stared up at Invisible Legs, his arm protectively in front of Scary Regular, who looked like he was seconds away from crying.

“Okay, you need to calm the fuck down.” Andrew said, putting his hand up to urge Invisible Legs to take a step back. No sooner did the words leave his mouth did his vision flash white with a sudden burst of agony.

He was on his back, pain shooting through his entire skull. He was surrounded by a haze of noise and blinding fluorescent lights, voices melded distantly into the background. He tasted blood in the back of his mouth, his lungs felt like they had collapsed in his chest. Only when steady, strong hands lifted him into a sitting position was he finally able to draw in a sudden, ragged gasp for air.

“Andrew,” Mariano’s voice cut through the noise, smooth and low and clear, “Andrew, breathe.”

“I can’t,” Andrew managed, feeling that coppery taste of blood fill the rest of his mouth. “God– God I… I can’t, I–”

“Breathe.” Mariano repeated. He placed one hand in the center of Andrew’s chest. “Breathe… in: two, three, four…”

Andrew sobbed. He took in a second, slower breath as he let himself lean into Mariano’s chest. “Two… three, four…” He counted along in a whisper with Mariano, his breath hitching in his throat after a moment.

“Blood…” Andrew stammered, “There’s blood. Blood in my mouth.”

“Out:” Mariano said softly, “Two, three, four…”

“He broke my nose.” Andrew continued, reaching for his face.

“He didn’t.” Mariano answered. He guided Andrew’s hands back down to his stomach. “In: two, three, four…”

“He-he did. He did.” Andrew’s breath shuddered. He uselessly tried to touch his face again, only to have his hand guided back down. “There’s–bones. Bones… my bones are in my brain…”

“They’re not. Breathe with me.”

“They are!” He paused, spitting blood onto his shirt and choking out another breathless sob. “There’s– I can feel– feel it in my throat… bones in my throat…”

“I can promise you, there’s not–”

“And my brain, my brain’s in my throat, my–my blood. I’m–my nose, he…”

“Andrew,” Mariano cut him off, his tone calm and firm. “In: two, three…”

Andrew looked up at Mariano. Beautiful, ring-lit eyes looked back down at him. He nodded, dropping his head against his chest. He didn’t speak, he just listened to Mariano’s voice and followed his lead. He kept breathing, slow and steady, until his sobs became less and less frequent.

He kept breathing, watching Scary Regular pace the sidewalk outside, phone to his ear.

He kept breathing as a knight dismounted his familiar outside; the distant sound of an ambulance grew closer.

He kept breathing, wrapped in Mariano’s arms.

#my writing #writeblr #Andrew Winters #Mariano #other peoples OCs #MY OCs #coffee shop au

[meanwhileinstasiville]

I *knew* sending mcfuego a friend request would be bad, but I had *no idea* that it would be **this** bad.

It was...

yellow cooper pulls up and parks next to you at mod pizza intersection, bad

a cooper in the oncoming lane drives by you later by triangle park, bad

A yellow clad woman waits at the top of the street by manhattan, on the corner you’re walking up to, bad

A bright yellow vested “cleaning guy” meets you in the entrance, bad

coopers by churches, bad

orange library director cars where there had been coopers before, as at sushi, bad

A mcfuego expy outside the coop, who was I think trying to signal that “genuine mcfuego” is a cop; well, she is and isn’t, it’s complex.

There was ryan-expy, casting call grade, on the steps of the cabaret theater, where “second” and “hargandine” meet; I’m not a number, to quote Bob Seger, and it’s about sandal straps; the only part of a shoe that always endures.

Mcfuego is swimming center in a school of piranhas, with caimans up and down the shoreline (I don’t think expy as a ward off is really necessary, you think?)

All those religious references, Motorola, tell a story of a secular organization with deep bordering on bottomless (like fries) pockets trying to promote a religion among its employ. 

Being “in charge” of how much charity reaches the ground, *is the not the same* as fielding a command structured army. And it’s that bad.

It was *eric expy sitting on 6 stands up and leaves* after I sat *next to him* in a room of mostly empty chairs, bad

And yes, it was “amazingphil” in bright yellow shirt, top right promoted when I logged into tumblr, bad 

Edit: It was ALSO changes in a lengthy song with lots of solos *punctuated by coopers* bad, speaking of illicit surveillance

“Phil hands” top center in week.com political cartoons, bad

It’s no question at reference for like half an hour of rambling old man, bad

It’s my cousin appears to be in conversion therapy, burning a bridge with him, and after learning of that *because my uncle died*

It’s my best friend appears to have tried his hand at “the family business” between grandpa and I, and so, a struggling with psychopathology girl got molded into a variation on my older sister, becoming yet another girl I cannot sleep in the same room with, bad

It’s *social anxiety sits down on 12 on cue* from snk stock, bad, and I reiterate as with mcfuego’s piranha’s, that I don’t need discouragement when I’ll get shot for showing up where I’m supposed to be cowed out of going, by all this. Superfluous, they call that sort of thing.

It's the *black and yellow wine hopper* driven by someone who turned out to be wearing a yellow shirt, followed by a chaser car with a yellow shirted driver, when I "what will happen *this* time" went back to safeway (and yeah, that was at an entrance I used before) bad

It's va our city stalker now in orange "backed up" by some sworn in guy I've never seen the name of (felt pretty automotive wholesaler grade)

Getting king for a day memes in the feed, after I was sure the wifi was off adding the fbi to people who don't like me much. Since I was all of three or so "sir, sir, did you *intend* to leave this phone off the hook?" Said the operator instead of the disabled line noise I had expected. *That* is called a syllogism that goes with a wiretap.

Someone should listen to "one jump ahead" from Aladdin for context.

It's livejournal blogging on Tumblr attracts federal attention, bad

What it was

an el camino like I used to have, red honda fits, blue ford rangers from two or three different decades, a transgender counselling van (that I saw again today)

White dodge neon, black dodge neon, latin king colored dodge neon at the same places along my walk route; one for another

And then, ridgeline trucks latin king colored, orange subarus like the library director’s, coopers began to appear at all the “junctions” (intersections, stretches of empty road or alley where *there were no other cars*

And now, yellow at any or all of those places seems to be picking up where they were, “economizing” as it were

It's "blue collar eastern tokyo" in the feed, and you know, mom was a federal accountant and her family founded the bank and the church, cut the stone in the cemetery (a woman in the 1800s), was the county seat and in the senate, since I have to keep defending her family from *white supremacy since the 60s and a cartel since the late 80s seems, "AOK" with the fbi.

Seem to be doing a bang up job with the place

And dad, who was "hassidic", was from the same Scandinavian social class as my best friend's dad, and walked away from being a professional athlete so...apples and oranges comparison between two guys who weren't competing for the same things in life.

It's a callback to "your girlfriend gives you a book called rich dad/poor dad" bad

And how she did everything you've supposed to, like my mom who *had a rich dad* of sorts, and so I gave her the book that she never read, and how she ended up being married to someone named "weighing dykes" while a federal accountant *because of who was running the community* and how it turned out for making good choices, and said girlfriend became an escort with escort expenses for not having one, bad

It's not going to the kind of "private school" my dad could've also gone to, legacy bad (and my best friend was *also* supposed to be privately educated)

It's "the girl who made a man out of ricochet" her life choices make sense, bad

[destinycrystal]

Looks like I'm going with Jane. At least for the first one. I will probably do multiple but I need something to dump all my useless thoughts and time into so this is the first thing I could think of let's see if I can quickly think of a trailer for anyone who ends up seeing this.

Oh yes for those that need it.

CWs : Mentions of Death, Car Accident, Slight gore, time loops? If that counts.

"Do you have any idea how hard it is?"

It was a fine day. Somewhere in the middle of a small town named Tallia. The gentle winter snow pouring down from the clouded skies.

"Do you have any idea how hard it is to live your life in constant fear that something bad is going to happen?"

It was a fairly busy day today. Cars rolling by the small home owned Cafe. Where a white haired fox demi sat with a red haired cat demi.

"Jane your sounding crazy again. Ya gotta lay off of those horror movies. Your gonna get insomnia again."

Jane shifted out of her seat uncomfortably. Moving towards the crosswalk, Gina following close by.

"I know it's just that. Things like that happen in our world? Have you not heard of the advances in magic? People. Normal humans. Non magic creatures. Have figured out how to use it."

"Jane ya read one news article that stated one person figured it out, you didn't even fact check it!"

Jane moved out onto the crosswalk as the light turned green nervously biting her fingers.

"Yea but what if it's tru-"

Her rant didn't matter, as Jane had turned around to face her red haired friend. The only thing Gina had gotten to see was a bright red truck ramming directly into her. Leaving her mangled on the side of the road.

For Gina this was a traumatizing experience. Who really expected to see their friend dead. For the first thing to happen in a day. Right outside your own home?

For Jane this was oh so much different. For Jane she has relived this day for almost a month now. She sat up out of bed covered in sweat. Terror caught in her throat. She slowed herself, breathing gently. Her chest rising and lowering slowly.

Jane got up and slowly moved towards the window parting the drapes. To see the orange and yellow leaves slowly dropping from the tree outside her house... (To be continued after feedback if this is good at all.)

Honestly this is my first time really showing off anything that I write. Plus it was a quick thing I came up with now this little scenario. Feedback would be great though it doesn't matter all that much. Have a great day everyone! Thanks for reading really and expect some more if this is something yall like.

Quick edit : I honestly think doing this kinda stuff might be better than roleplay as I'm not the best on responding better if I can open it whenever and just kinda write.

#writing stories #trailer #cw car accident #cw mentions of death #cw slight gore

[grad502-sebastian]

https://bestawards.co.nz/graphic/large-brand-identity/likeminds/brightr-brand-identity/

Brightr

- Similar topic area to my campaign, Brightr is a large brand identity for an energy efficiency company, focused on doing good things and making New Zealand homes happier and healthier.

the brand has rolled their design system out across quite a few different media including:

video

Website

t-shirts

business cards

magazines

posters

tote bags

Social Media (primarily facebook)

Car and truck decals/advertising.

Colour:

Brightr implements the following main colours yellow, orange, green and blue.

The main colours on their branding are the yellow and orange tones which are incredibly warm and bright which relates well to their name, brightr. The oranges and yellows are also colours that are associated with happiness and are colours I personally think of when I think of a home due to their warm associations.

The green and blues are also used in places as a tonal range of a pastel and a brighter tone which work well together to give the brand identity some tones that relate to the earth and sustainability typically. The blue specifically makes me think of bright skies.

Copy Text: some of the copy text includes "better home for our planet" "warm fuzzies" "sunny side up" and "full of heart". So the copy text are all happy, positive statements.

Layout: The campaign layouts are clean and minimalist, usually some sans serif text in the center or top left, often accompanied by either a simple illustrated character or the text will be over an image of happy people.

Illustration: Simple shaped characters clouds, houses, flowers etc. with faces and usually legs. Photos: humanizing the brand, some of the photography included people singing, playing guitar, kids having fun etc. Showing joy.

Message of the campaign: The message of the branding was not only promoting home energy efficiency company but putting forth the idea of a positive future and kiwis being able to live in happy healthy, energy efficient homes.

[thee-achilles]

🍊.| astro observations & drabbles pt. 3

orange edition because i have been on a KICK

“lee, the second one is a grapefruit, not an orange” FYL🤬🤬🤬‼️‼️‼️‼️ didn’t ask, don’t care. plus your feet STINK. anygay 😒🙄

💥. | these are only observations i have made. please take them with a grain of salt. DO NOT PLAGIARIZE OR POST ANYWHERE ELSE. if there is anything you’d like to add, let me know! <3 |💥

🐅.|made by a libra sun, libra rising, and leo moon :)

🍊mercury doms tend to pick at their skin a lot and if moon is aspecting their mercury or they’re also moon dominated, it can be a coping mechanism.

🍊you cancer risings are quickly climbing up my ranks. i’m interacting now with a lot of you guys and- y’all are syrupy sweet. also y’all could easily manipulate anyone you wanted with that charm of yours. but you didn’t hear that from me. 👨‍🎨

🍊gemini venuses/placements really like collarbones. also they’re the people to notice your new earrings and compliment them. everyone shits on gemini venuses, but their attention to detail in love is insane 😒

i have a gemini venus friend who every time i where something that shows my collarbones, she always complements them or stares at them 😭😭 and she bought me earrings for my birthday and noticed me wearing them the first time i wore them too. 🧍

🍊you earth doms love to take personality quizzes for fun huh 🤨 is it cuz you don’t know yourself or because you’re bored out of your mind? which is it 🤨 imma make ‘em say both 😻❣️

not only that, but you’ll take them as many times as it takes UNTIL you get the result you want. accept it. you are not hange. you’re yelena. i understand that you are mentally ill, which is why one day i am going to open up a hospital-

🍊mercury square mc 🤝 people telling you that you explain things well 💪 i get this a lot and it’s one of the best compliments ever tbh

🍊virgo mars like tattoos. whether it be getting them or people with them, it’s just something they’ve always found to be attractive.

🍊earth placements are so good with hair and makeup?? like i know we talk about taurus being good at it, but virgo and capricorn too?? they have such an eye for detail and color coordination, that they’re just so amazing at it.

🍊sagittarius placements/degrees are so fluid?? and we don’t talk about it enough. like zoë kravitz. it’s insane how fluid she is.

🍊“i’ve always had trouble shitting.” -my virgo stellium bestie <3

🍊leo placements are/were scared of the dark. they just constantly need some sort of light in order to sleep. it’s that sun ruler ship speaking 🙄😒

🍊moon in 9H/sag placements may have felt out of place growing up, but find their people overtime. also y’all are so smart 😻😻

🍊aries & sag risings & fire suns, air moons (or vice versa) CANNOT hide their expressions. you say some weird shit? their face gonna be like 😟

🍊aries rising, aries mercury, mercury in the 1H, mars-mercury aspects/dominance have BOOMING voices. i’m talking fee fi fo fum type shit. y’all just be talking and then someone is like “why you yelling 🤨” and in actuality you’re just speaking 😭😭

🍊harsh jupiter aspects (square, conjunction, opposition) with venus or ascendant & jupiter in virgo can’t tell if they’re hungry/full, so the sometimes just eat a lot or not at all.

🍊⬆️going off of that, harmonious venus-mars or venus-jupiter aspects have a fast metabolism.

🍊venus-jupiter aspects?? since no one said it: ⌛️

🍊mercury-neptune aspects 🤝 being great fantasy authors or absolutely hating the genre depending on the aspect.

🍊fixed placements like nice cars and have the NICEST cars. put love & care into them.

both of my grandparents are leo suns. my grandpa has an aquarius moon and they have such nice cars. and a LOT of them too. they even have this bright yellow truck 😭😭 how flashy can you get?

also scorpio placements are super knowledgeable on car mechanics. they love to see how they work!

🍊moon-doms/moon-mars/moon-jupiter aspects 🤝 their feelings taking up the ENTIRE room and literally changing everyone else’s mood. 😰 if you ever seem em in the forest with a grizzly bear... HELP THE BEAR‼️‼️

🍊moon-jupiter aspects could’ve had the bigger room while growing up or had a lot of things.

🍊it’s true what they say about you not liking your 8H sign 😭 my brother’s band directors are both taurus suns and he does NOT like them. my cousin is a taurus moon and i haven’t always really trusted him. it’s not that he’s a bad person and i do love and care for him, i just can’t bring myself to trust him. 🧍 my brother and i are both libra risings❤️

of course, if the 8H placement is cancelled out by other placements, you’re good. it’s happened to me plenty of times. my cousin just has a lot of my 8H sign’s influence.

🍊y’all can always catch a person with their mercury in detriment (pisces, sagittarius) with allergy issues. y’all be STUFFY and allergic to EVERYTHING. especially is the person is mercury dominant‼️

🍊taurus mars individuals really got their own speed. 😒 the world will be burning down and they’re like “well, i GOTTA put my shoes on first 🙄” and then put them on. as. slow. as. possible. it’s the venusian effect on mars i swear.

🍊this is just a personal observation, but virgo venus individuals LOOOOOVVVVVEEEEE scorpio venus individuals. i’ll be minding my own damn business and a virgo venus will come up to me and dedicate their whole well-being to me. literally. like. i’ve got a plutonic venus why are you doing this 🧍 very very sweet though and SUPER caring. literal soulmate venus signs. gotta be one of my favorite genders 🙏

🍊if your moon falls into their first house or your mercury sextiles their moon, expect that person to laugh at EVERYTHING you say. you’re like the funniest person in the world to them and they actually understand your behavior. vvv validating.

🍊i think the funniest and most accurate thing i’ve heard from a moon in the 6H is “she’s just... too chatty.. and kinda slow...:” (she was describing her cousin btw 😭😭) moon in the 6H like their peace and quiet and common sense 🙄❗️

🍊i think... virgo placements have their own way of speaking. like when a virgo placement speaks (especially mercury or mars) i’m like 😲 oh okay! they’re so funny and kinda have a high-pitched ending to their sentences and could have their hands near their mouth when they speak.

🍊9H with some 8H synastry could have the same views on taboo things. i hung out with this dude who had the same view on s3x as me and we talked about it for HOURS. we both wanted to be extremely experimental. then, i checked out synastry and we both had venus in each other’s 9H. shoutout to that dude🙄‼️

🍊taurus mercuries are INSANNNNNNEEEEEEEE‼️ the SMOOTH TALKERS of the mercuries. you guys make me feel like i deserve ONLY the best. okay! kiss me!

🍊back to gemini venus..... very VERY good with their hands. got me like 👁u👁. and mix that with a little bit of cancer placements... oh em gee. me like a lot.

🍊whenever the turn of a zodiac season happens or when the moon is in full, new, or half waning/waxing, i’ve noticed a lot of people get allergies?? they just get all sniffy. i started noticing this a couple of months ago, too.

ASSTEROIDS LET’S GET IT 💪😈

🍊(h58) waldemath lilith rules over big feelings and how we express ourselves at our worst. i noticed in my birth chart that i have it in 29° scorpio in my 2H. i ALSO have asteroid # vangogh at 29° scorpio in my 2H. when i was at my lowest, i created a lot of art and, specifically, wrote a LOT of songs based off of my experiences. go check out @brielledoesastrology’s post on it. it’s amazing 😋

🍊the last name asteroid of my first love conjuncts my saturn and sextiles my sun 🧍 the big impact is showing 🙄‼️

the asteroid sextile my sun: “what’ve you done 😨”

the asteroid conjunct my saturn: “😏 aaaaaaveeeeee 😌 mariiiiiiiiiaaaaaa 😩”

🍊i’ve been on an (#20000) asteroid varuna kick as of late. she’s a mix of neptune, uranus, and jupiter i think. she stands for long-term fame. i have her at 17° in my 9H conjunct my mc at 2° orb 🙄‼️ literal slay monster.

🍊i know this girl who has super curly hair and the most intense eyes. like when she’s intently listening to you as you speak her eyes are just... 👁👁 i think she’s got her (#149) asteroid medusa PROMINENT in her chart. woman’s intuition 🙄🙄🙄🙄

🍊(#1388) asteroid aphrodite making positive aspects to your personal planets could be what people think is “perfect” about you.

ex: i have aphrodite conjunct my moon and people that were close to me have told me they always thought that my tatas were the perfect size. 🧍

🍊(#10985) asteroid feast might show our eating patterns/our favorite foods.

i have feast in 8° of scorpio in my 1H square my saturn and trine my uranus. the foods i like now that are my favorites have been my favorite foods since I was really young, but they’ll probably change in my older years. i’m also really experimental with the foods i try! :)

oh em gee. it’s a been a huge glucky second, party people. i never forgot about you hoes‼️‼️‼️‼️ thank you so much for reading. would make out with every one of you. just be vaccinated though cuz... a girl got places to be 🙄🙏‼️

©thee-achilles 2022

#Spotify #thee achilles #thee-achilles #astro community #astro tumblr #astrology #astro talks #astroblr #spotify #astro observations #astrology observations #gemini #gemini venus #sagittarius #pisces #astrology asteroids #asteroids #astrology talk #astrologer #astro notes #oranges #taurus #taurus mercury #aspects #astrology aspects

[cobaincreates]

touch pt. 2

warnings: smut (surprise), oral (female receiving), 18+, language, literally no plot & i’m not sorry

count: 3k+

part two part two part two baby! thanks for all the love on the first! ✨taglist is open✨ i’m smoochin’ all your faces

— — —

sarah bustled around her room like it was on fire. her clothes were thrown messily on her floor and she had half of her hair up in a crazy-looking bun. you laughed from where you snuggled into her pillow. you were still rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, having woken up to the closet doors groaning open.

“oh my god, where the hell did i put them?” sarah said, but you knew she wasn’t asking you in particular. her hands dug through a basket in her closet.

sitting up, you figured now was as good a time as any to get moving. with sarah leaving soon, you didn’t feel comfortable just lying in her bed like she insisted. given that you were best friends, and her house was your house, and vice versa, you jumped at the opportunity of leaving. she always offered the possibility of you staying longer than you wanted because she was a good friend.

which was why when you cleared your throat and tasted her brother, your cheeks lit up with a steady burning fire. you were glad her back was to you as she switched bikini tops, replacing the blue for the yellow. were you ashamed or reminiscing? there wasn’t time to think about it as she finished getting ready.

“you’re more than welcome to stay, you know. i feel bad running out on you.” sarah repeated once more.

“it’s fine. go have fun with john b and fill me in later.” you wiggled your eyebrows at her as you gathered your things and threw on your sweatshirt.

“how about we order some takeout and binge watch how to get away with murder next weekend?”

“that would be great.”

sarah beamed at you before leading you out of her room and down the stairs. you kept your eyes straight but noted the ajar door to rafe’s room. maybe he had already left for the day.

“morning!” rose chirped happily as you followed sarah into the kitchen. it all seemed very familiar as you walked in, even though you’d been in the cameron’s kitchen more times than you could count, but also because the last time had been less than six hours ago.

everybody was awake and doing something. wheezie was eating freezer waffles, ward had a few manila folders splayed in front of him on the table, and rose was cutting up oranges. sarah gave her a hug from behind as she passed and then turned to smack rafe’s back lightly as he cooked something on the stove.

you breathed in sharply at the sight of him. you blinked last night’s events away given that his entire family was right in front of you and now was not the time to think about it. you reminded yourself not to give anything away with your best friend in the same room. but you also wondered if rafe thought the same thing. would he try to hide it?

“you two sleep okay? i turned the air off since it was so nice out last night.” rose said.

you caught rafe’s eye when he looked over, that tiny jolt going up your arms. your feet melted into the floor and rose looked over at you with a sweet smile as sarah leaned on her other side.

“i was pretty comfortable,” sarah shrugged and took a slice of orange.

“you girls hungry? i’m sure rafe could make something up.”

“i’m going out with john b. he should be here in a few minutes.”

“y/n?” rose lifted her perfect brows as you stood at the end of the island, holding all of your things tightly.

“i’m actually going to head out,” you said. “thank you for the offer though.”

“aw, are you sure?” rose set down the knife on the cutting board. rafe glanced over his shoulder as the contents of the pan sizzled.

“yes. thank you though. i’ll see you guys again soon.” you hugged rose when she came toward you and you waved to sarah and the rest of the family at the table. you and rafe looked at each other once more before you walked out.

—

“oooh, look at these! i love these! how much?”

“12 dollars. they would go great with your top actually.”

“you’re so right! i’ll take them.”

the customer beamed at you as they handed over the set of sea glass earrings. you rang them up and returned some change before wrapping the jewelry in tissue paper and sealing it with the boutique’s sticker. you placed the wrapped gift carefully into a tiny reusable bag and handed it over.

“have a good day,” you smiled your noteworthy customer service smile and relaxed once they left, the front doorbell going off.

it wasn’t that you hated your job. but you hated your job. the main reason was that it was part time, and the second main reason was because you hated working in retail. it was exhausting having to put on a fake smile and answer stupid questions like whether or not you sold earrings when you literally worked in a jewelry store. it was tiring really, if only for four hours a day.

thankfully, you were due to clock out in about fifteen minutes and you couldn’t wait. you busied yourself with cleaning a few displays then restocking some with new styles your boss, the owner, had batched out the week before. 

“hey, y/n,” you looked up at your co-worker coming through the front door. your shoulders tensed as the cheery doorbell went off, but the arrival of your co-worker was always a relief.

“did you dye your hair again?” you eyed their bright locks as they went behind the counter and situated themselves for the rest of the day.

“yup and i think i’ll stick with it for a while. you like?”

“it’s bright.” you tried to say it as politely as you could. “maybe you’ll bring in more customers.”

they laughed at your comment and disappeared into the back. you turned to the display and set a few necklaces down.

once you gathered your things and said goodbye to your boss in the back office, you waved to your co-worker and toned out the bell above your head as you left.

the main street where the boutique was was swarming like a beehive. it was tourist season after all and there was nothing better to do on the island than shop or laze around at the beach. the island was perfect since both activities didn’t require much travel.

you glanced into a few windows as you walked down the sidewalk, dodging a couple kids with heaping amounts of ice cream on a tiny cone. the sun beat down from above and it was a wonder that the ice cream hadn’t already melted down their wrists.

your ears perked up at the sound of a car horn and a second later a truck was pulling up right beside you. looking over curiously, you recognized the gray truck and the person behind the wheel. your stomach leaped.

“hey.” rafe called from his seat as you both came to a stop.

“hi.” you said, feeling frozen momentarily.

“do you want a ride?” he asked in a hopeful tone that you couldn’t stop thinking about once it left his mouth.

you hadn’t seen or heard from him in a couple days since your sleepover with sarah and a part of you didn’t think you’d talk to him again until you went back to his house. you thought it was weird that he didn’t text you or even call, but then you reminded yourself that he was your best friend’s brother, and she didn’t know about what had happened between you two. you wondered if she would be angry with you.

you thought about accepting his offer, seeing no real harm in it. it was only a fifteen-minute walk otherwise. but something drove you to say yes and before you knew it, you were grabbing ahold of the door handle.

“thanks.” you said as you settled into the passenger’s seat. he pulled away from the curb easily as you put your seatbelt on, listening for the satisfying click of the lock.

“you just get out of work?” he asked, making small talk.

“yeah.” you nodded and glanced at his arm. the vein taunted you as he reached out to fiddle with the radio. you shifted in your seat. “what were you doing?”

“i had to drop some stuff off at the post office for my dad and work. i saw you walking and figured i could offer you a ride. even though you don’t live far.” he said with a soft shrug.

“i appreciate it.” you said and looked out the rolled down window.

you watched the cement walkway disappear and turn into the fine sand along the shoulder of the road. houses started to litter the street instead of the businesses and storefronts. you could hear the sand under rafe’s tires and you closed your eyes for a moment to focus on the breeze. you opened them back up when you felt the ghost of rafe’s fingers in your hair.

looking away from the dusty shoulder, you set your gaze on the road stretched before you. rafe kept a lose hand on the very top of the wheel, his other resting in his lap. you swallowed and licked your lips. 

“rafe?”

“yeah?”

willing yourself to look up at him, trying to act quickly before he reached your house, you stared at the side of his face. he glanced over quickly then back to the road.

“don’t bring me home.” you said in a small voice, hoping the question didn’t lead to rejection.

his eyes flicked to your face, his jaw flexing. “okay. where do you want to go?”

you let your gaze waver, wandering down his chin to his neck where he visibly swallowed. did you make him nervous?

“just somewhere private,” you said.

you wet your lips when he looked at you again, your eyes trailing from his neck to his face. your hands were itching to reach across and touch him, but they settled on fidgeting in your lap. when you looked out the windshield again, you saw your yellow front door pass by as rafe continued to drive. you took a deep breath in.

after a couple turns and the road turning into more sand, rafe pulled to a dead end in front of the marsh. the engine cut off with a turn of the ignition key and fizzled out to let the lapping water fill the car. you kept your eyes on the small bay ahead, spotting a dragonfly whizzing by over the water. letting the marsh sounds fill your ears, it seemed to calm your nerves.

you nervously glanced at rafe in the quiet cab of the truck. you wondered what was going through his head. he turned his eyes to you, letting them linger around your face. you swallowed.

giving a mental swift kick to your own rear, you looked over your shoulder into the back seat and unbuckled yourself. you slipped the strap of your bag off your shoulder and left it in the seat as you twisted and crawled over the console. rafe watched you, a dumbfounded smile making its way onto his lips.

you laughed when you saw it. “come on,” you patted to the seat beside you and scooted to the right so he’d have enough room.

rafe looked gigantic when he turned in his seat, bumping into the wheel and nearly pushing on the horn. you grinned as you watched him, the simple journey into the backseat seeming so wild. it felt like you were somewhere you shouldn’t be with someone your parents had warned you about. your parents loved rafe actually.

his knee bumped into yours once he was settled and situated. the space was too small for the two of you but you liked feeling his skin against yours. it also felt much more private than the open windows in the front.

looking over at rafe, you let your hand fall easily to his knee. he shifted his top half and closed most of the space between you, bringing an arm to rest atop the seat behind you. you breathed softly, trying not to show how fast your heart had started to thrum.

your eyes flicked down to rafe’s lips and you thought about how you didn’t know what they felt like.

“what are you thinking?” you asked as you licked your own lips.

rafe reached a hand up to your cheek, finally touching you and nearly drawing a moan from your throat as you leaned into his touch. when had you become so touch-starved? well, you could probably answer that.

“how badly i want to kiss you right now.”

you let out a breath as he looked down at your open and ready mouth. you both leaned in and finally kissed, rafe’s lips capturing yours and yours capturing his. your hand moved to his neck. his fingers on your cheek traveled into your hair again. you didn’t mean to make a noise but come on! you loved feeling his fingers in your hair.

“how i have you in my truck, in my backseat.” he pulled away to say, in a near whisper, then kissed you again. he licked into your mouth and it was difficult to find the words to portray just how amazing it felt. needless to say, your underwear was going to be soaked any second now.

you opened for him and moved closer to eliminate any space between you. he parted from your lips to travel downward. you leaned your head back, happily giving him the access he craved. your breath was coming out heavier now, but you didn’t have that panic of losing your breath like drowning. it was a good situation to lose your breath.

“how it’s been two days and i haven’t stopped thinking about the other night.” he admitted into the thin skin under your jaw. he switched hands, one holding your head in place and the other skimming over your chest. he nipped at your flesh.

“rafe,” you moaned and grabbed a fistful of his shirt.

“what do you want?” he asked, his hot breath blowing across your cheeks. you peeked your eyes open and saw tiny flakes of brown in his eyes. his hand traveled further until it landed on your thigh, squeezing and triggering the sweetest of shivers.

“i want your mouth on me.”

pressing a kiss to your lips, rafe pulled away again to look over your face. “are you sure?”

you nodded and let go of his shirt to touch his cheek. you just wanted to feel his mouth everywhere on you.

“please,” you said. you shuffled away from him reluctantly so you could situate yourself on the seat. your head and shoulders rested against the back door and you brought your legs up over his lap, already having slipped your shoes off. he watched you intriguingly. your stomach sank a little, hoping he wasn’t going to turn you down.

when his hands reached toward your bottoms, you couldn’t help the smile that took over your face. he undid the button and tugged them down. lifting your legs so you could open them for him, he leaned forward and pressed a sweet kiss to the inside of your knee. his fingers traced your calf as he shuffled and bent down as awkwardly as possible in the cramped space. you felt bad for a moment until you saw the way he looked up at you. he wanted this just as much as you did.

keeping eye contact with you as he placed his mouth right over your pubic bone, you moaned faintly. it was so delicate and soft that you didn’t expect it to feel that way. he caressed your calf as he pressed another kiss over your underwear, moving lower and lower to where you had soaked them through. your face went a little red, anticipating his reaction to it.

he looked godly as he stared up the expanse of your torso and to your eyes, all the while his lips pressed against your clothed entrance. his groan at the state of your underwear sent ripples out from the exact spot he kissed, like the vibrations of him sent shockwaves through you.

“you’re soaked,” he breathed against you and had you wanting to close your legs. instead, you slipped from his grasp and took your underwear off.

pressing your left leg into the back of the seat, you opened for rafe again. he looked down at you in front of him and licked his lips hungrily.

“god, you’re fucking pretty.”

you bit your lip at the way he looked at you, like he wanted to go to town. you were all for it really, but with the way he’d been touching you so far you had a feeling he’d be super gentle.

taking your leg and guiding it over his shoulder, he pressed a kiss to your thigh. then he finally tasted you with a savoring lick between your folds. it felt so good that he even hummed against you. you moaned in return and slipped your eyes closed. you needed something to hold on to. searching for the seat, you reached up to that tiny metal pole of the headrest and curled your fingers around it. it was cool and grounded you to where you were.

rafe licked another stripe, making a delicious noise with his tongue. you were sure if you weren’t so aroused that you’d gag at the sound.

one of his hands moved to your hip now, his skin rough and warm against yours. a gasp left your lips as you flinched without much thought, your leg over his shoulder tightening. they were all caused by rafe’s tongue brushing over your clit, something you hadn’t expected yet. you surely welcomed it when he did it again after feeling your reaction. he did it softly the second time around and you felt him shift below you before one of his fingers appeared at your entrance.

“fuck,” you whispered mostly to yourself. rafe pulled away a second later and you gasped as his finger coated in your arousal before pushing into you at the same time he reconnected with your clit.

you moaned lowly from the back of your throat. “rafe, that feels so good.”

he spent a few seconds sucking on you until he disappeared again. “look at me,” he said with a squeeze to your hip. his finger continued to move.

you breathed through your mouth as you opened your eyes and looked down at him. his seemed a smidge darker, but he held a sweet and fascinated smile on his lips.

“do you want another?”

“y-yes, please.”

you reached down and grabbed ahold of his wrist on your hip. your fingers tightened around the headrest at the same time. rafe pushed in another and returned to your clit, his tongue moving. you moaned as you watched him, wondering why you had even closed your eyes in the first place. he looked heavenly between your legs, and it felt even better.

pulling his fingers out, he brought them to his lips and licked them clean. “fuck, you taste so good, baby.”

you whimpered the next moment when he wrapped his hand around your thigh and licked up your folds. both of your hands let go to attach to his hair, your fingers spreading and pulling.

rafe’s mouth worked over you a bit quicker this time and you could tell he was losing himself in it, but you were enjoying it. it was startling when his tongue dipped into you and he pulled away only to spit, but it blew your mind. he licked widely up to your clit then, mixing everything in to one as he closed his mouth over the sensitive mound.

“oh my god.”

you felt your muscles tightening in your abdomen and the familiar feeling of wanting to move, of wanting to release. your feet tensed, a white-hot fervor starting in your toes.

“fuck, rafe, i’m going to come.” you gasped. “make me come, please, please.”

rafe obliged, his tongue flicking over you and causing your muscles to tighten even more. your eyes pricked with tears; your legs tightened on either side of him. he held them open and you wanted to curse him out for not letting you close them, to trap him in place and never have him stop.

your hips lifted off the seat, bucking against his face as you grew closer. you thought you were ripping his hair out when you came undone, moaning loudly out into the truck, to the marsh. seconds later, your grip loosened on his scalp as he licked you clean, catching everything on his tongue.

pressing a kiss to your thigh, rafe pulled away slowly and sat up. you lay there for a moment, collecting yourself and catching your breath. the muscles in your legs felt like they liquified, but you could feel them harden again to help you move. the fire in your toes died out, a pulse still existent from your release. 

“thank you.” you said to rafe as you sat up and pulled your underwear back on tiredly. you looked over to find him watching you with a soft smile and a subtle dent in his shorts. “can i do something for you?” you asked, nodding toward his lap.

rafe glanced down then shook his head at you. “no, that’s okay. i liked just tasting you.”

he didn’t say anything else as he brushed your hair over your shoulder and pressed a kiss there. his hand ran down your back. you grinned at your lap, holding your shorts and wondering where to go from there. rafe’s hand felt nice, his thumb rubbing gently. when you looked over at him, he leaned in and kissed you slowly. his hand moved up to the back of your neck while one of yours reached to touch his jaw.

“i should get home,” you said when you broke apart. you found those brown specks again and wanted nothing more than to analyze them further, but if you didn’t show your face at home soon, your phone would be interjecting in your time with rafe.

he nodded in understanding and moved apart from you so you could pull your shorts back on. “when can i see you again?” 

it was such a stupid thing to make your heart leap in your chest. it even made your body flush as if it already wasn’t.

you grinned at him. “you have my number.”

he nodded again and moved in for another kiss. you reciprocated and gave it your all, hoping that if he hadn’t already decided, that he’d call you or text you tonight. it was thrilling to think about the next time you’d see him.

⭐️taglist of beauties & babes!⭐️

@tovvaa​ @fttayla @dontjinx-it @moniamaybank @drewstarkeygf @cheshirecat107​ @jjmaybankzz​ @obxcunt @honeyyhemmings @dvakat @macey730 @twinklelilstarkey @disrecpectful @prettylilwolf-blog @jjcanloveme @ityagirljay @igotmajordaddyissues​

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #outer banks #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron x fem!reader #rafe cameron obx

[andmyvape]

"Please tell me you're not wearing that."

Elayn looked down, then back up with a wide grin. She tugged at her bright rainbow suspenders with her thumbs. "What, not tacky enough?"

Serana gave the ensemble another slow scan. "No, it's… definitely tacky. The combat boots with the khaki shorts is a nice touch."

The grin got wider as she stuffed her hands into her pockets. "They're going to be throwing candy, and I wasn't anywhere near prepared enough last time."

Serana rolled her eyes, but softened it with a smile. "You're ridiculous."

"Isn't that why we're dating?" her girlfriend asked as they headed out the door.

She took a moment to lock up while Serana laughed. "'Careless Whisper' on a boom box outside my window. I can't believe my dad didn't kill you. I know you stole that, by the way. We both went to see that movie when it came out."

"They marketed it as a romcom!" Elayn protested.

They were in the car now. It would be a trick to find parking, but they were running early thanks to Serana's habit of scheduling everything. Elayn was more the type to go with the flow, but living together had her adapted enough that the flow she went with was largely dictated by Serana's schedule. As a research chemist, she worked interesting hours at times, but Elayn was a good roommate, she cooked and cleaned, mostly because she had the time. Lacrosse wasn't a well paying sport compared to something like soccer, but the off seasons gave her plenty of time to maintain their loft. 

"Five dollars an hour?" Elayn griped as the machine printed out their ticket. 

"Homophobia strikes again," Serana said with mock solemnity. 

She snorted and wrapped an arm around her girlfriend's waste. "Which park did you say this thing started in again?" 

It was a little place surrounded by tall buildings, but it was a green patch in a city largely made out of grey. It being Pride Month, the grey was broken up by rainbows. The two wandered around as they waited for the parade to start. 

Well, at least, they started to wander when Elayn caught sight of a dog and all but dragged her girlfriend over to say hi. 

"What's his name?" she asked, so full of enthusiasm she practically floated. "Can I pet him?" 

The dog's owner, someone with a short haircut in a crop top that was orange, yellow, and white striped, nodded. "If he lets you. Sometimes he's not so-- oh gosh," they said, eyes wide as they watched Elayn kneel down and offer a hand to sniff that was immediately accepted. "You must have good vibes." 

"She's a dog person," Serana said with a laugh as the dog put its front paws on Elayn's shoulders so he could lick her face. 

"What's his name?" she asked through slobbery kisses. 

The butch grinned. "That's Duke, I'm Cas. It's nice to meet you!" 

The two introduced themselves just in time for a volunteer to come up with bottles of water. "Our city got voted best water in the state," she said cheerfully. "Take a few, it's gonna be a hot one." 

Before the march, there were speeches. The first was an introduction to the city's first pride parade since the 80s. The second was from a drag queen inviting everyone to the show later that night. Finally, the speeches were closed by an Episcopalian pastor trying to make up for the rest of Christianity's sins. 

"It's starting!" Elayn said excitedly when the crowd started to funnel out of the park. 

The march went down the sidewalk for a few blocks. Traffic was halted and the waiting cars honked while passengers waved. Elayn waved a lesbian flag, Serana had a bi flag, and the two of them dragged a rainbow striped cooler. 

"Mom! Mom!" Elayn heard behind her. "Look, it's two cicadas going at it!" 

She glanced behind her. There was a set of twins, about twelve years old, one of them draped in a trans flag and holding the cicadas that were indeed trying to reproduce. Elayn snorted and hit herself in the face trying to keep a laugh contained. "You like bugs, huh?" 

The girl in the trans flag beamed. "They're my favorite! Well, except for tarantulas, but Mom won't let me have one." 

"The rabbit gets out of its cage enough." The way the girl's mom said it, this was an age old argument. "I don't want to squash it when it ends up in my shoe."

"I had a snake when I was growing up," Serana chimed in. "A corn snake that never got out." 

The twins turned out to be part of a family unit. One twin was trans, and their older brother was too, and as Elayn found soon, was very excited to start HRT. "Get a Gc2b binder," she said. "When I'm feeling like a flat day, it works really well." 

The boy, a younger fourteen, practically floated with excitement. "I will!" 

Serana chatted with the parents while Elayn occupied the kids. "Have you folks been to Pride before?" 

Their mom, a woman named Chelsea, shook her head. "Nope, both kids came out last September and they've been talking about the festival ever since." 

"You seem like really supportive parents," Serana said. It carried the weight of one speaking who has not had contact with their parents since high school. 

Chelsea could tell, and she opened her arms for a hug that Serana was more than happy to accept. 

The march was only about a mile long, and it ended in another park. Elayn craned her neck and said, "I think I see the beer line, wait here?" 

"We will!" said the girl, who was very proud to be named Luna now. 

Serana and Chelsea shared a grin. "I guess we'll wait here," the mom said. 

It was a bit of a line, which was probably not a good thing, but apparently people were restricted on how many drinks they could buy, so at least there was that. While Elayn waited, she was joined by two people wearing pronoun pins that said "she/her". 

Elayn's jaw dropped at the sight of one of the girls' dress, which was a flowing, fae like ensemble. "Holy shit!" she said. "You look amazing!" 

She blushed and ducked her head as she smiled. "Thank you, I got it from Amazon." 

"It's her first Pride," her friend added.

That just amazed Elayn more. "With the sparkles and the green eyeshadow, I wouldn't have guessed. Everything you've got going on is just amazing."

"Thank you!" she squeaked. 

Elayn wasn't alone in thinking the dress was gorgeous. Another person came up to compliment it, and they had such dope tattoos that Elayn could not help but comment. 

"The guy that did them is great," they gushed. "He does blacklight work too!" 

So she got a website saved on her phone for the next time she really wanted to get a tattoo on top of the three she already had; scrollwork on her bicep, a wolf on her shoulder blade, and a small date on her wrist that was the day she met Serana. 

When she got back to her girlfriend and the others, an IPA in hand that was frankly piss, she told them about the girl in the fae dress. 

"I saw her!" Serana exclaimed. 

"Amazon." 

"No way." 

Next was food, especially if she was going to drink a beer. Assuming she actually drank it. "There's some food trucks," she pointed out. "I could go for a corndog." 

"I'm going to get some mac and cheese," Serana said. 

"Mom! Mom!" Luna's twin brother, Ian, tugged at his mom's sleeve. "Can we get pretzels?" 

Chelsea sighed good-naturedly. "I suppose. Do you two want to meet up after?" 

"Over by the stage?" Elayn suggested. 

The group separated. She found the line for corndogs and funnel cake. While she was waiting, the woman ahead of her glanced her way, so Elayn said, "Howdy!" 

"Hey there, hun!" She clapped her on the shoulder. "Having a good time?" 

"I am," she said with a grin. "Everyone here is so nice. There were some moms back there handing out hugs!" 

"Well, I'm a mom, would you like a hug?" 

"I would love that." 

It was a lovely hug, the woman was warm and smelled floral. When they separated, she said, "I'm Elayn! It's good to meet you. Can I get you a corndog?" 

As she pulled out her wallet, the woman waved her money away. "It's Nessa, and actually, I'd like to buy you a corndog." 

"You don't have to--" 

Nessa laughed. "I miss my daughters, you'd be doing me a favor." 

They chatted while the line went down, about lacrosse and about university. It turned out Nessa's two daughters went off to college in other cities, so it had been a while since she saw either. "I had a son," she said. "But now I have a very happy daughter, and I'm so proud of her." 

"I wish I had a mom like you," Elayn said, thinking about growing up foster care. 

Nessa grabbed her in another hug. "Now you do!" 

When she got back to Serana and the others, they were listening to the music booming from the speakers. She had to yell to tell the group about her new mom. 

Chelsea looked a little sad, because she could connect the dots, but Luna and Ian were too busy freaking out over the cotton candy Nessa had bought her too. 

Not long after, the stage was occupied. Elayn was chatting with Luna with her back turned, so she missed it until Serana tapped her shoulder and turned her around. 

"Holy shit!" She hollered and clapped at the sight of a gorgeous, sequin clad drag queen in four inch heels doing a backflip off the stage and onto grass. "Holy shit!" 

As it turned out, the drag queens took tips, and it was at that point that Elayn knew she was about to spend a lot of money. Each queen that performed, and there were many, got a five in exchange for the sheer joy Elayn got when the queen before her touched her hand. 

When there was a break in the performances, she went back to Serana, who had a smirk on her face. "Should I be jealous?" 

Elayn cupped her face, and in a fit of sheer enthusiasm, kissed her girlfriend soundly, to the delight of the twins who hooted. "Don't worry, babe," she teased. "You're the only queen for me." 

"Flatterer." Serana swatted at her chest, but the smile on her face was pleased regardless. 

It was all a blur from there. Fair food, loud music-- and Elayn found beer that wasn't piss! She taught the twins a new vocabulary of cuss words the moment she found out their mom was fine with foul language. They parted around five in the afternoon, when a voice through a megaphone warned attendants that the festival was about to start catering to adults. There was a concert with more drag queens, this time in much more risqué outfits that Elayn would have given a kidney to see on Serana. 

When she said something, her girlfriend got a light in her eye. "Really now?" she purred. "Maybe for your birthday." 

By 11pm, Elayn was high on the party atmosphere and a few beers. The festival was over, and the walk back to their car would be a trick. "Did you have fun?" she asked Serana as they walked hand in hand. 

She got a kiss on the cheek. "I'm so glad I have you. When are we getting married?"

"When I figure out how to surprise you with a ring." 

#skyrim fanfiction #Modern AU #pride 2021 #Femslash #dragonborn #serana #Whoever gets the reference gets a cookie and to feel superior

[karasuno-volley]

BAKUGOU KATSUKI + TAKING IT SLOW

pairing : bakugou + gn!reader

warnings : none, i think. let me know if you need something tagged ! 

a/n : okay, i admit that i binged mha in like 3 weeks do not @ me. i wanted to write something quick for my fave explosion boy. no manga spoilers bc i’m currently not reading it. haikyuu + requests soon ( also, feel free to request something from mha as well ) !! love, volley. 

     The city is a constant hum below your apartment’s balcony, the sunlight filtering lazily into your bedroom. On mornings like these, you’re more likely to forget everything. A truck stutters and comes to life, coughing smoke to the air as it takes off down the busy road, and your hands tighten a bit on the railing, your eyes fluttering closed. The sun burns pink and purple and neon, until you open your eyes again, and it stays the bright orange of the early hours. 

     You hear the sliding door from your bedroom squeak open, and without turning around, you can feel him there. Imposing, silent. Still sleepy from the night before. His arms snake around your waist-- carefully, so as not to interrupt your train of thought, as if you had one at this moment. A sigh falls from your lips as Katsuki’s face becomes buried in the space between neck and shoulder, leaving tiny butterfly-soft kisses up your jaw. He hums against your skin, rough and heavy, tinged with exhaustion. “You should have woken me up.” Bakugou grumbles, and you tilt your head backwards, looking upwards towards the pale blue of another summer morning. 

     “I’m sorry.” But you aren’t. Both of you know this. And besides, you like the way your fiance cuddles your pillow when you’re not between the sheets with him, back when the room is hot and covered in a tinge of violet light by dawn. The pro-hero continues his kissing trail upwards, finally landing at your lips when you turn your head to greet him. Below the balcony, a car engine starts and drones away down the road. Bakugou pulls away then, but grips your hand as if to make up for the lack of contact, leading you back inside. 

     You watch as Katsuki heads for the closet, tugging out his costume-- or at least the under-armor portion. The rest -- the more dangerous pieces-- are cautiously stored by the door, under lock and key. You don’t hear him for a while, mind distracted to when you’ve seen him like this before. An abandoned warehouse. A crazed look in his eye. Fire. 

     “Oi, idiot.” Bakugou’s gripping your shoulders now, forcing eye contact. He has not been loud with you in the weeks since then, and doesn’t yell much either, except for maybe when on the job and in front of his agency’s heroes. You’ve seen him then, of course. Hair spiked and arms crossed and a permanent scowl etched across his features. It’s an odd thing to compare him to these slow mornings, with softer hair (though still a bit pointed) and tired eyes, a frown that is genuinely concerned rather than openly upset or angry. “Hey, are you good? I asked if you wanted to go for breakfast or something, since I’m taking the morning off. Go get ready, and I’ll meet you by the door.”

     Two hours later, as the pair of you exit the tiny cafe, Katsuki stops short, tugging out his phone. You pause with him. “What are you doing?” 

     “Calling one of my interns.”

     “Okay, why?” 

     You shift your weight from one leg to the other, watching a few more people pause and stare at the number two hero. You step a bit closer to him, and sensing your unease, his gloved hand grabs your own, still warm as always. “He’s gonna meet us here to take you home.”

     “Katsuki, we’re just a few blocks away. I can walk, it’s really not that big of a deal.”

     The way he glances at you-- eyes hard and nearly on fire-- catches you off-guard. He’s still on edge. You don’t want to admit it, but you are, too. “You’re not going to argue with me on this, idiot.” A few more cars pass, a group of schoolkids pause their game of tag to carefully weave around you two. Ten minutes later, a kid in a light blue costume arrives. Undoubtedly a UA student who can’t be more than sixteen or seventeen. “You know where you’re going, right?” Bakugou’s voice is as harsh as always, though deeper than his high school days. The kid jumps slightly, nods. “Yes, sir.”

     Katsuki squeezes your hand a bit. “Alright, I’m leaving. When you’re done, you go right to the agency. No stops. I’ll be waiting.” The boy nods again, clearly a little nervous. You watch as the pro-hero makes his way down the sidewalk, cutting a path through the groups of people there. The sun reaches higher into the sky, and when you close your eyes again, all you see is orange and red and yellow-- the colors spin until they blend together into something that is all too familiar and comforting.  

master mha taglist : none-- ask or message to be added !! ( btw, @beanst0ck, @owlnymph​, & @hword4tsukki ) let me know if you want to be tagged in mha-related things, or haikyuu only !! ) 

#mha imagines #mha fanfic #bakugou imagines #bakugou x reader #karasuno-volley #i love explodey-boy #feel free to req for both hq and mha now! #bnha imagines #bnha #bakugou x y/n

[vannahfanfics]

Heavenly River

Category: Friendship Fluff

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Characters: Izuku Midoriya, Katsuki Bakugo

Hey, everyone! It’s my pleasure to share my story for Written in the Stars: A BKDK Tanabata zine!

Izuku held his hand flat over his brows as he stepped outside, shielding his eyes from the intensity of the sun burning in the azure sky. It was a cloudless day, so there was no solace from the bright sun rays spearing down from the heavens. However, there was a pleasant breeze to cool the hot, humid July air; it ruffled Izuku’s tousled pine-green hair and the fabric of his dark seaweed-colored yukata. He adjusted the emerald-hued sash around his waist, more to fidget than to actually fix it, and then pulled out his cell phone to check his notifications. He brightened when he saw a text from Katsuki, who had agreed to come with him to this year’s Tanabata festival. 

Almost there, loser. You’d better be ready, or I’m leaving without you. 

Izuku chuckled under his breath before shooting his friend a quick text to confirm that he was indeed ready and waiting for his friend to arrive, then stowed his phone back in his pocket. He slid his hands in the pockets of his yukata as he stood on the landing of his mother’s apartment complex. She had hung kuzukago on either side of the door; the white basket-like arrangements of paper strips swayed gently in the breeze, beseeching the winds for blessings of tidiness and thriftiness. 

The neighbor to the right had hung kinchaku patterned with pretty floral paper; they’d fallen under hard times since the husband had been laid off from his job. Izuku whispered out a quick prayer on their behalf, wishing them improved fortunes and good luck. Their other neighbor had hung several chains of paper cranes in their windows, as their grandmother had recently fallen ill with pneumonia. Izuku had recently heard she was on the mend, and he hoped that this information was still true. She was a lovely lady who always brought Izuku’s mother homemade cookies when she visited, so Izuku hoped she would recover and be discharged from the hospital soon. Along the underside of the balcony, fukinagashi streamers swayed in the breeze with their colorful tails ruffling along the wind like Orihime’s fabled weavings. 

People need wishes more than ever, Izuku thought as he leaned against the metal railing framing the walkway and looked out to the street below. Though All for One and Tomura Shigaraki had finally been defeated, the scars of their reign of carnage were still evident even months later. Across the street, they were still rebuilding the apartment complex that had been utterly destroyed in a fire; bits and pieces of the charred shell were piled in the brown grass to be collected by the garbage trucks later. Hope was still fragile in the community, so this Tanabata festival could hopefully restore faith and positivity in people. 

“Oiiiii! Nerd! Stop starin’ off into space and get the fuck down here!” 

Izuku glanced down to see Katsuki standing on the sidewalk. He was wearing that scowl Izuku had come to know as an odd symbol of affection, and his hands were buried into the pockets of his maroon yukata. Izuku called down to him in greeting and then took off in a trot, hopping down the steps and rounding the corner to join him on the sidewalk. Katsuki’s vermilion eyes burned in the harsh summer sun, but they were still less fierce than Izuku had known them a little over a year ago. 

“Yer mom ain’t comin’?” Katsuki questioned as they set off in a leisurely walk down the sidewalk, subconsciously matching each other’s strides.

“No,” Izuku confirmed with a shake of his head. “She went the other day, so she’s spending the day making yakitori and takoyaki for dinner! If your family doesn’t have plans, Kacchan, you’re more than welcome to come by after and eat with us!” 

Katsuki tilted his head to the side, an expression of consideration on his face. 

“My folks somehow got roped into workin’ today, so I might take you up on that. Sure as hell beats cookin’ for myself.” 

Izuku couldn’t help the happy smile that appeared on his lips; they hadn’t hung out for summer vacation very much due to their respective training regimens, so Izuku was delighted that he would not only be able to attend the last day of the festival with Katsuki but also have him over for dinner. “Wait, though, they aren’t doing the paper boat ceremony until midnight.” 

“That’s right! I was thinking that we would spend the day enjoying the festival, go home for dinner, and then go back to do the paper boat ceremony. I know that’s a little past your bedtime, though, Kacchan,” he grinned teasingly and elbowed his friend in the ribs. “Will you be able to handle it?” 

“Who the hell do ya think you’re talkin’ to?” Katsuki cried indignantly, jostling Izuku’s shoulder with his own. “O’course I can handle it! Damn nerd, where do ya get off thinkin’ you can insult me like that?” 

Izuku laughed as Katsuki flung his muscular arm around his shoulders and jerked him against his side to grind his fist into the top of Izuku’s head. It was a good thing that his hair had always been unruly anyway, because Katsuki couldn’t muss it up too much. Izuku laughed airily when Katsuki shoved him away. The blond buried his hands back into his pockets with a snort, looking away at the large fukinagashi the city had suspended from the light poles. The large ball of yellow, orange, and white flowers hung from the streetlamps, the sunlight catching on the rustling streamers to cast playful shadows along the ground as the pieces curled and fluttered. 

“Do you know what you’re going to wish for?” Katsuki asked him after several minutes of silent walking. This caught Izuku by surprise, and he turned to blink at him with wide emerald eyes. Katsuki was still staring out at the road, eyes lidded as he watched the cars trundle by. 

“Actually, no,” he said and rubbed the back of his neck while he looked up at the clear blue sky. My goal is to be the number-one hero, but… for some reason, I don’t feel like wishing for that, he thought with a small frown. He’d been wrestling with it leading up to the event, and here it was the first day of the festival— he had to make a decision at some point. “I’ll figure it out when I get there!” He laughed nonchalantly and then looked back at Katsuki. “What about you?” 

“I don’t know either.” Katsuki’s voice was flat, and Izuku could tell that he was thinking hard about it. I guess he wants his wish to be important… After all they had been through, Izuku could understand that. They’d endured so much together and grown up so fast. Smiling wanly, Izuku gently bumped his shoulder with Katsuki’s, prompting the blond to look at him with raised eyebrows. 

“Don’t worry, Kacchan. We’ll figure it out!” 

Katsuki blinked at him, then turned away with a small “tch.” However, Izuku could see that the minute tension had left his shoulders and the stoniness had eased out of his expression. 

It was a short walk to the shrine where the festival was held. The street leading up to the shrine was laden with the handcrafted paper ornaments strung from the oak trees that framed the path. On either side of the cobblestone walkway, local vendors had set up their wares; the savory scent of yakisoba floated on the air, making Izuku’s mouth water though he’d just eaten breakfast not too long ago. There were vendors selling handmade ornaments, the pair of them walking past the hairpin maker who came every year, their stall a huge hit with the local girls. Izuku spotted several of them already decorating the ornate updos some of the festival goers chose to wear that night, the hair pins adding just that much more to the look. In the corner, a small troupe of stage actors were recounting the story of Orihime and Hikoboshi for an enthralled crowd. 

“Wow, look at the crowd— and everyone looks so happy, too,” Izuku marveled. It seemed that the fair bit of hope the festival offered had drawn many people out of their homes, and he was relieved to see most of them wearing genuine smiles. 

“Well, it’s been a shitty few months,” Katsuki shrugged. “They’re gonna latch onto anything positive that comes their way.” Izuku supposed that was true, but it still made him happy for the civilians. They’d all endured a lot— they deserved to celebrate a festival, to wish for mundane things instead of seeing tomorrow. 

What did he want to wish for, though?

They walked to the end of the small street, where long fronds of bamboo framed the entrance to the shrine. Paper strips hung from their dainty branches, colored rectangles that swayed among the bright green leaves. The wishes of hundreds were imbued in those simple tanzaku— everything from pleas for academic success to wishes for love to grand hopes for world peace. Beneath the sprawling bamboo were small circular tables, where the colorful bits of paper sat beneath glass paperweights. They waited in a short line to walk up to the table; when Izuku picked up the pen and grabbed a blue strip of paper, he hesitated a moment while he debated what to write on the strip. 

Out of the corners of his eyes, he could see Katsuki silently debating as well. It was strange, their mental debate. After everything they’d done, everything they’d seen, did they feel invincible? Is that why they had nothing to wish for? Or perhaps there was so much they wanted to see the world become and so much they wanted to do themselves, there were infinite possibilities to wish for now. Izuku smiled wanly and looked down at the blank rectangular strip of paper, the canvas to paint a wish of goodwill. He twirled the pen around in his hand, trying to think of what he wanted to wish for most in the world right now. 

Finally, it dawned on him. He hunched down over the table to neatly scrawl on the tanzaku: A world where people’s wishes can come true. 

Katsuki was still writing as Izuku stepped aside and walked to the bamboo fronds. He stood on his tiptoes to use the small loops of string to tie it on an empty bit of the plant, suspending it among hundreds of other wishes. He stepped back to admire the bit of blue fluttering among the rainbow of colors, while Katsuki passed by him to hang his wish beside his. 

“What did you wish for, Kacchan?” 

“Idiot,” Katsuki huffed as he turned around to walk back. “If you say it out loud, it won’t come true! I’ll tell ya after midnight, maybe.” Izuku blushed sheepishly at that; he’d quite forgotten that bit of superstition. He didn’t know if Katsuki actually believed it or was simply giving him a hard time, but it really didn’t matter. 

They enjoyed the small festival for the rest of the afternoon, starting with the play, since it was starting over as they came out from the depths of the path. They sat with their legs tucked underneath them on comfy cushions (among a bunch of little kids, Katsuki was eager to grouse about) and watched the rendition of the love story. Izuku had always found it kind of sad that Orihime and Hikoboshi were only permitted to meet one day out of every year, but he also marveled that there was a love so strong that not even three hundred and sixty-four days of separation could lessen it. At the end of the play, they joined the actors in singing the traditional song— well, Izuku did. Katsuki would rather drop dead than sing, especially in front of a bunch of elementary-schoolers. 

After the play, they stopped at the yakisoba stand for lunch. Izuku swirled the fried noodles around with his chopsticks to scoop bits of pork and cabbage, then spooned them into his mouth. As he slurped up the noodles, Katsuki glanced at him out of his peripheral vision. 

“It’s almost strange,” he remarked. Izuku raised an eyebrow at him, and Katsuki looked down into his half-eaten yakisoba with pinkening cheeks. “Going back to normal after, you know… everything.” Izuku swallowed his noodles, looking at Katsuki with widening eyes. Though they were better friends now, he’d never grow used to these melancholic moods Katsuki drifted into. Katsuki’s red eyes were lidded while he pushed the noodles around his plate, pulsing with a serious sadness so unlike his usual explosive personality. 

“Yeah,” Izuku agreed quietly. He found his own appetite waning, so he pushed the plate of noodles away and leaned his arms on the counter. “But… You can’t hang onto the past forever. At some point, you have to let the darkness fall behind you and walk toward the sun.” 

“Tch. What are you, a fucking poet?” Katsuki snorted, but as always, his words were in direct contradiction to the small smile curling over his lips. Katsuki gathered up a large chunk of the yakisoba and then continued contemplatively with his mouth full, “Towards the sun, huh?” 

Izuku smiled, then pulled his plate back toward him to finish it. He wouldn’t want to insult the chef that made the delicious meal, after all. 

After finishing lunch, the two of them headed to Izuku’s house. They joined his mother in the kitchen to help her prepare dinner. Katsuki worked on dicing chicken breast into small cubes to skewer, while Izuku prepared the batter for the takoyaki. While they worked, his mother regaled Katsuki with stories of Tanabata festivals past— particularly her favorite tale of Izuku wishing to be like All Might every single year leading up to his acceptance at U.A. Izuku hid his bright red face in the refrigerator while pretending to look for the octopus tentacles, while Katsuki just guffawed about what a groupie he was. 

The scent of frying batter and grilling chicken filled the kitchen as the sun sank lower and lower in the sky. Izuku’s mother had begun singing the song, and Izuku had taken it up as well, annoying Katsuki with their repeated trills of the tune:

“The bamboo leaves rustle, shaking away in the eaves.

The stars twinkle on the gold and silver grains of sand.

The five-color paper strips I have written.

The stars twinkle, they watch us from heaven.”

Katsuki’s lips couldn’t curl into a deeper scowl as Izuku waltzed around him, poking him in the cheek with a leftover octopus tentacle. Katsuki snatched it away and slapped him lightly across the cheek with it, leaving a slimy mark on Izuku’s skin. 

“Oi! You sing that song one more goddamn time, I’m gonna fry you into a takoyaki ball!” Katsuki threatened while gesturing wildly with the floppy tentacle. Izuku and his mother just laughed, quite used to Katsuki’s angry outbursts. Katsuki nursed his irritation with a melon soda, clenching the can in one hand while flipping the chicken grilling in the skillet with the other. 

It was about seven in the evening by the time the three of them gathered around the kōtatsu table with the spread of food. His mother turned on the television to watch the annual specials— which were just more dramatizations of the traditional story— while the two boys tore into the food with relish. Katsuki had always praised Inko’s cooking skills like the foodie he was, and though he’d probably never admit it aloud, he loved her takoyaki. He plucked ball after ball from the plate to pile them into his mouth until his cheeks bulged like a chipmunk’s. 

“The hell you laughin’ at?” he grumbled when Izuku burst into laughter. Izuku just shook his head and used his teeth to slide a piece of the sauce-soaked, tender chicken from the skewer in his hand. He would have laughed if someone told him a year ago that he’d be sitting at the kōtatsu with Katsuki enjoying the Tanabata festival, even more so to be told they were exchanging friendly banter. The realization made a joyful smile spread over Izuku’s face, one that didn’t miss Katsuki’s attention. 

“Oi. What are you thinking about?” Katsuki asked, the scowl morphing into a curious look. Izuku’s smile just widened, and he reached out to pluck up one of the takoyaki balls with his chopsticks. 

“I’m just thinking about how nice this is, Kacchan. My mom doesn’t remember this, but,” he said, dropping his voice while his mother cried tearfully at the separation of Orihime and Hikoboshi playing on the screen, “A few years ago, I didn’t wish to be like All Might. I wished for us to be friends.” 

Katsuki’s cheeks flushed a bright pink as he released a choking noise. He covered his blush with a broad hand, and he averted his gaze. Izuku chuckled at his shy reaction and took the opportunity to steal another takoyaki ball. 

“Damn nerd,” Katsuki huffed with undeniable affection that made Izuku’s heart warm. “You can’t just say shit like that, you know. Now stop stealing my fucking takoyaki. Don’t think I didn’t notice. We may be friends, but I’ll still break your arm.” 

They watched the special programs until about eleven, then set off again back to the shrine to participate in the paper boat ceremony. This time, the crowd had gathered at the nearby river, which babbled along another pathway leading to the small shrine. Dew clung to the hem of Izuku’s yukata as he walked on the edge of the cobblestone path where the grass grew. He and Katsuki retrieved their wishes from the bamboo branches, then took one of the prepared paper boats to place the wishes inside. Afterward, they set off to find a nice place to set them adrift.

They sat down on the edge of the bank to wait for the clock to strike midnight. Izuku held the fragile paper boat in his lap while he eased off his sandals so he could dip his toes in the cool water. Katsuki sat next to him, cross-legged and watching the water current swirl in the concrete canal. It was a far cry from the Heavenly River from the story, but Izuku could imagine its beauty with the way the starlight played over the babbling water. 

“You know, we’re kind of like Orihime and Hikoboshi,” Izuku said after a while. Katsuki looked at him like he’d absolutely lost his mind, which made Izuku flush and hurriedly explain, “I-I just mean that at the beginning it felt like… You were on the other side of the river from me, Kacchan.” This made the blond settle down, so Izuku continued with a wan smile. “It felt like you were miles ahead, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t catch up… But little by little, I did, and now we’re on the same side of the river. I guess. Sorry. That was a weird metaphor,” he laughed nervously, playing with the edges of the paper boat. 

“It was fucking weird,” Katsuki sniffed, then looked out to the water. “I get what you mean, though.” His voice was soft, a rare hint of gentleness that Izuku still couldn’t believe was sometimes directed toward him. “Just make sure you don’t fall back to the other side of the river, dumbass,” Katsuki said after a second, elbowing him gently in the arm. 

“Hehe, I won’t,” Izuku chuckled and elbowed him back. 

Then, fireworks lit up the moonlit sky, indicating that it had turned twelve. Izuku and Katsuki crawled to the bank to gently push the paper boats into the water. They watched them drift along the current, joined by hundreds of other little sailboats. Then, Izuku jumped to his feet while tugging eagerly on Katsuki’s arm. 

“Come on!” 

He ignored Katsuki’s confused sputters of protest as he dragged him up the bank to the walkway overlooking the river, which was lined by red railings. Izuku gripped the railing, searching for their two boats drifting alongside one another, and then pointed them out with a smile. The moon bathed them in a white glow, making them almost luminescent in the brilliant light. The light also played over the water to make it seem like they drifted on rivers of glittering diamond. 

“Hey… What did you wish for?” Katsuki asked him suddenly, and Izuku turned to look at him with a soft smile. 

“A world where people’s wishes could come true.” 

Katsuki raised his eyebrows. Under the pale moonlight, the pink hue that rose to his cheeks was rosy pale. Katsuki bit down on his bottom lip, but that didn’t suppress the little chuckles that bubbled out of his throat. 

“Me too.” 

Izuku’s smile brightened, and then he turned to look out at the water. It was full of paper boats now, all glowing in the white light streaming down from the cloudless sky. He felt Katsuki nudge him, because of course he couldn’t let the moment pass without another jab. 

“What a waste though, ‘cuz it’s my wish that’s gonna come true, nerd,” he teased. Izuku had to laugh and shake his head. Only Katsuki could make even traditional wishes during Tanabata into a competition. He supposed it didn’t matter though, if only one of their wishes were granted or both— either way, it meant happiness and peace for those who needed it most. That’s all Izuku could ever want. He watched those boats drift down the heavenly river, where hopefully the gods would pluck them up on the distant shore. They would read those wishes, and fulfill their hopes.

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!

#bkdk #dkbk #bakudeku #dekubaku #izuku midoriya #midoriya izuku #bakugo katsuki #bakugou katsuki #katsuki bakugo #katsuki bakugou #my hero academia #mha #bnha #boku no hero academia #my hero

[snelbz]

The Ranch {19}

An A Court of Thorns and Roses, Nesta x Cassian, Modern AU, fanfiction.

Collaboration: @snelbz​ x @tacmc​

Summary: Nesta had spent years in Paris, living her dream and drowning in riches as a gourmet chef, capturing the hearts of the city and its people. But, after her father passes away unexpectedly and leaves his cozy, countryside B&B to his oldest daughter, Nesta is moving back home to the tiny town of Velaris, where the ranch, her sisters, and her father’s unfulfilled dream, awaits.

Sidenote: Being posted between two blogs, it is too chaotic to keep up with a tags list, so all chapters will be tagged with “#TheRanchNessian” & “#SharaCollab”.

Nesta stood in the paint department and looked at the wall of samples in front of her. She wanted something light, but something that stood out, too. She didn’t want anything like her father had chosen back in the nineties and-.

She shook her head, trying to free her head of the deja vu that washed over her and chuckling quietly. She had been here before, had done this before. Things were just...a little different this time.

As if she wanted to remind her mother of this fact, Nesta felt a sharp pain against her ribs and she inhaled sharply through her teeth. Beau looked up at her, brown eyes wide. He hadn’t left her side since the beginning of her third trimester and Nesta had learned to love the constant, comforting presence.

“Your sister is using my ribs as a punching bag,” she told him, regardless of the fact that he couldn’t understand her. He opened his mouth in what Nesta swore was a smile and his tongue hung to the side.

He always smiled when they talked about the baby.

Nesta was floored as she realized how different her life had become in twelve months. A year ago, she’d been deciding whether or not she should give up everything she’d ever wanted, to move home and run her father’s crumbling dream of a bed and breakfast. Now she was about to have a baby, her perfect, little girl, and she was going to marry the man of her dreams, the man who gave her the gift she never thought possible.

“Nesta?”

She froze, recalling how someone had called her name the last time she’d been here, who it had been when she turned. But it wasn’t Tomas, just Azriel standing in his old, torn jeans and black hoodie. Out of all of them, it was Azriel who looked the least the part of a rancher, but he sure as hell knew what he was doing.

“Cass said you were running into town, but this was the last place I thought I’d see you,” Azriel said, when Nesta said nothing. 

Nesta, collecting her thoughts, gestured to the wall of paint samples. “Nursery color.”

“Ah,” Azriel said, huffing a laugh as he stopped next to her and looked at the wall. Beau brushed up against his leg, and he gave the pup a loving scratch behind the ears. “What about purple?”

Nesta frowned, looking at the endless samples of purple. She had gone over the lavender hues ten times already. “Too predictable. Pink, too. I’ve ruled them both out.”

Azriel chuckled. “Fair enough. Cass wants to paint it green.”

Nesta rolled her eyes. She had to admit that she had her eye on a neutral olive color, but it didn’t seem right, it wasn't special enough.  “So I’ve been told. I told him no, though.”

It was true. In fact, the night before they’d had a heated debate over what color the nursery would be. It ended in them making love on the nursery’s carpet, but that was irrelevant. 

“How about blue?” Azriel suggested, picking up a few different swatches. “There are a ton of different shades of blue, surely there’s one you two can agree on.”

It was her favorite color, but it limited her decorating choices. Both the camouflage and rodeo nursery ideas were nixed last night as well, and Cassian was still pouting about it.

“I’ve been leaning towards a softer yellow or orange.” She lifted a buttery yellow card from its slot. It was too bright, too rich. She added it to the stack, knowing it may look different away from the fluorescent lights. “Like the sunrise. First light.”

Azriel was nodding. “Why don’t you ask Feyre to paint the sunrise?”

Nesta was going to blame her stupidity on pregnancy brain as her eyes went wide and she said, “I hadn’t even thought of that. She’d love that.”

Azriel just smiled, softly. “Feyre would be honored, if you asked her.”

Nesta nodded, slowly, then picked out a couple different shades of yellows and oranges. “Since you’re here, please take me to get some tacos. I’ll buy. Might even bring some home to Cass, if he’s been good this morning.” Azriel’s grin widened as they began walking toward the exit. “A little cranky, I must say, but I think that’s just because he’s hungover.”

Nesta snorted. After their fight over paints, he’d indulged himself - one beer too many, perhaps. “It doesn’t take much to be hungover when you wake up at five a.m.”

“True,” Azriel agreed. “I could do tacos, though.”

“Good,” Nesta said, putting the paint swatches into her purse as she and Azriel walked out onto the sidewalk, Beau close behind. 

It wasn’t until they were down the street at a taco vendor’s food truck that Nesta asked, “So, when the hell are you going to ask my sister to marry you?”

The bite he’d been in the process of taking nearly came back out. Nesta didn’t even flinch. She’d spent so much time throwing up in the past eight months that partially chewed food didn’t even phase her. She blinked and waited for him to collect himself before he took a drink of the Corona in his hand.

“You just go straight for the balls, don’t you?” He laughed.

She raised her eyebrows. “Have you met my fiancé?”

“Fair enough,” he laughed, but he sighed. “You want the honest truth?”

Nesta suddenly realized she wasn’t sure. She was meddling and the only person who hated meddling more than she did was Elain. But she nodded.

Az took a deep breath and said, “I’ve had the ring for almost six months.”

“What?” Nesta’s eyes must have nearly bulged out of her head, because Az backed up a step. “And why exactly haven’t you proposed?”

His smile was soft but proud, as he said, “I don’t want to take this time from you, or from Cassian. You’re having a baby. Like, Nesta, you’re growing a literal human inside of yourself.” He chuckled and smiled fondly. “Did you know that even when we were in high school all Cass wanted from life was to rope and have a family. You’re giving him one of those things and I can’t ever thank you for making my brother so happy. And I don’t want to take that spotlight from y’all. I want you to have your moment, so that when the time comes, Elain can have hers.”

Nesta hated Azriel for making her cry over her taco, and yet, tears were sliding down her cheeks as she set her taco back down onto her plate and observed him. Eventually, she cleared her throat and said, “Elain is a lucky woman.”

Azriel just shook his head as he took another bite. “That woman deserves the world. If anyone’s lucky, it’s me.”

Nesta found herself completely overwhelmed. A year ago, she hadn’t believed love existed, but now? Her and Cassian, Elain and Azriel, Feyre and Rhysand...this type of love was rare, Nesta was sure of it, but somehow they all ended up in a fairytale romance. Her sisters were happy, she was happy...it was perfect. 

“Don’t tell your sister that I made you cry,” Azriel went on, shoving the last of his taco into his mouth. “She’ll kick my ass. She’s scary when she wants to be.”

She shook her head, dabbing at her eyes with a scratchy napkin. “She’ll understand when you knock her up. I cried yesterday during a Christmas commercial.” Azriel waited, knowing that was somewhat common. “A commercial for cattle feed.”

He nodded. “I believe you. Doesn’t change the fact that your sister will punch me in the dick if she finds out I was the cause of your tears.”

They both laughed and Nesta smiled. “Thank you for making her so happy.”

Az gave her that full smile that so many rarely saw. “It’s my pleasure.”

Nesta finished her tacos and ordered some for Cassian for the road. “Word of advice,” she said, getting into her car. Beau already patiently sat in the passenger seat. “Don’t ask her on a holiday. Girls don’t want to share their special day.”

Azriel’s eyebrows raised. “I...hadn’t thought of that.”

Nesta chuckled. “You were going to propose on New Years, weren’t you?”

He nodded once. “Yes, I was.”

She laughed, full and bright, and said, “How about this? You tell me when it’s time, I’ll plan a family dinner and voila, you’ve got yourself a fiancée.”

“Really?” Azriel asked, stopping in front of the driver’s side of the truck’s door.

“Of course,” Nesta said, crossing her arms, the bag of Cassian’s food hanging on her arm. 

“Thank you,” he said, and she knew by the look in his eyes that he meant it.

Although they were going to the same place, they said their goodbyes and Nesta drove home, slowly. By the time she made it back home to the ranch with her paint swatches, Cassian was mowing the lawn. He was shirtless, of course, and was chugging a bottle of water as he rode the lawn mower across the grass. As Nesta pulled into the driveway, he was waving and putting it in park. 

He was covered in sweat, but Nesta still didn’t stop him as he pressed his lips to the side of her head. “The grass was long.”

Nesta nodded. She had wanted to ask him to mow, considering she was too pregnant to do so, but hadn’t wanted to interrupt his daily plans. “I brought you tacos.” 

“Mmm, that’s exactly why I’m marrying you,” he said, pulling her onto his sweaty lap and opening the box in her hands.

She squirmed out of his arms, as best as she could at eight and a half months pregnant and said, “I’m going to go hang the swatches on the wall, come see when you’re done?”

He nodded, shoving an entire taco in his mouth.

She chuckled, but shivered as a brisk wind blew by. “Cass, I know the sun is straight on you, but it’s forty-five degrees out. Don’t you think you should put a shirt on?”

He finished chewing and said, “How else will I keep my tan year round?”

She shook her head and said, “I’ll be inside, call me if you need me. I love you.”

He smiled at her, those hazel eyes sparkling from the joy he felt inside. “I love you too, darlin’.”

She turned and started up the porch steps and heard, “Hey.”

Nesta looked back at him and he asked, the sparkle replaced by his usual mischievous glint, “You got any green swatches in there?”

Nesta rolled her eyes as Azriel pulled the truck in next to her little car. “No.”

She continued up into the house, laughing when she heard Az ask why the hell he wasn’t wearing a shirt. She pulled the swatches out of her purse, including the couple of greens she’d snagged on their way out, along with her phone and she and Beau made their way up to her old room.

The room that she grew up in was the same room her daughter would too.

As she was taping swatches to the room, in various lighting, she called Feyre, putting her phone on speaker.

“Hello?” her sister answered a second later.

“Hey,” Nesta said, looking around the room. “I have a favor to ask.” “Ask away,” Feyre said.

Nesta admired the swatches she had chosen before clearing her throat. “Would you mind...helping me paint the baby’s nursery?”

There was a slight pause, then Feyre’s quiet voice came through, “Of course.”

“I was thinking the sunrise,” Nesta continued, trying not to cry for the tenth time that day. “Bright, cheery, calming.”

“I can do that,” Feyre breathed. “I can come by this weekend?”

“Perfect,” Nesta agreed. There was a few seconds of silence before Nesta said, “Thank you.”

“Anything for my niece,” Feyre said, then added, “And anything for you. And that idiot fiancé of yours.”

Nesta peeked out the window where Cassian was still mowing without his shirt on. He always acted like it was spring, even in the winter. Although their town stayed pretty mild, winter-wise, there was still a little chill in the air. “Idiot he is, but he’s my idiot.”

Feyre chuckled. “Still on for dinner tomorrow?”

“Of course,” Nesta promised. “I’ll see you then.”

They said their goodbyes before Nesta was left alone, in the silence, observing the room around her. Five minutes of planning in her head passed before heavy boots padded up the stairs and Cassian appeared, now wearing a hoodie, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows. “Can I help with anything?”

She was admiring the colors in the direct sunlight. “You can tell me which of these you like best.”

“Hmm.” He came up behind her, pressing his big hands against her belly. Even as round as she was, even at over eight months pregnant, his hands still covered most of it. But then they slid upwards until he was cupping a breast in each hand. He made a show of weighing them and squeezing them gently, and said, “I don’t know, I think I’m pretty partial to the left one.”

She rolled her eyes, laughing, and pushed away from him, walking towards the wall. “I meant color, baby.”

“Oh, well that’s easy,” he snorted, coming in closer as well.

It turned out that it was, in fact, not easy.

After forty-five minutes of arguing and an almost silent quickie with the door open to make up, they had narrowed it down to New Spring Chick and Frosted Tropical Apricot.

They would let Feyre make the final decision in the morning.

“Don’t you have to get back out there?” Nesta asked.

Cassian shook his head. “For now, Az has it covered, it’s been an easy day. I was thinking you and I could go out to dinner, though.”

Nesta lifted a brow. “Dinner?”

Cassian nodded, then gestured to her belly. “We only have so much more time before baby comes. We should have a date night while we can.”

Nesta watched him for a moment before saying, “Okay, fine. But does this mean I have to get dressed up?”

Cassian grinned. “You could wear fucking sweatpants for all I care, but I’m taking you out.”

She wouldn’t wear sweatpants, but she also didn’t plan on wearing another real pair of pants until after this baby was out of her.

Cassian pressed a soft kiss to her stomach, which he did every chance he took, and left to go take a much needed shower. Nesta got ready, slipping on a pair of comfy black leggings and a baggy sweatshirt. Cass ended up dressing nearly identically, except he did wear sweatpants.

They hopped in the “play truck” and right before they left, Cassian said, “Shit, I’ll be right back.”

Nesta sat straight up, hands forming a protective cage around her stomach. “What? Is everything okay?”

He jogged into the house and came back out a minute later, backpack tossed over his shoulder. Climbing back into the truck, he tossed it in the backseat and put it in reverse.

“What is that?” she asked. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“This,” Cass replied, putting his free hand in Nesta’s and rubbing soothing circles into the back of her hand, “is our emergency bag. It’s got everything we’ll need in it in case you go into labor. Clothes, insurance paperwork, phone chargers, snacks.” He began a smooth back and forth motion. “Diapers, binkies, onesies, little socks and blankets, and everything else our precious girl is going to need.”

She blinked, and hated that tears were, once again, rolling down her cheeks. “You have truly thought of everything, haven’t you?”

Cassian shrugged. “You’re literally growing my child inside of you. As your baby daddy, it’s my job to take as much stress off of you as possible.”

Nesta leaned over the center console and pressed her lips to his cheek. “Thank you.”

He grinned, fully satisfied with himself, as he pulled onto the road and headed into town. They drove to a little Italian restaurant because Nesta had mentioned she could use a plate full of breadsticks. Cassian ordered it to go, though, and hopped back into the truck before driving a mile down the road to the old high school. He parked in the parking lot before hopping out and putting down the truck bed.

“Come on, babe,” he called, already taking the boxes of pasta out of the bag. When Nesta came around, he helped her onto the back of the truck before joining her there, his thigh brushing hers.

She ate her alfredo happily, indeed chowing down on an insane number of breadsticks that Cassian swore he didn’t count.

He was rubbing her feet when she asked, voice quiet, “Are you scared?”

He looked at her, at how she was staring off toward the football field, pretending not to notice him staring at her. “Am I scared of doing something stupid? Yes. Am I scared it’s going to be a lot more than we’re expecting? Yes. Am I scared we’re going to get in over our heads? Yes. Am I scared that there’s about to be a miniature version of you running around? Hell yes.” He turned her face toward his, forcing her to look at him. “But am I scared to be a father? No. Am I scared to meet our daughter? No. Am I scared to do this with you? Absolutely not.”

She whispered, “Quit making me cry.”

But he shook his head, softly. “I love you, Nesta. And yeah, I am scared, but I can’t wait. This little girl already has me wrapped around her finger and she’s not even here yet.”

A tear slid down her cheek that he quickly reached up and brushed away. “Are you scared?”

Nesta took a moment to think about it, but then she sighed. “Yes, and no. It’s complicated.”

Cassian chuckled, in full understanding.

“I’m scared because I don’t know what to expect,” she said, after a minute. “I’m not sure how to handle the not knowing.”

“That’s why we have each other, sweetheart,” he kissed the top of her head. “Come on, let’s get home. I have a shitload of furniture to build tonight.”

The egregiously overpriced infant's bedroom suit that Nesta had seen online had been delivered that afternoon. Cassian couldn’t understand how Nesta could justify spending as much as some people spent on a vehicle on furniture that was just going to get covered in shit and baby barf.

Not to mention that it had been shipped from overseas.

They packed up their trash and got back in the truck, heading for home.

“While I carry all of the boxes upstairs, why don���t you take a nice bath, baby?” He asked. “And then when you’re done, you can read me instructions that I won’t listen to while I figure out how to put it all together.”

Nesta shook her head, unable to stop herself from chuckling. “At least you’re honest.” 

He took her hand and pressed his lips against her knuckles. “I am that.”

Nesta had to admit that the thought of a bath sounded incredible, though, so she didn’t argue. Once they got home, Nesta was making her way, slowly, up the porch, inside, and up the stairs while Cassian got to work on gathering the boxed nursery furniture. They had a changing table, a bookshelf, a dresser, and a crib, all of which Nesta had bought from a small French boutique that had always caught her eye in Paris. When Cassian asked why they couldn’t just go into town and buy something that was already assembled, Nesta’s answer was simple: she was getting what she wanted, and she wanted the modern, white, sleek furniture she’d on her walk to work every day.

Cassian didn’t argue. 

While she was soaking in the tub, she could hear Cass moving around in the other room. She’d hear a thump as a box was dropped or something would start dragging across the floor. At one point, she heard a loud bang followed by Son of a bitch!

Nesta laughed quietly to herself and smoothed a hand over her belly, which stuck out of the water by a considerable amount. “Daddy’s getting your room put together, sweet girl, and then we’re ready for you to get here whenever you are.”

She leaned her head back against the cool, porcelain tub, sighing happy. Life had become so crazy lately, but she couldn’t find it in herself to be stressed about it.

Her phone vibrated on the small table by her head and when she leaned up to glance at it, her hand slipped on the slick surface. The table knocked against the tub and Nesta gasped as her phone fell into the water.

“Shit,” she breathed, grabbing it out and tossing it onto a nearby towel. She decided that was the end of her bath and got out drying herself off and getting dressed.

She tried to power her phone back on, knowing she shouldn’t but hoping it hadn’t been in the water long enough to do any damage. The logo popped up in the middle of the screen then it went black and began to make a whirring noise.

“Damn it.” She sighed and made her way downstairs, throwing it in a bag of rice to see if it could be salvaged. Otherwise, it looked like she’d be going into town the next day for a new phone.

Cassian was padding down the stairs a moment later, his brows furrowed. He took one look at Nesta and froze, then looked down at her phone in the bag of rice. “Your phone take a bath, too?”

Nesta’s eyes narrowed. “Maybe.” With a deep sigh, she leaned back against the counter. “I’m pissed.”

“Me too,” Cassian mumbled, throwing open the fridge and grabbing two beers. “I’ve decided that I hate France. Or at least French furniture. Fuck France and their fancy furniture.”

Nesta snorted and came up behind him, attempting to wrap her arms around his waist, but over her giant bump, she hardly managed to reach around his sides.

Cassian's body shook with silent laughter as he turned to face her. “Bump in the way?” He asked, before setting one of his beer cans on the top of it, which only made Nesta roll her eyes.

“It’s not a table,” she laughed. 

“Seems pretty convenient to me,” he shrugged, popping open a can and chugging it down. He brushed his hand over her bump, and just when he touched, baby girl kicked wildly from inside, which only made Nesta groan. 

“That either means that she loves me, or that she’s telling me to fuck off,” Cassian said, which made Nesta laugh. After he kissed her forehead, then the bump with the wild, little Nazari inside, he said, “Alright, baby mama, come upstairs and watch me struggle.”

She smirked and headed for the stairs as he tossed the empty can in the trash, opened the second and grabbed a third to take upstairs. “I already do that on the daily. What’s so different about building furniture?”

She heard him mimic her words in a mocking tone and she laughed as she topped the stairs and made her way into the nursery.

It looked like a styrofoam factory exploded. There were pieces everywhere and screws littering the little catch-all tray he pulled from his tool box. She sighed, realizing it was going to be a long night.

But when she looked out the window, into the starry, cloudless night, and screamed Cassian’s name, she forgot all about furniture and messy packing materials. She forgot all about her phone lying useless on the kitchen counter. She even, for a moment, forgot her own name.

Because the stables were catching on fire.

Cassian was instantly behind her, his eyes wide as he swore violently. “Stay here,” he ordered, and then he was gone, pulling out his phone on the way out the nursery door. 

Nesta could only stare in horror as Cassian's dark figure, only outlined by the light of the moon, sprinted down the path that led to the stables.

It was quickly going up in flames, all consuming, raging flames. Nesta didn’t understand how it could have happened.

Only moments ago, she had been down in the kitchen and the stables were fine.

Then, the thought that had her heart stopping entered her mind. It hadn’t been an accident, couldn’t have been an accident, but that didn’t make any sense. 

A slow panic crept into the pit of her stomach, she was breathing heavier, her heart beating wildly as she sobbed, holding onto her bump, the only thing that allowed her to keep her sanity.

Nesta remembered that Az had told her he’d put the horses in the pasture this morning, since it wasn’t supposed to rain, and she was thankful to whatever god whispered in his ear and told him to do so.

She needed to call someone, needed to get the fire department here. Needed to call her sisters, to call Az. Without thinking, she turned and ran from the room, carefully making her way down the stairs and into the kitchen.

Her phone wasn’t on the counter where she’d left it and she frantically looked around the kitchen. 

She plunged into near darkness as the lights went out and a frightened scream burst from Nesta, followed by a sob.

She needed Cassian.

She screamed his name, her voice full of shaking terror as she reached around, trying to find something to hold onto. Eventually, her hands found the edge of the counter and she told herself to breath, in and out. Stress wasn’t good for the baby, panic wasn’t good for the baby.

But she couldn’t help it, and as if the infant in her womb knew that something horrible was happening, she kicked wildly.

Nesta felt the need to puke but she couldn’t move, not in the darkness, not as far from the city as they were. Even as her eyes adjusted to the lack of light, she couldn’t see through the endless tears.

She tried one more time to scream Cassian’s name, but her voice came out broken, terrified, and it was no use, he was too far away.

She thought she heard a door open and close across the house and she froze. Her voice cracked as she called, “Cass?”

There was no answer.

Something was wrong, something was very, very wrong. She held onto the counter as she quickly ran for the back door - only to find that it was jammed shut, a two-by-four under the doorknob preventing it from opening.

She began to hyperventilate as she realized that this, all of this, was deliberate. The fire still blazed outside, and Nesta heard a creak from the old, wood flooring in the other room. Her blood chilled as she realized that she wasn’t alone in the house.

She ran for the front door, finding it stuck shut as well. “Please, please, please!” She sobbed, pulling on the door as hard as she could. There were unmistakably footsteps from the dining room and she cried, “Please, I’m pregnant, please.”

She hurried back to the kitchen as quietly as she could and silently opened a drawer, pulling out a large knife. She held it out, blindly as she took shuddering breaths.

Then he appeared, in the doorway, wearing a dark hoodie, the hood pulled up. He was tall, his shoulders broad, but slim.

She knew who it was.

She would be foolish to convince herself it wasn’t him. He hadn’t gotten what he wanted from her, had stalked her for months without saying a word. He didn’t come any closer.

Nesta did not lower her knife.

She tried to convince herself to look unafraid, to sound calm, but she couldn’t help the tears that continued to stream down her face.

Inside of her womb, the infant became utterly still.

Nesta swallowed and lifted her chin. “Leave,” she ordered, the demand echoing in the silence. “Or I will kill you, and I will not hesitate.”

Even as she said the words, she wasn’t convinced they were true.

Cassian couldn’t breathe. There was smoke in his eyes, it was unbearably hot, and he couldn’t stop coughing, but then he was out in the fresh night air, his back hitting the soft grass.

He knew that Az had led the horses out before he left today, had watched him take them out one by one, but he had to make sure. He had to verify that there wasn’t one down somewhere.

He found nothing, not a horse or person inside.

Except the overwhelming smell of gasoline.

This fire wasn’t natural, it was intentional. This fire was set.

He’d called Azriel before his feet had hit the landing of the stairs telling him what was happening and asking him to call the fire department. He didn’t know what else to do. It’s not like he could turn on the garden hose and put it out. With as much accelerant was used, it would burn all night.

He knew exactly who it was, he didn’t try to delude himself into anything else.

A truck door slammed and Feyre and Rhys were running toward him.

“What happened?” He asked, helping him stand. Cassian saw that his arm was covered in soot. “I have no idea. We were building baby furniture and the barn was fine, came down to the kitchen so I could grab a beer, and when Nes got back upstairs it was in a blaze.” He coughed, but continued, “Smells like a damn Mapco in there, there was so much gasoline dumped.”

“Gasoline?” Feyre asked, covering her mouth in horror.

Cassian nodded. “Tomas did this.”

Rhysand stilled as Feyre’s face paled.

“I have to go to Nesta,” she breathed, backing away from the fire, even though she wasn’t close to it. She glanced back at the dark. “Is she down at the cabin?”

Cassian’s face fell as he glanced up at the big house, then, he was sprinting.

If Tomas had done this, which Cassian was sure he did, he would still be close. He ran without stopping, without a breath, until he was up the back porch. The door was wide open, a piece of wood sitting off to the side.

Cassian was inside of the kitchen before he screamed, “Nesta?!”

There was no reply in the dark house, no movement or creak or whisper. He frantically flicked the light switch, nothing happening.

“What’s going on?” Feyre called, catching up and coming up the stairs.

Cassian opened his mouth to reply, but there was a banging from the front of the house. “Nesta?!”

He was running through the dark house immediately, finding Azriel and Elain on the other side of the front door. It was jammed closed as well. “Move!”

They did as he said and he put all of his weight into the motion as he tried to shove the door open. On the second try, it gave way.

Elain was already crying when she and Az ran in. He said, “Fire department is on the way.”

Cassian was about to say something when Rhysand’s shaking voice called out from the kitchen. “Cass… come here.”

The sound of his voice chilled Cassian’s blood. He hurried back, could see from the glow that either Feyre or Rhys was using their phone’s flashlight function.

He stumbled into the kitchen, nearly tripping over himself and ran to the other side of the island.

He froze.

One of the kitchen knives was missing from its spot in the open drawer, but it laid on the floor, just a few feet away.

There was so much blood.

She was gone. He took her. By taking her, he took them both.

Cassian heaved over the kitchen sink, everything within his stomach emptying out. He knew he was crying, but he didn’t care. He knew he was sobbing, but no one tried to comfort him. Knew no one was sure how.

Nesta was gone. His baby girl was gone. Tomas had taken them. They were gone, the only hunch of where they had gone written on the kitchen floor: a long kitchen knife and a puddle of blood. 

Cassian was ready to set the world on fire.

“I have to find her,” he breathed, he cried, as his face fell into his hands next to the kitchen sink. “I will find her.”

“Cass-.”

“No,” Cassian interrupted Rhysand before he could even say a word. “He’s out there, and he has my fucking fiancée and child!” 

But Rhysand only shook his head. “I know. I’m coming, too.”

“Me too,” Azriel agreed, then looked to Elain, who nodded.

“We'll take care of things around here,” Elain promised. “Go to the police. Now.” 

Cassian was already near the front door, just as a fire truck pulled onto the grounds. 

“I’ll go talk to them,” Feyre said, and kissed Rhysand quickly on the cheek before hurrying out the back door, Elain close behind. 

Cassian was looking around the house as he walked, even though he’d already searched the entirety of it. Rhysand and Azriel were on his heels as they exited through the front door.

Rhysand’s truck had the most room, and they knew letting Cassian drive wasn’t the smartest. The first logical place to go was the Carlson ranch, only to find it deserted. Cassian looked at the window, where he’d hurled the brick back at him.

“Where would they go?” Azriel asked, kicking something aside as they searched through his workshop.

Rhysand’s phone rang and he answered it. A quick conversation took place, and Feyre said the police needed to talk to Cassian.

They loaded back up into the truck and went back to the ranch. The police were there, along with the fire department and an ambulance, and the second Cassian’s feet hit the ground, questions were being asked.

“What happened?”

Cassian replayed the situation, from the second Nesta had noticed the fire blazing up until the point he realized they were missing. 

“You have to find her,” he told the police, after he told his story. “She’s thirty-eight weeks pregnant, nearly ready to go into labor, you have to fucking find her.”

“We will do everything we ca-.”

“Find her!” he yelled, grabbing the cop he’d been talking to by the shoulders. No one reacted, everyone stayed calm, even the cop that was being grabbed.

The young cop simply took a deep breath before saying, “We will look for her, adamantly, starting now.”

Cassian released his shoulders and nodded, and said in a quiet voice. “Thank you, just… I have to get them back.”

He looked over to where the stables once stood. Now it was a smoldering pile of wood and cinders, all that time put in, all those memories. Gone up in a blaze.

They told Cassian he couldn’t stay in their house that night, that they’d be combing through it for any evidence.

He asked a passing officer, “Will you please, please tell me if that’s her blood?”

The dark red hair, the amber eyes. He was a Vanserra, no doubt.

He nodded. “As soon as we know something, we’ll let you know.”

They let Cassian go in, accompanied by Elain, to get what he would need for the next few days. 

Elain did most of the packing, although she cried the whole time. Cassian couldn’t stay focused though, couldn’t concentrate on anything other than her.

All he could think about was Nesta and their baby, where they were, what he was doing to them.

But per the cops request, Cassian went home with Azriel and Elain to wait for further word.

But he didn’t sleep, didn’t rest.

And he wouldn’t until he found them.

Nesta, and his baby girl. 

#theranchnessian #sharacollab #snelbz tacmc collab #snacmc #nessian

[ashintheairlikesnow]

4: numb, for Kauri?

(going through some old prompts just... collecting cobwebs in my inbox)

CW: Drunk whumpee, trauma references, trauma memories, past abduction, past noncon, past abuse, very brief emeto reference, nausea reference, BRIEF pet whump reference, this is Kauri at his most fucked-up but it ends nicely I promise, content warning for some serious fucking yearning

The walk back in the dark is a little... wobblier than usual, but Kauri doesn’t care. He stepped off the bus and stumbled when his ankle turned as he hit the sidewalk, rolling forward and finding himself in a bush, a bit of landscaping carefully kept up by some guy who drives a truck around cleaning up the bus stops.

Kauri giggles, then pushes his hands over his mouth to quiet himself, fails, giggles some more. His hair gets caught in a little bit of branch and he winces as he yanks it free and loses a curl.

The bush gets to keep that one. Maybe the guy who trims the bushes will find it tomorrow and fall madly in love with him, like Cinderella’s glass slipper. Kauri starts laughing at the idea of the guy in his big neon orange-and-yellow reflective vest and his stupid button-up shirt with the city seal embroidered on it holding up a curl of black hair to this person or that, looking for its match.

“Hey, man,” A woman says, crouching in front of him. She’s older than he is, maybe by ten years, maybe less. Kauri can’t tell and she’s lit only by the harsh pale streetlight, adding definition to beginning wrinkles around her mouth. Or he’s making that up. Her face is kind of blurred anyway, spinning a little like everything else. She’s wearing hospital scrubs under a coat, her hair pulled into a no-nonsense bun at the nape of her neck. She reminds him of Nat’s neighbor lady, only a bunch younger. “You gonna make it home?”

Home. What the fuck is a home? Home is where they lock the doors, home is where you get the shit kicked out of you for trying to leave. Home is where he holds you down on the bed until you cry because it hurts, and it’s always going to hurt unless you want me, Kor-Bore, you know that-

Kauri’s giggles hiccup into something like a sob.

The bus is still idling along the curb next to the stop, and the bus driver knows Kauri - sees him two or three times a week in variations on drunk or high or scared or elated. She leans down and calls out, “You gonna be okay, Kauri?”

Maybe one day he won’t. Maybe one day someone will murder him in a dark alley instead of hooking up or shove him into the trunk of a car or-

into a white van with no windows and the needle’s in his skin and his sister is screaming and there’s a hand over his mouth wearing black leather gloves and a man smiles at him and there are other men and zipties on his wrists and they tell him sucks to be you, gorgeous, but you couldn’t hide a face like that and then his head drops as whatever they gave him hits and Liam’s head drops onto the plastic mat that lines the van’s floor, his eyes close, and he’s gone-

Kauri lays there staring up at the spinning stars with his had pounding at the memory, but not enough to make it stop. When he’s really drunk, sometimes he can roll with the pain, let it wash through him and change nothing, mean nothing, do nothing at all.

He feels the way the earth rotates around the sun, every motion of the giant planet but it’s not big - it’s tiny, really, the Earth and all its purple mountains majesty, and Kauri is tinier, and whatever life lives in his head, somewhere underneath the layers of pain and fear, never mattered at all.

“‘m fine,” He slurs, trying to focus on one single star. Just one.

Please, just one star. 

“No, you’re not,” The woman says with a soft sigh. She glances back at the bus driver. “I’ll figure something out, Virginia,” She says, and waves one hand. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“G’night, Sadie,” The bus driver calls out over the low rumble of the big engines, then adds, “Get home safe, Kauri.”

Kauri closes his eyes. Why does everyone always want there to be a home?

“Where’m I taking you, then, Mr. Whiskey Breath?”

“T-Tequila,” Kauri corrects her, then gives a pale shadow of his effortless, airy smile. She takes him by the arm and pulls him to his feet and he overcorrects as he stumbles again, smacking into her side. She stays standing, if only just, and holds him more firmly. “’S... tequila. Good, good stuff, too, good...” His head drops against her shoulder, and he giggles again.

“Oh, honey,” She murmurs. They stand for a second while she thinks this through, and Kauri sees himself through her eyes - gorgeous and hammered, barely able to stand on his own, a piece of shit who can’t take care of himself or won’t or chooses not to, anyway. 

He tries to feel something, like maybe shame, but nothing happens.

He’s too numb for that.

“D’you have a phone?” Sadie asks after a pause. 

“Mmmmnyes,” Kauri responds, suddenly aware he hasn’t lifted his head off her shoulder yet. “I do have a phone. ‘s a very nice phone, too.”

“No doubt. Is there anyone we can call for you? I don’t-... I don’t think you’ll make it far on your own, um, Kauri? Did you say your name is Kauri?”

Kauri tilts his head back to look at her, and the world suddenly crashes hard to one side. His knees buckle and she quickly throws an arm around his waist to keep him up. He starts giggling again, shaking his head, mumbling what he hopes are apologies until he manages to locate his cell phone and pull it out of his back pocket. “M’name’s whatever you want it to be,” He says with his most charming, beautiful smile.

Sadie quirks an eyebrow as Kauri struggles to unlock his phone, then takes it once he manages, tapping over to his contacts list and scrolling. “Who do I call?” She asks, looking at the photos Kauri uses to identify everyone instead of names. “Who can I call to come get you?”

A wash of sadness so strong it feels like being hit by a wave made from bricks hits him and tears prick at his eyes, burning hot behind his eyelids. He feels a sudden wild urge to say Owen Grant, call Owen Grant, just take me back where I belong, this is too hard and I don’t want to do it anymore, being a person is just too hard but fights it off and instead, shaky and uncertain, he offers, “Th’ photo of th’ guy in th’ blue, blue shirt. That’s... thassss... Jake.”

“And he’ll come get you?” Sadie’s thumb hovers over the image, a picture Jake took of himself and sent to Kauri once, smiling over his iced coffee studying at school. “This guy will come get you, this Jake?”

Kauri whispers, “I hope so.”

Sadie looks at him, tilting her head. “Did you guys have a fight or something? Is that why you’re out here like blackout drunk?”

“No,” Kauri mumbles. “Fight... I fight with m’self.”

Sadie gives a soft sigh and a nod. “Well, I’ve been there done that. Okay.” She taps the photo of Jake, gives a low whistle and mumbles a soft damn, that guy’s hot, I see why you’re out here being schmoopy about him, and before Kauri can correct her that it doesn’t work that way, she’s got the phone up to her ear and Kauri can hear it softly ringing.

Jake must pick up because the ringing stops and Sadie says, “No, this isn’t-... I’m Sadie Williams, I’m on his phone. We’re at the bus stop on Penntuck Drive, do you know where-... oh, okay. Yeah, I live a couple blocks from here and this, uh, Kauri is way too drunk to go anywhere.”

“Am not,” Kauri protests, and his stomach suddenly flips and he swallows, eyes slightly widening. Oh no.

Sadie sighs and says wryly, “Trust me. Too drunk to get home on his own. Can you-... oh, okay. Cool. We’ll be here.” She hangs up the phone. “Okay, your buddy’s coming to get you. Let’s just sit on the bench in the bus stop, all right?”

Kauri nods, not trusting himself to speak, and lets Sadie maneuver him, fighting ripples of nausea that follow every movement, to sit down on the cold metal bench inside the shelter at the bus stop. As soon as she lets go, Kauri flops onto his side on the bench, letting the metal chill the sudden heat he feels, the sweat breaking out all over his body. 

“There we go. Just stay here for a while.” Sadie pats him on the shoulder and he wishes she would pet his head, suddenly, tell him he’s a good boy, good pet, and he turns his face to the bench to hide the tears that finally escape and drip down to pool there. Sadie stands and leans against the side of the shelter, scrolling through her own phone. Kauri twists to look at her and, after his dazed vision stops spinning and settles enough to focus, he thinks... she’s tired.

She’s tired, because it’s two o’clock in the fucking morning, and she probably just got off of work and rode the bus home in her scrubs still under her coat, and watched a drunk boy fall laughing into a bush, and decided to stay with him and make sure he didn’t get found there in the morning by a cop or the bus driver who does the early morning shift, Andrew something, and... 

“‘m okay,” Kauri says, and she doesn’t look up, but one eyebrow slowly quirks upward. “You could... go home. He’s comin’. I’m okay.”

“Oh, you are the exact opposite of that,” She says without looking at him. “Whatever’s got you fucking yourself up, I’m not gonna be the one who walks away from you. I’ve seen too many people like you wind up in the ER.” 

Is it his imagination, or do her eyes briefly drop to the thick leather bracelet Kauri always wears around his left wrist to cover up his barcode?

“You don’t know me,” He protests.

“I know enough,” She says, flatly, and he stops trying to argue. He knows that voice - Nat uses that voice when she’s getting you to do things, a voice that brooks no appeal. Kauri calls it her mom-voice, even though she doesn’t have kids and never will. It makes him think of TV moms, and maybe of his own, who must have existed, and is maybe still missing her dead son, whoever the fuck he was.

Kauri winces at the headache that pings around his skull and curls up on the bench on his left side. There’s silence, for a while, and then the sound of a car engine coming closer, the bright flash of headlights against Kauri’s closed eyes.

Jake’s new beat-up four-door - well, new to him, but it’s a Subaru that has seen better decades, not just better days - pulls up alongside the curb, idling as he opens the door and unfolds himself. Sadie, Kauri sees from the bench, tenses slightly at the sight of him, and Kauri wonders if she’s got her phone ready to dial for help.

He wouldn’t blame her - if you don’t know Jake and just see all that height and muscle alone with you in the middle of the night, you could see the threat, in that. If you didn’t know that Jake’s the guy who beats up your attacker, not the attacker himself.

Jake seems well aware of her tension and puts up both hands. “I’m Jake. You’re Sadie? You called for Kauri?”

Some of Sadie’s tension dissipates. “That’s me. Mind if I get a little distance while you pick him up?”

“Yeah, no problem. Go ahead.” Jake waits for Sadie to step away, and Kauri watches her hand move to her purse. He never thinks about stuff like that - she probably has pepper spray or a gun in there, and here is Kauri blackout drunk half-passed out on a bus bench, here is Kauri who passes out on park benches and underneath that big black box that doesn’t do anything over by downtown, Kauri who sleeps in alleys and grassy lawns and anywhere he thinks he’ll get a couple hours, here and there.

She’s careful - and Kauri is lucky.

“So fuckin’ lucky,” Kauri mumbles, then coughs out a bitter laugh, and Jake sighs as he moves over to him, sliding big arms gently between Kauri’s body and the bench. The world spins again as Jake picks him up and Kauri’s arms go around his neck, suddenly terrified he’ll fall and not hit the ground but fall up, up and up and up, and end up somewhere high above the clouds.

“D-don’t, don’-... let me-”

“I got you, Kaur,” Jake says, and his voice is low and it rumbles against Kauri in his chest and he relaxes, a little, but his hands tighten behind Jake’s neck. “Thanks for waiting with him,” He says to Sadie, moving Kauri to the passenger side of the car and leaning over to help him slide him in. Kauri flops to one side, eyes sliding closed.

“No problem. I’m going to head home. Take care of him.”

Jake gives a huff of laughter as he closes the door for Kauri. “I always do,” Kauri hears him say, a little muffled. There’s a pause and then Jake sits back down in the driver’s seat, leaning across to buckle Kauri’s seat belt for him as he half-sits, half-lays limp against the seat. 

“We’re going to get you home and you’re gonna drink some water,” Jake says firmly, slipping a hand behind Kauri’s head to help him reorient himself. Kauri shivers at the simple pleasure of the affectionate touch, eyes sliding closed, and turns his head, just barely pressing a kiss to Jake’s wrist.

Jake doesn’t pull away - Kauri will lose his balance if he does - but he goes still. “Hey. No, Kauri. The answer is still no.”

Kauri sniffs, nuzzles at his arm, and then pulls away, turning away from Jake to clumsily curl up against the car’s door, as far as he can get. “I know. But-... I just-...”

“I know. But we can’t, ever, not like this.”

Kauri tries to feel something other than the spin of the earth, his stomach flipping at the motion of the car as Jake slowly pulls his hand back and drives down the dark street, every house silent, everywhere around them still and quiet.

Jake’s speakers play music, softly, a man’s voice singing, well, let that lonely feeling wash away - maybe there's a reason to believe you'll be okay over the press of piano keys and hint of strings. 

"What is this?” Kauri asks, tries to point, fails.

“Um, Chris’s shit,” Jake says, but he doesn’t change the song. “I drove him to get some hair dye today, he must have put his playlist on. Musical shit.”

And oh, someone will come running and I know they’ll take you home

“When can it?” Kauri asks, softly. “When can it happen?”

“What?”

“Us. When can us happen, Jake?”

Even when the dark comes crashing through, when you need a friend to carry you and when you're broken on the ground, you will be found

“I hate this song,” Kauri mutters.

Jake doesn’t look at him as he signals a turn - Kauri fights a laugh at the sight of Jake, totally and utterly alone on the road in the earliest hours of the morning, fucking putting on his turn signal a careful distance back from the intersection - and takes a right.

“Jake-... I want you,” Kauri says, the last vestiges of tequila pressing the words onto his tongue, rolling them off and out into the soft air between them. “When can I stop wanting and-”

“Kauri.” Jake’s voice goes softer, not harder. It’s not chiding him, it’s not angry, but laced with something very different. 

He wants me, too, I know he does, I know it.

“Jake, I-”

“It can’t ever happen,” Jake says in that same soft voice, lost in something that some dim part of Kauri recognizes as an echo of his own feelings, “until it’s not like this.”

Jake reaches down to grab his phone, hits a button, and the song changes. Kauri fights back a laugh when he realizes it’s just a different song from the same fucking musical.

“Fucking Chris,” Kauri says, trapped between laughter and tears. 

Jake’s hand moves to rest on the console between the seats, and after a second, Kauri’s hand remembers how to listen to his brain and he lays his cold, thin, long fingers over Jake’s larger, warmer ones.

Jake doesn’t pull away from him.

By the time they get back to Nat’s house, their fingers have wrapped around each other, and Kauri feels a little warmer than he felt before. 

When you’re falling in a forest and there’s nobody around, all you want is for somebody to find you

“Next time, can it be your music playing?” Kauri asks, voice a little huskier and rougher than he means it to be. All the numbness that came with the drinking is gone, and Kauri hurts, inside himself, in a way he’s almost grateful for.

When you’re falling in a forest and when you hit the ground, all you need is for somebody to find you

“Uh, um, yeah,” Jake manages, and his voice is rough, too.

No one deserves to be forgotten, no one deserves to fade away

“I can get better, Jake,” Kauri says, voice low. “I can. But I’m never-... I’m never gonna be whoever was me before.”

No one deserves to disappear

“I know,” Jake says. “That isn’t who I care about, anyway, Kaur... I care about you.”

No one deserves to disappear

They sit in the driveway until the song ends. And through the next song, and the next. The streetlights shine down and the dark is otherwise total and the world slowly steadies in its constant spin around the sun. Kauri lets his head slowly lean back against the headrest.

“I’m-... so fucking lucky you found me,” Kauri whispers. Jake’s fingers twitch in his, and his eyes are locked on Nat’s front door, up on the porch. 

“No,” Jake says, softly. “We’re-... I’m lucky you found us.”

Neither of them wants to be the first to let go of the other one’s hand.

---

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