#It's a cold country but they committed to the Look (even if it was a bit of a travesty)

[ssa-dado]

2 - Early Birds

Aaron Hotchner x bau!reader

Genre: fluff, angst if you squint

Summary: Two weeks in, the excitement of your first case had faded, and you found yourself handling simpler cases while learning from senior team members. You aimed to prove yourself, arriving early each day, only to find Hotch always there before you. This sparked a playful rivalry and connection between you two. Hotch recognized your determination to earn your place, and your insights on a cold case led to a field mission together. Through this growing mutual respect, your dynamic evolved into a partnership with unspoken mentorship.

Warnings: Usual CM case stuff described in detail, Hotch being a jokester, Rossi being iconic as always, no Gideon though.

Word Count: 4.4k words

Dado's Corner: Trying my best not to write reader looking at "Hotch's muscles reaping through his tight shirt", and limit the emotional description that both of them feel because stupid me wanted to write a slow burn. They are so cute though, c'mon. Also I wanted to point out that both of them basically know nothing about each other outside of work (their family, their past, if they're dating someone...👀). And yes, that is very deliberate, hihi.

part one ; part three

Two weeks had passed, and the initial rush of excitement that had accompanied your first case with the team was starting to settle. You weren’t paired up with Hotch, Rossi, or Gideon for any of your most recent cases anymore - not that you expected to be.

The more straightforward cases were often left to the younger or less experienced agents, which included you, as frustrating as it sometimes felt. Still, you were learning, absorbing everything you could from your new other colleagues, even though part of you itched to be working on the more complex cases that the senior team members handled, mostly because they were the ones who were allowed to travel all across the country.

You wandered how they expected you to go back to work after the big rush you felt after that first case, although it was probably intentional – an unspoken invite - if you continued to keep up with your works, maybe you would be allowed to join the big boys club again. The placement of your desk, didn’t help you at all to keep those thoughts out of your head, as it was situated right in front of Hotch’s, and constantly gave you an unobstructed view of his work.

It was yet another reminder of what you 'could have been doing' disguised as a neatly arranged workspace with case files that seemed far more complicated and intriguing than the ones you were currently dealing with. Every now and then, you’d catch a glimpse of him leaning over one of his meticulous reports or reviewing photos, his focus so intense it was hard not to feel a twinge of jealousy.

But you immediately learnt Hotch was nothing if not organized, and despite your best efforts to sneak a peek at the cases he was working on, he always kept his desk so perfectly neat that you could never quite make out any of the details… which only made you even more curious.

So you started coming to the office earlier each day, driven by a fierce determination to prove yourself and earn a spot on the senior team. You knew your skills were valuable, but without more field experience, you needed to find other ways to stand out. Arriving early became your way of showing commitment, a quiet but persistent demonstration that you were ready whenever the team needed you.

However, your plans to impress were unknowingly thwarted by one person: Hotch himself.

No matter how early you arrived, he was always there before you, settled at his desk with a steaming cup of the bitter government-office coffee in hand, already absorbed in his work.

His calm presence, bathed in the soft glow of the early morning light, became a familiar sight. It almost felt like he was deliberately keeping the upper hand, showing you that no matter how early you came in, he would always beat you to it. This routine repeated so frequently that it turned into a sort of unspoken ritual: arriving to find Hotch already deep in thought, sharing those first moments of the day completely in silence. Sometimes, you'd exchange a nod, and if you were feeling particularly bold, a brief smile of acknowledgment to him. Those quiet mornings became the closest thing you would ever have to connecting with someone from the senior team.

One particular morning, you arrived earlier than ever, determined that this would finally be the day you beat Hotch to the office. You slipped into your chair, a triumphant smile spreading across your face at the sight of his empty desk. For once, you were ready to enjoy the small victory of being there first. But before you could even settle into your morning routine, Hotch strolled in with an infuriatingly composed air, as if this were all part of some game only he knew the rules to.

"Early again, I see," Hotch said, setting his bag down with a casualness that suggested he wasn’t bothered in the slightest by your efforts.

You smirked, trying to hide the disappointment of losing yet again, and fired back, "What can I say? I like to get a head start on the day."

Hotch gave a small nod as he took his seat, already opening a case file. "I noticed," he replied in his dry, signature tone. "Maybe next time you’ll actually beat me to the office."

Your eyes widened slightly; it was embarrassing how easily he had read your unspoken intentions, as if your competitive spirit was as obvious as the morning sunlight streaming through the windows. Still, you couldn’t let him have the last word. Leaning back in your chair, you matched his teasing tone. "Is that a challenge?"

Hotch didn’t look up from his file, but you caught the subtle twitch at the corner of his mouth, as though he was fighting back a smile. "If it were a challenge, you'd know it."

The next day, determined to prove a point, you arrived even earlier, practically at the crack of dawn. You felt a surge of pride when you saw Hotch’s empty desk. You sat down, arranging your papers with a satisfied grin when you heard the door creak open. Hotch strolled in, holding his coffee and glancing at you with a raised eyebrow.

"Did you sleep here?" Hotch asked, his voice edged with amusement as he took in your determined expression.

"Thought I’d enjoy the office without the competition," you quipped, not missing a beat. "But I guess I was wrong."

Hotch set his coffee down, glancing at his watch pointedly. "Maybe try five minutes earlier tomorrow."

You laughed softly, shaking your head. If it weren’t for the pile of files on top of your desk you would probably search down the office looking for the secret bunker he had to use to hide in. "Maybe I will."

As the days passed, this playful rivalry grew, turning your early arrivals into a daily test of wills. You found yourself not just trying to beat Hotch to the office but eagerly anticipating your quiet battle of wits, moments where the two of you just coexisted in a space of mutual respect and silent competition. You found yourself noticing the little things, like the way he meticulously organized his desk, his unspoken but obvious disdain for the office coffee, and the way his focus never wavered, even when he knew you were watching. And though Hotch rarely let anything slip, you could tell he was enjoying it too.

One morning, you brought in coffee from a nearby café, one of the good ones, and set it on your desk with a pointed look at Hotch’s usual cup of the bitter office brew.

"Upgrading already?" Hotch asked, eyeing the cup with faint interest.

"Figured if I’m going to keep coming in early, I might as well treat myself," you said, lifting the cup slightly in a mock toast.

Hotch nodded thoughtfully. "Smart. Too bad I didn’t think of it first."

You raised an eyebrow, your tone playful. "I’ll grab you one next time. Wouldn’t want you to lose your edge."

Hotch smirked, his expression a rare mix of humor and challenge. "I’ll hold you to that."

Rossi, who often strolled in a bit later with his own cup of coffee, couldn’t help but notice the budding rivalry. One morning, as you and Hotch exchanged your usual nods, Rossi ambled by with a bemused smile tugging at his lips.

"I’ve gotta say," Rossi began, glancing between you and Hotch, "this little routine of yours is the most entertaining part of my mornings. Hotch, are you ever going to let her win?"

Hotch glanced up, his face the picture of neutrality, but his eyes held a glimmer of amusement. "I’m just here to work, Dave," he replied smoothly, as if your ongoing game wasn’t the highlight of his mornings too.

"Sure you are," Rossi said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. He turned to you with a knowing wink. "Keep at it, Y/N. Sooner or later, you might get him to crack."

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress the grin that tugged at your lips. "I’m working on it."

Rossi leaned closer to you with a knowing grin. “I’ve seen people try to get through to him for years. Don’t lose hope. You might be the one to break the streak.”

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," you said with a chuckle, but his words resonated more than you let on.

The rivalry wasn’t just about who got to the office first anymore; it was about pushing each other in subtle ways. Hotch would occasionally leave a file slightly more open than usual, tempting you to sneak a glance. Sometimes, you’d leave your notes on display, knowing he’d catch something you were working on. These little tests became part of your dynamic, an unspoken way of challenging each other to be sharper, to think more critically.

One morning, you arrived to find a sticky note on your desk, written in Hotch’s neat handwriting: “Nice try. Better luck tomorrow.”

You laughed, shaking your head and scribbling a quick reply, sticking it to his coffee mug: “Don’t get too comfortable.”

As the day progressed, you found yourself lost in your work, occasionally sneaking glances at Hotch as he meticulously reviewed a series of photographs from his latest case. It was during one of these moments, late in the morning when the bullpen was nearly empty, as most of the other agents had just left for their lunch break, that you caught sight of a specific photograph that Hotch had been studying. It was upside down from your perspective, but something about the positioning of the victim caught your eye. You glanced at Hotch, who was fully absorbed in his work, before you shifted your gaze back to the image.

You couldn’t help yourself. "Hotch?" you called out tentatively, trying to sound casual.

He didn’t look up from the file, his voice as calm and collected as always. "Yes?"

"That case you’re working on... the one with the body positioned against the wall?" You gestured subtly toward the photo.

His eyes flicked up to meet yours, a hint of curiosity in them now. "What about it?" Thankfully he was so desperate he didn’t even call out on you snooping on his files.

You leaned forward a little, glancing between him and the photo. "Well... I couldn’t help but notice something about the victim’s posture. It looks deliberate, almost ritualistic, but there’s a subtle tension in the arms. It feels like... he wasn’t posed post-mortem. What if he was still alive when the unsub placed him in that position?"

Hotch’s brows furrowed slightly as he considered your words. He leaned back in his chair and studied the photograph again, his focus intensifying. After a moment, he glanced back at you. "Go on."

Feeling a little more confident now, you continued. "If the unsub posed him while he was still alive, it means he’s not just seeking control after death, he’s enjoying the power he holds over his victims while they’re still conscious. That could point to a different kind of psychological profile. It’s not just about domination or display; it’s about interaction. He needs to see their fear."

Hotch’s lips pressed into a thin line as he processed your theory, and you could almost see the gears turning in his head, coming unstuck for the first time. Then, to your surprise, he gave a slow nod. "You might be onto something."

You blinked, not expecting such an immediate acknowledgment. "Really?"

He leaned forward, quickly scribbling a note in the margin of his case file. "It changes how we look at his escalation pattern. If he’s interacting with them before death, it suggests a different type of compulsion." His gaze flicked back to you, and there was a hint of admiration in his eyes, though it was still masked by his usual stoic demeanor. "Good catch."

You felt a small surge of pride at his words, then you caught Rossi, who had been hovering nearby with his coffee, heard the exchange and couldn’t help but smirk. "Looks like you’ve got some competition, Hotch."

Hotch glanced at Rossi, his expression barely changing. "I’m always up for a challenge."

Rossi chuckled, clearly amused by the dynamic between you two. "This ought to be fun to watch."

Later that day, while you were both in the kitchenette grabbing some burnt bitter coffee, Hotch broke the silence. "You know, Rossi’s not wrong. I’ve worked with a lot of people, and not many would speak up the way you do."

You looked up, surprised by his sudden candor. "I guess I’m just stubborn."

"That’s not always a bad thing," Hotch said, his voice softer than usual. "It’s how you learn."

You shared a quiet smile before the moment passed, and you both returned to your desks. But it lingered, this newfound sense of mutual respect.

As the day drew to a close, you were working through your own case files, reviewing behavioral patterns for a consultation you’d been asked to give. It wasn’t as high-stakes as Hotch’s case, but it still somehow puzzled you. You were working through the details when you heard Hotch’s chair scrape against the floor as he stood up.

"You’ve been staring at that file for hours," he observed, walking around his desk to stand beside yours. "Something bothering you about it?"

You glanced up, caught slightly off-guard by his sudden attention. "It’s just... I’m having trouble piecing together the unsub’s motivations. The crime scenes are chaotic, impulsive. But then there are these little moments of control. It’s not adding up." You blurt out

Hotch studied the pages you had spread across your desk, his eyes scanning over the crime scene photos and notes. After a moment, he pointed at one of the reports. "The pattern of escalation doesn’t match with someone who lacks control. Look here." He tapped the page. "The victims all lived within a few miles of each other, but the attacks are spaced out by months. He’s controlling his impulses, waiting for the right moment."

You leaned forward, following his train of thought. "So he’s picking his moments carefully, but when he acts, it’s chaotic."

"Exactly," Hotch confirmed. "The chaos is part of his release. But the periods of waiting, of planning - that’s where his real control lies. He’s not impulsive, he’s deliberate. You’re dealing with someone who needs the build-up almost as much as the act itself."

A lightbulb went off in your head. "Which means the chaos at the crime scenes isn’t a lack of control: it’s the goal. It’s what he’s been working up to."

Hotch nodded, clearly satisfied with where the conversation had led, finally making you become unstuck. "Now you’re thinking like a profiler."

You smiled at his words, "Thanks for the help. I guess I owe you one”

Hotch’s expression remained neutral, but there was a twinkle in his eye. "I’ll remember that."

The rest of the evening passed in a comfortable silence, both of you working on your respective cases. But every now and then, your eyes would meet across the desks, and you couldn’t help but feel that there was now starting to be an unspoken understanding between you now, built by your small moments of banter.

Suddenly, as the clock neared midnight, Hotch spoke up again. "You should get some rest. Tomorrow’s going to be another long day."

You chuckled softly, packing up your files. "You always say that, but you never seem to take your own advice."

He gave you a rare, brief smile. "Someone has to keep an eye on you."

You raised an eyebrow, amused. "Is that what this is? You’re secretly just keeping tabs on me?”

"Something like that," Hotch replied, his tone dry but not unkind. "Besides, you’ve been sneaking glances at my case files all day."

You bit back a laugh. "Caught red-handed."

Hotch crossed his arms, though there was no real accusation in his voice. "Next time, just ask. I might let you take a look."

You smirked. "I’ll hold you to that."

As you both gathered your things and headed for the door, you glanced at him one last time. "See you tomorrow, early bird."

Hotch gave you a knowing look. "We’ll see who gets here first."

The next morning, when you arrived at the office, Hotch was already there, of course. But this time, as you approached your desk, you noticed something new. A fresh file, placed neatly on top of your papers, with a small note attached.

"For your curiosity. - Hotch"

You couldn’t help but grin as you opened the file and began to read.

You opened the file carefully, half-expecting it to be another mundane consultation, but no. The more you read, the more it drew you in: it was a cold case, one with a string of victims found in seemingly random locations but with similar grim injuries. Each one had been reported missing for weeks before their bodies were found posed in open fields. There was something about the methodical yet personal nature of the kills that stood out.

The file indicated that the team hadn’t cracked this one yet, and the investigation had stalled. Hotch was likely trying to see if you could spot something they hadn’t. You glanced across the bullpen at him, just coming back from the kitchenette holding a cup of coffee. His face was unreadable, but you could sense that this was a test, not in a malicious way, but in his own way of pushing you to think bigger, to trust your instincts.

You spent the rest of the morning poring over the details, making notes, and jotting down ideas. Something wasn’t clicking, there was no clear pattern in the victim’s personal lives. They weren’t all the same age, gender, or background. But then something Hotch had said to you while yesterday helping you on your consultation echoed in your mind.

"The chaos is part of his release. The periods of waiting, of planning, that’s where his real control lies."

You took another long look at the victims, and then it clicked. They weren’t random. The locations, the way the bodies were posed, they weren’t haphazard at all. It was a pattern, but not one based on the victims themselves. It was based on where they were found.

Without realizing it, you stood up from your chair and made your way over to Hotch’s desk. He looked up at you, raising an eyebrow as you approached.

"Got something?" he asked, setting his pen down.

You handed him the file, unable to hide the excitement in your voice. "It’s not about the victims. It’s about the locations. They’re all near bodies of water—rivers, lakes, even a man-made pond. I think the unsub’s been using these locations as part of his ritual."

Hotch’s eyes narrowed as he flipped through the file, his expression becoming more focused. "Bodies of water... it’s symbolic. Cleansing, rebirth."

"Exactly," you said, feeling the pieces fall into place. "He’s not just dumping the bodies. He’s placing them there, almost like he’s trying to wash away something. Maybe guilt, maybe some twisted idea of purification."

Hotch leaned back in his chair, a thoughtful expression on his face. "That changes things. If he’s choosing these locations deliberately, we can use that to predict where he might strike next."

You nodded, excitement building. "There are three other bodies of water in the same radius where the previous victims were found. If we stake those out, we might catch him before he strikes again."

Hotch studied you for a moment, and for a brief second, you felt a flicker of self-doubt. Had you jumped the gun? But then, his lips curved ever so slightly into a small, approving smile.

"Good work," he said simply, and that was all you needed to hear.

Little did you know that the next day, you surprisingly found yourself riding in the SUV with Hotch, heading toward one of the potential strike zones you’d identified. The sun was setting, casting a warm glow over the landscape as the two of you drove in comfortable silence.

"I didn’t expect to be heading into the field this soon," you admitted after a while, breaking the silence. "Especially not with you."

Hotch glanced at you from the driver’s seat, his expression as calm as ever. "Let’s say your early mornings finally paid off. Besides, you saw something we didn’t, that’s exactly why you’re here."

The compliment caught you off guard, and you weren’t sure how to respond. Instead, you focused on the task at hand. "I just hope we’re right about the unsub coming back here."

"We are," Hotch said with a certainty that made you feel more confident. "He’ll be back. It’s part of his pattern now."

You spent the next few hours staking out the area, watching as the quiet evening slowly turned into night. The stillness of the surroundings, combined with the anticipation of the chase, made every small sound feel 10 times louder than it actually was. You and Hotch barely spoke, but the tension in the air wasn’t uncomfortable, it was rather a focused kind of tension, the kind that comes with knowing you’re close to a breakthrough.

Hotch glanced at you from the corner of his eye, his usual stoic demeanor softening just a bit. “You know,” he started all of a sudden, a hint of amusement in his voice, “I’ve been meaning to ask, did all those philosophy books you read in college inspire you to show up so early every morning? Is that where your existential rivalry with me started?”

Of course he had to poke fun at you again for your philosophy degree just when all the rest of your coworkers recently found out it wasn’t your only personality trait. “Philosophy books? Really? That’s where you’re going with this?”

“I mean, you’ve got that whole ‘deep thinker, rise-before-the-sun’ vibe going." He said with a deeper than usual mocking tone trying to simulate a hippie "I just assumed you were contemplating the meaning of life every morning before anyone else got to the office.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Yeah, that’s it. All those Nietzsche and Sartre quotes really got me fired up to beat you to the office every day. And here I thought you just couldn’t get enough of the terrible coffee.”

Hotch chuckled, his eyes briefly meeting yours before returning to scan the darkening landscape. “That’s part of it. But I have to admit, I didn’t expect you to keep at it for this long. Most people would’ve given up.”

You shrugged, playing it cool. “Maybe I just like a challenge. And it’s not every day you get to try and beat the infamous Aaron Hotchner at something.”

Hotch almost sounded surprised as soon as his full name escaped your lips but then his tone shifted slightly, more serious now, though still laced with that dry humor. “I know why you started showing up early.”

You blinked, caught off guard by his sudden change in tone. “Oh? Enlighten me, then.”

He leaned back in his seat, his gaze still fixed ahead, but his voice softened. “You wanted to prove yourself - to show that you were ready for more, especially to us senior profilers. You’ve got that drive, that need to show that you belong, and you wanted to earn your place, not just be handed it.” He glanced at you then, his expression more open than usual. “And I noticed it from the first time you walked in early, thinking you’d catch me off guard.”

You felt a mix of surprise and embarrassment; you hadn’t expected him to see through you so easily. “I… well, yeah. I guess I didn’t hide it as well as I thought.”

Hotch’s smile was small but genuine. “You didn’t have to hide it. You’ve got the skill; you just needed the chance to show it. And you’ve been doing that every day since.”

You nodded, feeling a strange mix of validation and warmth from his words. “Thanks, Hotch. I guess I just… didn’t want to be the newbie forever.”

He nodded, his expression thoughtful. “You’re not. And you’ve more than earned your place here, I wouldn’t have escorted you here to sit in my car for 4 hours straight otherwise.” He paused, his eyes returning to the scene outside. “But don’t think I’m going to let you win the next morning race.”

You grinned, the familiar competitive spark reigniting. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

It wasn’t until the early hours of the evening, just when you were beginning to wonder if you’d missed something, that Hotch’s hand suddenly shot up, motioning for you to stay still. You followed his gaze, and there - just barely visible through the trees - was a figure moving toward the water’s edge, dragging something behind them.

The adrenaline surged through you as you and Hotch exchanged a quick glance, silently confirming what you both knew. This was it.

Moving as quietly as possible, the two of you approached, your hearts pounding in sync as you drew closer to the unsub. He hadn’t noticed you yet, too focused on his ritual as he began positioning the body at the water’s edge.

"FBI!" Hotch’s voice cut through the silence, sharp and commanding.

The unsub froze, and for a split second, you thought he might run. But instead, he dropped to his knees, hands raised, as if surrendering to the inevitable.

You and Hotch moved in quickly, securing him before he had a chance to change his mind. As you handcuffed the unsub, you couldn’t help but feel a strange mix of triumph and exhaustion.

Back at the office, the energy was different. You felt you weren’t just the youngest on the team anymore. You’d proven yourself, and even though Hotch didn’t say much, you could feel the shift in how he treated you. There was more trust, more recognition of your abilities.

The next morning, when you arrived at the office, Hotch was already there, of course. But this time, as you approached your desk, you noticed another file waiting for you, along with a familiar note.

"For your next challenge. - Hotch"

You couldn’t help but grin as you picked up the file, feeling the anticipation build once more. The friendly rivalry between you was still there, but now it felt like something more - a mentorship? Partnership? Definitely there was a shared respect.

As you glanced over at Hotch, already deep in thought at his desk, you felt a sense of belonging settle over you. Even if you weren’t part of the dreaded senior team just yet as you were still earning your place every day. Although you felt that with Hotch’s guidance, you knew you’d only get better.

"Let’s see what you’ve got for me this time," you muttered to yourself with a smile, flipping open the new file and diving back into the world of profiling.

And maybe, just maybe, Hotch was enjoying this as much as you were.

[the-busy-ghost]

I love my old Scotland rugby top, but there's no denying that this shirt was designed to be worn with a certain amount of late 1970s chest hair and maybe some sideburns, and that's just not a look I'm capable of pulling off

[bradshawssugarbaby]

Hurricane - Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

summary: Bradley's regretted breaking off his relationship with you for months, but when he sees you walking into the country club after his round of golf, he knows he has to fix things.

a/n: I haven't written much angst before but I'm really trying to branch out a little bit. Inspired by Hurricane by Luke Combs, and also this weird recurring dream I keep having.

pairing: Bradley Bradshaw x reader

warnings/content: buckle up bc there's a lot? angst (happy ending), parental death, depression, hurt, cancer, goose's accident + carole's reaction, carole literally never getting over losing goose, bradley being a commitmentphobe, pregnancy (i think that's it?), also entirely unrealistic bc you know what? I can't keep roo sad for long.

word count: 3.6k

taglist: @avengersfan25, @nouis-bum, @floydsmuse, @mamachasesmayhem, @jessicab1991, @atarmychick007, @b-bradshaw, @djs8891

Then you rolled in with your hair in the wind Baby, without warning I was doin' alright but just your sight Had my heart stormin'

Bradley narrowed his eyes beneath his sunglasses, the glare of the hot mid-morning sun harsh on his chocolate brown eyes. He grabbed his nine-iron from his golf bag, taking a practice swing before teeing up for his next shot. Bob, Jake, Reuben and Javy stood to the side behind him, watching as he lined up to take his shot. He hadn’t golfed in years, in fact, he’d only ever golfed a handful of times in his life, all of them back when he lived in Virginia. His uncle had taught him when he was 15, a welcome distraction when his mom became sick, and he’d gone out a few times when he was in college after a roommate of his on the school’s golf team had invited him out. He held his breath as he heard the club make contact with the small, white orb, watching as it soared through the air, disappearing somewhere onto the course. Jake let out an impressive whistle as he looked on, placing his hands on his hips as he shook his head in disbelief.

“You’ve never golfed before, Bradshaw? You sure?” He drawled, raising one of his manicured (though he’d deny it if asked) blonde eyebrows suspiciously.

“I told you, a handful of times. Not never.”

“You did say less than five,” Bob shrugged as he cleaned his glasses before replacing them on his nose. “Less than five suggests you haven’t really hit a course.”

“Not to mention you said in years. That was the swing of a man who’s at least hit a driving range a few times,” Reuben pointed out to the course in the general direction of where Bradley’s ball had landed as Javy, Bob and Jake nodded in agreement. 

“I wish Nat had tagged along, she wouldn’t ride my ass this hard,” Bradley huffed, shaking his head. 

“Nat doesn’t golf. You know that. She acted disgusted that I even asked,” Jake shrugged.

“Maybe it was how you asked,” Bob suggested as he disguised his jab at Jake as a helpful criticism.

 “Just take your turn, Robert,” Jake hissed, rolling his eyes dramatically as Bob smirked.

Bradley normally would have joined in with a quip of his own directed at Jake, but his heart just wasn’t in it. His heart wasn’t even in the game. The only reason why he’d agreed to go golfing with the guys for their usual monthly game was because you left him. He needed to get over you and move on - it’d been six months and with no deployments coming up, he had nothing to focus 100% of his attention onto. Reuben had noticed it first - Bradley was withdrawn on nights out, his usually chatterbox self now quiet, calm and keeping to himself, barely breaking eye contact with his beer bottle. Then came Natasha’s barrage of questions - he knew she meant well, but God, it was hard to listen to. 

He didn’t want to admit it to himself, but he knew why you left. And it was entirely his fault. You’d gotten upset because he’d stopped spending as much time with you, kept getting cold feet about committing to your relationship. He’d never tell you why he couldn’t commit - it was too hard for him to explain to anyone, really. In fact, he was fairly confident that Reuben was the only other person aware of it. 

Bradley wanted to be the partner you needed - he really did. He wanted to be the doting, affectionate boyfriend who’d whisk you off somewhere beautiful, propose to you, start a family with 2.2 kids and a dog, cart the kids around to sports practices on weekends - the American dream. He knew you deserved that much. And yet, no matter how badly he wanted to give that to you - he couldn’t. He’d told you he didn’t want it - he didn’t want to get married, he didn’t want to have kids, he never wanted it. He watched you fall apart the minute the words left his mouth, and it killed him inside. He wanted to hold you close and tell you he was making a mistake, tell you it wasn’t true and he didn’t mean it, but he couldn’t. 

He couldn’t, because he was terrified. 

Growing up without his dad was one of the hardest things he could have experienced, he was sure of it. He was too young to truly remember how his mom reacted when she learned her husband had been killed in a training exercise, but he remembered her crying a lot, feeling paralyzed by loss and guilt, angry with the world for taking the man she loved away from her. He remembered as he grew up, she never remarried, never went on a date, never even as much as looked at another man. His dad was her everything, and losing him crushed her. 

When she got sick, Bradley was a teenager - old enough to understand what it meant for her, what her odds of recovery were, and old enough to be realistic about the future. When they found out she wasn’t going to get better, he’d half expected her to react the way she did when his dad died, but instead, she seemed almost at peace with the idea. She’d spent 14 years of her life missing his dad, and she knew that, even though she was horrified by the thought of leaving Bradley on his own, she wouldn’t have to spend another minute missing her husband.

Bradley decided then that he’d never want to put someone through that. He’d never be able to hurt someone he loved like this - leave them widowed before they turned 30, alone with a toddler at home to raise on the opposite side of the country from their family and friends, with nothing but a military pension and an apology over his death. 

It was at 16 years old that Bradley decided, if he wanted to become a pilot, he was going to have to spend life alone, and for the most part, he was ok with that. 

That was, until he met you.

He tried to deny his feelings, pretending you were just a casual fling, some fun sex here and there between deployments and missions and nothing more. That was, until three months in, he accidentally told you he loved you. It wasn’t a lie, he did love you, but it caught him off guard when he said it - he didn’t mean to blow his cover and let his guard down like that. And when you said it back? He knew it was game over. 

He tried his hardest to push his fears aside, he tried SO hard. He was getting older and beginning to realize he didn’t want to spend the rest of his life alone, especially as he neared the mandatory 20 years of service cutoff for aviators. He’d grown almost fond of the idea of settling down with you, seeing you with a ring on your finger, picturing you with a baby in you, his baby. He wanted it. He wanted all of it. But, the fears and anxiety he had reared its ugly head, and he couldn’t bring himself to get past it. 

It was on their last mission, when he had to eject and landed in the middle of a snowy mountain, unsure if he’d make it back home to you. His mind raced with thoughts of how you’d react if he didn’t make it home - how you’d crumple to the floor when you saw the two uniformed officers on your doorstep, the blood-curdling scream you’d let out in pain when you heard them say it, tears staining your pretty little face as you were handed that folded American flag - he couldn’t bear it. He couldn’t stand the idea of putting you through everything his mom had gone through. Not when you were so young and had everything ahead of you. When you could find a man who wasn’t putting his life in danger nearly every damn day, risking himself and risking a chance he might not come home to you. 

This golf trip was meant to take his mind off you. Reuben had mentioned it in passing to Jake and Bob, who exchanged worried looks with one another. Javy had overheard Nat’s line of questioning when he and Mickey returned to the table with a fresh round of beers, both of them offering Bradley silent looks of sympathy as they nodded in agreement to Nat’s advice. Bradley was struggling, in over his head with emotions and regret and sadness, but he knew he’d fucked it all up. And he knew that even if he tried, you wouldn’t want him back, and who could blame you? 

Bob had suggested he reach out to you and apologize, and for a while, Bradley considered it. He strongly considered calling you, going to your house, begging for forgiveness and begging you to take him back, but after how you reacted when he broke things off with you, he wouldn’t even take him back. He’d been a dick in every sense of the word, and now, he had to try and move on, adjusting to life without you in it. 

The next nine holes passed by with little conversation from Bradley and worried glances exchanged between his friends. He wasn’t in the mood for talking, he’d explain, shrugging the concern off before focusing back on the game. Bradley was thankful for his friends’ efforts, but it was beginning to feel like nothing would help him move on. 

He slumped down into a chair at a table in the country club after their round of golf, sipping back the beer Jake bought him. He caught himself downing the liquid quicker than he should have, but at this point, being drunk would at least provide him with that much needed numbness he craved. He could hear Bob bickering with Jake over golf scores and who truly won, prompting an eye roll from Javy as he pulled the crumpled scoresheets from his pocket and placed them on the table. Reuben noticed the glazed over look in Bradley’s eye and clapped a sympathetic hand down on his shoulder. 

Bradley was about to thank Reuben for being there for him when he saw your face. You were walking into the country club with a couple of your friends, laughing and smiling as you spoke. 

God, he loved that smile. 

He gulped back the rest of his drink before placing the glass back down on the table, the sound of Bradley slamming the glass down a little harder than he intended prompting Jake to spin his head around as he saw you.

“Oh..shit,” he murmured as Bob and Javy both turned to look discreetly towards you.

Bradley’s eyes widened as you walked past the bar, revealing a very unexpected new figure. He blinked his eyes a few times to ensure they weren’t playing tricks on him - positive that this had to be some kind of optical illusion or something. It was impossible. You couldn’t be.

“Pregnant.” Jake whispered as he leaned into the table, “She’s pregnant,”

“Did you know, Bradley?” Bob inquired as he pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose.

“N-no.” Bradley choked out, feeling the walls closing in around him as the room started to spin.

Without hesitation, Bradley rose from his seat and made his way over to you, despite the protests from Bob and Reuben, the two voices of reason to Javy and Jake’s voices of impulse. Bradley approached you cautiously, clearing his throat for a moment to garner your attention. You spun your head around, your cheeks rosy and your skin glowing with that pregnancy glow everyone always talked about. Bradley had never really believed in that kind of stuff, but you were proving him wrong. 

“Bradley?” you asked, your face paleing to a shade of ghostly white. 

“Can…can we talk, please? I need to talk to you,” Bradley rambled with desperation written on his face.

You huffed a sigh, nodding your head slowly as you excused yourself from your friends, who were now whispering and exchanging uncomfortable glances with one another. Bradley followed closely behind you as you stepped out into the fresh air, finding a discreet corner of the parking lot to discuss everything from the last six months. 

“I…Is it mine?” Bradley whispered, almost afraid to hear the answer as his eyes wandered to the bump that was evident under your sundress.

You sighed again, following Bradley’s gaze down to your abdomen, a protective hand resting on your bump as you nodded slowly, humming in confirmation.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He frowned, shaking his head quickly, “I-I, I would have helped you.”

“Bradley,” you said, narrowing your eyes and shaking your head quickly, “You told me you didn’t want this. You dumped me and told me you never wanted to settle down or have a family, you didn’t want to be with me anymore, and being in a long-term relationship wasn’t what you ever wanted. You told me you didn’t love me. So please, tell me why I should have told you?”

“Because,” he said softly, his heart aching as he heard your side of things, “I didn’t mean any of that. I was wrong.”

“Oh, you were wrong? Tell me, were you always wrong, or are you only wrong now that you’ve seen me six months later, heavily pregnant?” 

Bradley was speechless. He gazed down at his feet, kicking at the pavement in his golf cleats. He sighed as he thought for a moment, taking a second of quiet reflection to compose his thoughts before speaking. He wanted to get this right. He couldn’t afford to fuck it up again.

“I was always wrong. I was wrong when I said it, and I knew I was wrong,” he shook his head vigorously before looking up to meet your gaze, “Did I ever tell you about my mom?”

“You told me she died when you were a teenager, and you didn’t really mention anything else about her. Or anyone in your family, for that matter.”

“Right,” he nodded his head slowly, taking a deep breath before beginning to explain. “My dad died when I was 2. He was an RIO, a Radar Intercept Officer. You know Maverick, right?”

“Mhmm,” you nodded slowly, a look of annoyance flashing across your face as you listened to Bradley, you were used to his excuses, and you were really hoping this wasn’t another one. 

“So, Maverick was my dad’s pilot. Best friends. Did everything together. He was flying when my dad died, their plane lost control, had to eject, my dad hit the canopy. Died instantly.” Bradley paused, taking another deep breath as he felt himself getting choked up, “My mom, she, uh, she was really young. My dad was 25, my mom was 23. He was her high school sweetheart. She was devastated. I was too young to remember a lot, but I remember her hurting, and being sad all the time, unable to function some days because she just missed him so much,” he explained as tears began to roll down his cheeks.

“Bradley, I’m sorry,” you sighed, shaking your head as you sympathetically rubbed his bicep to comfort him.

“I just…when she died, she was…peaceful, I guess, because she knew she wouldn’t have to miss him anymore. She wouldn’t be lonely. She never remarried or dated after him, she couldn’t bring herself to. She’s buried with her wedding ring still on her finger. I couldn’t bring myself to take it off her,” he took another deep breath, exhaling sharply before looking up at you. 

“I couldn’t do that to you,” he finally said, blinking back the tears that threatened to spill over again, “I couldn’t leave you like my mom. Heartbroken and alone your whole life. She never moved on, and I didn’t want that for you if we got married. God, I would have given anything to marry you. I would have taken you to the courthouse and married you on the spot if you would have agreed to it. But, I couldn’t risk breaking your heart. Not like that.”

“Bradley, you’ve always come home in one piece,” you said softly, fingers still stroking his upper arm soothingly.

“But I almost didn’t. I had to eject and all I could think about was you getting that knock at the door and going through what she went through, and I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t do that to you, or…or to a baby.”

You shook your head, processing everything that Bradley had just said as he poured his heart out to you. He’d never opened up like this to you before, but you could tell each and every word was genuine. As much as you hated him for leaving you, you couldn’t deny that you still loved him with all of your heart. 

You missed him. 

You missed waking up to him after the two of you had fallen asleep watching a movie together. You missed the way he yelled at the tv when watching baseball, how passionate he got over football games, how he’d pick the olives out of his nachos like a toddler and put them on your plate. You missed how he couldn’t eat apples unless they were baked in a pie, how he’d scarf down an entire red velvet cake if you didn’t gently stop him, then regret it hours later. You missed the way his big brown eyes would stare at you, a look of pure adoration on his face like a lovesick puppy whenever you spoke to someone else, as if he was hanging on every single word that fell from your lips.

You burst into tears, throwing your arms tightly around Bradley as you shook your head. “God, you’re an idiot, you know that?” you murmured, laughing softly as you hugged him.

“I know, I’m the biggest idiot. I still would marry you if you let me. I wanted to have kids with you, I want to be around for this one,” he nodded, gesturing his hands at your bump. 

“Really?”

“Cross my heart,” Bradley said with an expression of complete seriousness on his face, “I wanna know everything about them. Everything. I wanna know what you’re having, what name you’ve picked out, what your cravings are, how you’ve been feeling, when they move, what does it feel like? I want to know how far along you are, and how they’re doing, if they have my nose or your nose, or if they’re gonna be tall like I am, I want to know what helps you sleep at night when you’re pregnant, and what their favourite song is. I want all of it, honey.”

“Ok, ok, slow down, breathe, Bradley,” you chuckled, shaking your head. “Take a walk with me?”

As you and Bradley walked around the pedestrian pathway on the golf course, smiling as you spoke fondly about the baby, answering all of Bradley’s questions. 

“Well, baby’s a girl, I don’t have a name in mind for her yet, I’ve been craving oranges and Sprite, anything sweet and citrusy. I’ve been ok, better now the morning sickness finally dissipated. It feels like bubbles or something when she kicks, it’s like a fluttering, almost? I’m 28 weeks along, so I have about three months left. She looked like she has your nose on the ultrasound, there’s a 50/50 chance on her height, I sleep pretty much sitting upright because I get bad heartburn otherwise, and I play her music all the time. She likes Elvis and The Beach Boys, just like her dad.” 

Bradley’s smile spread wide across his face, a small laugh of disbelief escaping his mouth as he nodded along with your words.

“That’s great. A girl? Really? You’re gonna have a daughter running around,” he said softly, almost as if he was daydreaming about what the little girl would look like.

“We are going to have a daughter.”

“You’re gonna let me be there? After everything?”

“Bradley, as much as I hated you for what you did and how you ended things - I never truly hated you. I loved you, more than anything. I still do.”

He held you tightly, burying his face into your hair as he kissed the top of your head, murmuring softly against your hair. 

“God, I love you so much, honey. I promise, I’m never going to do something stupid like that again.”

“I know you won’t,” you laughed, shaking your head as he looked down at you, “I know you’d never leave Carly and I again.”

Bradley froze in place for a moment as he stared at you, his voice barely above a whisper as he spoke. 

“What did you call her?”

“Carly. I thought, I don’t know, after you told me about your mom just now, I thought maybe you’d like to name the baby after her? Carole’s nice too, I just figured Carly gives her a name that’s her own too, they share the same root.”

“Carly,” he nodded slowly as he repeated it, “I love it.”

Bradley took your hand in his, his large fingers enveloping your hand as he held it tightly, as if he was terrified of letting go. He made that mistake once before, he wasn’t about to do it again. 

[mrsdarkandyandere7]

❤ Yandere Lawyer ❤

▶ This is a yandere/dark work and it may contain triggering content so please READ THE WARNINGS before. Do not read if minor.

More at Masterlist

Female reader

WARNINGS: Obsession; Misogyny; slight Power Abuse.

This idea credit goes to @d-lioncourt cause she's the one that motivated me for this idea. Hope you like this :)

--

◾ Yandere! Lawyer who works in the top law firm of the country. He’s cold, determinate and calculative. Always thinking 10 steps ahead of everyone, carefully considering all possibilities and creating extensive back-up plans. 

His job relies on his capacities and he always aims for the top. If he’s not recognized as the best lawyer available, then he doesn’t even know what he’s been doing so far. 

◾ Yandere! Lawyer who doesn't care about how things are done as long as he wins the case in the end. Who said lawyers are saints?

He may be an advocate of the law but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t bend it to his will, finding sneaky gaps to reach his goal: win. 

Isn’t that what makes him such a requested lawyer? Isn’t that what causes every big corporate company to try to sign him up, to offer several millions for him to represent them in court? Because everyone knows that he wins.

No matter what happens during the trials or how badly the opposite side tries, he wins. It’s an irrefutable truth and anyone that tries to contradict it is a complete and utter fool. 

◾ Yandere! Lawyer who is upset enough when he’s informed that he’s gonna have to take a Pro Bono case for a random civilian. It’s frustrating to spend his precious time and expensive resources on a worthless someone.

It’s stupid and he'd immediately refuse it if it wasn’t for the strict order he receives from the higher ups.  

◾ Yandere! Lawyer who rattles you up, insisting on long sessions so he can know your side of the story.

His questions feel like accusations and you hate spending long hours answering him. Makes you feel like you’ve actually committed a crime of sorts when the reality is none of that. 

He knows you’re bothered by the way he pays attention to each of your words, taking mental notes of every minuscule detail so he can bring it up later.

He’s highly aware of how unnerving he can get and it’s fun to see you get so quiet and shy over it. 

He loves it when people get intimidated by him and it’s particularly pleasant when a pretty thing like yourself gets too timid to spare him a few words. 

◾ Yandere! Lawyer who drags the case much longer than it needs to. He could definitely end it in a blink of eyes, it would be so easy for him. A piece of cake. 

But he doesn’t. 

It’s exciting to see you on court, a helpless expression covering your whole face and your eyes at the verge of tears as your future lays on his hands.  

So pathetically weak. You can’t even defend yourself, you need him to do that for you. To defend your honor, to protect you. 

◾ Yandere! Lawyer who makes sure you know that despite it being a Pro Bono case, you owe him. He wants you to know that he’s winning this case for you, wasting his valuable time just to save your pathetic ass from those embezzlement charges. 

That he’s the one saving you from going to prison - despite the very evident fact that you have such a weak personality that it’s practically impossible that you’d steal money from your boss. 

◾ Yandere! Lawyer who takes every chance to hurt your feelings with snide remarks.

You look prettier when you cry, something so enticing about those shiny diamond-like tears that glow in your eyes and the miserable way you furiously blink to keep them at bay - to which you fail. 

You’re crying because of him. That’s enough to make him buzz with a twisted sense of possession and control. He holds that much power over you. 

◾ Yandere! Lawyer whose mind wanders over the tempting fantasies of returning home to you. You’d do a submissive girlfriend, he’s so sure of that. If he gave you a nasty slap and a few harsh words, you’d bend to his will so fast - like a obedient girlfriend should. 

It would be so easy to control your life.

Order you to move in with him. Command you to become his stay-at-home girlfriend. Push you to cut off friends and family until only he remains. 

Those misogynistic ideas keep him thinking about you longer than he should. 

◾ Yandere! Lawyer who isn’t afraid to act upon his wishes and so he does. After a triumphing win on court, he leaves.

Storms off without even looking at you and you don’t even have the chance to thank him, but you forget about that quickly. 

You have more pressing issues to focus on, such as rebuilding your life all again. Celebrate your win. Find a new job. Move on with your life the best as you can. 

Your peace lasts exactly one week. And then everything comes down in rubbles.

Because then he comes to retrieve his payment. 

[softspiderling]

and I wish you wouldn't wait for me, but you always do | r.c.

summary:

“He always seems so rough, I guess I’m a bit surprised to see that he’s such a caring boyfriend.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you correct her, reaching for her cigarette in her hand without asking, even though you are bumming it off of her. “We’re just friends.”

“Really?”

Avoiding Sofia’s inquisitive gaze, you look out to the pool, blowing out a puff of smoke.

“Really. Just friends.”

“Huh.”

OR, everyone thinks Rafe refuses to commit to a relationship, even though you're the one with cold feet.

pairing: rafe cameron x reader

word count: 1,5k

warnings: MDNI, mention of sex, but nothing too graphic

author's note: i just wanted to write a short drabble but it just kept going and i'm not sorry. hope you like it, make sure to leave a comment/reblog if you do, i always appreciate it and ily

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

You hate hate hate the word situationship.

It's dumb, and it glorifies uncertain terms in relationships and it never ends well.

Unfortunately, you can’t really find another term for the thing you have with Rafe. It’s more than a friends with benefits thing, but definitely not a relationship. Everyone always thinks it’s because of Rafe; that he doesn’t want to commit to a relationship, commit to one girl, and you always laugh it off when someone asks about it, never really denying it, letting them believe that it’s Rafe’s fault for the vague label of your… Thing. It’s easier to let them think what they want instead of admitting that you’re the reason.

You don’t know why you’re scared. Clearly you have some underlying trauma or maybe it was your first boyfriend who treated you shitty, but you just don’t want to call Rafe your boyfriend. Though honestly, to everyone else, it kind of seems like he is.

At every party, the two of you are attached at each other’s hip. Hands linked, pushing through the crowd, while Rafe looks over his shoulder every minute to make sure you’re still safely behind him. On the couch, Rafe is nursing a drink, listening to Topper yap about his new girlfriend, his arm slung around your shoulder while you talk to your friend. You get to a party together, you leave together.

“You know, I think it’s really cute that Rafe seems so protective over you,” Sofia says.

You glance over at her, having snuck outside for a smoke - Rafe doesn’t like the smell of cigarettes, which is ironic, really - and having bumped into the bartender, you two shared a cigarette.

“He always seems so rough, I guess I’m a bit surprised to see that he’s such a caring boyfriend.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you correct her, reaching for her cigarette in her hand without asking, even though you are bumming it off of her. “We’re just friends.”

“Really?”

Avoiding Sofia’s inquisitive gaze, you look out to the pool, blowing out a puff of smoke.

“Really. Just friends.”

“Huh.”

You pass the cigarette back to her, hoping it would prevent her from talking any more, and it works. She doesn’t bring it up again.

A couple of hours later, you’re sitting in Rafe’s truck as he drives home. Home, as in his house. His hand is on your thigh, and you’re nearly dozed off, when he speaks up.

“Sofia asked me if I wanted to grab a drink with her.”

That got your attention.

You look over at him, blinking in confusion.

“Sofia Flores?”

“One and only.”

Your first thought is, bitch! Your second thought is, why am I getting mad? You swallow the lump that is forming in your throat and you shrug with your shoulders, leaning back in your seat.

“Okay… Where are you going to take her?”

Rafe doesn’t answer, and for a second you think that he might not have heard you before he clears his throat. “I’ll probably take her to the country club.”

“Uh-huh.”

You glance at him for a split second, before turning away to stare out of the window, frowning deeply. There’s something you want to say, it’s on the tip of your tongue, but before you can gather the courage to say it, Rafe pulls his hand away, the moment dissipating, leaving you simmering in anger, fighting with your emotions.

Despite the tension between the two of you, you still spend the night at his place. You still moan out his name as he fucks you from behind, tugging on your hair the way you like it. He still flips you around when you’re close, his eyes searching yours when you finally come, and you still close your eyes. After he’s finished, going to the bathroom to find a towel to clean you off, Rafe wraps himself around your backside, leaving warm kisses on your neck.

“About tomorrow-” he starts, but you break him off.

“Take her to The Summit,” you say. “She works at the country club, it’s weird if you take her there.”

“… Okay.”

You don’t say anything else, pretending that you’ve fallen asleep but you lay there, awake for hours with Rafe next to you. You hate the idea of Rafe going out with Sofia. She’s pretty. And nice. You could see him falling in love with her and it honestly bothers you more than you’d like to admit. There’s moments you’re so close to turning to Rafe, to tell him something, but you always chicken out. Somewhere during your 20th try, you finally fall asleep.

When you wake up the next morning, you can tell that it’s past noon already, the sun already high on the horizon. The other side of the bed is empty, barely even warm anymore, which means Rafe must have been awake for a while now. Picking up a shirt of his that hangs over a chair, you traipse around to find your panties, tugging them on when Rafe walks into the bedroom, already dressed and ready to go.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” you say, distracted, running your hand through your hair. “Do you want to get breakfast?”

“Actually I just wanted to tell that I was about to leave to go pick up Sofia.”

“Already?” you ask, confused, staring at him.

“Yeah, I thought it’d be nice to take her out on the boat.”

“Oh.”

Rafe looks at you. For a very long time. Daring you to say something, but you only look back at him, the lump in your throat returning. Neither of you says anything, so Rafe only nods, grabbing his keys from the dresser.

“You can hang out here if you want, eat something. Don’t know when I’ll be back though,” he said nonchalantly and you ball your hands into fists, not answering because you’re not quite sure if you can keep your voice even. Rafe walks towards the door, when you finally break out of your stupor.

“Rafe.”

He stops in his tracks, halfway out of the room, but he doesn’t look at you. Which honestly, makes all of this a little easier.

“Don’t go on that date.”

To your embarrassment, your voice cracks a little, but you clear your throat, playing it off. Rafe finally turns his head, his eyes finding yours and you manage to hold his gaze.

“Why?”

You roll your eyes with a scoff, having expected that he wouldn’t make it easy on you. Rafe is a proud man, and you… Hurt his pride. Unintentionally, but you did.

“You know why.”

“Say it,” Rafe demands, his forehead creasing. “You can’t keep doing this to me.”

Something broke inside of you, hearing him say it like that, and you take a deep breath as you approach him slowly, your hands shaking as you reach out to wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him close.

“I’m sorry…” You say. “I hate this… I’m really bad at this feelings shit, but… Don’t go.”

You can tell that Rafe is not entirely convinced, and you know what he wants you to say. Something that you’ve been keeping so closely to your chest, that you never dared to say it out loud, or even think about it, but you know that if you don’t say it now, you might never get to change to say it ever again.

“I love you.”

Rafe’s hands find your waist and the frown on his forehead disappears. Finally. “Took you long enough,” he grunts, still a little upset and the lump in throat starts to get smaller.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” you mumble, hiding your face in his chest. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I was just scared.”

Rafe doesn’t say anything, a hand coming up to the nape of your neck, tilting your face up so that you’d look at him.

“I get it.”

He leans down to kiss you, and you melt into him, kissing him back, following his directions as he moves you backwards to the bed. You fall backwards on the bed, and Rafe cages you in, but before he can go any further, you stop him, pushing at his chest.

“What?” he says, still leaning in to find your mouth.

“What about Sofia?”

“Fuck Sofia,” Rafe mutters, sucking a hickey on your neck but you swat at him.

“Rafe, no. That’s mean, the least you can do is cancel.”

Rafe groans, drawing back to pull his phone out of his pocket to text Sofia. He shows you the text, raising his brows.

“You happy now?”

“Very.”

He tosses his phone on the bed behind you, and gets back to business, nosing along your clavicle. His phone vibrates, but neither of you pay it any attention, too focused on each other.

Rafe: Sorry, I gotta cancel. Hope you don’t mind.

Sofia: It’s okay, don’t worry about it.

Sofia: Hope you two figured it out.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

author's note: if you thought "this bitch knows nothing about situationships and smoking" while reading this, you're right! hope it's still accurate.

[000-pawz]

how taesan loves ( zodiac series ) ˚ · .

how i think taesan would navigate relationships/love/communication based on his natal chart/birth chart!

wc: 1k+

more under the cut!

taesan is "communicative, free, and understanding" when he truly loves.

taesan is a tough shell to crack. because of his gemini moon, he is always looking for excitement and variety, which means that he doesn't "settle down" often. despite this, both his sun and mars are in leo, so he can be very loyal when he genuinely likes someone. he either will have a crush on one person for a very long time, or wait until he finds the perfect person for a long-term relationship.

if he is going to confess, he'll be very detailed and communicative about it. he doesn't take his feelings lightly!!! he's attracted to people who he can have engaging conversations with, learn from, and have witty charm. he's pretty sarcastic himself, so i think he'd also like to have someone who can meet him on that level. other air sign moon placements are a good match for him as they can share their values of freedom and understanding with eachother.

taesan has a high need for variety and change and he can get bored quickly if things stay the same for too long; especially if he feels mentally understimulated. this is why he likes people who are a little unexpected, wild at heart, and have a passion for trying out new things!!! >< introduce him to new music artists, fashion brands, movies, etc.

he'd like dates that involve experiencing the cultures of other cities, road trips, museums, and other things that involve learning ^___^ he'd also like getaway trips to other countries, sightseeing, and stuff like that!

his love language is words of affirmation. he likes to be complimented, whether it be for his taste in fashion, his appearance, his mindset on something, etc. he wants you to think he's cool!!!! and because of his leo placements, he's especially sensitive on his spine, so hugs where you run your fingers up and down his back are ideal <3 also placing your hand on his chest right over his heart when you kiss will have him folding!!!

he is incredibly talkative once he feels comfortable around you. he will talk your ear off for hours if you let him, and please do! communication and sharing ideas and knowledge is one of the best ways to get closer to him. let him info dump about all of his favorite things, and he would like it if you do the same with him!!!

once taesan feels fully safe and commited in a relationship, he can provide you with some of the best security, comfort, and care. with his moon squaring jupiter, he requires the same treatment. he might not be the most emotional person ever, but his loyalty and admiration go a very long way. he can be passionate and driven by desire, so i think people who can match that are a good fit for him. it doesn't seem like he'd be into the "opposites attract" type of thing.

he loves being the center of attention, even though he'll never admit it. taesan is a cancer venus, so he is very sensitive at heart, but he hides behind the dismissive and cold demeanor of his gemini moon. he is very emotionally intelligent and self-aware, preferring to analyze and process his feelings thoughtfully in solitude before confiding in someone.

back to his cancer venus, taesan pays attention to your actions more than your words. don't try to lie about being "okay" if you're going through a hard time because he will see right through you. he'll encourage you to confide in him and if you ask him to, he'll help you figure out how to go about difficult situations.

the biggest area for potential conflict would be his struggle with empathy and concern. don't get me wrong, he does have a genuine interest for his partner's feelings, but sometimes he can be too rational. while he prefers to resolve conflict through communication, he gets really uncomfortable in highly vulnerable or irrational situations. this is where he struggles to incorporate empathy into his communication style, rather than stating facts over feelings.

if taesan is feeling insecure or rejected, he has a tendency to retreat into himself. expect pouting fits and silent treatments if you ever make him upset. :< he can get fired up pretty easily if he feels disrespected, humiliated, or mischaracterized. he might even resort to petty tactics to see how much you really care about him. he's a leo-gemini sun/moon so he has no shame in playing games with you. he'll probably do and say things to get a reaction out of you, like trying to make you jealous or pity him. he can also hold grudges for a bit too (cancer venus lol)

once he has enough alone time to sort out his emotions, with his mercury in virgo, he'll probably organize all of his thoughts in his notes app before sitting down with you to talk because he hates when his words are skewed or taken out of context. he likes serious communication to be neat and thorough. screaming fights and intense arguments make him shut down and go ghost, so communication should be respectful and calm. when he's clear-headed, he can see from multiple points of view very well; "i see where you're coming from", "i understand why you feel that way and i'm sorry".

how can you make taesan feel loved? firstly, be understanding. he may have bouts of criticism and pessimism, so understand that this is just who he is and it's never directed at you or your character! he thinks that being understood and communicating needs and wants clearly are the most important things. he wants you to truly know him and you can show that in whatever way feels best. secondly, be free and full of whimsy! take him out to dance in the rain, roll down a grassy hill...just enjoy those unexpected moments with him.

taesan is truly a big kid at heart, but has built up these walls around him which leads him to being extremely independent. he wants his partner to value independence as much as he does, and understand that they can still be each other's safe spaces. he wants to be able to let his guard down around you, so be open-minded and love him through it all. he'll do the same for you <3

reblogs are greatly appreciated! lmk what u think or if you have any other takes!!! i'm always open to learning more :o thank u...<3

series masterlist

masterlist

[min1check]

Leto! Joker x side chick! Reader ig…

1248 words

Barely proofread ts so i’m so sorry if u see errors

pt 2

Description: You work at one of Joker’s clubs and he starts to take an interest in you….

Every night there would be presents and money left on my small table in my small ass kitchen in this small ass apartment. 

It all started when I finally learned the real identity of my boss’s boss’s boss at the club I worked at. I really needed money desperately for my family who lived out of the country. I’m currently working on the papers so they can gain legal presence but until then I need to work hard and study hard. 

At the club I worked at, they paid me better than most places and I would be able to go to university in the daytime and work at night. 

The club was pretty high class, there were many high profile politicians who were VIPs. Given that they were even at a club, they were most if not all sleezebags who tried to hit on the staff to the point that I could file sexual harassment charges. But nevermind that. 

The club was so high class and full of VIPs that I didn’t expect it to be owned by the biggest crime lord in this city, the Joker. This whole city was corrupt in and out. Even if I tried to file those sexual harassment charges I would’ve been shut up instantly. 

When I saw this head of green hair and his pale deathly looking skin and his red lips that I couldn’t tell if it was lipstick or blood, I tried my best to not be noticed by him. 

Though he looked like a corpse he was extremely attractive. Maybe in another universe I would actually try to get at him. Well and if his fellow Clown Queen of Crime didn't exist. She frightens me even more than Joker. Well actually that’s a lie but as a girl I can say that we’re ruthless when it comes to boyfriends and husbands and such. Too blind and in too much love to use actual reason.

Harley’s beautiful though they genuinely look good together. 

I went over to Joker’s table where he was talking to (or more like taunting) his client to drop off the drinks. It seemed that everyone else already knew what his regular drink was and his client’s. 

I tried my best not to mess up or to not loudly drop the drinks because at this moment I could actually not stop my whole body from shaking. They continued talking about their deal without even looking at me. I kept a friendly smile on my face. 

I walked off a bit quickly because I was terrified. Yet I felt like someone was staring right at me. I quickly turned my head and all I could see in that moment was Joker with his usual devilishly grin looking straight at me. My blood ran cold. 

When I was out of his sight I closed my eyes and started to pray. 

‘Dear God, please forgive me for any sins I have committed for I do not want to die tonight. I have too much to live for so please don’t let me die. Thank you for everything you have blessed me with Lord, amen.’ 

I was crying internally. 

Literally was gonna kill myself right then and there. But I brought myself back to reality and back to work. 

Whenever I would come to work the Joker would be there with Harley. 

I literally think I’m going crazy because I think he keeps looking straight at me…. With his girlfriend/wife/partner in crime which was even worse. Yeah he was hot but cheating men are scum of the Earth. And Joker’s a mass murderer and other stuff. To be honest I kinda forgot I’ve been too busy with school to care about politics….

I finally got a shift off and a day off of school today. I’m just gonna sleep and lounge around and be fat. I got out of my bed to go get some more ice cream in my kitchen. 

It felt a bit unnerving when I was in the kitchen, like someone was watching me. I shook off the feeling because I had locks on every single window and door. The crime in my country is a bit bad so Gotham wasn’t that much different. 

As soon as I turned around to go back to my bedroom with my ice cream in hand…

“Boo!” 

“What the fuck?!” I screamed so loud that I dropped my bowl of ice cream and it shattered. 

“The look on your face doll… it’s so… funny!” The intruder was the Joker and he couldn’t and wouldn’t stop laughing at my reaction. 

“…” I just stood there in silence thinking about how that bowl was so expensive…

I didn’t want my floor to be sticky so I started picking up shards of the really expensive bowl. 

“Aww~ Are you.. mad doll~?” He teased me with his usual grin. 

“Not really, I’m just a little sad because this bowl was really expensive.” I sighed to myself. 

“If that’s it then here.” Joker tossed money at me. 

“Um… It’s okay I’ll just work for it back.” My mom always taught me that I shouldn’t accept money and that I should always offer to pay so I gave that money back to him. 

“Just take it Doll, think of it as my~ first~ gift~ to~ you~” he really emphasized on the last part like really. 

He got comfy and sat down on a table chair as I cleaned the floor from the sticky mess. 

That sounds a little wrong, I just mean my ice cream trust…

After cleaning it all, it occurred to me…

Why and how did the Joker get into my apartment…

My blood ran cold. I feel like I could turn into a reptile with how much my blood goes cold. 

“I liked seeing you at my club but I like seeing you in this shaggy apartment more.” He looked at me. 

“Um… how did you get in here?” I spoke quietly afraid I would somehow strike a nerve. 

“It was easy! I broke your window.” He spoke like he just finished climbing Mt. Everest. 

My mouth dropped to the floor. 

Like I tried to close it but it just wouldn't. 

“…” 

“What~? Cat got your tongue Doll?” He grinned. 

I’m actually going to kill myself. 

At this point I hope he pulls out the glock 19 and shoots me….

Wait but all my windows are barred up…

I looked into my living room and realized there was glass everywhere and the metal bar was stretched apart enough where it would fit the Joker perfectly. 

Calculating the cost in my head I actually started to cry. Tears ran down my face. 

I would be fine if I picked up a few extra shifts but I had to study more because finals were coming up. I’ll have to cut down on food and sleep…

The Joker awkwardly patted my back. 

“Here’s some more money Princess.” 

“I.. Cant accept it.” I said between sniffles and pushed his money back to him. 

He suddenly grabbed my head with both his hands and made me stare him in the eye. 

“Take. The. Money. Princess. Or else I’ll shove it down your throat.” His face was way too close to mine. 

“Thank you…” I tried my best to smile while he was still manhandling my head. 

He kissed me out of literally nowhere. 

My blood went cold again. 

I don’t want to be a mistress or some side bitch….

And Harley’s gonna kill me……

Yet it felt so good. 

[mr-culper]

For many, that scene with Aemond in the brothel seemed strange, or inappropriate, or even stupid. I've seen opinions as though he wasn't sorry for the murdered child. He didn't come to Helaena, he didn't react in any way to what happened. It seems as if he is not grieving at all. But that's not true. Aemond has a heart. He grieves as much as anyone. Aemond is just clever enough not to share this grief with his problematic family, members of which have the total inability to support each other emotionally.

He abstracts his mind from the situation as much as possible. He had already let himself go off the rails once during the murder of Lucerys and regrets it now. It's not his act that he regrets, but not being able to control himself. He understands he cannot fix the situation by grief, so he doesn't break things and doesn't scream, as Aegon does, he doesn't weep, as Helaena or Alicent do, he doesn't commit rash acts, as Criston does. Aemond simply abstracts his mind from all this and goes to the place where he can think in peace.

As we can see, the brothel looks very clean, the girls there are elegant, and the atmosphere is calm. Aemond doesn't drink wine because he probably knows alcohol won't do any good. He doesn't even drink tea. He chooses milk because there is in this an element of something domestic and secure, something safe, something peaceful. Such an atmosphere just what he need to gain strength for a retaliatory strike.

And while the madame pats him on the head, and while the audience thinks how pathetic he is, Aemond is actually planning to uncoil Daemon's guts around the country. Honestly, it's a very scary scene. Not stupid and not pathetic, but scary. Because Aemond plans something terrible in cold blood, and does not act impulsively, as he's done in the Shipbreaker Bay. Aemond is up to something his enemies won’t like. And the softer that scene in the brothel looks, the more ruthless his future actions will be.

[alittlebitofloveliness]

can you please write something angsty about dally helping out darry after discovering how stressed he is or maybe finding him crying

Hi anon! Sorry this took so long, but here it is. Gonna tag @chained-sweater and @johnnyburntcake because they both asked to be tagged when it was finished after reading my out of context snippet. As with most of my stuff this is unbetaed so sorry for any mistakes or typos

*******************

Dallas Winston needs a lot of things. His boots are held together with duct tape and about fourteen different layers of mud, his jeans are worn, torn, patched, and torn again, and his number of material possessions is probably something less than twenty- he never had much in the first place and he pawned just about everything he had when he ran from New York five years ago. But despite all the things he is lacking, all the things he’s never had and the things he could use, what he wants most right now is a fucking break.

Dammit but he didn’t think moving out to rodeo country would involve caring so much. His gang back in New York had been a proper gang- more organized and even crueler than Shepards outfit, a group of tough as nails dealers and muscle, who’d just as soon shoot a kid as they would give them a chance. Hell, he’d been scared of them back in the day, for all he’d been smarter than most of them, because that kind of casual violence only came from the joy of hurting something, not from necessity. Only an idiot wouldn’t be scared of those sorts of people. Here though, in sleepy little Tulsa Oklahoma his gang is…a drunk, a dropout, two high schoolers, one recent high school graduate, and tagalong middle school kid- and yet, Dally finds himself far more loyal and goddamn committed to the ragtag group of big hearted losers than he ever was to old Alfie and his ring of coke dealing miscreants. It’s maddening. It’s wonderful. It’s horrible. It’s tiring is what it is, and Dally needs a goddamn break. Who wouldn’t after the night he’d just had, which involved practically dragging a nearly hypothermic Johnny Cade out of the cold and trying to warm the kid up? And as if that hadn’t been bad enough, he’d then had the dubious honour of driving Ponyboy to school this morning. Something about the kid’s zombielike stare and hunched shoulders had left him thinking of how bright those eyes used to be, just three months ago, which led to him thinking of Mrs. Curtis’ stern demeanour but kind face, and it was all just too much. Dallas needs a break. He wasn’t meant for this sappy caring shit. He’s done his mourning- he doesn’t need to be knocked all off kilter because of two kids who think of themselves as gangsters but in reality are nothing more than battered kids, bruised in different ways. This is the problem, Dally has found, with gangs that are more family than function- they’re made of people instead of parts of a machine. You can’t care about someone who is replaceable- but no one in the Curtis gang is replaceable, not by a long shot. That wasn’t the case back in New York.

Whatever. He’s done thinking about this now. He’s going to go back to the Curtis house and watch shit tv and maybe steal some food if the kitchen doesn’t look too skint this week. He is not going to think about kids who aren’t his problem (and yet completely are because he’d joined this stupid excuse of a gang and made them his problem in the first place), and he is going to stop being so fucking soft. Geez. If Tim could hear his thoughts right about now he’d lose just about all his street cred. 

Of course, because he’s Dallas Winston, and life has never thrown him a fucking bone in all seventeen years of his life on earth, his hopes for a peaceful afternoon are dashed the second he steps through the door. 

Darrel Curtis- six foot two, two hundred pounds of pure muscle, cool headed Darrel Curtis- is parked at the worn kitchen table, head in his hands, a water bill and something Dally is reasonably sure is property tax forms sitting in front of him.

 And he’s crying.

Darry Curtis doesn’t cry. In all the time Dally has known him, he’s never seen the guy so much as sniffle- not even at the funeral three months ago when Darry buried both parents in one horrible day. Soda had broken down immediately, and Pony had stared wide eyed, rivers of silent tears pouring down his cheeks- but Darry hadn’t. He’s crying now though, and not just a little bit either, huge gut wrenching sobs tearing from his mouth and shit Dallas doesn’t really know what to do. What he wants to do is pretend he never saw this, pretend it never happened and leave, let Darry have his well earned breakdown in the solitude he clearly believed he had. Of course, he would have had to have the foresight not to slam open the screen door for that to even be a possibility.

Darry jumps at the noise, shoulders squaring immediately, letting out one last sob that he could easily explain away as a gasp of surprise as he regains his barings. 

“Oh,” He clears his throat, valiantly trying to pretend like his eyes are bloodshot and his stubble covered cheeks covered in tear trcks, “hey Dal. There’s sandwich stuff in the fridge if you’re hungry.”

In that second he sounds so much like his mother that it punches Dally in the chest a little bit. Something about the ocean of feelings quickly locked behind a kind word and a carefully controlled expression is so reminiscent of Mrs. Curtis that Dally almost finds himself nodding a yes and escaping into the kitchen. He can’t though, because as much as Darry acts like her, he will never be his godlike mother. Instead, he is his kind hearted self, a twenty year old with the custody of two kid brothers he couldn’t bear to be separated from, and all the pressures of adult life most people don’t even start having to worry about until they’ve had time to really live. Mrs.Curtis had taken care of all of them, even Dally when everyone else only ever looked at him as a lost cause. Darry can’t do that though, can barely look out for Soda and Pony. Anyone with eyes can see how he’s been struggling since the funeral, nevermind the way Soda’s endless energy has turned anxious and resentful, grades slipping, while Pony gets quieter and moodier, a thirteen year old ticking time bomb. 

“You stay outta trouble for me Dallas,” Mrs. Curtis said to him once, “I know you ain’t a good boy but you’re a loyal one and sometimes that’s more important. So don’t go gettin’ yourself locked up for a bit, savvy? My boys need you more than they know.” 

She hadn’t just been talking about Darry, Soda, and Pony. The whole gang was Mrs.Curtis’ boys and everyone knew it, but Dally had held those words close to his heart more times than he could count, a balm on his perpetually blackened soul. Mrs.Curtis had known the score, known that goodness wasn’t the same thing as love, and she’d loved him anyhow- unconditionally and more than his own sorry excuse of a mom ever had. She’d trusted him too, never babied him or tried to fix him the way every other adult was always trying to, just patched him up when he got into trouble, and scolded him for not being smarter. You wouldn’t have survived this long if you were stupid Dallas, so don’t go pullin’ a stunt like this again. C’mon and git some dinner now, there's casserole in the fridge.

It would break her heart to see Darry like this now, so small and defeated, two things her eldest son was never meant to be. But she isn’t here right now, never will be again.

But Dally is.

My boys need you more than they know.

Damn Mrs.Curtis and her all knowing ways, because she knew what she was doing when she took him in because now he’s stuck with this stupid gang in this stupid town forever because she made him love her and love them all too.

“What’s goin’ on Darry?”

“Nothing,” Darry lies, fingers twitching a bit to pull the papers closer to him.

“I ain’t Soda, you don’t gotta lie to me like that.”

Shame twists his handsome features and he looks down, fidgeting with his high school ring.

“I don’t got enough.”

“Enough what?”

“Money Dallas,” he snaps, “I don’t get my first paycheck from that new job until next week, and both these are due on Friday. I bought groceries yesterday, and paid the hydro on Monday, no matter what I’m short.”

There’s such fear in his eyes. Dally remembers what the social workers said when Darry got custody, how militant they’re going to be checking up on him. One missed bill could have Soda and Ponyboy taken away before any of them could cry ‘unfair’.

My boys need you more than they know.

Dally can’t let that happen. It would kill Darry, Soda might go full crazy and Ponyboy…the kid was already sensitive. He’d never make it in a boy’s home. 

“How much?”

“What?” Darry blinks at him and Dally rolls his eyes. Darry Curtis has never been stupid, so he doesn’t know why he’s acting stupid now. 

“How much money do you need?”

“Four fifty.”

Dally winced. That was more than he had on him right now, more than he could get from Two-bit and Steve if he asked on the down low. None of them ever had that kind of scratch just lying around- unless Steve’s dad had recently paid him to come back home, but the old man had booted Steve out two days ago and chucked a bottle at him yesterday when he went back to grab spare clothes so they probably weren’t back to playing happy family yet, and likely wouldn’t be for  while.

Still. There’s other ways to get money.

My boys need you more than you know.

“Leave it to me.” Dally promises.

“No.” Darry shoots him down immediately,  “It ain’t your responsibility Dallas-”

“It ain’t all yours either.”

“That’s exactly what it is!”

“Are we a gang or not?” Dally glares, “I know you Curtis boys are wicked at acceptin’ help but like it or not you need it right now! I ain’t watchin’ the state take Soda an’ Pony away because of your fucking pride Darry!”

Darry stares at him a moment, eyes hard before he sighs, shoulders drooping, suddenly looking the same type of bone deep exhausted that is becoming an all too familiar look on him. 

“Just…don’t do anything illegal, ok? The boys can’t handle you bein’ locked up right now.”

For some reason the words sting. It’s true the gang’s all been a wreck since the Curtis parents died, but Dally is under no illusions as to his place in their ragtag little group. They survived well enough before him, and they’ve survived every time he’s been in the cooler since knowing them, and it won’t be any different if he gets locked up now.

He must have scoffed or something because Darry glares at him. “I mean it.”

Whether he’s talking about the gang needing him or about him not doing anything that could get him into trouble with the cops, Dally doesn’t stick around long enough to find out. Instead, he turns on his heel, a plan already forming in his mind.

Buck Merril is just about the most pigheaded cowboy Dally’s ever met in his life, but he’s always running about half a dozen money making scams at any point in time, and he jumps anytime Dally offers to help because he gets stuff done and keeps his trap shut good. It leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, working for a guy he hardly likes and doesn’t respect, but money is money and Darry needs money desperately right now so he swallows his pride and asks Buck what needs doing.

He ends up two towns over, at a rickety trailer park off the main road, two kilos of smack stashed under the seat of Buck’s car. He makes the drop, bullies the buyer who wasn’t willing to cough up Buck’s agreed upon price, and ignores the way his stomach twists at the way he just gave someone else the very thing that destroyed his sister’s life, a million years ago back in New York. 

Buck claps him on the shoulder when he gets back. Dally shoves him off, takes his cut of dirty money, and leaves before he can punch someone. 

Warm light spills out the window of the Curtis house when he gets there. Ponyboy is leaning against Johnny on the porch steps, smoking a cigarette and staring at the sky, Johnny murmuring something to him that the kid doesn’t seem to be really hearing. It’s frightfully domestic and frightfully sad, the bruise on Johnny’s cheekbone almost black in the dim evening light, Ponyboy looking so skinny and tired Dally has the urge to tell him to go to bed. He doesn’t of course- it’s not his place, and Pony isn’t his brother. Instead, he ruffles both kids' hair as he passes them, tells them to get inside so they’ll have enough folks for a round of poker, and goes to find Darry.

Darry’s in the kitchen, scrubbing purple mac’n’cheese off a saucepan when Dally finds him. He watches for a minute, sees the tension in Darry’s broad shoulders, the viciousness in the way he’s scrubbing the pan. Desperation, Dally knows Is all consuming, bleeding into every thought, every action, every facet of life. For all he’s a different kind of desperate, Darry Curtis is as desperate now as Dally himself is.

He spares a quick glance over his shoulder. Johnny and Pony have trooped inside, the latter robotically shuffling a deck of cards, while Soda and Johnny chat quietly. Steve is flipping through channels on the radio, and Two is nowhere to be found. None of them so much as glance at the kitchen. Good.

“Dar.” 

Darry jumps, turns. 

“Glory Dal, scare a man to death, why dontcha!”

He rolls his eyes. “Ain’t my fault you weren’t payin’ attention. Here.” He holds out an envelope, and Darry’s eyes light first in understanding, then in hope.

“Are you sure?”

“I wouldn’t be offerin’ if I wasn’t.”

“Dal…”

“Take it,” He shakes the envelope, “before the others see.”

Hesitantly Darry reaches out, but as soon as his hands close around the paper he all but snatches it from Dally’s hand.

“Dal…I…thank you. I can’t tell you-”

“Whatever man,” Dally can feel the discomfort that comes anytime he is thanked or treated half decently raring in his chest, “I told you I’d take care of it and I meant it.”

“I’ll never be able to repay you for this.”

“It ain’t a loan, it’s just helpin’ out.”

“That’s not what I- nevermind,” Darry shakes his head, mouth twisting in a rueful half smile, “There’s dinner in the fridge, I made sure Soda saved you some.”

Dally fixes himself a plate, glaring down at pasta that was never meant to be purple, and he and Darry join everyone else in the living room. Johnny grins when he sees him, scooting closer to Ponyboy to make room on the sofa, and Steve steals the cards out of Pony’s hands to start dealing, having finally found a station playing half decent music. 

Dally eats his dinner and plays poker, pretending he doesn’t care half as much as he does when he loses. He wins half of Soda’s cigarettes and quickly loses them all to Johnny, pretending the feeling in his chest isn’t softer than anything he usually lets himself feel.

These boys don’t know it but they need him more than they know, and he’ll keep them safe. For Mrs, Curtis, but for himself too. 

After all, he’s always been a selfish bastard. 

[writerracha]

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ on the run — lee know x female reader

↻ 4.9k :: best friends to lovers :: cw. auditory voyeurism. dirty talk. fingering. oral sex (f and m receiving). soft deepthroat and throat fucking. use of "angel" nickname. unprotected sex. claiming. marking. creampie.

you have been accused of a crime you didn't commit. you have to run away, and your best friend minho comes with you. you're on the road, away from all you've ever known. but you are not alone. minho is here, and there are things you need to tell each other. noisy motel room neighbors might help you do just that.

↻ 18+ mdni :: not proof read, pls be kind :: masterlist

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

You’ve been running for so long. 

Out of breath, out of hope. You wonder if, one day, all of this will stop. Falsely accused, framed by someone you thought loved you. You were sure you were done for, that you would have to spend the better part of your life in jail for a crime you didn’t commit - but then Minho had taken your hand and taken you away. 

He hadn’t hesitated. He just told you to get in the car, and when you did, he drove away. From your hometown, from everything both of you have always known. Now you are halfway across the country, with nothing to your name, just a car and some money. 

You don’t understand why he did it. Why he came with you. Minho was not involved in this, not in the slightest - yet he just left everything behind to stay with you. I don’t want you to be alone, he told you when you asked him why he helped you. I could never leave you on your own. Minho was your friend, your best friend. You met in high school and never let each other go. But he didn’t have to do this. Sacrifice his entire life, risk it all, and for what? Maybe you would get caught. Maybe the truth would come out. Maybe not. For now Minho kept telling you to look and move forward. Even when you felt your heart would tumble out from between your lips, even when the fear was so cold you thought you would die, Minho’s voice soothed you. It will be okay, Y/N. I will always be with you. 

You were on the road a lot at first. Avoiding people, putting as much distance between you and your hometown as you could. Minho had fortunately thought to take some cash out before you left, so you had funds. It would not last very long, but it would have to do. Then you would figure it out. 

The motel room is cold, so you slide your legs under the covers to keep warm. You decided to stop for the night and get some actual rest. You did not do it all the time to save cash. Most nights you would sleep at intervals, the other one driving while the other closed their eyes. But it was more exhausting than anything, so Minho had insisted on sleeping in actual beds for once. The motel was a dingy place off the highway, but it was better than nothing, and at least, here, no one would ask questions. 

You rest your head against your knees, watching the television without really seeing it. Your thoughts are restless, trying to figure out a way out of this - if not for you, then at least for Minho. Your best friend did not deserve to throw his life away for you. Especially not because your ex boyfriend, that piece of garbage, had been so angry at you breaking up with him he framed you for something he did. Why did people believe him? 

A sigh escapes your lips as the door of the room opens on Minho. His hoodie is drawn on his head, his hair tucked away. You feel relief to see him - the room felt cold and threatening without him. You’ve never been good at being alone, and it’s even worse now. 

“Hey,” he tells you, giving you a smile as he removes his sneakers. “How did the shower feel?” 

“Really good,” you chuckle. “Did you find everything?” 

He nods, placing the plastic bag on the bed. 

“I found you a paler shade, but they didn’t have much for me. I had to get purple.” 

“Purple?” you repeat, surprised. 

“Let’s hope it suits me,” he grins with a shrug. 

You take out the two boxes of hair dye from the bag, eyeing them. It was Minho’s idea to transform yourselves a little bit, just in case. All of it felt so much like a game you sometimes forgot it was real. But it was. 

Minho’s feet make no noise against the carpet of the room. He sits on the opposite bed and you glance at him. He removed his hood, his soft brown hair disheveled on his head. He has dark eyes under his eyes, and you know his exhaustion mirrors yours. You feel a pang of guilt in your stomach, but you know what he will say if you say it out loud. I’m not leaving you alone. 

“Thanks for getting this,” you tell him.

He nods towards the drugstore plastic bag. “Got us a few things to eat, too. Nothing fancy, but…” 

“It’s great. I’m not too hungry, though.” 

“Me neither. It’s so cold here.” 

“I know, right? I tried to fix the heater, but I’m pretty sure it’s broken.” 

Minho shuffles towards the appliance and toys with it for a minute. You try to watch the television, but instead your eyes are focused on him. His dark hoodie, his faded jeans, his white socks. The frown on his face and the slight pout of his lips that he gets when he’s focused. Minho is the best friend you’ve ever had. You know him well - and him, you. You’ve gone through heartbreaks, defeats, joys, and countless other things together. But this? This is changing you. Both of you. 

And even if you feel awful about dragging him into this, you are glad he’s here. 

You wouldn’t want it to be anybody else. 

After some time, Minho clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Nothing we can do with this…” 

“It’s fine, Min,” you say. “We’ll warm up some other way.” 

He gives you a long look and you realize what it could infer. You blush slightly. 

“I just mean, we could share a bed. Share the warmth.” 

He gives you a nod, his eyes looking soft in the dim light of the room. “Okay.” 

You tap the space next to you playfully. With an amused chuckle, Minho comes to sit next to you, tucking his legs under the sheets. The bed is not that big, so even if there is some space between you, it doesn’t feel like it. You are not shy about it - you’ve slept in the same bed numerous times, you’ve even cuddled before. But this still feels new, in a way. It feels odd. 

It feels like you and Minho are the only people left in the world. 

You watch the television, your head falling against his shoulder. He leans towards you so you’re more comfortable, his hand ending up on your leg - above the comforter. With him next to you, the both of you bundled up in hoodies, you feel much less cold. Neither of you talk. Neither of you move, either. You just breathe and let the sound of the television lull you to sleep. 

Except you do not want to sleep. Except you like Minho’s warmth a little bit too much, except he smells so much like himself you feel like drowning in delight. Except you desperately want to slide your fingers in between his, except you want to push your legs against his, except you wonder how his neck would feel under your lips. You have to admit it - you want him. 

You have for a while. It started even before all of this - random thoughts crossing your mind about kissing your best friend, about letting him treat you right like he always said guys should do. When he took your hand and ran away with you, your mind was too occupied with the mess to think about him like that, but now that the adrenaline is dying down, that this odd routine is settling him, you find yourself thinking about it again. Minho. Your best friend. Your everything. 

Your heart aches when you think about what he did for you.

What he still does every day for you.

How he smiles at you, how he looks at you. 

For now you just enjoy the moment of quiet, letting your body relax, your thoughts wander off. You are sure you are going to fall asleep right there when a noise attracts your attention. You frown, trying to listen more attentively. It’s coming from the room next to yours - thumps on the wall, voices talking. 

It quickly becomes obvious what is going on. The thumping becomes regular, and the voices turn into moans. It’s not too loud, but you can still hear it above the television. You feel yourself blush, wondering if Minho is hearing it too. You’re torn between laughing and pretending like you’re not hearing it. But as the moans grow louder, and the banging of what sounds like a headboard against the wall fastening, you can’t pretend. 

Minho is the first to laugh. You snort, the both of you falling into giggles. 

“Someone is having fun,” he says. 

“Clearly, yeah,” you laugh. 

Minho raises the volume of the television a little bit, and it muffles the sound, but you can still hear it well. You try to ignore it, but a part of you can’t help but listen. It really does sound like they are having fun. The girl is vocal, and from what you can hear, the guy is too, telling her things you can’t quite make out. She’s moaning a lot. 

You try really hard not to be turned on by the sounds, but you can’t help it. Maybe it’s because you haven’t had sex in a while - but there is something so lewd about just sitting there while other people are having sex next door. The girl’s moans are full of pleasure, and from the rhythm of the thumping, the guy is pounding into her at a fast pace.

You breathe out slowly, suddenly feeling very warm next to Minho. With a quick glance you confirm he is still staring at the television, looking entranced by what is happening on the screen. Either he doesn’t care about what he’s hearing or he’s good at ignoring it. 

The hand he has on your leg has gone very still. 

You bite your lip hard, trying to resist the urge to push your thighs together. You can feel yourself getting wet at the sounds, your imagination running wild. What position are they in? Are they lovers, or is it just a hook-up? You can’t help but think of being in her place, hands pinned to the mattress, a cock buried deep inside you, Minho breathing in your neck…

You snap back to reality. Minho? No, no. You can’t think about him that way, not now, not when he’s lying next to you in bed, warm and soft. 

Miraculously you are able to keep yourself in check. Only a few minutes later, the woman cries out particularly loud and then everything goes silent. You guess they are done - either they are going to sleep or they are leaving. Either way, you can finally breathe again, and it looks like Minho is relieved too. 

“I think I’m going to sleep,” you tell him in a low voice. “You can keep watching tv if you want, I don’t mind.” 

“I’m exhausted, too, don’t worry,” Minho smiles, looking at you. His cheeks are a little red, you notice. “I’ll just run to the bathroom and join you.” 

You nod, replacing the pillows on the mattress as he closes the television and disappears in the small bathroom. You hear the tap water, so you guess he’s brushing his teeth - you settle comfortably under the sheets, closing your eyes. You’re so tired, your body sore, your mind heavy, surely sleep will come easily. 

Except it doesn’t - because all you can think about are those sounds. 

Instinctively your hand reaches between your legs, finding their way inside your leggings to your underwear. You push two fingers against your aching core. The fabric of your panties is a little wet, and you guess that if you were to touch yourself underneath, you’d find your folds soaked. The pressure feels too good, so you keep it there for a few seconds, a soft sigh escaping your lips. 

Those moans. Those sighs. What if someone loved you like that? Made you feel good like that? Lips against your skin, maybe a mouth against your cunt, a tongue sucking in your clit, your fingers tugging at Minho’s hair… 

Fuck! 

You nearly cum at the thought, but at the same time the bathroom door opens and Minho comes back towards the bed. You remove your hand from between your legs, feeling ashamed and embarrassed. Fortunately it is dark enough for him not to see you, and he slides back into his spot next to yours. The mattress shifts under his weight, but you do not move, your head buried on the pillow. 

“Goodnight, Y/N.” 

“Goodnight, Min.” 

You’re not sure how much time has passed. Maybe minutes, maybe hours. You can’t find sleep, unable to toss and turn in the bed because you are scared to wake up Minho. At some point you find yourself drifting off, but you startle back awake. 

The moans have started again. 

Clearly the pair next door has not left, because they are back at it. You let out an audible sigh and Minho, next to you, laughs a little. 

“I guess we’re not sleeping,” he says. 

“I guess not.” 

You both lay down, facing the ceiling. The moans aren’t too loud for now, but you can imagine it’s only a matter of time before they get as intense as earlier. 

“You remember my ex, the law student?” Minho asks, all of a sudden. 

You frown, turning your head towards him. “Yeah, why?” 

“She was so loud, too,” he tells you. “Even worse than that.” 

Surprise flashes in your eyes but you can’t help chuckle. “Really?” 

“Oh, yeah. I guess when I told her I like it when my partners are vocal, she took it to heart. But like, way too much. And it sounded so fake.” 

You are glad that the room is plunged in darkness because you can feel your cheeks heat up. You and Minho have talked about sex before - you’ve even shared intimate details, but for some reason it feels different now. Maybe because minutes before you were touching yourself to the thought of him.

“Wow,” you laugh. “That’s like the opposite of my ex. He didn’t make any sound and he didn’t like it when I did…” 

Minho sighs. “What a dick, honestly.” 

“I got used to it,” you shrug. 

“He never treated you right,” Minho insists. “You have such a pretty voice, too. I’d never tell you not to make noise.” 

You feel your chest tightening, your mouth going dry. Now that your eyes are adjusted to the darkness you can see Minho pretty well, and now he’s looking flustered, blinking rapidly. 

“I - I mean… L-like I said, I just…” 

“Minho,” you whisper, interrupting him.

Your heart is beating so fast you feel like you’ll be sick, but you can’t hold it back. Especially not with the moans coming from the other room, with the warmth between your legs, with what he has just told you. I’d never tell you not to make noise. You just need to know. You need to know. 

Maybe the dark is giving you courage. Maybe it’s everything Minho does for you. Maybe it’s the way his eyes shine, so close to yours.

“Why did you come with me?” you finally ask, your voice just a whisper. 

He blinks, looking at you with wide, deep eyes. “I…” 

For a second you think he will say the same thing he always does. A part of you wants to hear it again, because you could never get tired of it, and because you know it is true - but another part of you wants to hear something else. You don’t even know if it’s possible. If it’s something he feels. But you have to try. You have to know. 

Minho takes a deep breath. “Because I love you.” 

You feel like bursting into tears because it’s all you ever wanted to hear. You grasp at the covers, tears gathering at the corners of your eyes. 

“Please tell me you feel the same,” Minho adds, hopefully, desperately. 

“I love you,” you breathe out. “Of course I love you.” 

And it’s the simplest thing. Minho reaches for you as you reach for him, your lips meeting halfway, bodies tumbling in a sweet embrace. He pulls you close, holding you in his arms, his kiss feverish, desperate, relieved, hungry. His lips dance with yours, one of his hands  holding your head. You wrap your arms around him, not wasting a second to close the distance between your bodies. His chest is firm, and as your hips meet his, you realize he’s a little hard, just like you’re wet. 

The moans continue in the next room but you barely notice them. All you can hear is the sound of Minho’s breathing, his mouth on yours. You sigh as he pulls up one of your legs over his pelvis, making you straddle him. You lay down over him, not an inch between your bodies, your lips still meeting. He kisses you firmly and deeply, his hands all over your body, feeling your waist, your legs, your ass. You remove his t-shirt. You arch your back. 

“I love you, Minho,” you keep repeating. 

“I love you,” he answers every time. 

He pushes his tongue on your lips so you open your mouth to let him in. It’s wet and warm and it sends your mind reeling. You feel drunk, you feel dizzy, and Minho kisses you so well it’s like the rest of the world fades. 

“I love you so much,” he breathes. “Fuck, you’re everything to me… Everything I want.” 

“Minho,” you sigh. “Put your hands on me, please.” 

He nods, kissing you again, his hands discovering your body. He takes one of your tits in his hand, massaging it slowly, and you roll your hips against him. He’s getting harder, his cock almost flush with your wetness, and you feel your walls throb with the craving of him. You moan against his touch, and he rolls you on your back again, towering over you. 

“Y/N,” he whispers, looking you in the eyes. 

“Hm?” 

“Please make all the noise you want,” he says. 

You smile, playing with his hair. “I promise, as long as you do, too.” 

With a grin he leans down to kiss you again, removing your shirt. You’re not wearing a bra, so he goes down to kiss your tits, swirling your tongue around your hard nipples, making you moan. Minho hums appreciatively.

“You sound so lovely,” he says. “I could never not want to hear you…” 

“Keep talking to me,” you tell him, your fingers in his air as he plays with your breasts, kissing them, licking them, teasing them. “Please keep telling me things.” 

“I promise, my angel. I promise.” 

Minho trails his tongue down your stomach, pushing your sweatpants down, leaving you in just your underwear. He looks down at you, placing two fingers against your clit, above the fabric. He starts to draw soft circles, making you shiver. 

“F-fuck, Minho…” 

“You’re so wet, angel. Is it because of our neighbors?” 

You bite your lip. “A little,” you say, although it’s hard to speak as Minho keeps stroking your wetness. “But also - also… You…”

“Me?” he asks, finally pulling down your panties to reveal your slicked folds. 

“I could only t-think of you… Hearing them…” 

“You imagined it was me making you moan like that? Fucking you deep into the motel bed? Is that what you would like, my angel?” 

You nod, Minho’s breath feeling warm against your cunt, his agile fingers exploring your folds. He spreads your legs, holding your legs apart. “Y-yes…” 

“I’ll do my best,” he smiles. “I just want to spend some time down here before I fuck you… I’ve wanted to treat you right for so long… I want to make you cum, is that all right?” 

As he asks, he pushes two fingers inside of you, and you let out a shuddering moan. 

“Tell me,” he says softly.

“Y-yes, Minho, please! Make me cum!” 

“Fuck, just hearing you say that, I could cum on the spot.” 

But he doesn’t - instead he leans into you, his mouth covering your wetness. His tongue swirls around your clit, collecting your slick, and you can’t help but moan uncontrollably. He makes you feel so good, so loved. His lips kissing you, his tongue everywhere, pushing and teasing. He moves his fingers inside of you at the same time, curving them into your sweet spots, and you grasp at the sheets, lost in your pleasure. 

“Fuck, yes, keep moaning for me, angel,” he breathes. “Don’t hold back.” 

You couldn’t if you wanted to - Minho is too good at what he does, like he already knows everything that makes you go crazy. His rhythm accelerates, then slows down, his mouth deliciously eating your cunt. You can’t think anymore, one of your hands is lost in his soft hair. Your moans accompany the ones from next door, combined with the wet sounds of Minho’s tongue and fingers around your drenched pussy. 

“I’m gonna cum,” you cry out. “Minho, I’m…” 

He doesn’t say anything, just accelerates exactly what he was doing, and your orgasm flashes through you. Minho keeps licking your cunt until you stop shaking, and then slowly makes his way up your body, placing wet kisses on your skin. You don’t think you’ve ever moaned this loud in your life, and as you start to come down your high, you feel a little embarrassed. 

When he kisses your lips, tasting of you, you open your eyes. Even in the dark you can see that his mouth is a little swollen, still wet with your juices. 

“S-sorry…” you whimper. 

He frowns, stroking your hair. “Why are you sorry?” 

“Was I too loud?” 

He smiles, cupping your cheeks. “You could never be too loud. I just hope it was good for you.” 

“Are you kidding?” you chuckle. “That was the best orgasm of my life.” 

Minho laughs, and your heart swells at the sight of his teeth, the shape of his eyes. He is so beautiful. And he loves you. With a sudden surge of love you bounce upwards, kissing him deeply, and you want to touch him everywhere. Minho lets your hands roam over his body, and you quickly reach his boxers, where you find his hard cock. You palm it over the fabric and it twitches a little. Minho grunts. 

“You still want this?” he asks. 

You nod. “I want you. All of you.” 

He answers with a kiss, and helps you get rid of his boxers, his cock springing free. You stroke with one hand, the other pushing him down the bed. 

“Want to taste you, too,” you say, and you feel his breath shudder inside your mouth. 

Kneeling next to him, you kiss his stomach, his hips, his thighs - admiring at the same time the firm muscles of his body. Minho gathers your hair in his hand, holding it back from your face, breathing hard. 

You take his cock in your hand, kissing the tip, and you hear him grunt. You’re glad he doesn’t hold back making noise, just like he promised. You glance at him as you wrap your lips around his cock, slowly. Minho looks back at you, his eyes glassy, his mouth parted. You keep your eyes on each other as you go down his cock, taking all you can of him, and when you almost reach down he throws his head backwards in pleasure. 

“F-fuck, Y/N!” he growls. “You’re taking me whole… S-such a warm mouth…” 

You hum around his cock, starting to bob your head up and down, sucking him. Your tongue works too, teasing and licking him. Minho moans, the sound filling the room and your heart, and it’s so alluring you have to press two fingers against your cunt. 

“Don’t stop,” Minho breathes. “Don’t stop, take it deeper… Just a little more - fuck, yes! Right there.” 

He thrusts his hips a little as you keep sucking him. He feels big in your mouth, and you know your lips will be sore, but you don’t care. Making him feel this good is intoxicating, and you don’t want to stop. 

“My angel,” he moans. “Looking so pretty with my cock around her lips…” 

He keeps whispering things, and you can’t help but moan alongside him, touching yourself at the same time. You could cum like this again, with Minho’s cock between your lips, his fingers pulling your hair softly. But after another minute, he strokes your cheek. 

“Come back to me, angel,” he whispers. “I don’t want to cum like this.” 

You are eager for his lips again so you do not insist, and Minho wraps you into an embrace, kissing you softly. He is warm, so warm - your bodies are a little sweaty, eager for each other. 

When he stops, you frown. “Is everything all right?” 

“They stopped,” he says, and you realize he is right. 

The room next door has gone silent again. You chuckle, but at the moment, you don’t really care. Neither does Minho, because he shrugs and kisses you again. He lays you down on the mattress again, holding your legs apart, his cock teasing your entrance. 

“I don’t have -” he looks at you.

“It’s okay,” you smile. “I don’t mind. I want you to fuck me like that.” 

He growls, leaning into your ear. The tip of his cock enters your hole, but he doesn’t go further, just feeling it there. You whimper for more, but Minho is busy kissing your neck and your ear. 

“I love hearing you say lewd stuff like that,” he chuckles. “It’s really hot.” 

“I like hearing you say it too,” you admit, kissing his shoulder. “Tell me something… Something you never thought you would say aloud.” 

A flash appears in his eyes, and he smiles. He kisses you, and whispers it against your lips. 

“I want to fuck you raw and mark you as mine,” he breathes. “Fill your sweet cunt with my cum and fuck it again, deep inside of you. Claim you. Keep you with me forever.” 

Your cunt tightens so much at the words you are sure Minho will feel it - and from the way his hips thrust forward, he might have. 

“I’m yours,” you whisper. “I’m yours, yours, yours.” 

Minho pushes deeper inside of you with every word until he bottoms out, stretching you, filling you. You moan his name again and again as he starts to fuck you, his hips gently meeting yours at first, letting you get used to him. 

“Mine,” he repeats. “Mine, as much as I’m yours.” 

You nod as his movements start getting sharper, slamming into you, his cock reaching deep inside of you. You can hear the wet sounds of your cunt around his dick and it makes you dizzy. 

“Tell me I’m yours,” Minho breathes, pumping his cock into you. 

“You’re mine,” you say, digging your fingers into his back. Your nails mark him, and they must hurt him, but Minho only moans louder. “Mine, mine.” 

He fucks you into the mattress, his hands holding your waist, your legs spread apart for him. After some time he lifts your ass a little, holding your legs up around him, and with this angle he reaches even deeper inside of you. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck…” 

You moan with him, your voices and breathing mixing together. You are so close to cumming, clenching his cock hard, coating it with your juices. 

“Minho, fuck! I’m cumming!” you cry out. 

Your climax rushes through you. Minho follows a second after, pushing as deep inside of you as he can. You can feel the warm spurts of white cum filling you, his cock throbbing, and when he is done he keeps fucking you for a minute. 

“My angel… mine,” he whispers. 

When both of your bodies start to untense, Minho removes himself from you, stroking your cunt with his fingers. He gathers some of your juices mixed with his cum, and brings it to your lips. You stare up at him and lick his fingers clean. He stares at you with a soft smile, tenderness spilling out of his eyes. 

He falls back on the mattress next to you, as spent as you are. 

“That was the hottest sex of my life,” he breathes. 

“Me too,” you chuckle, turning just to wrap an arm around his chest. 

He plays with your hair, kisses the top of your hair. “You know I meant it, right?” 

“What?” 

“Everything I said. I love you so much, Y/N.” 

You look up at him, feeling your heart swell in your chest. “I know. Me too, Min. I love you. You’re mine. I want to stay with you forever.” 

He smiles. “I’ll never get tired of hearing you say that.” 

You stay like that for a minute, just breathing, until Minho squeezes your hand, helping you up on your feet. He wants to help you clean up and feel good before you go to sleep. Holding your hand, he guides you towards the bathroom. Only then do you realize something and laugh.

“If we could hear them so well… Do you think our neighbors heard us?” 

Minho laughs. “Definitely.” 

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

this was much longer than I thought it would be... but there it is! I had so much fun writing this I hope you will like it! please share your thoughts with me if you want ♡ reblogs and feedback is much appreciated!! ♡

↻ taglist: @lix-ables (just write if you want to be added!)

[dcvina-claires]

you’re matthias helvar. when you’re 17 years old you capture a drusje and bicker with her on the ship back to fjerda. she has a lot of fight in her. it’s unsettling, how she almost seems to be human. its storming but that’s okay, right? wrong. you’re shipwrecked and wake up floating on a piece of wood. the witch is right next to you. she tells you that you have to work together and it goes against everything you know but it’s your only chance at survival and despite everything, you are not ready to be reunited with your family quite yet. by some miracle, you make it to land. whether fjerda or ravka, you don’t know. you’re stranded. you sleep next to the heartrender for warmth because it’s cold outside, even for someone who grew up in snowstorms and cruelty. the two of you try to find your way back to civilization together and the ice opens up and tries to swallow the grisha girl whole and you’re holding onto her and you find that your heart is pounding. not out of anger, but fear. she lives. you’re happy about it. you like her a lot, actually. then she betrays you, and you know that everything your country taught you is right. imprisoned for a crime that you did not commit, you suffer for an entire year. they don’t treat you like humans in hellgate. they treat you the same way you’ve been taught to treat grisha. they make you kill wolves and you wonder if djel will ever forgive you for it. a demon breaks you out, makes you go on a heist to your own country. the girl you’ve dreamed about for an entire year is there, too. you want to kill her. you don’t. and things get better, somehow. you learn a little bit. the girl you love/hate is not a traitor but you are, apparently. and she takes parem and goes up against the man who filled your head with poison. her powers are different after that. it should scare you but for the first time, you find them beautiful. you are dreaming about making fjerda a better place when a boy comes up to you with a gun in his hands. it’s like looking into a mirror as he pulls the trigger. you are matthias helvar, and you die at 18 years old in your lover’s arms. one minute you are with nina zenik, and the next, you are standing on the ice. it does not open up to swallow you whole. it’s sturdy underneath your feet

[bradshawssugarbaby]

Beer Never Broke My Heart - Jake Seresin x Reader

A/N: another country music inspired TGM oneshot because why not. Beer Never Broke My Heart by Luke Combs is a fave and it's been stuck in my head all day so, here we go.

Pairing: Jake Seresin x reader

warnings/content: fluff, a little angst if you squint I guess? Bob and Bradley playing cupid. Jake's a commitment-phobe.

word count: 2.8k

The stories about Jake Seresin’s Fourth of July parties were the thing of legends. At least, that’s what your childhood best friend, Bob Floyd told you. Growing up together in the quaint corners of Kentucky, your friendship persisted even after Bob enlisted in the Navy, bridging the geographical gaps that separated you. Upon encountering Jake, Bob wasted no time in regaling you with tales of the charismatic, albeit arrogant and cocky, pilot he had befriended—someone he cheekily deemed "perfectly your type." With a mischievous grin, Bob couldn't resist teasing you about your penchant for less-than-stellar romantic choices. However, as Bob grew closer to Jake, his jests evolved into genuine affection, a burgeoning belief that perhaps you and Jake were destined for each other. Your recent trip to San Diego had you attending Bradley Bradshaw's birthday bash at Bob's insistence, albeit with the conspicuous absence of Jake. Despite assurances from Jake himself that he wouldn't miss it, he was reportedly detained by a rigorous training exercise on base, but Bob hadn’t been buying it.

"Has Jake ever mentioned having a significant other, like, ever?" Bob quizzically posed one evening at the Hard Deck, the favored haunt for Navy personnel and their circles.

Bob's squadron pondered, their heads shaking in unison while exchanging contemplative glances. A few scanned the ceiling, delving into their memory banks to recall any fleeting encounters where Jake might have been accompanied by a woman for more than just a passing night.

"Bradley, Javy, you guys practically grew up with him. Have either of you ever seen him with a girl for longer than a one-night fling?" Bob chuckled, arching an inquisitive brow.

Bradley and Javy exchanged a silent glance, both shaking their heads softly. Bradley took a sip of his beer, placing the bottle down with a soft laugh, as if a distant recollection had suddenly surfaced.

"I take that back, I do remember this one girl. What was her name... Heather, Jessica, something like that. This was way back when I first met him, over a decade ago. Jake would've been, what, 21 tops? He was ready to tie the knot with her—or so we all thought. Then she decided she couldn't handle dating someone always on the go, and it broke poor Jake's heart. After that, he seemed to reckon he had something to prove, which might explain why he can be such an insufferable dick most of the time now."

Bob raised a knowing eyebrow, nodding thoughtfully. A smirk crept onto his face as he glanced around at his companions, then back at you.

"Jake's got cold feet when it comes to commitment. That's why he skipped out!” 

“Nothing gets past you, does it, Bobby?” Bradley grinned, shaking his head as he sipped his beer again.

“Look, I think we need to just bring you to his annual Fourth of July party. He’ll love you when he meets you. He’s just scared of the idea,” Bob nodded as he turned to you, grinning. 

“Guys, if Jake doesn’t want to meet me, it’s ok. I’m not offended. If he’s a commitment-phobe, I’m probably good just…not meeting the guy,” You shrugged as you sipped your cocktail, laughing softly. “Besides, Bobby, you’re the one who said he was perfectly my type because he’s an asshole. I mean, maybe I should change my type.”

“Nah, Jake’s not a bad guy,” Bradley shook his head quickly, an awkward chuckle escaping his lips. “He’s just not a smart guy, at least not when it comes to social settings. Trust me, he’ll be fine. We just won’t tell him you’re coming.”

A few nights later, you and Bob rolled up to Jake's party, the warm summer air buzzing with excitement. You sported a laid-back ensemble: denim shorts hugging your curves and a tie-dyed halter top in patriotic hues of red, blue, and white, exuding a festive vibe. Your sunglasses rested atop your head, adding a touch of effortless coolness to your look.

As you stepped into the backyard, the scene unfolded before you: Bradley and Jake engaged in their customary banter, beers in hand, the ambiance alive with their friendly squabble.

"I'm telling you, the Astros are taking it all this year," Jake asserted confidently.

Bradley scoffed, retorting, "And I'm telling you, they'll crash and burn like they always do, Bagman."

Bob chimed in with a chuckle, playfully interrupting their debate. Adjusting his glasses with a grin, he shot Bradley a teasing glance.

"Are we interrupting something here?" Bob quipped, his tone lighthearted as he ushered you forward.

Bradley's smile widened as he greeted you warmly, introducing you to Jake, who turned to you with a suave grin, his eyes sparkling with charm. 

As you laid eyes on Jake for the first time, a rush of sensations flooded through you. Standing tall with a commanding presence, his tanned skin glowed under the party lights, accentuating the golden hue of his tousled blonde hair. His bright sea-green eyes, vibrant and captivating, seemed to hold the entire universe within them, drawing you in with their magnetic gaze.

A charming grin played upon his lips, exuding confidence and warmth, while his strong southern accent, dripping with Texan pride, resonated through the air like a familiar melody. Your heart skipped a beat as you took in his rugged yet effortlessly handsome features, feeling a flutter of anticipation mingled with a hint of nervous excitement. In that moment, it was as if time stood still, and all you could do was offer a tentative smile in return, your emotions swirling in a whirlwind of curiosity and intrigue at the enigmatic man before you.

As you stood before him, captivated by his presence, Jake extended a hand with a confident smile. 

"Well, hi there," he drawled in his rich southern accent, his voice smooth as honey. 

"Lieutenant Commander Jake Seresin, US Naval Air Force." he said, his bright green eyes twinkling with charm, emphasizing his title as he shot Bradley a competitive smirk. You knew Bradley was a Lieutenant, and you knew from what Bob had told you that the Jake and Bradley bickered over Jake’s newly-appointed higher rank. 

"Pleasure to meet you," you replied, your voice betraying a hint of admiration for the accomplished officer standing before you.

With a nod of acknowledgment, Jake's grin widened, his eyes sparkling with a mixture of confidence and charm. "Likewise," he responded warmly, his grip on your hand lingering just a fraction longer than necessary, sending a jolt of excitement coursing through you.

His handshake was firm yet gentle, sending a tingle of electricity through your fingertips as you exchanged introductions. In that moment, his genuine warmth and charisma enveloped you, leaving you eager to uncover more about the man behind the captivating facade.

As the conversation flowed, you found yourself drawn further into Jake's magnetic presence, each moment spent in his company deepening your intrigue and desire to unravel the layers of the enigmatic man before you. Jake excused himself politely after a few minutes of lively conversation, and you watched on with a dreamy-eyed expression on your face as he slipped away into the party to converse with someone else. Out the corner of your eye, you noticed Bob and Bradley exchange knowing grins as they observed what was unfolding. 

The night carried on, and you headed into the house to find your way to the bathroom. Closing the sliding patio door behind you, your eyes scanned over the house, taking in the crisp, white walls adorned with different pieces of country-themed decor, as if Jake was trying to bring as much of Texas into his Californian home as he could. A simple cactus sat on the coffee table, a Stetson hanging on the wall, next to a vintage rodeo poster, framed and on display. The decor was somewhere between vintage Americana and a country bar, but it seemed so perfectly Jake. At least, from everything you’d been told about him, and from your five minute exchange with him earlier.

As you headed down the hallway to find the bathroom, passing by the entryway to the kitchen, you could hear muffled voices, deep in discussion. You paused for a moment as you recognized both voices. One was unmistakeably Bradley, his Virginian lilt echoing slightly out of the kitchen. The other, an equally deep and recognizable southern drawl, one you’d only just heard a short while ago, but equally ingrained in your mind. 

“Listen, Bradley, I’m sure she’s a great girl. Bob wouldn’t have brought her if she wasn’t. I’m just not interested,” Jake protested, and you felt your heart sink slightly as you heard the words that weren’t intended for you.

“Jake, it was 11 years ago, man. Don’t you ever think about what it’d be like to meet someone? Settle down? Have a kid?”

“No,” Jake replied stubbornly.

“Now you’re just being a jackass,” Bradley sighed, and you could just envision the disapproving glance and head shake that Jake was on the receiving end of right now, “You can’t just keep having drunk one night stands, dude. You’re gonna wake up one day and realize you basically pissed your whole life away. The Navy’s not gonna be there forever. One day you’re gonna have to retire.”

“And I’ll retire happily. On a ranch somewhere in Texas.”

“Alone.”

“I’ll buy a dog if you’re that fucking concerned about me being lonely, Bradshaw,” Jake spat back angrily.

“What if she’s not like what’s-her-face?”

“Chelsea. And it doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter. You’re pissing away a chance with a really nice girl because of what, your pride? Your ego? You’re afraid to get hurt? You’re gonna end up drunk and alone.”

“Beer never broke my heart. Women have.”

“Oh come off it, Bagman. You were 21. You’re how old now?”

“Thirty five.”

“Exactly. Almost fifteen years ago. Give yourself a chance to be happy.”

As you listened in on Jake and Bradley's conversation, hidden from view in the hallway, a sudden tickle in your nose sent an urgent signal. You pressed a finger beneath your nostrils, desperately attempting to stifle the impending sneeze. However, despite your valiant efforts, a soft, involuntary sound escaped into the air, betraying your presence to the two men engrossed in discussion.

The gentle echo of your sneeze disrupted the flow of their conversation, prompting both Jake and Bradley to turn their heads in unison, their brows furrowing in mild surprise. Caught off guard by your sudden interruption, they exchanged a quick glance before Jake's gaze settled on the source of the noise.

You stood frozen in the hallway, cheeks flushing with embarrassment as you met Jake's curious stare. In that fleeting moment, you felt like an intruder, an eavesdropper stumbling upon a conversation meant to remain private. Yet, despite the awkwardness of the situation, a part of you couldn't help but wonder if this unexpected encounter might offer insight into Jake's guarded heart and the walls he had built to protect himself from the ghosts of past heartbreaks.

“Sorry, I uh, I was just looking for the bathroom,” you blushed, nodding your head quickly as you smoothed a hand over your hair.

“Down the hall, second door on the left,” Jake nodded once, remaining awkwardly guarded as he spoke. 

“Wait, wait, wait,” Bradley held his hand out, shaking his head, “I promised Bob I’d sort this out and I’m damn well gonna do it.”

As Bradley stepped forward, determination etched into his features, you couldn't help but feel a mix of curiosity and apprehension. His insistence on addressing the situation piqued your interest, but you also couldn't shake the unease of being caught in the middle of a potentially sensitive conversation.

Jake glanced at Bradley with a hint of skepticism, his guarded demeanor softening slightly as he awaited Bradley's next words.

"Look, Jake," Bradley began, his tone earnest yet firm, "I know you've been hesitant about getting involved. But trust me, she's not like anyone you've ever met before."

You blinked in surprise at Bradley's unexpected endorsement, feeling a rush of gratitude toward your friend for advocating on your behalf. Bradley gave you both a knowing look before nodding once again and heading out of the room to give you both time alone. Jake shifted awkwardly on his feet, avoiding your gaze.

Jake's expression softened, a flicker of vulnerability flashing in his eyes as he absorbed Bradley's words. After a moment of contemplative silence, he finally spoke, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

“I’m sorry,” Jake nodded slowly, looking up at the ceiling before glancing over at you. “Bob and Bradley have been so bent on getting us together. I guess I’m just hung up on some shit from fifteen years ago. An ex-girlfriend told me she didn’t want to live the whole military spouse life after I had an accident in training. I never got over it. Had a ring for her and everything. Was gonna have the whole 2.5 kids and a dog and a white picket fence thing going on. Then she decided she couldn’t be a military spouse, and I decided I couldn’t give up what I’d been working on achieving, so I let her leave.”

“You haven’t dated in fifteen years?”

Jake's lips curved into a rueful smile, tinged with a hint of self-deprecation.

“Not really, I mean, I’ve been with girls, but not seriously.” 

Your laughter rang out, tinged with discomfort as you shook your head in incredulity. "And here I thought my dating history was a train wreck," you confessed, a nervous chuckle punctuating your words. "Bob likes to rib me about it, but I have a knack for attracting men allergic to commitment, unless it's to Sunday night football and beers with the boys."

Jake's laughter echoed yours, a genuine warmth infusing his expression as he nodded in understanding. 

"Now it all makes sense," he remarked, a glint of realization illuminating his features. "Bob kept insisting you were my type, and I couldn't figure out how he knew."

You frowned in confusion. "I'm lost."

"I tend to gravitate toward women who epitomize everything I'm not," Jake explained, a note of introspection coloring his words. "The ones wanting marriage, stability—all the things I shy away from. It's why I've avoided serious relationships. I thrive on being the best, but in that arena, I’m like…a football team short of a quarterback."

“I mean, you could. You just have to want it.”

“Part of me does.”

“But?”

Jake lets out a heavy sigh, shaking his head remorsefully as he looks down. He leans his body against the counter, shrugging his shoulders before speaking.

“But, I’m 35. I guess I could retire from service if the right girl came along. I just…it’s all I know. I know I’m a good pilot, ya know? I don’t know how I am at this boyfriend shit. “

His eyes met yours, earnest and vulnerable, as he confessed, "I mean, sure, I wanna be the kind of man who can sweep a woman off her feet, who knows how to cherish her and make her feel like she's the center of the universe. But truth be told, I ain't got a clue how to do that. I'm afraid I'll crash and burn before I even get off the ground.”

Jake frowned at the can of beer in his hand, shaking his head with a hearty chuckle.

“I’ve had too many of these, I don’t normally share my life story. Not with pretty girls at least.”

“Well,” you responded, pulling up a bar stool beside him before resting your elbows on the counter, holding your head in your hands as you looked at him, “I’m listening.”

"You know," he mused with a wry chuckle, "I never thought I'd feel betrayed by a cold beer, but here I am, questioning my trust in beer of all things." He shook his head, a hint of amusement tugging at the corners of his lips. "Seems I've stumbled into uncharted territory here, darlin’.”

As Jake's laughter subsided, a lull settled over the conversation, punctuated only by the distant hum of conversation and the clinking of glasses in the background. You sensed a shift in the atmosphere, a moment bursting with unspoken thoughts and emotions.

"Maybe it's time to navigate these unfamiliar waters together," you suggested softly, breaking the silence with a tentative smile. 

"We can figure it out as we go, right?"

Jake's gaze softened, a flicker of gratitude shining in his eyes as he met your gaze. "I'd like that," he admitted, his voice tinged with sincerity.

 "It might be a bumpy ride, but, I reckon this time I might stand a chance of finding my bearings."

And in that moment, as the weight of his words hung in the air between you, you felt a spark of hope ignite within your heart—a flicker of possibility for something beautiful to bloom amidst the uncertainties of the journey ahead.

[myalvmss]

⎯⎯ PROLOGUE, TRAVELING STAR ❞

DESC. y/n had been living her life as a detective, being extremely successful with her solved cases. however, she finds herself at the end of her path as she walked onto the next path of her new life.

WARNINGS. death, suicide, a little bit of swearing, gore

BUTTERFLY'S NOTE. this is mainly about y/n's backstory and her old life, information about how she died etc etc!! Lowercase intended. Also just a little heads up, a little rushed!!

LYRICS. "live fast, die young. bad girls do it well!" - Bad Girls by M.I.A.

PREV. ｟ MASTERLIST. ｠ NEXT.

Y/N is a full grown adult that lives alone in her apartment. as a detective, seventy nine percent of your life have you been using your brain. you never once tried following your heart, and it was expected you will never use it. because from what you thought, it was risky. and you can't risk your life falling into pieces of glass that can't be fixed. but did this mean y/n never had a partner in her life? yes, definitely. she was alone her whole life, mostly believing that she can take care of herself and become independent.

even her parents didn't care, but, it was expected for them. y/n hasn't heard from her parents for such a long time, she honestly assumed that they were out of country, or something. one thing for sure, y/n and her parents had officially cut ties from each other. during y/n's childhood and teenage years, y/n and her parents didn't specifically have a good relationship. it was like strangers living in one house. it awfully was quiet. nobody even talked during dinner, not has y/n even seen her parents talk to each other. It was obvious that her parents never loved each other. the relationship was only to satisfy her grandparents. even y/n herself was used to satisfy like some object. how rude!

currently, y/n was in her office as she skimmed through a few criminal records. she sighed, “how boring and predictable for these amateurs.” she muttured, setting down the useless criminal records on the table. all she saw in those criminal records were basically just robbing and other common crimes committed. it was like y/n wanted to handle a more serious case, it's just that.. actually, nevermind. she does, yet y/n herself denies it.

⎯⎯

it's been two hours. and finally, someone decided to report something. Y/n was called to come and arrive at a certain house, it was medium-sized and well kept. as y/n got out of her car, taking a few glances around the house. “the plants hasn't been watered for a span of two days.” y/n thought before ringing the doorbell. everything seemed so strangely unpleasant. it was always a feeling that y/n gets something is wrong, mostly occurs during investigations. the door opened, revealing a restricted crime scene where three policemen were there.

one of the few lessons y/n had learnt while studying criminology was to trust no one at all. she took a quick examine at the three policemen, before setting her eyes on the crime scene. it was a woman, who seems to be in her mid thirties.. hanged dead. “how did you get the report?” y/n asked, examining the cold body. “if you look at the body, the woman called before hanging herself. but we didn't have enough time to answer, all we could hear was the woman's mutters under her breath saying..”

“please help find my missing daughter one more time.”

⎯⎯

after a long time of investigating, it was already getting into a very late hour. yet it was assumed that the woman committed suicide after her daughter went missing. the woman called the police once and reported about it, however the investigation was closed off because she disappeared with no trace. after days of grief, the mother decided to kill herself. but y/n? oh, she's not the type to give up on a case like any other detective would. the request was given by the dead, and y/n will solve the case.

first, y/n decided to go search through the house. the missing girl was named amy, “what a beautiful name.” y/n thought despite the name 'amy' being very common. it still was beautiful. y/n walked into amy's room, searching around before she found an extra phone amy kept. it was locked, unfortunately. but that didn't stop y/n from trying. she decided to try and figure out the password, twenty minutes having to pass as y/n needed to wait the cooldown. as she waited, she flipped the phone and took off the casing, resulting in a piece of paper falling down to the ground. y/n picked up in time, it was written in nothing.

y/n raised an eyebrow. “curiouser and curiouser.” she spoke to herself. until an idea came to her mind.. y/n looked around the room, where she saw a case of pens, rulers and markers on the table. “bingo.” she searches through, later on finding a blacklight disguised as a marker. y/n turned it on, aiming at it towards the piece of paper. shining the blacklight at every single spot, until she stopped. starting to see the numbers, 8957. “smart girl. but not smart enough for me.” she chuckled, setting the password into the phone.

It thankfully unlocked. y/n searched through the phone contacts first, it was definitely a phone kept in secret from amy's parents. especially with the contacts only having one, which was a boy from what y/n sees. she looked into the chat, reading the messages. and the recent ones were just both of them wanting to meet up. “I think I know where this is going.” y/n thought. although this might be an assumption,

It was a definite piece of evidence to say this boy was a suspect. y/n read the recent messages, finding a location to where the two 'couple' was supposed to meet up at. y/n didn't wanna tell the police yet, she was only heading there to confirm. although this was dangerous, she can fight for herself and she had always knew that this job was dangerous considering how she is meddling with criminals.

but that never brought to the point where she stops. the location was definitely odd, yet this relationship between amy and the unknown boy was secret. the location there was awfully eerie, but it was a forest. it's expected and y/n got the usual feeling; where she feels like there's something wrong. “curiouser and curiouser.” but that feeling could never go against the will of you going further in. after a while of walking, she could hear sounds of a person stepping on fallen tree branches on the ground, y/n looked around.. she could barely see anyone at this time late at night, despite the fact she's holding a flashlight.

. . .

suddenly, someone was behind y/n, getting her caught off guard as they stabbed her through the vitals and abdomen. her eyes widened, feeling the knife pulling out. “shit..” y/n instantly fell to the ground, placing a hand on the stab wound on her chest as her blood started pouring out a whole lot. “y-you asshole..” she managed to speak, it was seriously a bad idea to even go out here at night, alone. she tried to face the person behind her, seeing a seventeen year old boy. “you're the boy who dated amy.. aren't you?” y/n questioned, as the boy chuckled with a little nod. “of course I am. i'm certainly impressed with your skills of finding out already,” and the boy answered. “but I can't let you live longer to tell this story.” he blurted out, before cutting the cord of y/n's life.

❝ That's how I met the end. But well..❞

or that's what y/n thought. the next thing she knew, she opened her eyes to see the beautiful eyes of a woman. “look at our baby girl right here.. she has beautiful eyes.” she smiled. “wh.. what's going on here?” she thought before recalling back the memories of her past self. it was long until y/n figured out she was reincarnated. but how? she didn't know how to answer that question. though, now, despite having the midset of a full grown adult who took criminology as a major, y/n had to act young. and that certainly wasn't gonna end well.

how did it end? well, due to her mindset of an adult, y/n ended up being seen as a born prodigy. learning big and long words already, and other talents she even develop. she grew older, her parents now in this current life was actually quite nice. they were.. surprisingly famous. y/n's mother was a famous ice skater, who though had to take break due to her pregnancy. however now, she can continue back her ice skating career. while for y/n's father — he was extremely good at martial arts, even taking part in archery competitions. now isn't that great?

even for y/n, she was able to learn those things thanks to the both of them. how incredible, with those talents, y/n can definitely end up in the entertainment industry. but what was she specifically gonna choose? well, that's a question asked for later. but right now, y/n wasn't known to the public just yet. well, the whole relationship thing between y/n's parents were also kept a secret ever since they were teenagers. it was just that.. they're just not ready to reveal it.

⎯⎯

It's been a few years now since y/n had adapted to this, new life. despite being still quite young, she was heading to the bakery near her home, using the main central streets. however, she stopped? looking at the massive commercial TVs on the building, it was only nothing but sad news. ai hoshino was murdered. y/n raised an eyebrow, wondering how exactly was she murdered. she needed details, and it was expected for this young girl to want details. not because she was such a crazy fan of ai hoshino — it was because of her past little detective occupation. however, she couldn't help but pity the ones who was dear to ai. she was devastated too, but she surely knew she could get over it. but one thing that came out from her mouth;

“curiouser and curiouser.”

TAGLIST:

@nambii @sandronebabyy

[divine-donna]

for me...formidable

i'm going to commit to the bit and make this a real thing. because i like the idea of tashi getting her fellow tennis player back in the game.

this will also be another time where i'm specifying reader's gender. so a female reader. and they're the same age as tashi.

unfortunately did i technically make covid canon in the universe? yes. yes i did.

pairing: tashi duncan x fem! reader

context: 2019 (briefly), late 2020 - 2021

"are you just going to keep eyefucking your husband? or...?"

you turn your head back to look at her. "sorry." you feel the phantom feeling of pain shooting up your leg and your fingers go to scratch at the scar on your leg.

tashi glances over. your husband and hers. playing tennis in the country club. she can overhear the conversation from them. come on art! do it! beat me!

"and how are your kids?"

"they're fine. doing well in school. having fun at sleepaway camp. it's just me in the house. feels unnatural." your stomach churns at the thought of your kids.

that's not to say you didn't love them. you loved your triplets. but your triplets reminded you that you could have had a different path. you could've had them later after you won the coveted venus rosewater dish. to finish your collection of trophies on the shelf. to finish a grand slam career title.

you feared you had aged out of the sport. and that there was no chance for you. a comeback was out of your league.

"he still keeps you at home?"

"yeah. even though i saved his career." you take a sip of your virgin strawberry daquiri. "that whole speech, the whole rebrand idea...was me. it was my idea."

"he's been keeping you locked up since college. so i'm not surprised." tashi's fingers tap on the table as she looks out at the men playing tennis.

"locked up since i got my injury." you scoff. "hate it. i hate seeing that empty space on the shelf. there's enough room for another trophy. for wimbledon." you sniffle. you blink back the tears. your husband always scolded you for getting emotional about it.

"you healed. you recovered well." tashi cocks her head to the side, and she pushes her sunglasses up so they rest atop her head. "why aren't you playing?"

"dan says...some shit about not wanting me to get hurt again. it's real bullshit."

"yeah. it is. you should play."

you raise your eyebrows, looking at tashi. "tashi."

"what? you can do it. you're still young."

"i'm 31. i don't...i don't want to be one of those players that comes back way past their prime. besides, i wouldn't even know where to start-"

"i can coach you."

you nearly spat out your drink. you swallow it down and ignore how cold it is, how it painfully travels down your system. "huh!"

"i can coach you. feel like you're...a lot easier to work with than some other people." tashi leans back in her seat. you were always receptive to her advice and criticism back at stanford. you always took things to heart because you strived for perfection and for pushing yourself.

and secretly, tashi wanted to piss off your husband. she's always hated dan.

you purse your lips. "tashi i...no. don't. you don't need to!"

"art wants to retire. after he tries for the u.s. open. win or lose. he wants to retire. i need someone new. and i think you deserve a second chance."

"that's...that's if i can even play the same. i'm old! my body is...completely different from when we were in college. i have three kids-"

"dan can watch the kids, for once. just...you don't even have to tell me now. you can think about it. if you want to play but not go with me, that's fine too. i would just hate to see a stranger try to say what you should and shouldn't do."

after all, you deserve to be cared for by the woman who knows you the best.

lockdown was a time where you really sat and thought about your tennis career.

you were tired of just taking care of the kids all day, of being locked in with them all the time.

and what you hated the most was that empty space on your shelf, staring at it all day, every day. you hated it when your husband showed it off on facetime to his friends. he almost bragged about the fact that there was a missing trophy, that you were missing a grand slam.

about two months into lockdown, you text tashi.

– let's do this – comeback of the century, right? – and i want you on board

"art's excited for you."

"is he?" you look at her as she's writing something on the legal pad. she always enjoyed the feeling of the paper. she was writing with a pen you had bought her. it was from a stationary store and the kind that had a tiny tennis ball and tennis racquet attached to the clicker.

"i think he's just happy to...relax." she looks up, watching the way your body was being stretched by the trainer. "you're a little bit older. and you have some clotting issues since giving birth. i can get in touch with some people to help craft a suit that will help."

"tashi, don't you think we're doing too much?"

"we aren't. you're older. and your body is obviously different from art's. for one, you literally made and carried three kids. we just need to get you the right equipment, get your body back into shape, and train you up."

the look of hesitation does not go unnoticed. "we can stop at any time-"

"no. i want that dish." you say it through gritted teeth. "i'm going to fucking get it."

tashi feels her lips curl into a satisfied smile. "hell yes we are."

"i registered you for a tournament. they're starting to open things back up." tashi lightly hits the ball and watches the way your legs move with precision. you hit the ball and it knocks over the cone all the way to your left. "you're basically a whole new player. some people might remember you, some won't. so we're leaning towards a new public image." she hits another ball.

you hit it and knock over the final cone.

"what does dan think about all this?" she asks.

you shake your head, wiping the sweat off of your forehead. "i'm divorcing dan."

tashi raises her eyebrows. "oh. is everything okay?"

"everything is fine. i...just hated him. don't hate the kids. they're sweethearts. and he's wasn't around enough for them to really grow attached to him. i...i was trying to work things out when he swooped in like a hawk and shoved that ring on my finger." you loved not being able to wear it. "i finally worked those things out."

"good for you. you deserve better."

like her.

but tashi would never say that out loud.

charleston. the perfect opportunity for a comeback.

you've faced worse. you had to remind yourself of that. the charleston open was not as serious as the other tournaments of the past. your hands were cold and frigid beneath the air conditioning. and they were growing numb.

"hey. hey. you're going to do great."

tashi's hands are warm. they cup your face, making you look at her and deep into her brown eyes.

she's always so warm.

"i can't feel my fingers." you mutter.

"here." she moves her hands to take yours, pressing them flat together between her own. "warm enough?"

"i can...feel it coming back."

tashi watches the way your eyes look all over the place, how they take in the crevices of the wall. you were always an observant person. you always liked looking at the walls of the locker room.

the catsuit looked really good on you too.

"what if...this is all a mistake..." you mumble.

"then it would be a waste of hard work and materials." she doesn't mean to sound cold. "and technically, you would have divorced dan for no reason."

you finally look at her. her eyes are soft. and you understand. she sees another shot within you. the same kind of shot she saw within art.

"yeah. i guess." there's the remnant of a laugh leaving you.

tashi leans forward. her lips are soft. and she tastes like prosecco. her perfume is warm with spices.

you kiss her back, leaning towards her, leaning into her. it feels right. kissing her feels right. just like that one time you two kissed in the showers at stanford.

tashi pulls away. she feels your hands. your hands were warm. hers were a little cold now.

"decimate that bitch."

[villainofmyownstory]

Three copies and some signatures

Simon/Reader/(Johnny)

I don't know I don't have an idea for a title, so I wrote anything. I know some people are waiting for the next part of Day Zero, I'm slowly writing the next chapter but need more time, but don't worry I didn't abandon it! I was motivated to write this thing by anon's shitty ask to @/rememberwren about “too many fics about Ghoap” lmao . So I also wrote something about Ghoap. Because WHY NOT? Aaaaand if you don't know Wren's wonderful work leave everything and go and read it -> HERE <3

I would like to write the next parts, but I can't promise anything.

tags: angst, hurt no comfort

don't know how to tag :< let me know what to add

______________________________________________________________

Of course it had to end this way.

It was more than certain that you would end up in this place eventually. With sweaty hands and a heart that was beating too fast and heavy. Your heart rate increased and your breathing quickened. Drops of sweat appeared every now and then on your heated forehead and you tried again and again to wipe them off. To dry your shiny skin at least for a while. At least look a little presentable.

The crumpled white shirt no longer looked like the one you had ironed for over an hour. Now crumpled and stained, it carelessly hugged your curvy body.

The chair creaked with your every move. Nervously every now and then you change positions as if at least the comfort of sitting would improve your situation.

More minutes pass and the door in front of you is still closed. The paint on them is coming off in some places, revealing the banal light-colored plywood. The entire anturage of this building cries out for renovation.

Despite the well-paid work of the people who work here, the base looks as if its glory years are long behind it and there are no funds to even refresh the walls. It's as if for at least 20 years no one has noticed the cracked walls, the paint falling off or the crooked fine wooden chairs.

Maybe it's just appearances.

You shift in your seat again. The creak of the wooden chair echoes through the empty and cold corridor. Despite the early hour of the day and the sun outside the windows, everything inside seems harsh and unfriendly. To your relief there are not many windows so the prevailing semi-darkness makes you feel marginally more at ease. At least a little anonymity. Maybe the small number of people who passed you walking through the corridor with a quick step won't remember you and when you leave these walls after all, no one will ever shout after you on the street. They won't associate you with this place. With him.

Only when that happens. When this hell will finally come to an end. How long will it be when you are free again? Because every doorbell ringing, every unfamiliar number on screen or finally an unfamiliar customer at work looking at you for too long. It won't all cause that nervousness, that cursed lump in your throat and more gray hairs on your head. Every fucking minute spent in fear.

Someone will finally find out.

Reasons.

Everyone has some. Everyone has a story, some problems, something that makes them look for solutions. The question is whether it was worth it to risk so much. Whether committing a crime was worth it to choose to live here. To continue living in this country.

To be alive.

In the distance you can hear someone's conversation, laughter interspersed with words. Empty corridors carry sounds that ring in your ears, but everything blends into an incomprehensible cacophony of sounds. Into one piece.

You know that resounding, hearty laughter well.

You have heard it many times.

The melody, once heard, is forever imprinted in your memory.

Rhythmically approaching footsteps, voices are getting louder. Two people.

They are close.

The danger makes you feel trapped. Like an injured prey caught in a trap on a hunt.

You nervously look around looking for any way to escape. However, the only way to get out of this place is through this damn corridor, the direction from which you hear the approaching voices.

Panic grips your body and mind, many thoughts appear one second not allowing you to focus and remain rational.

He is about to be right here.

As you involuntarily bite your lower lip and try not to sob, the door finally opens.

A tall and muscular man stands in the doorway, illuminated by the light from the room, like a knight on a white horse with a friendly and affable smile. He greets you and says your name. His name. 

Finally, he invites you inside. This time you managed to escape.

Captain Price. This much you know crossing the threshold of this room. In the morning when two sad gentlemen knocked on your door. You expected to be handcuffed, or something else entirely. Something you were being prepared for.  It could always happen. KIA.

And now, sitting in a more comfortable chair than the ones in the corridor, you look at his Captain. A person you knew a lot about, as well as the entire Task Force 141.

After all, you are a good student. You diligently applied yourself to your lessons. You memorized every word.

Every truth and every prepared lie.

Your made-up life.

The captain leans back in his chair still looking at you, despite the stress of the situation a calmness beats from the man.

You expected accusations, shouting, nervousness and humiliation.

Nothing of the sort happens.

“It's good to finally meet you.”

He says, tilting his head gently to the side and grinning at you.

“When Laswell called me and informed me of the situation. Well. It was quite a shock to me. A positive one. But still... it's quite surprising.”

He doesn't finish the sentence because his words are interrupted by a rhythmic and loud knocking.

Damn.

***

Several hours have passed since those events at the base. Despite the fact that there are a few hours left until nightfall, you decide to spend the night in a nearby hotel and return on the next day, in the early morning.

You didn't even wait for the two gentlemen who brought you here.

You rent a car and return on your own.

You borrowed cash from the captain. The meeting at the base was supposed to be a secret, between you and him. No sign of your presence near the base. You couldn't use your credit card.

Another fucking lie in your life.

Or maybe everything else was untrue and what was happening now was reality. The truth you couldn't quite believe.

It wasn't just the frayed nerves of the situation that made you not want to drive today.

There was something else.

Today is Thursday. A day when when he had the opportunity, he called. He was close by, at a nearby training ground with recruiters. So you can certainly expect weekly contact.

The very thought turns your stomach. It was so ridiculous, infantile.

Unnecessary.

When 9pm strikes, as usual, evenly, punctually the familiar ringtone echoes.

You wait.

One-

Two-

Three.

“Hi”

You sit upright on the edge of the hotel bed, squeezing your thighs tightly together. You straighten your back unnaturally pulling your shoulder blades as close together as possible.

Finally, you hear his low voice.

“Hi love”

Love? Huh, that's something new.

“Hi”

You repeat the greeting in a trembling voice. Does he already know about your unannounced visit to the base. Does he know that his captain has finally found out. What if-

“I miss you, so bad.”

At these words you close your eyes.

There's nothing to worry about. A standard fake conversation between two spouses. In case of eavesdropping, in any doubt. At the risk of someone continuing to check up on you.

“I miss you, too.”

you answer with a learned line. As you do every time.

“I'm counting down the days until I see you again, love”.

You hate it. You hate hearing his words. You shiver. Swallowing the incoming tears.

You're unable to utter another theatrical phrase.

When a lie repeated so many times has become the truth for you. When pretending became a natural behavior. How it happened, that something inside you changed.

So pathetic, weak creature.

For the first time, you can't follow the script.

“ 'r you still there?”

The question hangs in the void. It reaches your ears. Further learned words, however, are blocked inside you.

You open your eyes and your gaze drifts to the floor, to the hotel's dirty carpet. Seconds pass slowly. Each moment makes you feel more and more miserable. You want to throw up.

“I miss you so much, Simon.”

Shit, you're such an idiot.

You quickly hang up, throwing the phone in the sheets and running to the bathroom.

Falling in love wasn't part of the contract.

***

He shouldn't smoke.

He quit exactly when he met you. That September night.

Now, standing behind one of the barracks leaning against a cold wall, he looks up at the same sky. Looking for what you were looking for then.

The sky is dark and cloudy.

“LT?”

He is pulled from his musings by a whisper. Such a familiar voice.

“Where are ya? Come back here, I'll freeze my balls off, if- ”

“I'm comin' , Johnny.”

Crushing the cigarette butt under his military boot, Ghost takes one last look at the sky.

No star. That night he sees none. There's nothing special.

As he enters the room, the small light of the nightstand illuminates the familiar room. When the door slams behind him, in this safe space, he pulls off his mask and walks over to the bed.

Shaking slightly, Johnny sits down on his bed, rubbing his bare shoulders in an effort to warm himself.

“You quit smokin'. ”

A dry statement, Johnny says the words and looks reproachfully at the man standing over him.

Ghost smirks, reaching out his hand to smooth the sergeant's messy hair. Like a tame wild animal. To calm him down. Meticulously styled mohawk was forgotten an hour or two ago.

His hand travels lower to finally stop on the man's jaw and with little force Ghost squeezes his chin, raising it to look him in the eye.

“Behave, Johnny boy.”

“Or what?”

With a cocky grin Johnny asks. He lifts one hand and sticks his fingers in the belt loop of his pants, pulling Ghost closer, so that he's standing between Johnny's legs.

“I don't think you're ready for a second round.”

Finally Ghost pulls away and heads toward the bathroom.

Johnny grunts back.

“I saw her today.”

Ghost stops in mid-step. He stiffens, but doesn't turn toward the man who already regrets his words. There's no going back.

“I want to finally meet her.”

Saying this, he gets up and walks closer. He puts his hand on Ghost's shoulder trying to calm him down. He knows it's too much. Not after what he heard during their weekly conversation.

But a life of lies was destroying him from the inside. He could feel the rot. The stinking evil he felt at every turn. While waking up and falling asleep. It was constantly accompanying him.

No one deserved such cruelty. If he even had to pay for it with his happiness. He would agree without a second thought.

It had gone too far.

“I want to meet your wife, Simon. She needs to know the truth. About all this.”

About us.

______________________________________________________________

English is not my first language, so probably many things are poorly described and the vocabulary is very simple. If you see any mistakes - let me know!

[sadisticsongbird]

playing god's game ~ coriolanus snow

two

warnings: none that i can think of

word count: 3.8k

a/n: i thought i had it on a scheduled post but she was still sitting in my drafts this morning. here we are. CHAPTER TWO!

series masterlist

“Everyone else is dismissed to class,” your professor said from the front of the stage. 

You knew you had to move, but you were frozen in your seat. It was over and your name wasn’t called. And Coriolanus Snow was gloating about it, his smirk directed towards you. Sejanus was also looking in your direction, filled with concern, but you weren’t looking at him. Your attention was locked on Snow. Your shyness wouldn’t let you look away. Besides the coldness, there was something captivating about his eyes. He held your gaze as long as he could before he was whisked away to discuss tomorrow.

Looking down at the floor, you gathered yourself before finally standing. You had to go to class carrying the shame of failure upon yourself. Was it even worth it? To continue your education when you knew that there was nothing for you beyond? Before you knew it, your feet were carrying you away from the school and back towards the Corso where your decaying house stood. 

You felt numb. After all of the late nights you had endured making sure that your work was nothing short of impeccable, after all of the hours you committed to serving your country and its people, after all your work, it wasn’t worth anything. You believed, actually believed that you could do this. Win. But all you did was prove everyone else right about you. That you weren’t worth it. 

You didn’t know how much time had passed, laying in your bed before you heard a knock on the door. Thankfully, your mother was still sleeping, but the noise had woken you up. The pounding continued until you made it to the front door, swinging it open to see Sejanus. 

“Sej, what are you doing here?” your voice cracking. The sleep and tears had caused your throat to hurt a little. 

“I came to see how you were. You weren’t in class after I got back, so I figured you had gone home,” he said, still standing outside your apartment door. 

There were a few moments of silence before you finally collapsed into his chest. He barely caught you, but you didn’t touch the ground. He let you cry into his chest as he picked you up and brought you into the room, kicking the door shut behind him.

“Shh, Y/N, it’s okay.” His hands moved through your hair, trying to calm you down. 

“Did you know?” you asked, sobbing.

“No, NO,” he reassured. “I knew as much as you did. I knew that my father had been planning something, but I couldn’t have known that it was this. I would have warned you.”

That gave you some peace, knowing that this affected everyone hoping to win. You brought your head up from his chest, willing yourself to look him in the eye. “How did I not-” you started, before your voice gave out once again.

“I don’t know.” He brought his hand up to wipe away your tears. You smiled into his touch, knowing that he cared. 

Interrupting the moment was the sound of your mom screaming from inside her room. Sejanus knew immediately what it was. He was just about the only one who knew the true condition of your family. You had been able to be vulnerable with him because, although he had money to sustain him for the rest of his life, he did know what it was like to live a life hiding what you truly were. As much as Sejanus hated the way that things operated in the Capitol and how much he just wanted to be HOME in the districts, he had to put up a front and be as Capitol as he could to hide those feelings from his classmates. You sympathized with him, having to live out a life you didn’t necessarily agree with. While your dispute with the way the government has been run after the war didn’t run as deep as his, the one thing you could agree on was the Hunger Games. It was dishuman, sending kids your age into an arena to fight for their lives by killing one another. It didn’t seem representative of what a newly organized government was supposed to be. 

Both you and Sejanus moved at the noise, but you pushed him back, wanting to see the state of your mother before you allowed him to help. She wandered out of her room and down the hall. After last night's nightmares, her hair was all tangled and greased with sweat. You knew you should give her a bath but you waited until he was gone, so you opted for bringing her to the table to feed her. She hadn’t eaten well for you lately, barely taking more than three bites off of her plate, but hopefully with Sejanus’s help, you could convince her to eat more. Part of you knew it was because he reminded her of your father, which you disagreed with, but as long as it made her happy, you didn’t care. 

“Y/N, are you home?”

“Yeah, Mama. I am. Sejanus is here, too,” you said, making your way over to her and brushing your hands through her tangled head. At the mention of Sejanus, she moved her gaze from the ground to look over your shoulder at the boy. She didn’t smile. Only glanced. 

He waved to her, though she didn’t acknowledge him. Regardless, he came up behind you to exchange your mother so that you could go to the kitchen. You weren’t sure exactly what you were going to make, your fridge practically empty. He brought her to a seat at the table, sitting and conversing with her while you made something up for her to eat. It wasn’t much, but you only had so much bread and marmalade left. It would be another few days before you could pick up some more food from the Corso marketplace. 

As you reentered the dining area, Sejanus seemed to be telling your mother a story while she kept a dead stare down towards her placemat on the table. You set the plate down in front of her, redirecting your own gaze to Sejanus. 

“Don’t you have to get back to class?”

“I haven’t been here too long. Are you trying to kick me out, Stillwater?” he joked, but all it did was manage to creep a small grin on your face before it disappeared again. He got up from his seat, slinging his bag around to the back of his form. “Listen, come tomorrow. Take the day off today, but come tomorrow. Don’t let them know they got to you.” 

You shrugged slightly, remembering the way that Coriolanus smirked at you from the stage. You hadn’t thought about it that way before, but by hiding, you were just reinforcing Snow’s thoughts about you right. But if you could muster enough courage and show up tomorrow, show him that it didn’t affect you, then you would. 

“Thanks, Sej,” you said, hugging him. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.” He mutually wrapped his arms around you, squeezing you lightly before letting you go. 

“I really have to get back now, but I WILL see you tomorrow. Just rest,” he reassured, making his way closer to the door. Leaving you standing halfway between your mother and the door, you watched as he closed the door behind him. 

“Phillip?” your mother asked from behind you when she heard the door. You turned around to see her looking earnestly at the entrance. 

“No, Mama. Just Sejanus.”

You made your way back to the table and took a seat on the chair next to her. Grabbing the piece of bread laying in front of her, you held it up to her mouth and tried to encourage her to take a bite. She opened her mouth only a little ways , but enough that you could slide the food in between her lips and persuade her to take a bite. 

How were you going to break it to your mother that your lives as you knew it were going to be over? There was nothing that you could do now to ensure that your family name was upheld, that you could get a job, make something of yourself. At least now you could stay home and take care of your mother after graduation. But you knew that you didn’t want that. 

“What am I gonna do, Mama?”

“They can’t just…do that? Can they?” Tigris asked, standing in Coriolanus’s doorway. 

“I don’t know, but they did,” he said, pulling his bag over his head to set down on his bed. “All I know is that this is the last chance to REALLY prove myself. All that’s standing in between me and the money now are 23 people.”

“Did they happen to mention what the final test was?” she asked, skeptic of the hidden motives behind this change in rules. “It can’t be a happy coincidence that the Reaping for the games is tomorrow.”

The Games? Between the hustle of worrying about the Plinth Prize and his schoolwork, he forgot that the Reaping was even close to approaching. Could the final test be involved with this annual bloodbath? 

“It’s possible, but I’m sure that it will just be academic like every other qualification. To involve the games is a challenge on a whole other level.” Not one that he wouldn’t be willing to complete, but a challenge nonetheless. “All they asked was for us to be dressed up in the assembly hall tomorrow morning for our assignment.” He paused for a moment. “Would you be able to get my father’s shirt ironed out for tomorrow?”

His cousin smiled at the question, eager to help Coriolanus as much as she could. “Of course, Corio.” She walked over to his closet, pulling out one of the only remaining objects he has to remember his parents by. “I’ll take it with me to work this evening.”

“Are you working overnight again?” he asks. 

She gave him a knowing look. “You know we have to pay the rent somehow. With you at school all day, there’s no other way. I’ll be back before you get up,” she reassured him.

Coriolanus knew that his cousin was exhausted from all of the work she did. He had offered multiple times to get a job, but she always scolded him, telling him that his education had to come first. But that was why it was so important to win the prize money. He could not only pave his way in the Capitol but also pay Tigris back for everything she’s done to support his family. Giving one another a slight smile as a goodbye, Coriolanus watched as Tigris left him alone in his bedroom. 

It wasn’t super late yet, but the toll of starvation was beginning to set on him, making him want to sleep. He wasn’t proud of it, but he had managed to hide the misfortune of his family for years, always desperately trying to seem like he wasn’t out of place. It was always hiding the fact that he hadn’t eaten in days. It was always hiding the sweat over his brow from having to take the long walk to school because his family couldn’t afford a driver. Coriolanus felt like a fraud, but he couldn’t let others know that. The Plinth Prize would make it so he didn’t have to hide anymore. And no one - NO ONE - was going to get in his way. 

“Tigris?” Coriolanus’s voice booms down the hall. As he nears closer to the main hall, he hears his Grandma’am singing the Gem of Panem. “Tigris, where’s the shirt?” 

As he approaches his grandmother, he compliments her briefly before asking for his cousin's whereabouts. She barely gets a word out before they both turn around to the sound of a door closing. 

“Coryo?”

“Tigris?” he responds, leaving his Grandma’am behind to find his cousin holding his father’s shirt, as white as he had ever seen it. 

“I’m sorry. I know I’m late. But look, I did it. Or, I did something. I think it’s really gorgeous.”

He took a pause taking the fabric in his hands before looking up at Tigris. “It’s beautiful. Best cousin ever. Tell me everything,” he finished, swinging the shirt around his frame to put it on. 

“Where do I start?” she began, walking down the hall and towards the kitchen. “I told Fabricia at work that she needed to bleach her white curtains and I slipped the shirt in when I did it. The tesserae buttons I made from-”

“From the bathroom tiles. Brilliant,” Coriolanus interrupted. 

“Oh. Did you find the potatoes? I boiled them for the starch and you should really eat something today.” 

Tigris opened the fridge, giving Coriolanus another view of the bare appliance from the threshold of their small apartment kitchen. His stomach growled, though he hoped his cousin didn’t hear it. “Save them for Grandma’am.”

She smiled briefly before shutting the fridge again and brushing past him once more to find their grandmother. “You look so handsome. Grandma’am! Come see!” Once they made it back to the main room, she grabbed the vest that he would wear over top of the shirt, holding it out for him to slip his arms into. “Coriolanus Snow. Future president of Panem. We salute you,” she spoke, a sarcastic manner in her tone, although he knew that it was all fun. 

Before he could even get his vest buttoned in the front, his grandmother approached him with a small red rose attached to a pin. “Grandma’am-”

“I can grow plenty more after today,” she scolded him, positioning the flower on his clothes.

He inhaled deeply before speaking again. “Got the grades, never missed class. Ten years. Even Dean Highbottom can’t deny us this now.”

“Dean doesn’t hate you.”

“He hates everyone. He despises me,” he argues with his cousin as he finishes tying the top button. There was always an underlying tone in his conversations with the Dean. Something in his eyes when he looked at Coriolanus. The blonde boy could never quite pin what it was, but he knew that Highbottom had something against him “What’s the first thing you’ll spend the prize money on? New dress? Chocolate?,” he asks, changing the subject. 

“Chocolate!” Grandma’am exclaims quietly. 

“It’s the Plinth Prize, Tigris. We’ll be able to pay the rent,” he says, securing his cuffs. “Snow lands on top.”

For a change, Sejanus came to pick you up from your house in the morning. Without having to speak a word, he gave you one of his Ma’s sweet specialties as you slipped your arm in his. You gave him a wary smile, still nervous about today. After yesterday’s events, you were scared to show your face back at school, but you knew that no one saw this failure as hard as you did. You could just blend in with all of the other unchosen students in your red uniform. Unchosen. The word left a sour taste in your mouth. 

You were pleasantly surprised when you saw the Plinth’s car waiting for you down stairs, his Ma standing outside waiting to give you a hug. Without a warning, you left Sejanus’s side and ran towards his mother. 

“Ma!” you screamed, wrapping your arms around her. She matched your excitement, squeezing your form in her arms. 

“How are you my sweet girl?”

“I’m well, Ma.” She always smiled when you would refer to her as ‘Ma.’ With the absence of a consistent mother in your life, she was the closest that you could get and Sejanus was more than willing to share if it meant you got to have some form of normality in your life. 

“I heard about the names,” she said, letting you go, but bringing her hand up to cradle your cheek. “I’m so sorry, Y/N/N. If Strabo or I had any control-”

“It’s okay,” you interrupted her. “I’m okay.” 

She clearly doubts your words, but doesn’t say anything, huddling both you and her son in the car. The entire ride, Ma would ask you how your mother was doing, how school was going, if you needed anything. You enjoyed your conversations with her, something you missed out on with your own mother. Sejanus would often join in, making jokes and embarrassing you, but today he sat straightforward, his gaze directed only out the window. He had barely said two words to you the whole morning. 

“Strabo’s already at the Academy. They have big announcement about the Prize this morning and needed to consult him beforehand.”

At that, your best friend scoffed from across you, making the two of you move your gaze to him. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could say anything, his mother interrupted him. 

“Sejanus. Don’t”

It was the strictest you’ve ever heard her, but you paid no mind to it as the car pulled up to the entrance of school. The front was practically barren, all  of the students, faculty, and spectators inside already. Sejanus got out of the car first, helping both you and his mother to your feet. 

The moment you entered the auditorium, you were met by Mr. Plinth and a room organized with a podium and rows of seats ready for 24 to use. 

“Darling,” Strabo welcomed his wife, briefly acknowledging you and Sejanus. 

“Hello, Mr. Plinth,” you said. Turning to your friend, you expected him to welcome his father, but all he did was stay silent, practically glaring at Strabo. You watched the interaction briefly before zoning out, focusing on the group of people that had collected in the center of the room to the right of you.

All dressed in their best, Arachne Crane, Festus Creed, Felix Ravenstill, and Coriolanus Snow. You watched as they glanced over at you and the Plinths, smirking to themselves briefly then returning to their group huddle. All except Snow who kept his gaze on you a second longer. You suddenly felt overly self-conscious. You were already aware that you didn’t fit in, the only one of the bunch neatly dressed in your red Academy uniform. Sejanus bumped your shoulder, signaling you that he wanted to get away from his parents and prepare for the ceremony. 

“Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine,” he harshly replied, dragging you over to the group you had occupied yourself with staring at. 

As you approached them, Festus was talking, but dropped his words when he saw the two of you approaching. 

“Sejanus,” Festus started, completely ignoring your presence. “You made it to the Reaping for once.”

“And you made it to graduation, Festus. We’re both shocked,” Sejanus retorted without hesitation.

“Spill it. Your father’s in charge, so what’s this rule change? Who won the prize?” Arachne asked. 

“Oh, no, I’m not gonna ruin my father’s big day. No one here actually likes him, but they do love his money.” He paused. “You know what that’s like, don’t you, Arachne?”

You chuckled next to him, hearing another small laugh across from you. Looking up, you found Coriolanus with a smile on his face. When his eyes met yours, it was as if it wasn’t there in the first place

“Funny,” Arachne sarcastically commented. 

Suddenly, a fanfare played above all of the voices in the auditorium, signaling to everybody that they had to find their seats. You began walking along Sejanus towards the front where he was to sit, but before you could get there you stopped and slotted yourself amongst the crowd right behind the 24 chairs. 

“I’ll come find you after.” 

You smiled at him, fiddling with your fingers as you watched him walk away and sit where you longed to be right now. The anthem continued to play as a laugh was heard from the front podium. 

“How tantalizing to see all your shining young faces on this auspicious day,” the voice boomed. Raising your head, your body froze with fear. “I am Dr. Volumnia Gaul, your humble Head Gamemaker, in charge of the War Department and all its affiliated concerns. I’ve broken free of my laboratory today, to examine you. The leaders of the next generation. I won’t be around forever, after all.” She laughed briefly at her words. “And now to that end, I am honored to introduce to you the creator of the Hunger Games themselves. Dean Casca Highbottom.” With her closing words, she brought herself down from the podium, finding a spot in the dark to sit and observe the rest of the assembly. 

Anyone hardly ever saw the Head Gamemaker, usually keeping herself locked up in the labs to concoct the next big thing to improve the decade old games. You knew that people were getting tired of watching, but with the threat of Dr. Gaul as a gamemaker hanging over their head, no one dared not to seem interested. 

A small grumble came from the back of the room, making everyone turn around to see the Dean facing the back of the auditorium. There was a moment of silence that deafened the space before he cleared his throat and finally spoke up. 

Making his way towards the front, he began. “Select students, faculty, and, of course, Dr. Gaul, I have summoned you all here today for the 10th annual Reaping Ceremony in which we choose two children from each district to throw into the Capitol Arena to fight to the death in the Hunger Games.” All eyes followed the short man as he made his way down the aisle. “And here sit our own 24 top prospects, all waiting to hear the results of hard study in this prestigious institution. Well…” The dean began to laugh to himself. “...almost all 24.”

A murmur made its way through the crowd of the students, wondering what the catch was. 

“It was brought to myself and Dr. Gaul’s attention yesterday that Ms. Price,” he said, gesturing to the girl in the blue dress directly behind Sejanus, “has been caught cheating in her schoolwork.” He emphasized ‘cheating.’ “So, Ms. Price, you will no longer be considered for the Plinth Prize. You will be escorted to the entrance on suspension for the remainder of the year.”

You glanced toward the group that was sitting around her, watching Festus chuckle under his breath as the girl sat there, face red as your uniform. She didn’t move from her seat until two members of the Academy faculty gathered her to bring away.  The entire auditorium followed her as she was removed from the building, down the aisle that the dean had walked only moments ago. 

“Y/N Stillwater.” 

At the mention of your name, you turned around, making sure you weren’t hallucinating. But sure enough the dean had said your name.

“Please make your way to the front.”