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her-devils-advocate · 1 month

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Year 850, then; Year 854, now

pairings: Levi Ackerman x (GN!) reader

genre: Hurt/comfort, fluff, fluff and comfort, angst, angst and fluff

summary: Two tender moments between you and Levi after being injured in battle, leaving him to worry and look after you in his own ways.

Warning for the ending of aot spoilers

word count: 3,765

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54818275

Year 850, then:

It had been a gruelling expedition, one that had resulted in a multitude of casualties, including your own. It was a routine mission, you and your squad had been tasked with surveying the land, finding the safest route to one of the scout bases and supplying it ahead of time. You only needed to bring simple necessities like spare food and medical equipment that the upcoming squad would require during their stay there, as well as clearing out any titans that had happened to be found along the way. A small risk, all things considered.

On paper, it was one of the safest missions that the scouts had taken in a while. After the previous expedition had resulted in many deaths, the scouts had put a small pause on activity outside the walls while everyone recovered and re-evaluated future missions.

Levi had scoffed at the mention of Erwin sending you as the squad leader, mumbling under his breath that such a mission was beneath you and your team. You had reassured him that you were the best choice; that it would be a simple in-and-out mission. You and your team would be back before he knew it.

“I still don’t see why we are bothering to send you of all people on a supply run to that dusty old base. What a waste of time and resources when you should be focusing on training your team. How are you supposed to prepare your team for the upcoming missions while wasting energy supplying another?”

“Levi, it’s alright.” You remember the smile that lights up your face when you see him roll his eyes, his lips pursed in what was definitely not a pout. The captain would never do such a thing, of course. That's what he told you when you gleefully pointed it out, at least.

“Having me lead the squad is probably just a precaution, in case anything happens. I highly doubt that we will encounter many titans, if any. You know the route is usually empty each time we send out supplies. I’ll be back before you even have a chance to miss me.”

“Tch, sure. If anything, it will give me the peace I need to finish that paperwork.”

You mentally cursed yourself for tempting the universe to put you in your place, forcing you to eat your words.

On paper, it was a simple task.

In actuality, the pouring rain obscured your vision, making it almost impossible to see more than a few feet in front of you as the dark clouds dimmed the world around you. The heavy rain mixed with the steady march of the horses along the ground. Their hooves drummed against the wet earth, vibrating through your cold and tense body, splashing through the slowly growing puddles. The howling wind echoed in your ears, taking the words of your squad and drifting them up to the dark clouds above.

It was a perfect recipe for disaster, especially when neither you nor your team could spot the two abnormal titans rapidly approaching your position.

The last thing you remember is the shooting pain as one of the titans reached its elongated limb to swipe at your horse, sending you flying through the air and crashing into the ground.

That's how you find yourself lying in a lumpy bed, the scratchy material rubbing against the sections of tender skin not currently covered in bandages. You sit up with a small wince, pain rolling over you in long waves at the motion. You carefully wiggle your arms and legs, happy to feel them move at your command despite the hot flush of pain.

Hange and Commander Erwin arrive shortly after you wake, sitting beside you and keeping you company as you give your report of the mission. They don't miss the way your eyes flicker with shame, guilt reflecting in your eyes for not noticing the danger until it was too late, despite battling the elements.

You are usually careful once you and your squad are in Titan territory, always on high alert and on the watch for the slightest hint of danger. While it’s not the first time you’ve found yourself on the bad side of luck, the guilt and feelings of failure never seem to lessen.

“You will be happy to know that everyone survived. They are a bit battered here and there, but your squad will be alright in time. You are the most injured out of everyone, in fact, congrats!” Hange says, amusement and relief shining in their eyes as they watch you sigh, sinking deeper into the frustratingly stiff pillows.

“That is good news, thank you Hange. Not that I don't appreciate you both visiting me, seeing both of your faces certainly helps to brighten my day, when I’m not in trouble or receiving bad news, that is.”

You hear the two chuckle, despite being friends with Erwin, you have forced his hand enough to be given a few small slaps on the wrist in the past.

“But where's Levi? I figured he would be here to lecture me on getting injured at the very least.”

Erwin gives you a knowing smile, sitting up in his chair a little straighter, “Don't worry, I’m positive that you won't get away from that lecture. I've already gotten my version from him at least twice now.”

You raise your eyebrow quizzically, you knew of Levi’s frustrations with the mission yet you never figured he would chew Erwin out over it.

Before he has a chance to continue, Hange lets out a loud laugh, desperate to share a fact they know Levi would happily keep to himself.

“Shorty refused to leave your side when you were brought in, even with the medics stating that he was getting in their way. He only left just before you woke up to fetch you some food, claiming you're ‘a damn brat when hungry’.”

They lower their voice to mimic him while crossing their arms and glaring as they speak. You let out a small, surprised giggle, the action causing you to wince as your ribs protest.

“You know, if anything, he’s probably going to be even more pissed that you decided to wake up after he left,” Hange says with a small wink.

As if on cue, Levi opens the door with one hand, carefully balancing a plate of unusual food on the other.

“I got held up by the damn brats. Braus and Springer found me in the kitchen and decided to take over, wanting to show me a secret they had when it came to making the most out of our shitty reserves or something. I figured there was no harm, those kiddos have been vibrating with nerves ever since they got the news.”

He pauses once he takes in the sight before him, his eyes widen when he finally spots you awake. You give him a warm smile as you see the relief that washes over him. His eyes linger on you briefly before he clears his throat, trying to push down the visible urge to rush over to you despite the small audience.

“Apparently they have found a way to make eating potatoes for the hundredth time in a row more exciting for them. Didn't bother to share that with the rest of us. They also told me not to share this information with Erwin since they don't want to be lectured on using our reserves for their little experiment.”

Levi turns to the man in question, ignoring the amusement glinting in Erwin's eyes as Levi’s glare hardens. “I told the kids that the day they get to tell me what to do will be the day all the titans are finally killed, once and for all.”

You can’t help the giggles that erupt from you despite trying to hold back, rapidly dissolving into loud laughter that only grows even more frantic when Hange joins in. Their laughter is even louder as they grasp at their sides, rapidly running out of breath themselves. Tears roll down your cheeks as you try to catch your own breath, bringing a hand to clutch at your tender ribs as each gasp causes the pain to flare angrily.

“Oi, what’s so funny, you two?” Levi’s displeased voice cuts through the growing chaos, only betrayed by the subtle redness of his ears and the softness of his eyes as he watches you struggle to compose yourself. Hange waves their hand in his direction, yet each time they try to speak, more giggles slip from their lips.

He scoffs before shoving the plate onto your lap, mindful to avoid your injuries before pulling Hange out of the chair beside your bed and settling down into it, ignoring their cries of protest.

“Hey! I was sat there first, shorty. Erwin!” “Yeah, well I’m sat here now, four-eyes. Don’t you have a titan to go poke? And you,” Levi turns to glare at Erwin, who was simply content to watch his soldiers bicker despite their positions, “don’t you have some paperwork to fill out or something?”

The tall blonde slowly stands from his chair, ushering Hange out of the room alongside him before turning towards you with a kind expression.

“We know when we have overstayed our welcome, we wish you a speedy recovery.”

You give Erwin a small nod before looking down at the food placed on your lap. You notice the thin slices of potato that had been cooked until they were crisped. You glance up at Levi, raising a single eyebrow.

“Don’t ask me, the cadets wanted to make something nice for you. They were worried.”

Once Erwin and Hange can be heard moving further down the medical wing while Hange happily chats the other’s ear off, Levi moves from the chair he had rudely claimed. He nudges you, silently requesting you to shuffle over to give him room on the uncomfortable bed. Once he is settled, you rest your head on his shoulder as he carefully brings his arm around you, protectively pulling you close to his side.

“Just them?”

“Tch, shut up and eat your meal.”

Year 854, now:

Thick clouds of dust begin to settle over the ruined ground, it sticks to your hot skin as you breathe heavily. Silence uncomfortably blankets everyone as they let the moment sink in. You had done it, you had all succeeded. Not that it feels like a success.

Your whole body screams out with each movement you make, you had stopped keeping up with your injuries hours ago, simply having more important things to focus on. The stakes were too high to risk caring for every injury. The adrenalin and fear had kept the pain manageable as you pushed your body to its limits, but now, nothing can help as you try to stifle your whimpers.

You don’t know how to feel, already emotionally and physically past your breaking point. You can hear Armin wail somewhere behind you, the sound is haunting as each scream stabs deep into your heart. You don’t want to turn around; you can’t will yourself to do so. You know you should be there to help comfort everyone, but your body is frozen. You’ve always been good at lending a comforting shoulder to the 104th cadets in the past, but now you doubt that anything you do could bring any peace to them.

With Armin's sobs breaking the tense silence, sound reluctantly returns to the world. The bitter victory has no celebration, only relieved sighs and mourning.

You spot Levi from a distance, perched against a fallen rock. Dark blood slowly oozes out from his extended leg, having been broken multiple times and further injured during the final battle.

You allow yourself to feel happy, knowing that he will be alright and that you are both alive.

Your stubborn body unfreezes, despite the pain and exhaustion, allowing you to slowly stumble your way towards him. Your eyes are glued to the destroyed ground as you approach your captain. You take the time to rack your brain of things to say, what can you even say after everything you have both been through? Everything feels too casual, too insignificant compared to the lifelong trauma, both the physical and mental kind, that has been thrust upon you both in the past couple of weeks. You feel selfish for your happiness at his survival, having said too many goodbyes in such a short period. Too many good people have been lost in the twisted war.

“Well, look who showed up…”

Levi’s tired voice stops you in your tracks and your question dies in your throat with a quiet choke when you look up to the crowd now surrounding you.

They are all there: Erwin, Hange and their squad, Levi’s squad, and the dozens of scouts that had risked everything to get you both where you are now. Your eyes blur with thick tears as you catch Hange’s eye, gazing at you in sadness. You want to scream, to run away, to run up and embrace them. You try to compose yourself, but the tears pour down your cheeks when you see the spirits of your squad smiling at you in pride.

“Hey boss, you’re looking pretty banged up” The tall redhead of your group approaches, you remember the day he first joined your squad, all smiles and false confidence. Next to him stands his closest friend, you had chosen both of them at the same time, not wishing to split them apart. Next to them is your second in command, a quiet girl with a strong heart.

“Hi Leon, you can say that again. It’s good to see you again… It’s really good to see you all.” Your voice wavers as you take in the sight of them all, you gradually lost them one by one. Some before Eren’s little stunt, some after. Yet each loss hit hard.

“We’re proud of you, we knew you could do it.”

Your team salute you and the captain one last time before joining the others, fading away with a mixture of emotions on their faces. Some are sad to leave you both behind, some are happy to have gotten a final goodbye at last and some are relieved to see you still alive.

You take in a deep breath, willing your bruised heart to slow down before it bursts out of your chest. Your hands feel numb and you feel your body begin to shake as your mind tries to catch up.

“Oi, sit down before you hurt yourself even more. You look like you're about to pass out.” Levi’s voice is void of emotion as his damp eye looks up at you in concern. You sigh before waddling over to him, your body feels like stone as you collapse against the hard rock, being careful to keep a gap between your bodies, not wanting to possibly hurt him.

“I feel like I might, I also feel like I’m about to be sick.” In any other situation, you would laugh at the way his face scrunches up in disgust at the thought.

“If you do that, you better lean the other way. I don’t want to be covered in it.”

You allow yourself to let out an amused scoff, it feels unnatural to laugh as you scoot closer to him to lean your pounding head against his shoulder.

“Aye aye, captain.” You weakly raise your fist to your heart, giving him a lighthearted salute. You hear a small scoff of his own in return.

“How…how are you doing?” Your whispered words crack as they fall past your lips and you feel him stiffen beside you.

“Good question, you?”

“...Good question, I’m going to go with tired for now.” You can feel your energy quickly fade as black splotches begin to take over your vision, and your body feels light and heavy at the same time.

Levi’s hand brushes your own. He gingerly takes your hand, softly rubbing circles into the back of your hand. “I’m going to need you to control your breathing, you’ve already lost a lot of blood with your current injuries. I need you to stay awake until we can get you sorted. Alright?”

You give him a non-committal hum in response as you try to keep your eyes open. They feel like lead and you want nothing more than to fade into the warm embrace that sleep would bring.

Even besides Levi, the panic continues to swirl around you, dancing maliciously with the pain and nausea. A part of you knows that there is no reason to be scared, you won, yet everything is still unknown. Where do you go from here? Can either of you last for much longer in your sorry states?

Before you can get too lost in your mind, a sharp wave of pain rushes through you when Levi gives you a gentle jab with his elbow, his eyebrows are furrowed with worry as you let out a deep grunt.

“I’m serious, don’t you dare fall asleep until we know you’re in the clear. Do you hear me?”

His words are harsh and yet you can hear the frantic worry that's hidden just below the surface. You want to reply, to tease him for his worry, just like old times, but when you go to open your mouth, you feel as if you are miles away. The world grows darker and the part of you that's not overwhelmed with panic feels guilty for the added stress now thrown onto Levi.

Light chatter surrounds you when you open your eyes, you squint as the harsh sunlight invades your vision. You can feel a thin blanket covering your body and a stiff pillow supporting your head; you feel groggy as you try to take in your surroundings and you mumble incoherently. The chatter dies instantly, a blurry head popping up in your light of sight, blocking the sunlight peaking through the medical tent flap.

“Captain Levi, they’re awake!” Connie’s voice booms through the small, cramped tent. You wince as his voice pierces through your skull, causing it to pound angrily. You had hoped you could sleep through the worst of your injuries, but you have never had the best luck.

“We can see that, quiet down.” Levi’s voice causes your heart to lighten. You groan as you bring yourself to sit up within the medical cot, Levi’s hands holding onto you tightly as he helps guide your stubborn self into a comfortable sitting position.

Connie is hovering nervously by the side of your bed, while Jean and Armin are sitting on the floor nearby. Levi has claimed the singular chair within the tent, placing it as close to the cot as possible. His leg has been wrapped up in bandages once more while his old ones have been replaced with clean ones. You scan his body for any more serious injuries, relaxing when nothing new stands out.

“Hey, I’m alright. We’re all okay.” Levi gives you a knowing look as the rest of the group nods in reassurance.

“Mikasa has already left…She wanted to leave with Eren before…They wouldn’t have given him a decent burial here.” Jean says awkwardly, unsure of what to say or how to say it.

“Way to make things depressing, Jean.”

“Alright, how would you have told them, Connie? I would love to know.”

“Enough, don’t start, you two.” The pair stiffen as Levi’s gruff voice cuts their bickering short.

“Sorry, captain.”

You watch the shenanigans in amusement, your eyes shining with more tears as you take the moment in. They are all okay, they will be okay. The gloom that surrounds you all begins to vanish as a new form of normalcy tries to settle in.

Levi gives them a stern look before slowly standing from his chair. You watch as he grits his teeth, doing his best to keep his mask of nonchalance firmly in place despite the agony he feels.

“What are you doing?”

“What do you think? I’m going to find you something to eat. You’ve been asleep for hours and I know you haven’t managed to eat much during all the bullshit.” “Levi…” “What? You’re a damn brat when hungry, it’s more for our sake than yours.” You can’t help the smile that finds its way onto your face despite your concern. You can hear the others snicker, trying to stifle their amusement before he turns on them as well.

“Oh, captain. It’s alright, please sit down.” Armin rushes up to Levi, his hands hovering before him as if he’s scared to try and place them upon Levi. After a moment of uncertainty, Armin proceeds to gently help Levi sit back down. Your heart warms as you watch Levi reluctantly accept their help without any pushback.

“Connie has already sorted out the snacks,” Armin explains in response to Levi’s questioning glare.

“Yeah, I found a basket of fruit and sandwiches that everyone had put together when we made the camp. Before anyone says anything, I know it’s bad considering…yeah…but I managed to swipe a few for us.”

You thank Connie as he tosses a slightly squashed sandwich in your direction, not realising just how hungry you are as you bite into it. You feel Levi’s hand grasp yours as he slowly eats his own. A peaceful silence falls over the tent, only to be quickly broken.

“Hey, Armin. That was pretty brave of you, y’know.” Connie’s loud whispering catches the attention of everyone as you all slowly turn to watch the pair. Armin raises his eyebrows, confusion plastered clearly on his face.

“Telling the captain what to do like that. I’d have fainted if I were in your shoes.” “Well…” Armin takes a moment to consider his words, a playful gleam in his eyes.

“Remember 4 years ago? He did say we could tell him what to do when all the titans were dead.”

Your eyes widen as your shoulders begin to shake with restrained laughter. Jean and Connie are frozen in shock as Levi lets out a loud groan.

“I was hoping you kids had forgotten that, don’t get cocky.”

You don’t miss the way his voice softens as the group's playful behaviour sinks in. You squeeze his hand, receiving a light squeeze in return when you shuffle to lean closer to him.

His voice is low, just loud enough for you to make out his whispered words.

“I think we’re going to be alright.”

“Yeah, I think we will be.”

#♥. writing #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman #aot x reader #levi ackerman x you #shingeki no kyojin #attack on titan #aot #snk #this was inspired by me thinking about chips while thinking about Levi...somehow

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poisonous-honey · 4 months

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Soul Crushing Guilt

(This is a re-upload: Originally posted to UniverseUchu on December 2nd, 2022)

You've treated them all like toys. In your defence this was just another video game to you a couple of weeks ago, but they're actually real with thoughts and feelings of their own. You don't know how to feel.

Who’s Here! Venti

Contains: isekai reader, Self Aware Genshin (not the Cult SAGAU), Insecurities (reader), Hurt/Comfort I guess it’s called

Note: I will say this takes place in the middle of a story, but it works on its own and I really liked how this turned out. I do have more written, but it's incomprehensible (even after a whole year it's still incomprehensible lmao)

Sitting on the cliffside of Starsnatch is not where you intended to be at this time, but your soul crushing guilt and insecurities have led you here. You needed to be away from all the positivity from everyone in Mondstadt. Their kindness was only worsening your mood. Staring over the edge, lost deep inside your head, you almost miss the way the wind whirls around you before you hear the one person you wanted to avoid the most right now.

“There you are! I’ve been looking for you everywhere. Why’d you leave without saying anything? Everyone back at Mond is worried, you know.”

You don’t say anything in response and let Venti walk up and sit next to you. You both stay silent and watch the waves crash onto the beach. Venti occasionally takes glances in your direction, but for the most part his eyes are on the scenery. After a few minutes, he tries asking you again.

“I know you told us that we aren’t overwhelming you, but please, if we actually are-”

“That’s not the reason I left Venti.”

“Then what is it?”

Silence is all that greets him. “Please, we just want you to be comfortable with us. We can’t help if we don’t know.”

Hearing him say that only makes you feel more guilty. They’re all so nice to you, and for what? The pressure and the guilt keeps building and building the more you stay here. Everyone’s been so understanding and kind, but all you’ve done before is use them any which way. You’ve judged them for superficial reasons and have even gotten them killed on numerous occasions. Venti showing up and putting the blame on himself and the others like they’re the reason you left just adds onto your shame as tears start to escape your eyes.

Upon seeing your eyes water, Venti slightly panics. “W-Wait, why are you crying!? I’m sorry for whatever-”

“Venti please stop.”

You turn to look Venti in the eyes, and see the panic and worry etched onto his face. It only makes you feel worse.

“Venti… Why are you here? Why do you keep following me?’ You look away from him, trying to keep from balling on the spot. ‘Why are you so nice to me?”

Hearing this, Venti’s face slowly scrunches in confusion. “What do you mean? Of course, I’m going to be nice to you. Where is this coming from?”

“You were conscious the entire time I was playing. I used you all like you were dolls for my amusement. After I got you, didn’t you feel like I was holding you captive or-or like some sort of toy forced to do my bidding? I don’t understand why no one hates me! I feel so guilty of everything I’ve said and done, but everyone’s apologizing to me like they’re in the wrong, and I don’t get it! Especially you! As the God of Freedom, don’t you hate me for taking away your own freedom from you? I just don’t understand… So why…” Unable to continue, you look away as you try to wipe your eyes and wait for Venti to finally tell you he hates you. That he’s going to stop pretending and get up and leave you alone. In your mind you know he would never, that's not who he is, but fear and anxiety is irrational.

Your breath hitches as you feel his hands land on your cheeks and turn your head to look at him. Instead of the disgust or apathy your heart was expecting, Venti’s face is filled with sorrow.

“I can’t believe you would think so low of me.’ He looks downwards and wipes away a few tears with his thumbs before looking back at you with nothing but care. ‘I guess from your point of view that’s a reasonable assumption to make, but you seem to be forgetting one key detail.”

You stare at him as he proceeds to give you the smuggest look you’ve ever seen on him. “I came home extremely early on my banner, didn’t I?”

What he’s saying doesn’t make any sense to you. He’s already treating you extremely differently than you anticipated, and now his question is putting your already malfunctioning brain into overdrive. What did his banner have to do with anything?

“What? Venti I-I don’t understand. What are you trying to…’ Finally, it all starts to click into place as your eyes widen, and his stupid grin gets larger. ‘You… Did you influence the banner wishes???”

Venti laughs joyously as he lets go of your face. His eyes sparkle like he’s recounting the best moment of his life.

“Why yes, I did! I actually got in a lot of trouble for that! It's part of the reason you lost the next 50/50, but I couldn’t miss the chance to join your team. I refused to wait another second.”

“But why? I still don’t under-”

“I have the freedom to make my own choices, do I not? I wanted to join your team, so I did.”

His expression changes from smug to such a soft look. You have a hard time believing it is being directed at you.

“Why, yes, I may be the God of Freedom, but I’m also simply one of the many characters this game has to offer. I’m one of your many characters in particular. And out of such a colourful cast of individuals, I was your favourite. To be the reason someone even downloaded our game in the first place sends me over the moon. For everyone else, you still give their lives a purpose and have earned everyone’s respect. Sure, you might be a bit crass, but even when you were rude or made a mistake, you still treated everyone with more care than necessary. I especially could feel and hear the level of adoration you had for me through the screen. To me, there’s nothing I want more than to travel by your side for as long as you’ll have me.”

Such a heartwarming and earnest speech from Venti has your eyes start to water again. Not all of your insecurities and guilt have been lifted, you don’t think that kind of guilt will be something you can get rid of, but with Venti here…

“You’re allowed to stay for as long as you want.”

He cups your cheeks again while looking straight into your eyes.

“Then till death do we part, my dear player.”

You break down and cry as Venti pulls you in for a hug. With Venti by your side, you know he’ll help you through your guilt with as much care and love as you’ve given him.

#sagau #self aware genshin #Venti x reader #Genshin x reader #x reader #self-indulgence ftw baby #I don’t know if I’m going to post more of this #If I am I’ll make a header to organize just a little bit #I really love what I have #but I’d need to heavily edit it because what I actually have written down is nigh incomprehensible #Pois.Posts #Pois.Writes

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sailoryooons · 1 year

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Request: Alpha Yoongi x omega reader. Werewolves. Smut and fluff. Dom Yoongi and sub reader. Starting with non-sexual dominance like her kneeling at his feet. Then, kind of a fear/primal chase in the woods as foreplay. Smut. And then aftercare with nesting.

❀ Pairing: Alpha Werewolf!Yoongi x Omega werewolf! F. reader

❀ Summary: Your alpha wants to go on a hunt through the woods. Who are you to deny him?

❀ Word Count: 8,727

❀ Genre: A/b/o, werewolves, supernatural, established relationship

❀ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

❀ Warnings: I have never used the word scent and smells this much in my life please forgive me for I have used it a million times, alpha/omega dynamics, Yoongi chasing through the reader for fun, light predator/prey play, sexually explicit content including unprotected sex (f. receiving), breeding kink, mention of ruts, oral sex (f. receiving) not a lot of foreplay, a ton of being in subspace and hormone drunk, reader is pretty much a pillow princess/borderline free use for Yoongi, a lot of slick and soft dom Yoongi/sub reader, hint at aftercare and nesting

❀ Published: April 11, 2023

❀ A/N: Hi okay so I re-wrote this like three times because every time I did it, I wasn’t getting what I wanted out of filling this request, but I think I finally have something that I am happy with! It went in a little bit of a different place, but I hope that you like it! I am super unused to writing werewolves and a/b/o and I had such a good time dipping my toe in - it’s something I want to write in the future where I have some room to world build and go crazy on word count hehehe. Enjoy!

❀ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

Masterlist | Ask | Milestone Event Request Fill |

Trees flash by you as you run, hands pumping at your sides, heart thundering in your chest. A pack of rabbits startle as you run by, bolting into their little dens. The earth is damp beneath your feet, still saturated with morning rain. You almost loose your footing more than once as you spring over a fallen tree, dry-rotted and full of ants.

The pine trees are packed tight, shafts of moonlight painting the forest floor in spotlights of silver as you run. The low-hanging branches catch you on your flight, needles stinging your skin but not drawing blood. Still, you snarl as a branch cracks under your barefoot, sending a sharp pang through your sole.

You don’t stop, moving blindly toward the south of your territory. You don’t look over your shoulder to see where he is - you don’t need to. Even with a small head start, Yoongi is far faster than you are, and you swear the land changes at his command, putting tangled vines where you don’t remember them being, adding a hole to trip you up as you sprint through the trees.

Yoongi isn’t magic, of course. He cannot change the lay of the land any more than you can, but he walks among these trees and hills every night. Plus, you’re frantic in your runaway, your human instincts bluring, somewhere between wolf and person.

Run, little omega, Yoongi had whispered, pupils blown out, scent heady and hypnotizing. You’d only just come through the door to find him standing in the living room on the edge of pre-rut. Run and don’t let me catch you.

Except Yoongi is going to catch you. You can hear the squirrels in the trees chattering angrily at him as he crashes through the woods behind you. He doesn’t have to be quiet - he is the top of the food chain here, he has nothing to fear. And neither do you, really. You’re a predator too, a wolf born and bred in these woods.

There is only a single thing you are prey to and he is laughing manically behind you as he hunts you down.

Movement to your right catches your eye. Yoongi’s trying to cut you off, coming from the west of the woods to intercept you as you scramble south. You snarl and change direction, swerving southeast to put distance between the two of you.

“Ah, come on, omega!” he hollers behind you, voice closer than you expect. You move faster, desperate to outrun him.

This far south of your house is a ravine. You know that if you slide down the side and run east, you’ll end up in Jungkook’s territory. A place your’e definitely not allowed to go, especially right now. You throw caution to the wind anyways, making a line for the ravine, singularly focused on making the slide down.

You never make it, Yoongi slamming into your side and knocking you off your feet. You scream as you go down hard, but not hard enough to do more than jar your bones. Yoongi takes the brunt of your fall; you pressed against his chest, his back hitting the ground hard before he rolls.

Gasping for breath, you claw at him, scraping to move from where he has you pinned. He laughs, catching your hands in one fist and slamming them above your head. His grip and the sound of him snarling your name has you snap to attention, going boneless.

Yoongi is panting heavily against you, filling your space with his scent. Your eyes flutter as your chest heaves, trying to catch your breath. Every inhale has your sense flooding with Yoongi’s scent: pine and sage, edged with something heaver and muskier.

Alpha near rut.

It makes your head spine and for a second, your vision of him goes a little blurry. He lets go of your hands but you don’t move. He knows you won’t, pinned under the heavy weight of him as he straddles your waist, sitting on you.

Blinking the heaviness from your eyes, you look up at him and it feels like the world stops.

Yoongi’s round face is framed by dark, black hair. It’s a little damp with sweat, clinging to his brow bone. His feline eyes are sharp and wild, pupils dilated with the frenzy of the hunt. A single, dark scar mars his right eye. You used to feel a pang of guilt looking at it, a reminder of what being an alpha had cost him.

Now, though, you think of it fondly. You’ve traced it hundreds of times with your fingers, know every smooth and knotted surface of the injury. Yoongi is beautiful with and without it, lips glossy as his tongue darts out to wet them.

“You smell so good,” Yoongi growls, leaning down. You hold your breath as he leans toward your neck, nosing the scent gland there. Stars burst behind your eyes and you shiver underneath him, let out a whimper. He laughs, the sound low and scratchy in your ear. “Could smell you all the way from the house.” Yoong’s hands runs down your hips, skirts your thigh, and slips between your legs. He presses his fingers against your jeans. “Could smell this perfect little cunt for miles.”

A high-pitched whine leaves you as Yoongi presses harder, fingers providing the barest amount of friction. The ache between your legs is growing painful, your stomach twisting in arousal in response to the smell of him, the touch of him. An omega responding to their alpha in pre-rut, nearly on the brink of instrictual frenzy.

Forming coherent thoughts is difficult, especially when you’re mind is in a state that’s more wolf than human. That’s the struggle with werewolves, toeing the line between human and animal. Instinct and choice. Your body does not choose to respond to him on a chemical level, but you don’t mind. It’s Yoongi. Your Yoongi. Your mate.

“I told you not to get caught.”

You huff, irritation stoking you. He mouths at your throat over your gland, making you nearly pass out. “You’re faster than I am.”

“That isn’t true.”

Yoongi distracts you with a wet, hot lick over your mating mark. You let out a loud moan, not even trying to hide it this time. He laughs as you squirm under him, silenced when he growls your name. “Is that true, omega?” He asks, mouthing at your jaw. You can hardly understand his line of questioning as your thoughts and feelings blur. “Am I really faster than you?”

For a few moments, you don’t respond. Everything feels heightened, the sound of Yoongi’s voice buzzing against the corner of your mouth as he brushes his lips across your skin, not kissing you exactly. You’re hyper-aware of the smell of him, threatening to drive you into madness. Feel the way his hips press to against yours.

“Omega.” Yoongi’s voice is final.

“No,” you admit. “You’re not faster than me.”

“So you let me catch you?”

“I thought about it.” Yoongi nose bumps yours. Your eyes flutter shut as his mouth barely touches yours and you speak against his lips, “But then I decided I wanted to win.”

“And you were running to Jungkook’s hmm?” You wince and he hums, knowing he’s right. “Bad omega. Little wolves running into another alphas territory while they’re being hunted isn’t a very good idea, huh?”

“Would you have followed?”

“Of course I would. You’re mine. I would follow you into a fucking fire. Little Jungkookie’s territory is nothing.”

It’s a simple declaration, but you know what it means for an alpha to boldly claim he would enter another wolf’s territory, to break a line of demarcation. You can’t help but smile, leaning your head upward to press a kiss to his lips, hungry and tired of running from him.

Yoongi lets you, though you feel the shape of a smirk through the sweet taste of his mouth, warm against yours. Yoongi sinks his hips heavily against yours and you moan into his mouth, spurring him further. Your hands remain where he left them, outstretched above your head as he licks into you, no longer content to let you kiss him the way you want.

His kisses consume you. He takes your breath away, hand leaving the apex of your thighs to snake up your front, loosely gripping your throat. You feel dizzy. He doesn’t squeeze, doesn’t do anything but rest his hand at the base of your neck, fingers pressed lightly to the sides of your throat.

It’s comforting, having him smother you like this. You get lost in the wet tangle of his tongue, your skin burning up from the inside out. He rolls his hips into you, but it’s not enough. You need him, a fire sparking to life that burns hotter than you can manage.

A feverish need comes over you. Yoongi senses the shift. His kisses turn to bites, teething gently at your skin as he works you out of your clothes. You still haven’t moved your hands and when he glances at them, he grins.

Your eyes are only for him, shrouded in darkness as he pulls your pants down, then your shirt. Your eyes are sharp in the dark, able to see the rippling muscle of his arms and shoulders. The dusty nipples, the swells and planes of his chest and stomach. See the way his gaze is fucked out when he’s barely touched you, shuffling down your legs, hands skimming and grabbing the soft meat of your thighs.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, eyes dragging from the wet smear down your thighs, to your hands above your head. You whine under his gaze and he grins, feral and sharp. “So obedient for me.”

“You like hands above head until you say so.”

“I do.” Yoongi bows low, grabbing your legs and hiking them over his shoulders. Your world spins, feeling his breath on your cunt as he makes a low sound in his throat. “Fucking wet, just how I like it.”

Yoongi licks a sloppy path up your pussy and you gasp, head digging back into the grass. It’s almost painful, the need for him pulsing between your legs. He hums, sucking at your clit hungrily. Your toes curl and you hide your face in your arm, the urge to squirm away from the stimulation strong.

You’re an exposed wire under Yoongi’s tongue as he eats you out, messy and wet. He laps at your hole, eager to taste you, nose pressed against your clit, teasing. You whimper his name, thighs clenching, fisting your hands together as you fight to remain still. It’s nearly impossible, this stillness he’s asked of you. You want to reach down and thread your fingers through his hair, want to dig your nails in and scratch, want to pull him close and shove him away.

The sounds he makes are obscene, alternating between sucking loudly and flicking his tongue against your throbbing clit. It’s pleasure-laced pain. You want him to fuck you, to sink into you as deep as he can until you can’t do anything but take it. But you like this too, the way Yoongi’s tongue works your clenching hole.

A high-pitched keen leaves your mouth. He looks up at you, eyes half-lidded as he sticks his tongue out, making a show of licking your cunt top to bottom. Your tongue is heavy in your mouth as you mumble his name, speech slurred.

“Hmm?” he asks, grunting against you as he works you closer to an orgasm, which hovers in the distance. He looks up at you again, sees the tears lining your eyes. “You can touch me,” he murmurs, saying the world between lush licks between your folds. “Greedy omega.”

And so what if you are greedy. Yoongi gives you everything you want. He makes a grumble about it, rolling his eyes and sometimes acting like it’s a little inconvenience, but you know he loves it- loves this. Loves letting you get away with things when you ask sweetly.

Yoongi’s hair is silky and a little sweaty as you run your fingers through it, nails scratching at his scalp the way he likes. His moan is muffled against your pussy and you wriggle beneath him. It feels so good, your stomach in knots. Your limbs begin to tingle and you feel that tight, squeezing feeling in your core, clenching hard.

You squeeze your eyes shut. Dig your nails into Yoongi’s scalp and he growls at the pain. You think your breaking skin, nails turned into claws, limbs shaking as your orgasm tightens and tightens until it feels like you can’t breath, like the world is going to crack in half.

And then it breaks. Your orgasm floods out of you in a rush, your muscle spasming so hard that you scream. Heels digging into the dirt, fingers tangled in Yoongi’s hair, head whipped to the side, cheek pressed into the ground and eyes squeezed shut so hard you see colors exploded behind your eyelids.

Heavy-limbed and feeling drunk, you drop your legs open a bit. Yoongi’s hands are on your hips, flipping you over. You don’t have the strength to hold yourself up, hands buckling under you, face pressed to the back of your palms. He says something that you can’t hear, your head still swimming in the clouds.

Every one of your joints feels melted, unable to lock together to support your weight. It doesn’t matter. Yoongi does it for you, lifting you up so that you’re on your knees, thighs spread wide. Air cools the wet mess on your legs. You realize you’re dripping past your knees.

Yoongi’s palms feel like fire on your flushed skin. He wraps and arm around your waist, pulling you back to his chest, the other looping under your arm so he can grab your neck firmly. This time, he does squeeze, fingers placed perfectly on the sides of your throat.

Everything around you feels like cotton candy fuzz, fluffy and sweet. Your head lolls back, resting on his shoulder as his teeth find your shoulder, nipping your skin. Behind you, his cock slides gently between your folds, making you hiss.

“Gonna fill up this pussy,” Yoongi murmurs. “Gonna fuck you full, yeah?”

You nod your head. “Yeah.” The word slurs on your tongue. “Please, want it.”

“You’re already fucked out from just my mouth, omega.”

“So?”

He chuckles darkly. His cockhead catches your clenching hole and you whine, hands going to clutch the arm on your waist and holding your throat. “Have you no decency, hm?”

“No. Yoongi please, it hurts. Please just - please.”

“Shhh.” Yoongi places a warm, wet kiss on your jaw. “I’ve got you. You know I’ve got you?”

Words are too hard, so you nod. Yoongi places another sweet kiss on your cheek before he shuffles and thrusts into you, smooth on the upstroke. You gasp, breath knocked out of you as he slides to the hilt. Yoongi’s cock is thick and though you’re soaked, the stretch is intense, your walls clinging to him in a vice grip.

Behind you, Yoongi curses. His hand tightens, and it gets just a little bit harder to breath. Slowly, he retracts before snapping forward again, stroke slow but hard. He groans, focused on setting a leisurely and smooth pace. Every thrust of his hips makes his cock hit deep, punching the air from your lungs. With his fingers pressing against your throat, it gets harder to take in more air, making you light-headed, the forest spinning.

It feels so good, this blooming pleasure inside of you. Every time he hits your soft spot just right, you feel closer to madness. Yoongi squeezes your throat tighter. His skin is warm and sweaty, sliding against yours, the friction making your eyes roll back.

Yoongi’s teeth scrape your shoulder. Sink in just a little, not enough to draw blood, but you feel the sting. It’s good, pleasure-laced pain. And then he’s telling you to let go, to come around him. You deny your alpha nothing, eyes fluttering shut as you squeeze tight tight tight.

“Fuck,” Yoongi snarls. You come so hard he has to stop thrusting, your pussy clenching around him with everything you’ve got. You’re not breathing, air stuck in your lungs, blood rushing in your eyes, stars behind your eyes. “Breathe,” Yoongi pants, letting go of your throat. You suck in a sharp breath of air, flooding your lungs. “That’s it. You can take it, yeah? Can take it til I fill you up?”

“Yes, alpha.”

It’s a mumble of words. You’re not even sure if it comes out right. Yoongi holds you to him, doesn’t mind that you're boneless. Your fingers thread his where his hands grip you, squeezing as your head cradles against his neck. You nose him there, drawing all sorts of feral sounds from him as he chases his orgasm, driven to the edge while you scent him. He comes with a loud sound, maybe your name or something else. You’re not sure.

Yoongi smells like home. Well - smells like earth and come and sweat and trees and pheremones. But his smell is there, pine and sage. Wild and gentle. Earth and cleansing. You love the smell of him, you have since you met him.

“Rest.” Yoongi’s voice sounds faraway. “I’ve got you.”

Weightlessness takes over. You don’t remember moving and you don’t remember Yoongi pulling out of you and picking you up. You’re drunk off his scent, hormones throwing you over the cliff and into a deep lake, where you float aimlessly. Comforted.

Soft sheets slide against your skin. You turn your face and breathe in, smelling Yoongi everywhere. It’s warm and you smell you too. Rosemary and mint. Your scents linger together, making you feel at home. Loved. Safe.

Something jostles you a little. You slow-blink an eye open, realizing you’re at home, tucked into the corner of your room you like to use for nesting. Blankets of Yoongi’s are piled eye and there are shirts and hoodies that belong to him. Some shirts that belong to you. Things that remind you of the two of you, that feel like you both.

Yoongi is tucked behind you, breath puffing against your ear. His eyes are closed when you curve your head to look at him. “Sleep,” he rasps, not opening his eyes. “And thank you for the hunt. I’m not done with you. But I’m tired.”

You smile and close your eyes, drifting to sleep in the safety of Yoongi’s arms.

#yoongi smut #suga smut #bts yoongi #yoongi fanfic #alpha yoongi #yoongi x reader #omega reader #yoongi x you #bts fanfic #bts smut #werewolf au

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wildfloweronwheels · 17 days

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the more I sit with the tortured poets department, the more it makes perfect sense as a body of work taylor would create/release especially when you consider the fact she operates much more closely to an indie artist artistically than a lot of her contemporaries.

so honest it's catching people off guard? she's been doing that her whole career from the minute she put people's real names in her songs. lyrically sharp and slightly alarming? may I present "and you come away with a great little story about a mess of a dreamer to adore you" or "you made a rebel of a careless man's careful daughter." bold and sonically strange? she's been blurring the lines of genre since her earliest albums, regularly blending country, pop, folk and even rock. 1989 has been her only traditionally dare I say 'sonically cohesive' album and the only reason its palate is so clean is because of the risk a pure pop album posed to her successful country career. if she hadn't nailed the landing then, she wouldn't be where she is now. *it also feels worth noting her most adventurous 'weird' but music has come AFTER she thought she'd had her last chance at mainstream success (lover) and as a result, thrown away the checklist because she thought she had nothing to lose. she was just making music for herself with no expectation of success*

'there's too many metaphors and characters/the muses are murky and I can't tell what's real. does she have to write so much fiction now?' this is the girl who immortalised her neighbours love story, who rewrote romeo and juliet, dreamed about crashing a wedding and was inspired by bob + ethel kennedy for god's sake. she's always written stories and imagined.

'I just can't understand why she'd make this and take this risk when we all liked her so much?' my friend, have we been paying attention to the same artist all these years? taylor swift not taking creative and honestly quite punk career risks would be like christopher nolan films without cillian murphy. she walked away from a development deal at age 14, took a chance on an independent label she built from the ground up and then bet on her future when they held her past hostage. took a genre they said wasn't for teenage girls and transformed it. wrote an album on her own after her songwriting was questioned. took a 10 minute song to #1, directed music videos and a short film worthy of oscar buzz, stretched her muscles and is directing a feature film AND re-recorded all her old work in arguably the biggest potential interruption to her career not for any perceived gain but for the statement of an artist's worth. but the world doesn't view them as risks because they worked

tldr; the tortured poets department is the most taylor swift thing taylor swift has ever made.

#taylor swift #hannah post™️#the tortured poets department #ttpd #ts ttpd

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maraudersmyloves · 1 month

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Congratttsss 🎉🎉 I was thinking Dahlia, Lemon Leaf, poms (reader gets hurt), and if possible Red and white? Thank you ❤️❤️

Thank you for requesting. I didn't really know how to involve the smut but feel free to send another ask!!

CUT AND ARRANGED JUST FOR: anonymous

⊹˚₊˚꒰🌹・꒱ DAHLIA ; Mattheo Riddle, reader always gets hurt x personal nurse, Angst

⊹˚. ౨ৎ can you wash my hair for me?

Pairing: Mattheo Riddle x reader Warnings: Angst, mentions of blood and wounds Word count: 1094 Disclaimer 1: Everything on this Blog is fiction!!! "bandages". :☆｡ﾟ. ───

Mattheo saw it all, one second you're soaring through the sky just a second away from catching the snitch, the next you're falling towards the ground because of a rather aggressively thrown Bludger. One of the twins. He'd always hated them but their chance of ever being likable in his eyes just crashed down and burned. You hit the grass before he can even react and luckily madam hutch put some sort of spell on you just before you're landing to save you from everything but some dirty hair and a few scratches. You get checked by her once too. Even though it was confirmed your fine, he feels the need to fly down and make sure personally.

He doesn't.

You'll come to him later anyways, asking him to clean up the scratches because you don't like the smell of the Hospital Wing.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆｡ﾟ. ───

As expected, he hears a knock on his door after changing into more comfortable clothes. What he doesn't expect is to see tears in your eyes. Your hair is still a mess but you've changed into his oversized shirt and some sweatpants. Your arms are raised with your hands opened to let him see the bloody mess. Your hands are stained with blood and feel like they've been light on fire. You try to explain the situation in sobs.

You 're trying to do something (the crying makes it hard to understand you) and the wounds madam Pomfrey sealed close on the field reopened. You should really go to her and let her help you but here you are, searching for his comforting eyes but all you’re met with is his annoyance.

"You should have just gone to the Hospital wing"

You must look pathetic tears and snot running down your face without a way to stop them. He must be disgusted at your sight, never once has he turned you down before and now here you are so close to a nervous breakdown and he refuses to help. "You know i don't like it there, will you please help me? sniff I'll never sniff ask again."

He sighs in annoyance but steps to the side to let you in anyway, "sit on the bed." He knew there was no need to tell you where to sit, at this point you could find it blind. Even Though he seemed to have no real interest in helping you, the medicine cabinet was already rolled to stand next to the bed with a health spell book laying on top. It's already opened to a page for closing wounds, you have no idea how he knew what would happen but you smile anyway.

You sit and look at Mattheo searching through the cabinet, there is an irritated aura surrounding him that keeps you from yapping on about the rest of your day. You keep quiet even when the pain of your hands causes tears to rise up in your eyes again and the uncomfortable air tightens your throat.

When he finally stands up and takes a look at you, instead of the usual smile and kiss to the top of your head, sometimes combined with asking you about gossip he heard, you get silence.

Silence, as he reads, gives you painkillers.

Silence, as he mutters a spell to make them react immediately.

You breathe out and let your head drop, when the pain finally subsides. It feels like you can finally breathe again as a soothing tingle covers your body. He takes your hands in his with much less care than you'd like, but seeing as he made sure you wouldn't get hurt before doing so, you can't get too mad.

He takes his wand out of his pocket and mutters "Ferula'' two times before getting the pronunciation right. The bandages wrap around your hand at lightning speed and a few wrap around places on your right arm where they apparently detected scratches. "Thank you, mattheo! Really. I appreciate it."

He turns around to avoid looking in your eye and pretends to search for something on his desk. "No need to thank me. You know where the door is, right?" His voice is cold and a bit mocking. It makes you pause instead of asking him for /more/ help.

You want to get the words out so badly but you keep quiet.

When you don't say anything but don't leave either he looks at you with a raised brow and ice cold eyes. You shrink under his gaze and he notices. Of course he does. He overanalyzes everything you do to find a hint of wanting him for more than his abilities to nurse you up. "What?"

You look up at him and he can't help but soften up a bit, you somehow look more hurt fixed up than bleeding and he thinks it might be his fault. "How can i help, mi amada (my beloved)"

A blush rises to your cheeks at the throw-away nickname and it gives you the strength to get it out even if it turns into you rambling, "Can you wash my hair for me? It's just that I don't want to get the bandages wet or move my hands too much and open the wounds again. But you don't have to do it. I can get somebody else if it's too much trouble. Maybe Pansy will help me."

No answer.

"I'm sorry."

No answer.

"I'll just leave. Sorry to bother you." You stand up to do just that, when he moves to block your way. "I'll help"

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆｡ﾟ. ───

After a bit of shuffling around you found a position where your hands are safely laid on the side of the tub with mattheo sitting in front of it. You look through the shampoo that he has only to find nothing more than a 5 in 1 bottle and some body wash. "5 in 1, really?"

You get a small chuckle out of him while he loads said shampoo onto his hand so that counts as a win, "Well my hair still looks great, doesn't it?"

"Always," it comes out more soft than you would like. More revealing. It reveals your heart filled with love for him, the reason you always come to him for help. He doesn't seem to see your heart laid out in front of him ready for him to stab a knife of rejection through. Or maybe he's ignoring it. Whatever it is, he smiles and starts massaging the foam into your soaking-wet hair.

#GARDEN PARTY . :☆｡ﾟ.#mattheo riddle x you #headcanon #fluff #angst #writing #fanfic #harry potter #slytherin boys react #slytherin boys x reader #slytherin boys #slytherin #mattheo riddle fluff #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle #mattheo x you #mattheoxreader #mattheo x y/n

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qdbs-writes · 1 year

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RE bois with Zombie!Reader that just wants to live in their tiny house in peace? Please?

RE Lads Reacting to Chill-Zombie!Reader

Leon Kennedy

You could have all the warning signs and barbed wire in the world around your little zombie house and Leon would still manage to bumble his way through your front door, yelling at you like you're the reason he's there.

He'll see that you're a zombie and instinctively round-house kick you into your tiny makeshift kitchen. He's about to rip the basil you were growing out of its pot when he notices how nice your little zombie house is. It was definitely better than his ratty apartment. Leon will have a small crisis of faith as he finally considers getting a bed frame.

Chris Redfield

Sees the words 'DON'T OPEN, DEAD INSIDE' on your little house and takes that as some kind of challenge. Surely whoever wrote that warning didn't mean him, what's the worse that could happen if he kicked in the door?

Off the door comes from its hinges, while Chris sweeps your one-room home with the barrel of his gun. He can't help but think to himself that this is a suspiciously nice zombie house. As his gaze reaches the last corner of your house, he spots you perched on your neatly made zombie bed, crocheting a little zombie blanket (even dead people need hobbies). When you continue to crochet awkwardly, albeit a bit slower than before, Chris decides he's made a terrible mistake, and backs out nervously, attempting to put the broken door back in its place as he leaves.

Carlos Olivera

He'd read the warning on your house as 'DON'T DEAD, OPEN INSIDE' and would still be like "This sign can't stop me; because I can't read!".

Deciding that the door would be too obvious of an entryway, Carlos instead sails through your window, knocking something over in the process. When he gets up, he sees you, a little zombie, sitting at a small breakfast table, watching the news on a grainy, antique TV. Carlos follows your gaze to his feet, where he sees the now-destroyed pie you had left to cool on the windowsill. Carlos is heartbroken as he remembers the pies his Abuela used to bake. Saddened at seeing your hard work go to waste, Carlos jumps into action. "Don't worry," he says "I can fix this!". He gets to work in your little kitchen and in no time at all, a new pie is in the oven. Afraid of breaking anything else, Carlos apologises one last time before he leaves, and you smile delightedly back at him.

Albert Wesker

For whatever bullshit reason he has to hide somewhere and decides the little, highly-defended cottage you live in would be perfect.

He slams your front door shut behind him, huffy and sweaty before he notices a surprisingly well-kept zombie nestled in an armchair, reading a book. Enjoy a healthy dose of silent, prolonged eye contact, until Wesker takes a look around the quaint, bombed-out hovel that you've made for yourself. Assuming you can speak, he's gonna have a lot of questions. They mostly center around if you would like to kindly enter this luxurious iron-barred box he keeps at all times... No, it's not a cage, it just looks like a cage! And no, the armed men with tranquilizer darts aren't here to hurt you, he promises!

Ethan Winters

Considering this man's luck, he'd probably come crashing in through your ceiling, groaning and cussing as he lands in a heap on your threadbare carpet.

Ethan sees that he's just fallen into your zombie house and wonders for a moment why bad things only seem to happen to him. But he struggles to get up after landing on his ankle. Steadily, you pull up a chair for him and make him a coffee, which was probably the most appetizing thing Ethan has had shoved in his face lately, so he drinks it. And it's not bad coffee either, maybe you used to work in a Starbucks. You and Ethan sit in amicable silence while he finishes his drink, thanking you quietly before hobbling out the door. He turns back as he leaves your garden and you send him off with a little wave. You were definitely a nice zombie.

#resident evil #resident evil headcanons #resident evil x reader #leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #chris redfield #chris redfield x reader #carlos olivera #carlos olivera x reader #albert wesker #albert wesker x reader #ethan winters #ethan winters x reader #resident evil reader insert #qdbs writing

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morallyinept · 2 months

Text

Adrift With You - A Frankie Morales Series - Chapter 10

Summary: Heading away on a work re-location, Frankie embarks on a flight, but unbeknownst to him, his life is about to change forever. For starters, he will need to fight for it; harder than he's ever fought for anything else before.

Marooned on an isolated island in the middle of the ocean, still recovering from an addiction, his chances of survival are bleak; but he’s not alone on the island, and soon he’s running towards a different kind of life - a life with fellow survivor, Jude, fighting right beside him every step of the way.

And if they can both survive the island together, they can survive anything, right?

Pairing: Frankie Morales x OFC Jude

Chapter word count: 8.9k

SERIES MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

☝🏻See Series Masterlist for full smut warnings & triggers in this story. Chapters that contain smut or triggers will be highlighted in the chapter notes below. 👇🏻

Chapter notes: Frankie and Jude make new discoveries on the island, and they have their date. Mentions of suicide.

Enjoy! 🖤

Chapter 9

“AH FUCK!” Frankie yells loudly, and Jude turns, startled, in the water with her spear to see Frankie scramble up onto the rocks like a crab scurrying away from a would-be predator.

“What happened?” She calls out to him, bewildered.

“Careful!” He holds his palm up and she stops dead in the water. “I just stepped on a fuckin’ urchin!” He lifts his foot up and black spines are poking out from the heel of his foot.

“Shit,” she wades closer to him, looking into the water in the bay to make sure she doesn’t make contact with any urchins herself. “You okay?”

He’d been scouring the rock pools for anything edible whilst she fished, when he’d yelled out, and now he winces as he starts to pull the needles from his foot.

“Fuckin’ shit!” Frankie grunts through angry lips curled back over his teeth. “Vamos, cabrones!” (Come on you little bastards!)

“Let me do it,” Jude persuades, and he pushes his foot out to her and rests back on his elbows; his head thrown back and groaning with pain.

She tries not to let her eyes wander over the leanness of his bronzed body as he stretches back, clad only in shorts and his cap. But her eyes betray her anyway and take in the wet sheen over his skin from the waist down.

Clearing her throat, Jude pulls a couple of spines out that she can grip with her fingers, but there’s a few that are embedded too deeply into his skin that she can’t pinch a solid grip onto.

“I need the tweezers to get these out; you think you can make it back with me?”

“Yeah.” He puffs through gritted teeth.

“Lean on me for support; don’t walk on your heel, they’ll get embedded further into your skin and we’ll never get them out.” She advises.

Frankie nods as he slips off the rock, puts his arm around her shoulder and she leads him back to the shack slowly. His weight against her is heavy, but nothing she can’t manage, walking with him slowly as he hops beside her practically.

She smiles to herself at his unfortunate plight, despite the pain he’s in, she can’t help but find it somewhat amusing.

“This isn’t funny, it fuckin’ kills.” Frankie says, trying not to smirk at her too.

“It’s a little funny.” Jude replies, holding onto him. His skin feels smooth against her arm, and this close the scent of brine and sweat fills her nose.

They’re hobbling through the wooded area that separates both sides of the island, when they hear a snapping noise.

They both freeze on the spot.

“Did you hear that?” Frankie asks her, looking furtively and listening like a guard dog on high alert. They stay still for a moment, Frankie balancing on one leg like a flamingo.

They hear more rustling and then a low pitched screech.

“What the hell is that?” Jude asks, astonished. They haven’t heard or seen any animals on the island since they crash landed, so the noise is somewhat disconcerting.

“Sounds like dinner,” Frankie says, smirking down at her. “We can check it out later.”

Jude nods smiling and continues to walk with him. Once inside the shack he throws himself down on the cushion bed, and she sets to work on removing the remaining urchin spines from his foot with the tweezers.

“Lucky we have these. Hold still.”

“Thank you, nurse” Frankie says, as he inspects his foot afterwards. It looks all bloody and sore with tiny pin prick holes dotted around in a cluster on his heel.

“Lots of bed rest and fluids.” She remarks with a wink and he chuckles.

Frankie watches with a relaxed smile as she wraps his foot carefully in a damp t-shirt to alleviate some of the heated throbbing. “Are you excited about our date tonight?” He asks her.

“Depends,” she replies coyly.

“On what?” Frankie asks her with a curious smirk.

“On what you have in mind.”

“A gentleman never tells.” He makes the zipped lips motion with his fingers across his lips.

“I hope you are a gentleman.” Jude remarks with a tight smirk.

“Of course,” he confirms. “I won’t try anything funny, I promise.”

“Good, because I never fuck a guy on the first date,” she smiles through heated cheeks.

“Self-respect is hot.” Frankie grins.

She smiles at him and pats the side of his calf. “Rest up; I’ll go back and get the fish.”

Wandering out of the shack, Jude thinks about their impending date night and wonders what it is exactly she expects from him and that he has planned. How gentlemanly will he be exactly? I hope he at least kisses me... The thought makes her hot.

It’s evidently something she’s thought about and considered regularly as of late. It’s not hard to notice how smiley and flirty they’ve gotten with one another. Frankie feels easy to talk to and she enjoys his company greatly.

And equally it’s something that excites her more and more; much like the thought of him watching her on the ridge as she got herself off, thinking about him doing the same in turn. It’s kinda hard not to, let’s face it; he’s utterly gorgeous. She can only wonder why they haven't given in to temptation yet and pounced on one another. Laying side by side on the cushion bed each night tests their resolve further.

But she knows he's being respectful, and she's thankful for that. She could've been left trapped on this island with a complete creepy letch instead of Frankie.

Jude ventures back to the bay to collect the fish, but when she approaches the tin she’s dismayed to find most of the fish they’d collected that morning are mysteriously gone.

“What the fuck?”

Jude begins looking around and spots tiny footprints criss-crossing around in the sand. She scouts through the trees on the way back to the shack, trying to listen for that screeching noise again; the probable thief that has stolen their dinner, but is unable to track it or hear it.

She explains to Frankie what’s happened and he chuckles, standing up and limping a little towards her.

“We can wait, you know, until it’s easier for you to walk.” Jude says, watching as he frowns each time he puts pressure on his foot.

“No way. I’m taking you on a date tonight. Besides, I wanna get that fucker who stole our food.” He retorts, reaching for a spear. “You in?”

“Try and stop me.” She replies, smiling at him with determination.

“¡Esa es mi chica!” Frankie winks at her. (That’s my girl!)

It’s much cooler in the afternoon as they venture out slowly into the wooded area of the island. A reprieve from the scorching hot sun they’ve endured as of late.

They use the spears to move and poke around in the wispy grasses and bushes of the underbrush, looking for any signs of life. More footprints, droppings... Any evidence of what it is that stole the fish and made that shrill shrieking noise.

A while later they hear it again.

“Weird howling noises in the woods? That’s some straight up horror movie shit right there.” Frankie grits as they push further into the tree line. He limps still and is careful about putting weight on his heel.

“I can see your mangina.” Jude teases him and she hears him chuckle.

There’s a low screech again off to the distance of them. She’s completely unfazed and carries on stepping over stones and reeds towards the sound.

“What do you think it is?” Frankie asks, curiously.

“Sounds like a strangled peacock.” She replies, laughing.

“Maybe a small mammal; or a bird of some kind?” He suggests. “Hopefully something we can eat either way.”

“Well it’s either that or a zombie.” Jude states.

“Very funny, I fuckin’ hate zombies.” He says it like they’re real.

“Who doesn’t like zombies? Come on.”

“They scared me when I was a kid.”

“For real?” Jude asks, smiling.

“Yeah. The first time I ever saw a zombie was when I was seven years-old, and my cousin made me stay up and watch Dawn of the Dead. I didn’t sleep for weeks and the slightest creak in my room would set me off. Él era un cabrón.” (He was a bastard.)

“You’re perfectly safe, they only eat brains.” She turns and pokes her tongue out at him and he can’t help but smirk at her.

“You’re on real form today.” Frankie mocks. “And look, you’re in a white tank top too.” He says as he notices her top.

He can see the black bikini straps poking out around her shoulders and he drifts momentarily back to the image of her spear fishing in the bay with him this morning whilst he stole covert glances at her body all wet in it.

“What are you talking about?”

“Your tank top; it’s white.” Frankie says to her, moving drooping vines and leaves out of his way as they walk through them. “The heroine in all good horror movies always wears a white tank top, you ever notice that?” He confirms to her.

“We're not in a horror movie.” She giggles. “Besides, so does Bruce Willis. Yippee Ki-Yay, motherfucker.”

“You won’t be saying that when I’m dead with my entrails hanging out, and you’re fuckin' screaming and running for your life, unknowingly straight into the arms of a machete wielding maniac, after falling over a branch or two first, making the audience genuinely believe you actually have a chance to get away, and then… BAM!”

Jude jumps when he over emphasises the bam part loudly by punching his own open palm.

“You’ve thought way too much about this.” Jude laughs and carries on.

“Remind me again why I’m risking my life for you?” Frankie says, very deadpan.

“Because I rock. And plus you need me, hop-a-long,” she pushes him gently, and he stumbles and falls backwards on his butt onto a grassy knoll. She can’t help but laugh loudly and unrestrained.

"Oh my God!" She howls.

“Are you fuckin’ kidding me?” He laughs at her, astonished and in awe at how freely she’s snorting in between unguarded giggles.

“I’m sorry,” she reaches her hand out to him and helps him back up, her body quaking with laughter and he can't help but to laugh too.

“Oh, my revenge is gonna be sweet, hermosa. Just you wait.” Frankie surmises to her with a side grin, his cheeks flashing a shade of embarrassment.

“Promises, promises...” Jude titters as they carry on.

They hear the screeching noise again, only this time it seems louder and they stop, listening out. Frankie turns his head and Jude’s eyes scan the trees.

The screech comes again and Frankie jumps a little “Shit,” he sighs out.

“I’ll never be able to count on you in a scary situation, will I?” She asks him, smirking.

“Hell no. I’ll offer you up as bait in exchange for my life any time.”

“Pussy.” Jude remarks and he looks down at her with a pink smirk breaking out his lips. She wonders instantly what those lips will feel like on her own.

“Monkey.” Frankie says, looking at her.

“Are you calling me a damn monkey?” She asks with a giggle, and feigning appal at his choice of friendly insult. “That’s not very creative.”

“No,” he shakes his head. “Look...” He points just past her head and she turns. “Up there, in the tree - it’s a monkey.” Frankie whispers.

Her eyes scan as Frankie steps beside her and gazes up at the tree tops. There’s a little brown monkey sitting in the tree branches, almost entirely camouflage, and watching them back with wide yellow eyes.

“He’s so small,” Jude says in wonderment. “Maybe a capuchin or something?”

Frankie shrugs. “I dunno.”

“He looks cute. I’m going to call him Egon.”

“Egon?”

“Yep. He’s clearly a Ghostbuster, don’t you think?” Jude asks. “I reckon he has a Proton Pack hidden somewhere around here.”

They both snicker and watch as the small ape sits in the tree and screeches again as though he’s trying to communicate with them; trying to tell them that he enjoyed eating their fish.

“I don’t think I can eat a monkey,” she puts to Frankie quietly, feeling a little sad.

“Me either, especially now that you’ve fuckin’ named him.” He laughs gently, rolling his eyes. He takes off his cap and runs his hand through his curled, oily locks.

“How did he even get here?” She asks, watching the monkey as it pulls at a leaf on the tree.

“Maybe it’s native?”

“No, there would be more of them, surely.”

“Who says there isn’t?” Frankie asks, shrugging. He plonks the cap back on his head and looks around.

“We would've heard them by now, right? I’m surprised he’s been quiet all this time.”

They watch Egon for a while, marvelling and trying to work out how the little creature ended up on the island with them. He watches them back, cocking his head this way and that.

They walk back towards the shack as dusk is falling over the island.

“I wonder if he came here with the person who built the shack originally, like a pet or something?” Jude muses out loud as they walk, or rather Frankie hobbles.

He nods at her detective ramblings, smiling as the darkness begins to fall around them.

When they reach the shack, Frankie holds the plastic open for her as she steps through it. He reaches for some clothes.

“Be back soon,” he smiles at her, lingering in the doorway for a moment.

Whilst he’s gone, she flops down on the cushion bed tired and thinking about the monkey and then her mind drifts towards this evening.

She glances at the notebook on the case as she considers what their date will be like and can feel the tingle in her toes at the thought of it. She absentmindedly reaches for the notebook and takes the opportunity to have a curious look through it whilst Frankie freshens up.

She leafs through the pages gently at what he’s been writing. She’s sure he won’t mind; it’s not like he’s kept it hidden or has explicitly told her not to read it.

It seems at first like it’s just him making a note of the passing days. Little doodles litter in the corners of the pages, like stick men and vortexes where he’s scribbled the pen round and round whilst thinking, tossed on the paper like inky confetti.

She flips a few pages in and there’s some rough sketches of the shack; schematics if you like, of how he’s going to build it, which makes her smile at his methodical planning.

She continues turning the pages and stops when she gets to a paragraph he’s written and reads it slowly. It looks like a poem, maybe a haiku of some kind, but she soon realises it’s an admission:

... We’re probably going to die on this island. Both of us are going to die and I won’t be able to save her... I can’t watch her die. Not when she’s the one keeping me alive.

Jude wipes her eyes, shutting the notebook and instantly cursing herself for snooping.

It’s evident that Frankie doesn’t have any hope at all for them anymore. He had tried convincing her for so long that they would be okay, lulling her into a false sense of security, telling her what she wanted to hear, when inside he truly believed that they wouldn’t make it.

Of course, the day he went catatonic after the boat fiasco, she knew he’d given up the ghost somewhat, but to know he still had no hope for them, even now with their routines, was a tough feat to accept. Unknowingly burdening her with the responsibility for his own life, it seems.

But isn’t that what she’s done to him, too? She relies on him heavily to get her through, even if she never tells him or actively puts that pressure on him, or realises it herself at times. Just him being here with her is the most important thing to her survival; there’s no way she’d have made it this far without him - her life is literally in his giant hands, and evidently his is in hers too.

It’s a tough responsibility to place on someone, right?

Jude mulls it over as she sniffs in deep, desperate to keep the tears away, and understands his inner pain and turmoil because she’s spent so many nights lying beside him as he sleeps wondering, that if he wasn’t here with her - if he had died - that she would probably want to go with him. She won’t be able to cope on her own here. It’s draining being here and massively taking its toll.

Maybe that seems melodramatic in a way; losing all hope after a mere few months on the island, I mean what’s two months? Pah.

But think about it; every day they wake up with severe lack of sleep deprivation because the nightmares and belly cramps from being constantly hungry keep them awake. They drink water, but their thirst is never fully quenched. They eat the same fish every day. Maybe once a day; sometimes a few days pass by without eating them at all. And the fish soon starts to taste putrid; like they can’t even taste that’s its fish anymore. They soon start to loathe putting it in their mouth because why bother? They can’t even taste or enjoy the flavour anymore. They can no longer stomach it to swallow it down.

They try their best to stay clean and healthy, but the sun scorches their epidermis every day doing unseen damage no doubt; the sea salt is a permanent perfume they carry on their skin and hair no matter how much they sweat or try to rinse it off.

Their bare feet are cracked and dry from walking over the sand and rocks daily, the clothes they wear now aren’t even theirs and don’t fit properly. They don’t know who they belonged to, what stories they could tell them from the previous owners who are lying dead at the bottom of the ocean somewhere. They try to stay busy; to fish, to re-light the same damn fire over and over again. To collect water even when it doesn’t rain for days.

They build a recycled shack for shelter, but it’s never really home. They consume so much energy every day to stay alive, yet they’re constantly exhausted, spent and on the verge of collapse. They don’t even know what it is exactly they’re living for anymore. They can’t remember their families’ faces. They wonder if they can remember theirs; that they existed once.

All this happens in a very short space of time; a couple of months pass by since they landed here, and they’re both already, figuratively, standing on the edge of the ridge, looking over it and wondering if today will be the day they find the courage to jump off and just end it all in a bloodied heap at the bottom. Just stop the suffering, the constant fighting to live a life that isn’t a life to live anymore. How can it be?

Secluded. Isolated.

Just Jude and Frankie, barely hanging on to anything, because there’s nothing to hang on to anymore. It’s like they’ve been cast out from the rest of the world for something terrible that they did, but the world won’t tell them what it is they’re being punished for.

They talk together, they laugh together to pass the daunting stream of time suffocating them both. They put on a brave face masking their inner turmoil from one another, even though the other senses it. They crack jokes; Jude looks into his molten brown eyes daily, but inside them there’s nothing and she can see it as clear as the day as the emptiness is reflected in hers back at Frankie.

They’re both hollow husks of their former selves stranded here. Thrust together by some cruel, wicked fate and they can’t comprehend how or why it happened. Why the plane crashed, why they had to be on that fucking plane when it crashed; the series of events in their live that worked in some devious motion to put them here, to test them - to break them. They blame God, they blame kismet; Jude blames that no good bastard Nate.

Is God testing them right now? Have they passed or are they failing miserably and the reward is sweet, lustful death? Welcome oblivion? They’re so tired of this shit; just so fucking tired. When the Grim Reaper comes for them, they won’t resist, they’ll get up and take his skeletal hand willingly.

They’re wasting away, getting thinner; Jude’s hair is getting longer, all hair on her body in fact becomes unruly and un-groomed. Her legs are as hairy as Frankie’s some days. And she doesn’t even want to acknowledge the car crash between her legs. His face begins to disappear from the hair that grows on it and she wonders if she’ll forget his face too as he vanishes underneath it before her eyes.

She stops looking in the little cosmetic mirror because the face that’s looking back at her isn’t hers anymore. She buries the mirror in the sand one day, and a part of her forever gets buried with it.

They’ve changed; this horrid landscape has changed them. It’s not an island paradise in the tropics; the brochure lied - it’s Hell that they’re living in, literal Hell.

Every. Single. Day. Is. Fucking. Hell.

And when she reads those words from the person residing in this Hell with her, Jude can’t help but feel united in a peaceful acceptance with him; because deep down she knows Frankie is right.

Even though she desperately needs him to tell her it’s not true; that it’s not all in vain. That they’re both going to make it like he used to reassure her, and then escape into the sunset together back in the real world.

But it’s all a damn lie. He’s only being honest with her, even if he never says it to her face anymore, but instead via words on crinkled paper he wrote when he had lost all hope; when he was deeply hurting and didn’t know what else to do or say to comfort himself, let alone Jude too. The truth hurts after all. Jude wants him to lie so badly to her. But he doesn’t - he can’t - because they both know it.

They are going to die on this island. Both of them.

And there’s fuck all she can do about it except roll over and wait for it to take them.

She stares at the notebook for a long time. For so long that Jude doesn’t hear him come back into the shack at first.

Frankie’s wearing a blue, floral patterned shirt - which he seems to favour over the others most - over a white t-shirt and some shorts. His facial hair seems longer, yet is sparse in some random patches, she notes. Almost as if it’s grown further in the time it's taken him to bathe and return, which is probably mere minutes, but after reading the notebook passage, feels like forever.

He smiles at her, but his eyes regard her differently. It’s almost as if she can now see all the pain that he’s hidden so well from her.

“You okay?” Frankie asks her as he tosses his other clothes into the case they’ve allocated for their dirty laundry.

Jude nods and gives him a bright smile that’s as sincere as she can muster. More lies fed to each other.

“I’ll go and get ready; won’t be long.” She picks up some clothes and makes her way out the shack and down to the shoreline, stopping at the cave mouth for toiletries.

She bathes and washes away the grime and sweat from the day, but it never really leaves her skin. It’ll be a stench that will be about her person always now it seems.

She looks up at the dark sky from inside the water to be met with a vacant, deep sapphire sky and for a while her thoughts are just as blank. Cut off and void. Just floating on the water's surface, naked under the moonlight and willing the current to take her out to sea and drown her.

Once back on the shore, she puts on the sundress, the turquoise one with the sequins she has yet to wear, and sits on the sand and shaves her legs as best as she can with the blunt razor. She nicks her skin a few times, drawing blood as the razor is effectively useless now.

She inspects the razor blade; shimmering at her from under the light of the moon, and as she runs her thumb over the top of it feeling its jagged surface, she envisions running it across her wrists and just bleeding out here on the sand quietly. End it all, no worries; no more just surviving.

But then she thinks of what Frankie had written: Not when she’s the one keeping me alive...

She drops the razor to the sand beside her and places her hands over her mouth, sobbing as quietly as she can. Cramming the chokes and sniffles back into her selfish body and willing herself to stop with the breakdown.

But she can’t, it rocks through her and renders her a lost and frightened mess. The weight of their predicament, the uncertainty of their future, and the longing for home crashes down upon her like a tidal wave, threatening to engulf her in unrelenting despair.

Each tear that streams down her cheeks carries with it a torrent of pent-up emotion, a silent plea for release from the suffocating grip of this life. She cries until her throat is raw, her nose stuffy and until her chest aches with the effort of holding back the pain. And so, as she lays there on the sand, her tears mingling with the saltwater of the ocean, Jude allows herself to surrender to the unfiltered emotion that consumes her, because she can’t do anything else.

She walks up the beach front towards the rocks and the fire after a few minutes of convincing herself she’ll be okay; sniffing in deeply over and over to rid any evidence of her tears.

The heat is felt on her blotchy face as she passes it. Inside the shack, Frankie is sitting on the cushion bed and looks up at her as she comes in.

She tosses her dirty clothes into the case and he stands up to greet her.

“You look great,” he says to her, smiling approvingly and trying to keep his eyes inside his head.

Jude looks down at the previously unworn sundress that’s a little big for her, and smiles at him. “Not too bad, huh?”

He shakes his head. “Not too bad at all.”

“So,” she puts to him as they stand in the centre of the shack, inches apart from one another, staring at each other.

It’s like they’ve both been given new eyes and can really see each other for the first time. See each other for who they really are under that brazen front presented; can see that each of them are a little worn and bruised on the inside.

His eyes fall on the sequins that swirl all over the front of the sundress and glimmer as the flames from the fire through the window hole dance upon them and make them glitter at him.

His fingers twitch, wanting to reach out and touch one, and a slight look of remorse kidnaps his smile for a brief moment.

“What have you got planned for me?” Jude enquires with a smile.

He smirks at her from under the shadows of his cap; a devilish puckered grin breaking out across his lips that makes her skin prickle up and her nipples come alive and harden under the dress.

“Well, I was thinking maybe a movie, but the cinema here really sucks with their listings.” He states.

She giggles.

“Then I thought maybe salsa dancing,” he rocks his hips from side to side a little and she puts her hand over her mouth as she laughs again as she regards his awkward moves. “But I can’t fuckin’ dance to save my life.” Frankie concludes.

“Evidently,” she agrees, licking her lips.

“So, I figured we could go for a drive and maybe have an impromptu groping session in the back of my truck on the ridge. It’s what all the cool kids do, right?”

“Absolutely,” Jude laughs harder this time, and he chuckles in awe at her.

“I like it when you do that.” Frankie admits and his smile remains in place on his face.

“Do what?”

“Laugh like that. It’s awesome.” He steps forward closing the gap, and tucks her damp hair behind her ear.

She reaches up to his wrist and holds onto it for a moment before taking his left hand and circling the little bullseye tattoo over it.

He smells wild, like the sea and the outside world. The elements of the planet absorbing into his skin and leaving a distinct scent mixed in with his own fragile existence as a man. A man that’s seemingly more attractive to her as the days wear on; thinking about his skin against hers, how he’ll taste on her lips - all the ways he could fuck her over this island.

His fingers feel warm on her face as they brush against her cheek. Sure, they’ve both spied on one another for shits and kinky giggles covertly, but his touch is real now and it burns, leaving scorching, painful brands.

“Frankie,” Jude murmurs softly as he puts both his hands on the side of her face and looks down into her weary eyes.

“Mm?” He hums in a bewitching tone as time slows down around them.

“I need you to tell me that we’re going to get off this island. I need you to believe it.” She whispers to him, clutching onto his wrists.

He presses his forehead against hers and breathes out into her face, the rim of his cap pushing it off his head slightly as it makes contact with hers. “I can’t...”

“Lie to me. Make me believe it.”

“I can’t do that either.” Frankie replies, the warmth of his breath flowing from his plush mouth settles into her pores.

She looks at him and can see his lips, so huge and pink right in her eyes, surrounded by the fuzz of his ever growing moustache and beard.

“Please.” She whimpers; his fingers are felt rummaging hypnotically inside of her hair and scalp, making all the hairs on her body stand tall to order.

He draws back and looks at her square in the eye after taking a deep breath. “We’re going to get off this island.” Frankie says directly to her in a voice that isn’t convincing at all.

“Say it again.” Jude prompts.

“We’re going to get off this island.”

“And again.”

“We’re...” He pauses, searching for the strength he knows he had inside of him once upon a time; before he had come to this wretched place. Before he had succumbed to an addiction that messed everything up.

But he’s coming up empty.

“Frankie-”

He sighs softly. “We’re going to get off this island, Jude.” He repeats again, his shoulders sagging.

She looks back into his eyes; those big, unrelenting orbs that hold a thousand secrets and a thousand lies and it’s hard to tell which is which as they churn around his irises.

“Liar.” She says, with a small slip of a smile and he smiles back at her.

“Promise me something,” she puts to him as he regards her.

“What?” Frankie asks.

“Promise me that you’ll always be honest with me. Even if it’s something you think I won’t want to hear, okay?”

Frankie glances over at the notebook and she turns him back to face her. “Just promise me.”

He nods slowly, his face changing as though he’s been caught out on some dirty, twisted secret. “Did you read it all?”

“I read enough.” Jude says, softly. “You once said to me that it was okay to be scared.”

He nods. “I promise.”

She reaches for his hand and squeezes it tightly.

“Good. Now where’s your shitty truck parked?”

Frankie smiles lightly and takes her hand, leading her out the shack towards the fire.

They eat the remaining fish that Egon hadn’t stolen by the fire side and drink water.

But in the spirit of first dates, Frankie explains to her, in great detail, that he’s in fact taken her to his favourite Mexican restaurant in Florida. They aren’t here under the moonlight, but drinking cocktails, sitting at a table by the window watching the world go by, as they eat and talk and laugh about every topic imaginable.

“What’s it called, this amazing restaurant?”

“The Dancing Red Pepper.” Frankie says, after swallowing his fish.

“Really?”

“They make this cocktail, it’s all the colours of the Mexican flag. I have no fuckin’ idea how they do it, but it’s really cool.” He shrugs.

“That does sound very cool.” Jude agrees. “What do you think you’d be doing if you didn’t go into the Army?” She asks. “Like, what did you wanna be when you grew up?”

“I liked science at school… I figured maybe I could be an archaeologist. I wanted to dig up dinosaur bones.”

“Dinosaurs, huh?” She sounds impressed.

Frankie nods. “Almost came in my pants when I watched Jurassic Park for the first time.”

She snorts. “Cute.”

“What about you? What was the dream job?” He queries with a smirk.

“I’m doing it. I love taking pictures. Always have. It kinda gives you a different perspective on the world when you look through the lens.” She speaks with reverence and a deep rooted adoration for it. It radiates out of her and sinks into Frankie’s skin, infecting him with the wonderment of it all.

“What’s your favourite photograph you’ve ever taken?” Frankie asks.

Jude thinks for a moment and smiles looking into the fire. “I was in France, Paris… there’s this row of benches down by the Jardins Tuileries. And it's really peaceful there... it's nice to just stop and rest, you know? I watched when this old couple sat down together. She pulls a sandwich out of her purse and hands him half it, and they sit there and eat together. And like, they don’t say a word to each other. At all. Like, nothing. No conversation, just silence.”

“Really?” He asks.

“Yeah. but it’s not weird, you know? There wasn’t any tension like they’d had an argument or anything. They simply just hold hands and eat their sandwich half with the other, and watch the world go by together. I took the photo when they’d finished, and the man had turned to the woman and noticed she had a piece of the sandwich on her lip. And he gets his handkerchief out of his pocket and just… dabs ever so gently at her face and smiles at her. I captured it there at that moment. That moment when he looked into her eyes and smiled at her with the most adoration I think I've ever seen in anyone's eyes. It was beautiful.”

“They were in love.” Frankie surmises.

“I really think they were.” Jude smiles. “I have it framed in my room… or at least, I did.”

“I’d love to see it one day, your photo.” He says. And she smiles at him with a little nod.

They sit eating together in a wistful silence for a few moments before Frankie speaks again.

“Did Nate ever look at you like that?"

Jude snorts. "No."

"Tell me how you met him."

“You really want to know about him?” She frowns a little.

“Sure, he was a part of your life, right? Even if he is an asshole.”

“He was.” She bites down on the inside of her cheek sourly. “We met at a house party; he was a friend of a friend.”

“Tell me what happened. You said he cheated?” He enquires.

“I walked in on him fucking another woman in our bed. And it wasn’t for the first time either.”

“Shit, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I needed to see it - again. To finally know that I was worth so much more than what he could give me. I’ve spent some time, whilst we’ve been here, evaluating things. I’m sure you have too.”

Frankie nods silently. His mind drifts back to the tumultuous events of his past - the choices made, the paths taken, and the mistakes that haunt him still.

“And it puts a lot of things into perspective, I guess. Like, when we get off this island, there are so many things I’m going to do differently.”

“Did you love him? Like those two people on the bench?” Frankie asks as he looks at her intently, those enquiring eyes of his round and fixated on her.

“With all my piece of shit heart,” she admits. “Did you love your girlfriend?”

Frankie shakes his head. “Not for a long time.”

“Why couldn’t you just tell her?”

Frankie picks up a pebble in the sand; fiddles with it around his thick, shaky fingers. “Because… I was afraid of admitting it out loud to myself,” he replies.

“What were you afraid of exactly?” Jude enquires.

“That I could never really love anybody,” he says flatly. “I know I felt something for her. I know I felt all those things you’re supposed to feel for someone in the beginning. Affection, caring... Maybe even love, I dunno. I just know for a long time we weren’t right, and it was my fault.”

“Why was it your fault, what did you do?” Jude asks.

He swallows hard and sighs hesitantly.

“Frankie, you don’t have to tell me if you’re not comfor-”

“No I…” He sighs again. “I wanna tell you. I-I just don’t think you’ll like it when I do.”

He glances at Jude, her soft features illuminated by the warm glow of the fire, and feels a knot form in his stomach.

For weeks, he’s wrestled with the decision to confide in her, to lay bare the darkest chapter of his past - the chapter he’s fought so hard to overcome, yet has never truly escaped. It's followed him here to the island too.

But as he looks into her eyes, he sees a glimmer of understanding, a flicker of empathy that gives him the courage to speak. Taking a deep breath, he begins to recount the events that had led him down the path of addiction - the pain, the loneliness, the overwhelming sense of despair that had driven him to seek solace in the numbing embrace of drugs.

“I-I had a problem. A problem with drugs. Cocaine. It was so stupid. I lost my licence to fly.” He breathes, feeling his fingers tremble around the pebble further.

“In the Army?”

“No, I’d done my service. Twenty years, or thereabouts. Felt longer. I retired honourably. Entered back into civilization, but it was… different. Tough to adjust and I don't think I really did. I guess I found it hard to settle. We all did.”

“We? You mean your Army buddies?” Judes probes gently.

“Yeah. There isn’t a lot of support out there for us. You're kinda left displaced, y'know? A pat on the back and off you go. I had nightmares for a really long time. I… have nightmares. Sometimes they’re really fuckin' bad. Vivid.”

“I can’t imagine the things you must’ve seen.” Her eyes urge him to continue.

“The things I did,” he holds his wrist out and takes off his broken watch to show Jude the numbers inked into his skin.

“Do they mean something?” She asks, peering at them carefully. She wants to trace her finger over them. “Are they coordinates?”

He shakes his head. “Memories. 9 physical scars. 28 stitches. 39 confirmed kills. 87 civilians. 208 days spent on the front line. 674 bullets.”

“God.” Jude trails off quietly. “Frankie, that’s…”

“I know.” He nods, he tosses the watch on the sand. Jude shuffles closer to him, her knee brushing against his and he smiles thinly.

"9 scars?" She asks, unable to imagine the stories behind them.

He nods. "My body is pretty fucked. But not as much as in here, I guess." He points to his temple and Jude nods forlornly as she tries to comprehend it all.

Taking a deep breath, Frankie begins to speak again, his voice steady, but tinged with emotion.

"It started a few years ago," he says, his gaze fixed on the flickering flames before them. “I dunno, I just… it wasn’t something I actively looked for, it was an opportunity to make some extra cash to help. Things were bad, I was pretty desperate. I was working as a cargo transfer pilot, shit pay and long hours, flying in and picking up small cargo units to bring over borders etc… legitimate cargo. But then I was asked to carry cargo that wasn’t so legitimate.”

“Drugs.” Jude nods.

“It was easy. Too fuckin’ easy. I knew the routes to stay undetected. And then they stopped paying me in cash and paid me in drugs a few times and it started then. I just wanted to sleep. To stop having nightmares. And it worked. Being high was like... all the noise stopped. It was quiet for a while... I got caught. I failed a routine drug test. Pilots can’t fly under any influence. I lost my job after a suspension. I was lucky I didn’t go to jail. And then my life just… spiralled. So fuckin’ fast. And then I went on a job with my buddies. An opportunity came up to make some decent money. Real decent. Could set me up for life. Completely illegal, of course. Colombia..."

He trails off, frowning at the recall of the events in the Andes.

"In Delta Force, we have skills that are specialist. Training for missions that aren't exactly by the book. And this mission was as far from the book as they come. I don’t even know why the fuck I said yes, it was a fuckin’ disaster from the start. We lost one of our own. Tom. He could be an asshole, but he was first in command. He had a daughter… We came home with nothing. Gave the money to the family. It was the right thing to do. I-I came home and threw myself into the drugs to cope I guess. I didn’t tell anybody.”

“You went through all that alone?” Jude asks, looking at him.

“I pushed them all away, it was easier. No guilt. It wasn't just the drugs," Frankie continues, his voice growing softer. "It was the loneliness, the sense of... of failure. I felt like I'd let everyone down, like I'd lost myself somewhere along the way."

Tears well up in his eyes as he speaks, and he pauses, overcome by the weight of his own words. He looks down to see Jude weaving her fingers into his and squeezing gently. He squeezes back.

His voice is steady, but tinged with emotion. “But then I accidentally overdosed and it scared me enough to get help. I went to rehab and it was... terrifying. My sponsor, Eddie, he... I got a new job and threw myself into work. It was all I had, and I needed the distraction it gave me. I was six months sober when I boarded the plane.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a little coin and hands it to her.

"You had this on you all this time?" The coin is small; a little worn round the edge and tarnished.

"Yeah, it survived with me in my pocket. I forgot all about it until after a few days of being here when it fell out as I was washing up my jeans."

“I’m proud of you, Frankie.” Jude whispers.

He simply baulks.

“No-one’s ever told you that, have they?”

“No, just you…” He admits. Frankie wipes away a stray tear, his chest tight with emotion. "Thank you," he whispers, his voice thick with gratitude. "I've never told anyone about this before."

“Did your partner know?”

“Yeah. I put her through a lot. She was there when it got real bad. She was pissed when I went to Colombia. And it was worse when I got back. I think she really hated me in the end. I don’t blame her... I fucked it up entirely.”

Jude squeezes his arm with her other hand and rests her head against it, looking into the fire. “No-one enters into a relationship with the intention of fucking it up.”

“Even Nate?” Frankie questions.

“Well, maybe he’s the exception,” she smirks. “But I think he was just lost in his own way, I guess.”

“Do you miss him?” He asks her enquiringly.

She sighs out. “Sometimes it hurts, like it winds me a bit, from out of nowhere, you know?”

He nods, feeling how good her fingers feel knotted in his own. Her chin knocks against his bicep as she speaks.

“Do you miss your ex-girlfriend? I mean, would you want to try to rekindle things with her again when you get home?”

Frankie shakes his head. “No, it’s dead in the water. I just... I don't want you to think less of me," he admits, his voice tinged with a croaked vulnerability. "But I cheated on her too. Only once. I was completely out of it and, I know it's not an excuse."

She looks up at him, her chin resting on his shoulder.

"I could never think less of you." Jude says, earnestly. "You were hurting, Frankie."

“Back home, I was a completely different man to what I am here.”

"You're strong, you're brave, and you're here, sharing your story with me. That means everything. People can change, Frankie. I’m glad you told me.”

Tears well up in Frankie's eyes again, overwhelmed by her kindness and sincerity. “You told me I could tell you anything, even if you didn’t wanna to hear it.” He murmurs, his voice thick with emotion.

“It's heavy, sure. But, I’m glad you told me. And it’s eight months, by the way. You're eight months sober.” Jude smiles.

Frankie nods looking at her face, inches from his own. “Yeah.”

“I'm just grateful that you trust me enough to open up like this." She surmises.

“I do.” He confirms. He puts his arm around her and squeezes her in close. She feels his hand resting at the hem of the dress, his thumb smoothing over the crease in the dress there on her thigh, running back and forth gently.

She closes her eyes and focuses on the hypnotic feel of it, nuzzling in closer on his arm.

They sit together looking out at the water, blackened by night around the edges of the horizon, but lit up by the moon and galaxy of stars above. Despite the isolation, there’s beauty to be found in this place; times like this where the sapphire water seems to almost glimmer at them and the world is immensely peaceful, save for the gentle rolling waves on the shore; constant background music that never pauses.

“This might sound weird, but being here, with you, it doesn’t suck at all.” Frankie mumbles.

“Ditto.” Jude replies with a smile when he turns to her. She nudges into him playfully with her shoulder and he chuckles.

For a fleeting moment, he entertains the idea of leaning in, of pressing his lips to hers and losing himself in the warmth of her embrace.

His body feels it, blood pumping. Instead, he shifts slightly, adjusting his position by the fire, and forces himself to focus on the crackling flames before him. The temptation lingers in the air, thick and heavy like the smoke from the fire.

Frankie can feel it pulling at him, tugging at the edges of his resolve. He wants nothing more than to lean in, to close the distance between them, and to taste the sweetness of her lips against his own. But he holds himself back, his heart pounding in his chest as he fights against the urge.

Jude senses his hesitation, and turns to him, her eyes searching his face carefully. "Are you okay?" She asks softly.

“I’m sorry that what I wrote upset you.” Frankie says, swallowing hard.

“You don’t need to apologise for feeling that way. I mean, we’re kinda leaning on each other, right?” She feels that pang inside her chest again.

“Yeah... we are.”

“I’m glad.” She smiles. “I’m glad you’re here with me. We can definitely get through this together. This island has met its match.” She makes a fist and he bumps it with his own.

“It sure has, hermosa," he agrees. Frankie looks at her and smiles back before looking out at the sea again.

He stands up with her after a while of contented, thoughtful silence that envelops them both, and they smile back at one another again.

“So, this is the part where I walk you home and then you ask me if I want to come in for a coffee.” Frankie states with the fire casting dancing embers inside his eyes; almost glowering at her demonically.

“You know that's code, right?" She chirps. "Besides, I don’t drink coffee, so good luck with that.”

“Really, no coffee?”

“No, can’t stand the taste.”

“Man, I can’t even function in the morning without a coffee.” He holds out his arm for her, and she links it in hers.

“I had a really good time tonight.” She teases him in a fluttery voice.

“Oh, shut up,” he smirks, as they laugh walking the very short distance from the shoreline, past the fire and towards the shack.

Once at the shack, they linger outside the doorway and both giggle awkwardly.

“So,” Frankie begins.

“Don’t be weird.” Jude concludes.

“Was it everything you hoped for?” Frankie asks, as he puts his hands inside his shorts pockets awkwardly.

“You mean the date?”

“What else would I be referring to?” He shrugs with a smirk.

“It was perfect.”

“Perfect, huh? No room for improvement; I mean the fuckin’ waiter took ages with the dessert.”

“True. Okay, I’ll knock it down to a seven out of ten.”

“Seven? Ouch...” He puts his hand over his chest like he’s been shot.

She laughs again and brushes the hair away from her face.

“If I kiss you, will that bump it up to ten?” Frankie asks with a fixated smile looming over her.

“I don’t know. Try it and see.” She feels her stomach flutter and her heart begin to thrum in her chest.

He simply twists his cap backwards on his head making her chuckle, and pulls her closer to him with his arm around her waist; his touch seems like it’s suddenly burning. He reaches up, his fingers on her chin and tilts her face up to him.

“You’re so fuckin’ beautiful, you know that?” Frankie murmurs to her and watches as her eyes dip, smiling under her fanned lashes and melting somewhat in his arms.

His eyes are deep set and mysterious, rounded and yet almond shaped at the same time. She’s wondered for so long what this would be like, thinking about how he’ll taste, feel...

“Are you gonna smooth talk me, Fish, or are you gonna kiss me?” Jude giggles.

Smiling, he slants his lips against hers, smooching delicately as her hands sweep around the back of his neck and she stands up on tip toes as he pulls her against his slender body.

His tongue slides inside her mouth tentatively and exploring; the wiry, greying hairs from his moustache tickling her lip deliciously. His hand works inside her hair at the back of her head, cradling her closer, and she rifles her fingers through his curls at the nape of his neck and feels him groan inside her mouth.

The noise sets her skin alight, birthing millions of goose bumps across the surface and sending shivers down her spine and into her toes. Jude nips onto his lips and he smiles through the kiss, biting back gently and suckling on her bottom lip; their tongues dancing and grinding against one another as they explore each other’s mouths in a hypnotic rhythm.

Every nerve in his body seems to come alive with the electric energy of the moment, sparking with the intensity of their connection.

But beneath the surface of his excitement, there’s also a profound sense of vulnerability lurking as he trembles. He’s baring his soul to her, laying his heart on the line in a way he never has before. The weight of his confession hangs heavy in the air, mingling with the crackling of the fire and the soft sigh of the night breeze.

Yet despite the uncertainty that dances on the edges of his consciousness, there’s also a sense of rightness, of belonging. In her arms, Frankie feels safe, understood, and accepted for who he truly is, faults and all. And as their lips meet in a tender, yet charged lock, all the doubts and fears that have plagued him melt away into a depth that he feels like he's no longer drowning in. He feels, for a moment, like he can truly breathe above the surface of the water.

For Jude, the moment is a whirlwind of emotions, a kaleidoscope of sensations that leave her breathless and exhilarated. As Franke leans in to kiss her, she feels a surge of warmth spread through her body, igniting a spark of desire deep within her core.

His touch is gentle yet firm, sending shivers down her spine with anticipation. Her heart races in her chest and ears, a rapid cadence matching the rhythm of their breaths as they meld together in an intimate vie for one another.

She can feel the heat of his body against hers, a comforting warmth that chases away the oncoming chill of the night air. With each brush of their lips, she feels herself sinking deeper into the moment, losing herself in the dizzying sensation of him. Time seems to stand still as they linger in each other's arms, their bodies pressed close as if trying to merge into one.

He pulls away, leaving the ghost of him on her lips to taste, and waits, looking at her expectantly.

“Meh. Nine point five,” Jude remarks, and he rolls his eyes smirking, leaning in to kiss her again.

She kisses him back intensely, feeling how wet and warm his tongue is inside her mouth again. It makes Catherine wheel’s spin inside her chest, her toes buzz. She clenches between her legs when she feels him prodding against her belly, something so obviously hard in it's shape, and it makes her whimper.

And Frankie groans at that sound, clutching her closer; his kiss becoming more frantic, her hands grappling at him harder. He squeezes at her hips with a grunt.

“Frankie…” She gasps, running her mouth up the side of his neck, tasting the salted skin there as he licks and kisses over her shoulder, tempted, so fuckin' tempted, to just pull the strap down.

Her mind goes blank, lost in the noise of the colour he paints over her skin with his tongue.

”Tell me to stop,” he husks as his hands slide over her ass, groping and squeezing as he winds his hips further into her body. "Jude, tell me to stop." He begs.

“I don’t want you to stop.” Jude gasps, finding his mouth again as he crushes her to him. She runs her hands down his chest and he shudders. “Take me inside,” she smiles around his lips.

“If I take you inside, I’m gonna fuck you.” Frankie warns with a groan as her hands knot inside his shirt, tugging on it sharply and moaning out at his words. “And you said you don’t fuck guys on a first date,” he pants, feeling his head swim and fill with bubbles.

All he can think about is how she feels inside his hands as he tries his damned hardest to cling onto his remaining composure, fingers slipping off the ledge.

And how fucking hard he is right now.

Jude looks up at him, her heart hammering so loud in her ears that she’s convinced he can hear it too. “I might make an exception, just this once.”

He grins at her, thumb running the length of her jaw before he kisses there again. “Me matas… fuck.” (You kill me.)

“Take me inside and fuck me, Frankie.” She confirms with a blazing smile.

To be continued...

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imaginaryf1shots · 22 days

Text

My Girls | Crash

WC: 2K

Driver!oc x Max Verstappen

Warning: cursing, car crashing, fire?

A.N: This doesn’t follow the time line and could be read as a stand alone.

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Zandvoort, Netherlands.

Max’s home race, the crowed were all cheering for the man. Cecilia had made the move to Mercedes this year, and so far she’s so happy with team, they had welcomed her with open arms, and she’s gotten well with Lewis, the pair weren’t as close before they became teammates, not because she didn’t like him, but Cecilia usually ran with the guys in her age group more. And to be honest she looked up to Lewis when she was younger so her racing against him, like Seb, left her breathless. She never thought that by the time she’d make it to Formula 1 he’d still be doing the amazing things he’s doing.

The race had started Cecilia started from P4, and she made good progress after the first turn she dropped to P6 by lap 30 she was back in P4 trying to overtake Carlos and get to P3. The weather took a turn and it started raining heavily.

Lap 34

Cecilia, box. Box.

You’re going in after Lewis.

Cecilia

Okay, don’t fuck it up for me, my daughter is here today.

We won’t.

And they didn’t, in true Mercedes fashion they double stacked, and she was out in two seconds.

Lap 35

Ferrari made a bad decision when they pitted Carlos, Cecilia was able to undercut him and took his P3, he dropped to P5.

Lap 43

Cecilia

How long will it rain for?

For another ten minutes or so

We’ll keep you updated

Lap 70

Lewis and Max were in front of her, she didn’t try to overtake Lewis following the team’s strategy. It was still raining, and she’s close to finishing P3.

Stroll is behind you, he’s 0.5 behind

Cecilia

Copy

Lance was closing in on her, but Cecilia was ready to defend, turn after turn she blocked him, she’s not losing her podium, she's third in the championship and she’ll hold her position with her hands and teeth. She only has two laps left.

However mother nature had other plans Lance lost grip and his car gilded over the ground with no tire grip at all, his car twirled around and his wing took out Cacilia’s back tires.

Cecilia

FUCK! FUCK!

Her car turned in circles, hitting the tire barrier pushing her back into the track, other cars had to swerve not to hit her as she hit the other barrier, the car started flipping, breaking into pieces. A red flag was called instantly, all cars were called back to the pit. George and Yuki already DNFed and were watching the crash happen, Lance's car was also destroyed but he hit the fence and stopped. Cecilia’s car landed upside down.

Toto

Cecilia! Are you okay?

All that could be heard was groaning, the safety car was out and the marshalls were running to the car that finally stopped moving. Cecilia was disoriented, she lost consciousness for a second. Everyone watched with bated breath, Merc’s garage was silent, everyone waiting for a response as Toto tried to get a response again and again. Every second felt like a lifetime. Both Max and Lewis pitted, they were informed of what happened, and both men panicked, one of the screens was playing back the crash.

Lance had gotten out of his car and was running to Cecilia’s.

Groans are the first thing Mercedes engineers heard, she was alive, but in pain.

Toto

Cecilia, are you okay?

Max ran to the Mercedes garage since the radio wasn’t being broadcasted, the only place he’d know if she’s okay is in the Mercedes garage. One of the engineers gave him his headphones to listen.

Cecilia

I’m smelling petrol

The female groaned, she tried to move but there wasn’t much she could do, until the car flipped, meanwhile blood was rushing to her head.

Toto turned and informed the crew to tell the marshalls. Lance was the first at the car, he had no idea about the leaking petrol, the car could light up at any second.

Toto

How are you feeling?

He wanted to gauge how she’s doing physically.

Cecilia

Not- not so good

Toto

They’re almost there

Cecilia

Fuck, I’m sorry, I’m sorry

Toto

It’s not your fault it’s okay

Cecilia

Na-nathalie, don’t let her watch

Toto

Don’t worry she was taken away

Just focus on yourself

The marshals reached the car and with Lance they flipped the car, Cecilia sounded out of breath down the radio, once the car was the right way she didn’t move to get herself out. All they could do at the garage is wait. Lance was led away, they tried to have minimal people around the car since they knew about the petrol, two ambulances were near, Lance was led to one, the guilt eating him alive.

A marshal unbuckled Cecilia, with the help of another one they pulled the female out of what was left of the car, she offered no assistance. All she did was groan and mutter to herself incoherent things. They laid her down on the ground to take her helmet and balaclava off, they didn’t want to move her around too much not to cause any more damage, but just as they laid her down and with the medics running towards them all in the rain under the gloomy skies, a spark and then fire, blazing fire. The Marshalls ducked down.

Max’s heart dropped to his feet, he couldn’t stay there, he couldn’t. Turning to leave, an arm on his shoulder held him tight. His eyes met his rival’s.

“Don’t go mate, there’s nothing you could do.” Lewis was firm, he understood why Max wanted to go, but there’s literally nothing better he could do than stay here.

“I can’t just stay here.” Max tried to move again but again Lewis stopped him.

“You want to do something, go check on Nattie, that girl saw her mum’s crash.” Lewis told him and Max turned to look at where your driver’s room is. “The medic will get her out.”

“Lewis is right, we have to stay here for Nathalie.” Charles said, sounding out of breath as he ran to the Mercedes garage, for the same reason as Max, Mercedes will have the first information about Cecilia.

The marshals did the only thing they could do, they grabbed her from under her armpits, they were close to the ground, and they started dragging her, the medics met them and quickly placed her on the stretcher as a fire truck was driving up. Cecilia was then rushed to the nearest hospital.

“She’s breathing, they’re rushing her to the hospital.” Toto told the drivers, rushing over before he saw the Ferrari driver. “You two-three can’t leave yet, but I’m rushing there with her father.”

He left no room for discussion, the race is over, everyone will be placed where they were on pole based on where they were when the red flag was called.

Max knew he’d be needed in the RedBull garage but he went to Cecilia’s driver room, her name on the door, walking in he saw Nathalie being comforted by one of the Mercedes team.

“It’s okay, I got her.” Max told the woman who gave Max a small smile before she left. Nathalie threw herself at Max, he crouched down to be able to hug her. “It’s okay, momie is okay.”

“I saw her crash!” The girl sobbed, shaking.

“I know, but you know she’s a superhero with superpowers, she’s a little hurt, but she’s okay, she asked for you.” Max comforted pulling her up in his arms, as he stood up.

“She did?” Nathalie’s face was red, her lips turned down, an expression he saw on Cecilia a few times.

"Yeah, she did." He comforted her until she had calmed down. "Want to come with me to RedBull?"

Natalie nods and Max carries her to his team's garage. All he wants is to leave and go to the hospital. The race is over with anyways, even if he got pole position there’s no happiness there. Leaving the Mercedes garage Charles was talking with Lando and Lewis, when Charles saw Nattie's red face he tried to cheer her up, and he managed to get a small smile out of her, the favourite uncle’s privileges and all.

Half asleep writing this

Max was finally given the green light to leave the paddock and go to the hospital, Nathalie and Charles were of course with him, the group was driven there. Börje, Cecilia’s dad called and said that she’s stable and okay, she looks worse than she is. Max doesn’t know how to interpret this to be honest, so he just wants to get there.

When they made it to the hospital, Toto was outside on the phone talking furiously. He saw them and pointed for them to go in, still decked in their team’s kits the moment the trio walked(Nattie was in Charles’ arms) a nurse led them to a waiting room where they saw Börje. The man looked stressed his leg bouncing. He got calls from his wife and son asking about their daughter/sister, he had to try and be as calm as he could, but that’s his baby girl.

“Börje!” Charles called for the older man, he’ll always hold him in high regard, he did so much for his family when they were going through tough times.

“Grand-père.” Nathalie wiggled out of Charles’ arms and ran to her grandfather who had his arms out for her, he hugged her close, pulling her up to sit on his lap.

“How is she?” Max asks, stressed and worried, he tried to hide his feelings but they were seeping through him.

“They're doing their last check ups, but there's no broken bones, a slight concussion and a lot of bruises.” Börje said and Nattie snuggled into him, hiding her face into his neck.

“When can we see her?” Charles asked.

”I think Max can go in.”

Max didn’t wait for another word, he knocked on the door and a nurse opened it for him, once knowing his relation to Cecilia he was let in. The doctor was finishing up telling Cecilia everything, when Max rushed to her side. He couldn’t see any visible injuries besides a couple bruises on her arms. The doctor and nurse leave, letting the couple have a moment.

”Hey.” Cecilia says with a small smile, Max had no idea how she could smile, he watched her crash, he thought she had died. Max is a strong man, he never cries, he’s been too much shit for him to get overly emotional like this, but here he is trying to not let the tears gather in his eyes, fighting everything in himself to get it together, he wasn’t the one that crashed.

”Hey.” Max’s voice was heavy with emotion, he sits beside her on the bed and takes her hand gently in both of his, like it was his life line, to him it felt like it. “I-uh- I-um, Schatje…”

”Amour.” Cecilia says gently and cups Max’s face with her free one, Max crumbles, he puts his head on her shoulder and his body shakes lightly.

”Fucking hell, Cilia, I thought, shit, I thought I lost you.” Max manages to get out and Cecilia pats his back in comfort kissing the side of his head.

”I’m okay, Maxie, I’m alright, amour.” Cecilia whispered and keeps kissing the side of his head, teats gathering in her own eyes.

”I only managed to hold it in for Nat.” Even when he wants to break down, your daughter is his first thought and priority.

“I knew that you’ll always think of her first.”

“Believe me I wanted to run to you, but Lewis stopped me.” Max says and pushes himself back to be able to look at you, you take the time to wipe his tears away, and give him another smile.

”I’m glad he did.” Before Max could reply the door opened and small feet ran in and to the bed.

”Mommie.”

“Mon ange.”

charles_leclerc added a story

Captian: (she's fine everyone ❤️)

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Captian: ( thank you for all the love, I'm alright 👍 already out and on my way home 💋 )

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c-e-d-dreamer · 8 days

Text

Top Shelf Love: Chapter One

A/N: yeah, yeah, I know! This is super exposition-y, but we have to set it all up, besties! I promise Cassian and Nesta actually interact again in the next chapter 🫡 Also, for anyone who's nerdy like me, the Athletic has a really great article about just how complicated things get when a player gets traded. It's a fun read!

Read on AO3 // Chapter Masterlist // Previous Part // Next Part

Cassian

Cassian groans, tossing his phone on the coffee table, the device skittering across the wood without a care. He drops his head against the back of the sofa, digging his hands into his hair and dragging his fingers against the curly strands. He still can’t quite wrap his mind around it, and he half wonders if he’s imagining this entire phone call, but the tinny voice continues through the speaker even if he’s no longer listening.

Seattle.

He got traded to the Seattle Kraken.

The words continue to crash and echo in his mind, even as his agent goes through the usual spiel when trades happen. Expect a call from the coach, maybe even a few players will reach out once the news breaks. The Kraken’s director of team services will reach out with the finer details for a smooth transition. Reminders of the CBA mandates. Meetings with the trainers, the equipment team, and the coaching staff to look forward to. Practice schedule. It’s like information overload, a hurricane swirling through his head with hundred mile per hour winds.

It doesn’t help that his phone has already started to vibrate against the table, almost excessively. With a quiet huff that thankfully his agent doesn’t pick up on, already plowing forward into the exciting potential for re-signing with Seattle, Cassian snatches his phone back up. He minimizes the call screen and looks at his notifications. Of course. The news has already broken on Twitter. Damn ‘insiders.’

“Any questions for me, Cassian? Anything I can do for you?”

Cassian has to shake his head, clearing his still spiraling thoughts, before he finds his voice. “All good, Eris. That’s how the off season goes, right?”

Eris is quiet for a moment. “I’ll send a car to take you to the airport. A nicer one than the team would send.”

With that, the line clicks, and Cassian tosses his phone away again, this time face down. He doesn’t even want to look at what’s being said, at the speculation. Sure, the Rangers hadn’t had the best season, the ending more heartbreak than anything else. Sure, he only has one year left on his contract. Sure, the front office wants draft picks to help build up the farm system with young blood.

But still, Cassian never expected this. Never expected this was how his time with the team would end. Never expected this was how his time in New York City would end.

Sighing softly, he glances around his apartment. The high ceilings, the modern, open kitchen, the tall windows and the amazing skyline view that the thirty-first floor offers. He really did love this place, a far cry from the streets he’d grown up on, and a reminder of how far he'd come from those very streets. He supposes he’ll have to sell it now. Is it worth keeping just for the off season?

The sound of Cassian’s phone ringing is loud in his otherwise quiet apartment. It seems to echo off the walls as though taunting him. He’s half tempted to ignore it all together, but despite the unknown number displayed on the screen when he checks, the location is listed as Seattle. Not the best first impression to send his new team to voicemail. Another sigh and Cassian squares his shoulders, sliding his thumb across the screen to answer.

The man on the other end of the line introduces himself and exchanges a few pleasantries, but then he’s diving right in to more specifics. The nitty gritty of a trade. Flight details. Financials and reimbursements. Rental car when he lands. Taxes.

Cassian only half listens, making sure he makes the affirmative sounds at the appropriate breaks in conversation. This isn’t his first rodeo. Although, he had still been in the farm system when his last trade happened. This is certainly different, but Cassian knows he thankfully won’t have to deal with most of this. He’ll give the director of team services Eris’s number, and let him deal with all the numbers and everything. It’s why he pays him the big bucks after all.

As soon as the call ends, Cassian’s phone lights up and starts ringing again. He wants to pull his own hair out as that incessant sound fills his apartment. He knows how this goes, but he’d give anything for just a moment of peace, a moment to really sit with his thoughts and everything that’s just happened. He considers turning his phone off, letting all the calls go to voicemail, at least for a few hours, but then he sees the name displayed on the screen.

“I take it you saw the news?” Cassian says by way of greeting.

“Need a drink?” Rhysand’s voice carries down the line.

Cassian chuckles, already pushing up to his feet. “You have no idea. But you better be breaking out the good shit from your fancy cellar.”

“Yeah, yeah. Just get your ass over here.”

Just the short conversation, the teasing tone of his chosen brother, has Cassian feeling lighter already. He grabs his wallet and shoves it into his pocket, tugging a ball cap down over his curls. Summer still clings to the city despite the first day of fall barely a few days away, but the breeze that dances between the buildings promises cooler temperatures to come. Cassian takes the subway up toward Central Park, the rocking of the car over the tracks strangely a lulling balm over his nerves.

The doorman offers Cassian a nod and a friendly hello in greeting when he arrives at the building, holding the door open for him to stroll inside. The receptionist at the front desk does the same, barely casting Cassian a cursory glance as he heads for the elevators. He quickly punches in the code and steps inside, riding up and up and up, all the way to the penthouse.

Feyre is waiting for Cassian as soon as the elevator doors open, stepping forward and wrapping her arms tightly around his waist. “I’m so sorry.”

Cassian chuckles but he wraps his own arms around Feyre’s shoulders nonetheless. “I’m not dying, Fey. I just got traded.”

“I know, but traded across the country,” Feyre continues, pulling back enough that she can peer up at Cassian with an overdramatic pout. “I’m losing my partner in crime. Who will join me in bullying Rhys now?”

“You’re right,” Cassian tells her, nodding his head with faux solemness. “I’m so sorry you’ll be stuck on the east coast all alone with Rhys’s stupid face.”

“Stupid face? And here I broke out the good wine for your sorry ass.”

Cassian tosses his head back and laughs. He steps away from Feyre and walks over to Rhys, clapping his brother on the shoulder. “I expect nothing less.”

Rhys rolls his eyes, but he leads the way into the kitchen, three wine glasses and a bottle already arranged on the large kitchen island. He pours the wine into each glass, but Cassian grabs the bottle, examining the label with an appreciative hum.

“I don’t know why you’re making that sound,” Rhys comments dryly, taking a sip of his drink.

“Who cares about that?” Feyre cuts in, waving a dismissive hand at her fiancé and leaning against the kitchen island, her attention solely on Cassian. “Are you excited for Seattle?”

Cassian hums, swirling his wine around the glass. “They’re definitely building a good team out there. Strong top line. And I’ve heard good things about playing under Miller.”

“But…?”

“There’s no but, it’s just…” Cassian sighs softly, pulling his cap off to run his fingers through his hair. “It just sucks because everyone’s here, out east. You guys are always here or in Montreal. Mor’s here in New York. Even Az isn’t that far in Nashville. I won’t know anyone out west.”

“Yeah, but you’ll have the guys on the team. You know they’ll have all the best spots in town to recommend,” Rhys reminds him.

“Yeah, I guess.”

“My sister lives out in Seattle!” Feyre jumps in to add, blue eyes bright.

Cassian frowns. “Doesn’t Elain live in Toronto with Lucien?”

“Not Elain. My other sister. Nesta. You’ve met her.”

Nesta.

Cassian is sure he’d remember if he met Nesta Archeron. He still remembers when Feyre had posted the photos from Elain’s wedding last month to her Instagram, the way his mouth had slackened at the sight of who he was sure was the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen. With the purple, silky fabric of the bridesmaid dress clinging perfectly to her every curve, golden brown strands of hair swept away from her face in an intricate updo, she was breathtaking.

But it was her expression in the photos that had really drawn Cassian in. There was something about it. Something about her. Something about the way that even though she was smiling in the photo, there was still a challenge, a dare, burning in her stormy blue eyes and the pinch of her brow. And Cassian had never backed down from a dare. He was sure one look from her had sent many men to their knees, sent them fleeing for the hills before she could cut them down where they stood, but Cassian? Cassian wanted to drive head first into that fire.

“I don’t think I’ve met her,” Cassian offers, but he doesn’t tell Feyre just how much he wishes he had.

“But she was at our engagement party in May,” Feyre continues, but when Cassian only shrugs in response, she merely sighs. “Whatever. The point is that she lives in Seattle. I can give you her number if you want. Then, you’ll at least know someone out there when you get there. And I’m sure she’d be more than happy to show you around.”

Cassian thinks about it. He thinks back to those photos on Feyre’s Instagram, thinks about the photos he had seen when he stalked Nesta’s own Instagram after he clicked the tagged account. Thinks of those stormy blue eyes and the tilt of her lips in a smirk behind the rim of a wine glass. Thinks of the stories Feyre has told him, of the stubborn and fierce older sister who all but eviscerated Feyre’s ex, Tamlin.

“Yeah… yeah, that’d be good. Just so I know someone out there.”

~ * * * ~

Nesta

Nesta sighs softly, but she reaches down, fingers curling beneath cardboard. Her arms protest at the weight, but she hefts the box up, shuffling the few steps to add it to the organized chaos that’s their backroom. For a moment, her attention dances back toward her phone where she left it on another box, but she pointedly left it face down for a reason. She doesn’t need to look at the text messages waiting for her again.

Feyre 1:18pm Remember Cassian? Rhys’ brother that I told you all about? 😉 He’s coming to Seattle! I gave him your number. Show him around for me? Please?

Unknown number 4:43pm Hey, Nesta. This is Cassian. Feyre gave me your number. I’m moving out to Seattle soon. Maybe we can meet up?

“So, let me get this straight. The Cassian is moving to Seattle?”

Nesta snorts softly, peering toward where Gwyn is sprawled across the floor, iPad balanced against her knees. “We’re calling him the Cassian now?”

“I prefer to call him the douchey hockey player,” Emerie comments idly, placing the box in her own arms down. She swipes up the box cutter from the metal shelf to her left, making quick, efficient work of the tape keeping the box closed.

“And are you imagining douchey hockey player’s balls there?” Gwyn teases, looking meaningfully toward the box cutter in Emerie’s grip.

“So what if I am?” Emerie fires back, leaning forward to open Nesta’s box too. “He’d deserve it.”

“I never said he didn’t,” Gwyn laughs, turning her attention back to Nesta. “So, what are you going to do?”

Nesta sighs softly. “I don’t know. Feyre asked me to show him around the city.”

“Doesn’t he have teammates to do that?”

“Ignore him and the request,” Emerie suggests dryly.

Nesta snorts quietly but it quickly turns into a sigh, even as she keeps her hands busy pulling books out of her box. “I didn’t exactly tell Feyre what happened that night.”

She hadn’t told anyone about that night, save her two best friends. She still cringes sometimes when she thinks back to it, the embarrassment burning bright low in her gut, twisting and squeezing between her ribs uncomfortably. She’d sworn that night that she would never give a single thought about Cassian Valdarez ever again, and until today, she’d kept true to that.

She’d spent her remaining days in New York City solely with her sisters, even doing one of the touristy bus tours with Elain to see all the classic sights. And thankfully, Feyre had been more interested in excitedly talking about wedding plans and ideas than continuing her busybody meddling. If either of her sisters noticed anything different with Nesta, they didn’t say anything.

After Nesta had flown back home to Seattle, Emerie and Gwyn came over to her apartment. Drinking a bottle of wine between the three of them, it all had come spilling out of her. Her friends had allowed her to pace and rage, and then that was that. Nesta had washed her hands of the whole thing. Never again did she dare to check the sports news out of curiosity. Never again did she dare to stalk his Instagram. Never again did she think of the stupid face and the stupid smirk of a smile of that hockey player.

“What if you give him a tour of all the worst places in the city?” Emerie suggests, brown eyes practically lighting up at the idea. “Then, maybe he’ll want to leave the city.”

Gwyn’s laugh is bright, red hair tumbling down her back when she tosses her head back. “That is definitely not how sports teams operate.”

“Worth a shot,” Emerie mutters, tossing aside the box packaging in her hands and reaching back in for the books hiding beneath. “Holy shit. We got the new Sellyn Drake novel already?”

Emerie holds up the book in her hand excitedly, showing off the cover. Like so many romance novels these days, it features a faceless, cartoon style couple. The man is shirtless, though, rocking a kilt, while the woman is drawn with a yellow sundress. Looping script above the cartoon characters declares the title, The Scottish High Lord and Me.

“It’s official release date is…” Gwyn starts, squinting down at the iPad and scrolling through whatever is on the screen. “Tuesday, so we’ll want to put them out Monday night after we close.”

Gwyn reaches over toward the metal shelves, swiping up the sticky notes and sharpie sitting there. She scrawls out a note, a reminder of when they’ll need to stock the books, and peels the sticky note free. She slaps it right over the cover of the book in Emerie’s hands, but Emerie is quick to peel it right back off, placing it instead on one of the other copies still in the box.

“Hey!” Gwyn chastises, narrowing her eyes.

“What?” Emerie asks, her tone overly innocent. “This is my copy.”

“Gwyn just said the book doesn’t technically release until Tuesday,” Nesta points out, snorting softly.

“What’s the point of owning a bookstore if we don’t get to read all the best releases early? Besides, it’s not like I’m going to be posting all the spoilers online or anything.”

“Good point,” Nesta agrees, reaching forward as well to grab another of the Sellyn Drake books.

“You both are terrible.”

“Oh, come on,” Emerie teases with a roll of her eyes. “You know you want to read it too.”

“Seriously, Gwyn,” Nesta adds, not even bothering to bite back her smirk as she points to the cover. “It’s a Scottish love interest.”

Gwyn huffs, seemingly determined to hold her ground with her crossed arms and narrowed gaze, but it barely lasts a few seconds. Not quite meeting either of her friends' eyes, the barest hint of a blush beginning to pool in her cheeks, she reaches forward into the box, plucking out another of the books.

Nesta and Emerie glance toward each other, sharing a knowing look, before they both burst out laughing. It feels good to laugh, to have that lightness twining around her limbs and swelling through her chest. It feels good to be squeezed back in this tiny stockroom with her best friends, her chosen sisters. She doesn’t know what she’d do without them.

They were there for her when she hit the lowest point of her life, when she well and truly felt like she hit rock bottom. They were right there beside her in the trenches, a shoulder to cry on, an ear to rage and scream at, a voice of reason and comfort. They didn’t flinch when Nesta snapped and released that swirling storm of emotion within her. They didn’t balk from her every scar, every dark crevice of her soul.

And when Nesta was ready, they helped pull her out.

“And what books are in your box?” Gwyn asks Nesta, pulling her out of her thoughts and back into the present.

Nesta shakes her head before peering into the box at her feet, pushing aside the packaging. “It looks like it’s our restock of that baseball romance that went viral.”

“Oh, thank goodness,” Gwyn comments, tapping away at the iPad screen. “We should definitely put those out tonight so they’re ready for tomorrow.”

~ * * * ~

Nesta slumps back against the blankets and pillows of her bed with a soft sigh. She sinks back into the mattress, letting her arm fall over her eyes. There’s definitely a soreness lingering in her biceps from lifting all those boxes, but it was worth it.

When they finished inventory of the latest deliveries, the three of them had moved back into the main shop. Emerie had taken to restocking the shelves while Gwyn took to rearranging the table displays at the front. Nesta had taken to the registers. Math had always been a strong point for her, even when she was back in school, so it was always her job to balance their books. They all worked in perfect tandem until everything was good to go, finally closing up the shop and heading their separate ways back to their respective apartments.

Nesta allows herself another moment to simply lay in bed before hauling herself back up. She grabs the newest Sellyn Drake novel, resituating her pillows and settling back comfortably against them. Her fingers skate along the cover, down over the spine. There’s always been something about holding a fresh book in her hands. The crisp pages, the scent of parchment and ink.

Sliding her palm down the cover once more, Nesta turns to the first page, but her gaze dances away from the words and over to her nightstand. To her phone sitting there. She knows she shouldn’t, but her fingers itch with the urge all the same. With an annoyed huff, Nesta snatches up the device, navigating to her message app and the unread texts there.

Unknown number 7:12pm Did I type in the wrong number? This is Nesta, right?

Unknown number 7:37pm Feyre says this is the right number. Did she tell you I’m moving to the Seattle area? It would be really great if we could meet up!

Unknown number 9:21pm I guess you’re just really busy. My flight gets in Saturday morning, but the team is picking me up to show me around the practice facilities and locker rooms and introduce me to everyone. Maybe we could meet up in the afternoon? I’d be more than happy to buy you dinner 😏

The last message has Nesta rolling her eyes hard. It’s exactly the sort of response she expects from someone like Cassian. All the arrogance and presumptuousness that comes from being a professional athlete. She half wonders how he even fits his ego inside the locker rooms.

Nesta tosses her phone aside and returns to her book. She hasn’t broken her promise yet, and she has no intention of breaking it now. Besides, who needs a hockey player when she has a fictional Scotsman, anyways?

—

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