#doesn’t matter to me if he crashes into the wall in the first corner

[httpiastri]

OSCAR POLE OSCAR POLE OSCAR POLE !!!!!!11!1!1!1!!

OSCAR POLE!!!!!!

i will never shut up about this. never never never

[fangirl-dot-com]

🖤Prologue - My Reputation's Never Been Worse

Ok, so I was in the mood to create something dealing with the news about Logan's car being traded for Alex. So, I thought, why not give Reputations a prologue. Now, this does not happen in 2024. This is set around the 2023 Brazil Grand Prix. Everything in this story is fake. I'm sorry I had to make some of the drivers mean - in no way do I think that they act like this. Yes, they could be nicer to Logan but because I don't know them personally, I have no real thoughts about what they do in their own lives.

All I know is that Logan deserves all the love and my heart hurts for him.

TAG LIST IS CLOSED

Saturday, November 4, 2023 

“You want to do what?” 

James sighed as he hunched over his desk. Logan was in disbelief over the question that he was just asked. Alex sat to his right, chewing on his finger nails. 

“It’s just for one race Logan. It’s no big deal.” 

Logan’s brows pinched in annoyance. “No big deal? Two races ago, we scored our first double points. I have raced clean, I’ve shown you what I can do.” 

“That right now doesn’t matter Logan,” James pushed. “What matters is the team. And we need to keep pushing to get points.” 

“Then let me race. Let me prove to you that I can do it.” 

Alex coughed, but no one paid attention to him. The Thai’s eyes were pointed at the floor. His silence was deafening. Logan leaned back in his seat. 

“Are you asking me or telling me?” 

There wasn’t an answer from James, which gave Logan everything he needed to know. How dare they come to a circuit without an extra chassis. How dare they ask Logan to give up his car that he worked so hard to get in the first place. It was ridiculous. And even if Alex managed to score points, it wouldn’t really matter. There were only a few races left. 

Logan finally turned to his teammate. “What do you think about this?” 

Alex only replied, “I would do what was best for the team.” 

A scoff escaped the blonde’s lips.  

“So if I had crashed out, and they asked you to give your car to me, what would you say?” 

“It wouldn’t matter because they’d never ask me to do that. I’d still drive.” 

Logan’s jaw wanted to fall. Did Alex really just say that? The man who had been so confident in Logan. The one who encouraged him after every fault. The person who was supposed to be his teammate. 

Logan could only collapse against the back of the chair. In frustration, he threw his hands up. 

“Fine. Whatever it take for the team right?” he bit. 

“Thank you Logan.” 

However, the American was out the door before he could even hear James. He needed some air. As he walked around the paddock, he saw lots of people but thankfully (or sadly) they didn’t pay attention to him. After walking for a bit, he knew where he was automatically going to. 

The back of the Mercedes garage. 

George, bless his heart, had comforted him once after a particular bad DNF and told him that if he ever needed a place to just sit, he was always welcome there. The tall Briton was always nice to the American. Way nicer than anyone had really treated him. 

He sat on the wet-ish grass and pulled out his phone. Time to look like he was actually doing something. Maybe the weather in Madrid was nice, or maybe it was raining back home? The weather app was always his go to. 

It only took a matter of moments for the post to go live. His eyes followed the mass amount of comments that poured in. And most of them were not lovely. He wanted to cry, but he knew better. 

Footsteps made him aware that someone was coming. He quickly stood up and rounded a corner, putting his back flat against the wall. 

It was Alex, George, Lando, and Oscar. 

“Great,” he whispered when he realized that there was no way to escape without them seeing. Oh well, eavesdropping was one of his specialties. 

“He was not happy,” he heard Alex say. “I don’t blame him.” 

Lando scoffed, or well, he thought it was Lando. 

“This wouldn’t have happened if he was a better driver.” 

Yep, that was Lando. 

“Come on, don’t say that.” 

Thank you Oscar, Logan wanted to say. Thank you for standing up for me. 

“Mate, you were just saying yesterday about how he really isn’t fit for F1. You said that he should have stuck with Indy Car or something.” 

Ouch.

Logan wanted to throw up. 

“Shit, I was really mean to him in there. I should have said something.” That was Alex again. 

Logan could practically hear Lando roll his eyes. For some reason, George has stayed eerily quiet. 

“Alex, it’s his own fault. I’m just saying everything that everyone is thinking. I’m the only one who is brave enough to say it. Logan Sergeant has no business being in Formula 1.” 

Oscar stuttered out, “That’s enough Lando.” 

“Right sorry, forgot you two were close.” 

Come on Oscar. 

“Not that close. He exaggerates a bit. To be honest, I just felt bad for him. He kind of stuck to me and I just let him.” 

Oh.

Alex sighed. “He wanted to prove something so much. But there’s really no need.” 

“No need?” Logan whispered to himself. 

“James isn’t extending his contract. Williams is going with whoever wins this year’s Formula 2 championship.” 

There was silence for a bit. Logan took the time to reign in his breaths that were quickly getting faster and faster. He did not need to have a panic attack here and now. 

“We have to go, Andrea is texting me.” 

“I’ll go with. My engineers have to look over Logan’s car to change some things.” 

He heard footsteps start to walk away. The lone Williams driver let out a deep sigh and sank to the ground. His head was automatically in his hands as he finally let his tears shed. What he didn’t see was a 6-foot Briton walking his way. 

The blonde gasped when he felt a food nudge his. His head shot up and was faced with George. 

“Oh hey. Didn’t see you coming.” 

“I know you were listening.” 

Red flushed Logan’s face as the idea of being caught. 

“It’s not eavesdropping if everyone talks so loudly.” 

George sighed. “I’m not mad Logan. I’m worried for you.” 

A scoff escaped from Logan. 

“You’d be the first.” 

George felt his heart drop at the sentence. 

“I try and try, and no matter what I do, it’s never good enough.” 

“Mate, you can’t get anywhere in a Williams. Did you even see my rookie year? It was bloody awful.” 

Logan looked back down. “But you’re now in Mercedes. You won the Formula 2 championship. I wasn’t even runner up or third place. Williams is all I have, er, well, had I guess.” 

“I’m truly sorry Logan.” 

“Sure.” 

George started to walk away, knowing that trying to convince the American that he was good enough was a lost cause. Logan waited until the Briton left before standing up to make his way back to the garage. 

He could feel the eyes on him now as he made the journey back to Williams. His eyes caught George standing with Lewis, Max, and Charles. They looked sad as they watched him walk. 

Whatever, Logan did want or need their pity. 

The American kept on walking, only stopping to ask for a car to take him back to his hotel. Man, did he wish Benny were here. It would make everything so much better. His phone had been blowing up with so many notifications. Multiple messages from his friends back home, along with his parents, had been nothing less than supportive. 

However, one message caught his eye as he was going through the long list. He was surprised, but there was a warm, fuzzy feeling at the sight of your name. He knew that you were also having a hard time adjusting to everything. Except for the fact that you had won a race for Arrow a few weeks prior. Hell, he was even at your celebration party. But he remembered the looks on your team’s faces as you celebrated. 

One good word would be jealousy. 

And it wasn’t just your team: it was everyone. 

He sent you a quick text saying that he’d call you when he got back to his room. A fast “I’ll be waiting” brought the warm feelings back.

 He quickly walked through the hotel doors and into the elevator. It was going to be so nice when he could change into his sweatpants and t-shirt.

Logan mulled over the entire thing as he showered. 

He could have stayed home in Florida. He wasn’t needed here anyway. He could be in his childhood room, in his own comfy bed instead of the stuffy hotel room that he knew was smaller than the one that Alex got. He had seen the Thai’s pictures from Instagram and their rooms did not look the same. 

He quickly glanced in the mirror, just to see if his hair looked fine. He was thinking of growing it out, but hesitated to. He didn’t want to be made fun of even more than he already was. With a jump into the bed, he was ready. 

He sent you a quick text, only to be met with the FaceTime screen ready. He rolled his eyes, you had always been so impatient to talk to people. When he pressed the green button, he was met with a big smile and an oh so familiar and safe face. 

“Hi Logan.” 

How he missed your voice. You were always so soft spoken, but could yell at people if you needed to. He had been on the wrong side of your yell one too many times. But, he could listen to you for hours if he could. 

“Hello? Earth to Logan?” 

He quickly shook his head. 

“Hi Y/n,” he murmured, laying his head on his bicep as he just looked into the camera. You had a sad smile as you looked at the blonde. 

You could see his eyebags and his pale completion through the small screen. His red eyes signified that he probably cried when he took his shower (you knew because his hair was still soaked). 

You cleared your voice. “How are you holding up?” 

Logan’s shoulders only raised before dropping back down. 

“I’ve been better.” 

“Of course you have.” 

“Overheard that I’m not going to be resigned for next year.” 

A gasp echoed through the room before you sighed. Your hand ran through your hair. When you and Logan were little, people always mistook you for twins or very close siblings. That always annoyed you because you claimed that Logan was your boyfriend, not your brother. The moms and dads would just laugh. 

Looking back, you always wished you cherished those moments more than you had. The “relationship” only lasted for three days or until you saw Logan give Jessica his extra fruit roll up instead of you. After that, you claimed that you could only be his best friend since he didn’t love you as much as you loved him. You were over it as soon as you gave Michael your extra fruit roll up. 

You looked down at your fingers in your lap and bit your lip. 

“What are you thinking about?” 

You sighed again. “If it helps, I’m not getting resigned either.” 

Logan’s eyes widened as he scoffed. 

“That’s ridiculous. You have given them 1 out of their 2 wins this season.” 

“And Logan, you scored points as the first American in like 30 years. Nothing in motorsports is ever fair.” 

Logan leaned back, but kept his face visible. 

“Remember when we were kids? And we always said that we would make it to our dreams together?” 

A quiet hum sounded from his phone. 

“Have we made it yet?” 

Silence was his answer. 

“I don’t think we have.” 

“What do you mean by that?” 

“Logan, is driving in a Williams really your dream?” 

The male thought for a moment. Did he accomplish his dream of getting and making it to Formula 1? To the outside world, yes, yes he did. He drove for an F1 team. He ‘made it’ even if it wasn’t the best. But is it really making it if you finished 21st in a 22 driver line up? 

No, that was not making it. That was barely getting by. 

“I guess my dream was just to show everyone that I could do it. That I’d be good at it. But, now I haven’t done that.” 

“Then why have you given up?” 

“Because everyone wants me to. No one has ever liked me for me.” 

“I do.” 

Logan inhaled sharply. He finally turned his head to see you looking right at him through the screen. He felt a tear run down his face. 

When had that gotten there? 

“Logan, listen to me.” 

A hum from him made you laugh. You guessed that’s what you were going to get out of him. 

“You have the talent, Williams saw that. They just couldn’t give you a car to maximize your potential. And who cares if no one likes you. You don’t have to make them like you, but at the same time you do. You can’t be green-eyed lady whisperer Charles Leclerc or World Champion Max Verstappen.” 

He rolled his eyes. “Wow, thanks Y/n.” 

Your giggles filled the air. “That’s not what I meant and you know it.” 

“Yeah, yeah, please continue about Charles’s green eyes.” 

“Dude I could write a whole biography on his eyes alone. But I don’t want to. I’d rather write a whole novel about yours.” 

What was that supposed to mean? 

“Anyway, what I’m trying to say Logan, is that you have to believe in yourself and show them that they need to like you because you are you. Say it with me please? Like you’re talking to a hater. ‘You must like me for me’.” 

Logan whispered back, trying to believe his words. 

“You must like me for me.” 

He shot up from the bed as soon as he said the words. 

“Isn’t that a Taylor Swift lyric?” 

His eyes narrowed at you through the phone. You only smirked back at him. 

“Quite possibly. Now, you are going to go to bed, sleep so well, and then keep smiling. Show them that they haven’t destroyed your spirit just yet.” 

Logan put his head on a pillow. 

“Oh, so they are going to destroy my spirit at some point.” 

“Yep!,” you popped the ‘p,’ “but not right now. That can come later.” 

He smiled dopily at you. 

“You’re the best you know? I know that I say that Oscar is my best friend, but it’s actually you.” 

A whine-like noise came from your throat. 

“You’re my best friend too. I’ll see you in a couple of months ok? Still have to beat Dalton at football this summer.” 

“You say that every year!” 

“Ok and?” 

“Goodnight Y/n.” 

“Night Logan. Sweet dreams.” 

You hung up the phone, leaving Logan alone in his little hotel apartment. He thought about what you had said. What’s the point in trying to make them believe in him anyway. They were going to throw him away like trash soon. 

But you were also right. He didn’t need to prove anything to anyone. He just needed to show them what he could do, and they could feel bad about it later. 

Logan set his alarms for the morning and got under the covers. 

He’d show them. 

His reputation has never been worse, so what’s a bit of fun until the end? 

logansargeant has posted

logansargeant if I didn't have a day job, I'd spend every moment listening to you, come visit me soon - your best friend

liked by georgerussell63, williamsracing, racer.y/n, and 493,206 others

logiebear oooooo girl in the pictures - have something to tell us mr. American 🤨

lolo2024 what they did to him this weekend was unfair

sargeant2 this was my first Grand Prix and I came from Spain just to watch him! I'm so sad that now I won't get to... :(

logansargeant hey! sorry about that - let me know what you're wearing and I'll try to find you, thank you for the support 💙

sargeant2 OH MY GOSH

racer.y/n I'll see you soon ok! sorry, my day job is also taking up all my time 🧡 *liked by logansargeant*

indyxf1 HELLO Y/N L/N??

log4_ever who is she?

indyxf1 so she like grew up grew up with Logan and she currently races for McLaren Arrow (their IndyCar entry) - she's won half of their races (1/2)

sarg4president they don't deserve you Logan!

loscar_812 I thought Oscar was your best friend hmmmm??

logan&y/n uhhhh haven't you seen that Oscar has been drifting since he's gotten closer with Lando??

loscar_812 oh. yeah. :(

billsracing and I thought williams was different - not them creeping in the likes 🙄

TAG LIST: @fionaschicken @myxticmoon @cherry-piee @blueberry64857959 @glitterquadricorn @lizzypiastri @disneyprincemuke @sam-is-lost @spilled-coffee-cup @ilove-tswizzle @the-untamed-soul @allenajade-ite @starssfall @torchbearerkyle @judespoision @halfdeadsage @juniper-july19 @severewobblerlightdragon @thatgirlmj @gods-menace @ineedafictionalman @namgification @dark-night-sky-99 @samantha-chicago @2pagenumb @treehouse-mouse @fangirl125reader @megatrilss1885 @kagatinkita @itsjustkhaos @nikfigueiredo @awekbachira @vellicora

[tojisun]

sunnyyy!! omg omg okay so idk what you put in your toxic dbf series but im sure its crack cause i know its freaking hurtful but i love it!! ur mind is >>>>>

alsoooo, i have this idea that i plan on writing for miguel but idk where to start SO IM GIVINF IT TO YOUUU!!

so lets call her bunny in this one. say bunny is enough of his shit, won’t let him do her dirty anymore because she refuses to be stupid. she’s no longer cassie howard and moves on to another man. a man who knows what he wants and who isn’t afraid to let her know that he wants her. he’ll cherish her, he adores the fuck out of her, he shows her off and he makes a promise to put a ring on her finger,

but simon doesn’t like that. not even one bit. and it ticks him off because why is he like this? why is he so worked up that she finds someone who finally treats her better than she can? yet, he can’t let it go. he lets her know. she has to know.

and so, at two am he comes knocking at her door. flowers in his hand, nicely dressed for the first time to let her know that he’s doing it for her and only her. not erin.

and it takes a lot in her to not slam the door in his face because she’s happy right now,

“you look at him the way i wanted to be looked by you, sweetheart” he admits, swallowing the lump in his throat. “and i envy that.”

she stares at him with a deadpan look. not really feeling a single thing anymore, leading him to continue.

“i have no right to say that, i know but—“ he pauses to take a deep breath. “i want to be with you. i want to be your man and i want you to let me”

she doesn’t want him to

ANA?? ANA MY LOVE???? THIS MAKES ME VIOLENTLY ILL

thinking about this in the dbf!simon series??? oh but im absolutely sobbing // same timeline as this !!

thinking about how you cry and wail and mourn for the years wasted on simon. thinking about the way you crumple on your bed, curling underneath your sheets, your cries now having been reduced to silent tears—this doesn’t mean you feel any better. instead, you feel even more distraught, upset in a way that feels bigger than yourself.

thinking about the promise you make to yourself. how, when the morning breaks, you will move on. that no matter how painful it may be—and it will be—you will strive to let go of simon. truly and completely this time around.

and that’s what you do. you fall asleep in exhaustion, heart heavy and mind buzzed. in the morning, you blink your eyes open and lay in bed for a few more minutes, suspended above your heartbreak, before it all comes crashing down on you. tears trickle from the corners of your eyes but you stay resolute, strong grip corralling your grief into the corner of your heart, before you get your day going.

you start by throwing everything that reminds you of simon: polaroid pictures and framed photos, shirts and clothes and socks and lingeries, towels and bedsheets, trinkets and accessories from across the globe—little souvenirs he’s brought to appease you.

(in the long haul, many of them were actually donated, while some were sold. but today, as you submerged yourself in your heartache, you dumped everything in a black garbage bag. out of sight, out of mind.)

blocking simon’s number actually turned out to be last. you deleted the pictures you have with simon in your phone prior, and then blocked and deleted his number altogether.

you breathed in deeply once you’re finished and collapsed to your bed again, trying to ignore the bareness of the walls and the emptiness of your room (let alone your heart).

the tears come again—they will come more often than not—and you let them. you open the locked corner of your heart and let the grief out. you mourn for what was lost; for what could’ve been. but most importantly, you mourn for the ways you’ve let yourself be trapped in such an unhappy moment.

moving on comes slowly; it comes so torturously that you thought it would never happen. but it does, and it does so during one quiet afternoon.

on that day, you realize that not once did you think of simon. not once did the memories trickle in to rip you away from the jovial present. and as you stand there in your kitchen, the sounds of the microwave beeps piercing through mutedly, you feel remade.

you feel whole, once again.

-

simon noticed, of course. he noticed the way your messages stopped coming in, or the way you no longer use your dad as an excuse to meet simon, or the way you just fell off the radar.

simon tried to reach out to you once and realized that you’ve got his number blocked.

it’s whatever, he thinks. because simon has never known you well, has never tried to learn more about you, so he thinks that this—your silent treatment and your detachment—is all a ploy. something like you playing hard-to-get.

so simon doesn’t think much about it until days turn to weeks, and weeks turn to months, and months are slowly building up to turn to a year.

simon doesn’t hear from you and, despite all his posturing, he realizes that he’s missed you. so he decides to drive by to pick you up for dinner and maybe apologize for whatever it is now that he’s done.

he gets to your dorm and rings your room. the intercom scratches awake, the person from the other side, your dorm mate he’s sure, asks who it was, and simon tells them his name. then, he tells them that he’s here for you.

there is silence for a while, almost loaded in a way that simon knows it’s not the intercom breaking up, and he gets his answer when he’s given a curt reply of, “she doesn’t want to see you. bye.” there is the distinct screech and then the line drops before simon could even ask why.

and simon feels lost. untethered.

-

john is a good man. that’s the first thing you realized. it terrified you, at first, how much you looked forward to meeting him. how much of being with him—simon’s friend—makes you happy.

you waited for the other shoe to drop, shoulders perpetually hunched as though that can shield you from the inevitable of john leaving you. of john using you.

but john is so warm. john is so gentle and kind and patient and loving.

john holds your hand and you know he isn’t looking for more. he drops you off at home, tells you to rest well and to say hi to your dorm mates, before taking off on his bike.

john kisses your cheeks and you know he isn’t looking for something more passionate. more heated. and you crave for his touch, yes, but there is something so special in the way john shows his affection—all crinkled smile and quiet chuckles; all whispered words and promises fulfilled; all soft and tender and secure.

it was a love so different, so beautiful, so really it wasn’t surprising at all when your relationship grows, thriving alongside your healing.

(he promised, you know? he promised, as he played with your hand, that he’ll one day put a ring on your finger. your lips wobbled and you told him to stop making loaded promises such as that, but john just turned to you with a soft smile and said, “i look forward to the day we share the same vow, bunny. if you would have me.”

you hiccupped sob and threw your arms over his shoulders, nodding because, “i would. john, i would!”

he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close and sharing warmth with you. you burrowed your head on the crook of his shoulder, breathing him in, letting his presence wash over you.

john, you thought. johnjohnjohn.)

-

simon drives to you the day after he confronted john. he drives to you with all of his messy heart spilling from the ridges of his ribs, beating only one name—yours.

he’s never felt this way before. not with all the pretty people he’s gone out with, or his first love, or even erin. erin who simon once imagined a future with. erin who simon once loved. not even that could triumph over the expanding turmoil that simon’s basking in.

he calls on the intercom of your dorm again, begs your roommate that may you please hear him out, and then he sees you.

god, you’re just as beautiful as he remembers.

“love–”

“what’re you doing here?”

your words are soft, quiet, but simon isn’t fooled. he sees the anger in your eyes, the hurt having festered into resentment. he wonders how apologies could trickle from his lips—where to even begin?

“please,” you say when simon’s silence stretches on. “just tell me whatever you want and then leave.”

“this. this is what i’m here for. the anger in your eyes– it’s just–…” he breathes in sharply. “i saw you and john, you know? and the way you look at him, it’s how i want to be looked at by you, love.” he swallows the lump in his throat. “i didn’t know what i had until i lost you and i’m so envious of him, i am, so please.”

you stare at him with wide eyes even when your face is smooth of any emotion. simon wonders what you must be thinking but he bulldozes through, hoping that you can give him one last chance.

he promises this time, truly, he’ll be better.

“i have no right to say this, i know, but–” he pauses to take a deep breath, his fists balled tightly. “i want to be with you. i want to be your man and i want you to let me.”

a heartbeat passes, and then, “simon, you are a selfish, selfish man.”

your words are barely louder than a whisper but they scratch at simon’s heart. he looks at you, gaze turning desperate when he sees nothing but bubbling fury and disappointment in your own.

“how dare you,” you say. “you tell me that you saw me and john, and then what? instead of letting me go, instead of letting me move on, you come in here and demand that i return to you?”

“love, i–”

“don’t call me that!”

your anger tips over, now spilling out. he watches the way your eyes glisten, tears dripping to stain your cheeks.

“i’m not your anything, si! not anymore!” you take in a ragged rasp of air, choking on your sob. it tugs at simon’s heartstrings and he moves to comfort you but you pull away, sneering at him in your anger. you wipe at your eyes, scrubbing furiously.

“everything about what you’ve said just now, everything, was all about your wants. all about you. just like how it’s always been,” you murmur, the fight leaving you.

you looked small, hunching into yourself, and simon is hit with this feeling; something that lodges itself in his throat.

“lov–… i’m sorry,” he says because he is.

gods he is.

“just go,” you tell him, meeting his eyes for one last time because he knows that this is the end of it all.

you turn away from him then, closing the building door behind you. he watches from behind he glass doors as you disappear into the hallways and stepped into the elevators and, just like that, simon’s lost his chance of making things right.

ANA MY GOD THIS MADE ME FERAL!! i hope u would like this one bb :(( hope i gave ur vision justice

[malum-forev]

jealousy, turning saints into the sea

*

Summary: After Bucky made you jealous with a new recruit, you decide he should get a taste of his own medicine.

Pairing: Bucky x Agent!reader

Part 1: jealousy, jealousy

“Your dark, angry, grr, Winter Soldier persona isn’t hitting as hard anymore.” Sam smiled as he sat down at the bar next to Bucky.

“Everything that’s happening is your fault.” Bucky hissed, not taking his eyes off of you. You were only a few feet away but the way you were actively ignoring him made Bucky feel thousands of miles away.

“Hey, you were the one who agreed.” Sam held his hands up defensively.

It started as a joke and Bucky never intended for it to become a big deal, or maybe subconsciously he did want it to become a problem. That’s the only explanation as to why he accepted his friend’s bet. 

It all started when Sam suggested Bucky’s love language is possessiveness.

“I am not.” Bucky grumbled, forcing his eyes to concentrate on the man in front of him instead of you. You were finishing up a team meeting with some ex-SHIELD agents. But proving his point about not being overprotective was becoming more and more difficult. His enhanced hearing was playing a twisted game, making Bucky clench his fists as he heard the agents talk about how you looked in your tactical suit. 

“So I assume you waiting for your girlfriend outside the conference room has nothing to do with the fact you want to metaphorically pee on her.” Sam’s smile only made Bucky’s scowl deepen. 

Sam’s words combined with the agents depraved (but accurate) description of your looks were making Bucky’s tolerance level drop down to a zero. His heartbeat rose and he felt a cold sweat start to form. Is this what a panic attack feels like? He asked himself. 

“The things I’d do to her, starting by bending her over the desk and-“ One of the agents said. That was it, he’d had enough. 

Bucky slammed his open palm on the glass barrier separating him from you. The agents jumped in their seats as they saw the Winter Soldier all but break the wall. 

“I’ll be done in a few minutes.” Your sweet voice calmed his racing heart, Bucky nodded with a tight-lipped smile. 

Sam clutched his stomach as his booming laughter took over the hallway. “You couldn’t even wait for her to get out of the room! You are totally marking your territory.”

“I’m not a dog!” Bucky rolled his eyes. 

“Then what’s the problem? What’s making your cyborg brain crash?” Sam wiped a tear from the corner of his eye.

Bucky ran his palm against his face and considered the pros and cons of telling Sam the truth. Pro: he would get it off his chest and it would probably make him feel better. Con: Sam would know.

“The problem is,” Bucky sighed, looking back at you. “She never gets jealous. It’s physically impossible for her to care, and it’s been driving me insane! I consider myself a good-looking guy, some women have even called me handsome! And she just carries on like it doesn’t matter. I feel like she doesn’t want me.”

Sam crossed his arms over his chest. “You’re telling me you want her to be jealous?”

“Maybe I do, sometimes.” Bucky shrugged his shoulders. “It’s just, I think about her morning, evening, and night so whenever I see someone who wants to swoop in and woo her- it makes me violent. But whenever some woman hits on me, she thinks it’s cute.”

“First of all, you need to get that checked. Go to therapy about it or something.” Sam’s reply made Bucky regret ever telling him. “And second of all, of course she gets jealous. She probably just doesn’t tell you.”

Bucky rolled his eyes again. “I’m telling you, it’s impossible to make her jealous.”

“Wanna bet?” Sam’s Cheshire smile should have been a big enough red flag. 

So that’s where Bucky found himself, paying the debt for his stupid bet with Sam. He’d succeeded, Bucky made you jealous but at what cost. You’d invited the team out for drinks after a mission and dragged Bucky along just to see him wither. 

You threw your head back with laughter and patted the agent’s chest with your hand.

“No one is that funny.” Bucky grumbled. 

“Is this foreplay for you guys?” Sam wrinkled his face. 

“Of course not,” Bucky drowned the whiskey in his cup. “she’s making me pay for the stupid thing with the recruit.”

“Glad to know my plan worked.” Sam nudged the brunet. “See, this is why you should start listening to me when we’re out on the field.”

“Yeah well your genius plan is biting me in the ass.” 

The way the agent hungrily looked at you made Bucky’s jaw twitch. You were doing this on purpose, and he knew the only thing he could do was sit back and receive his punishment.  

His eyes still sternly glued on you, your every move. Bucky watched as you brought your hand behind your neck and tossed your hair to one side; exposing the side of your neck, a place he knew you loved being kissed. Next, you brought your hand to twirl around the necklace, the long metal catching the agent’s eyes. The eyes that were now traveling to your cleavage. His hungry eyes darted around, trying to catch a glimpse at whatever he could. 

Bucky knew that look, the look of someone trying to memorize everything their seeing so they can replicate it a few hours later when they’re alone in the shower.

But what sent him over the edge was the way the agent pulled you closer. He snaked his arm behind you, pulling your waist into him. Bucky couldn’t take it anymore, he saw red and was looking for blood. 

Bucky slipped off his leather jacket but not before taking the silencer from the breast pocket. 

“I don’t condone violence.” Sam warned. 

“You fight, knock down and kill people with metal wings.” Bucky said with a harsh tone as he screwed the silencer onto the gun hidden in his back.

Sam placed one of his hands on Bucky’s chest and extended the other one. “Give it to me.”

“You ruin everything.” Bucky groaned, placing the gun in Sam’s hand. 

“That’s more like it.” He smiled. 

“You never said anything about not being able to use my God-given skills.” Bucky said as he pushed up the sleeves on his Henley.   

“God didn’t give you that vibranium arm!” Sam yelled as Bucky pushed past everyone in the small bar.

Within a couple of seconds, Bucky had walked all the way over to the other side of the bar, pushed the agent up the wall and took his shirt in his left arm, the mechanical whir of the vibranium showed the agent just how strong he was. Bucky may no longer have the red star on his shoulder but it was tattooed in his soul, and he wasn’t above showing someone what that meant. 

“You will never again speak to her, touch her, or look at her.” Bucky’s deep voice made the young agent’s eyes widen. “Is that clear?”

The man in his grip nodded furiously. Bucky brought him up a few feet from the floor only to drop him down. Slamming the agent’s body against the wood floors. 

Bucky walked past the lump of bones on the floor. “SHEILD is making its agents weak.”

“You ready to go home, big guy?” You couldn’t contain your smile. 

Bucky left some crumpled bills on the table and took your hand in his, intertwining your fingers. “I’ve been dying for you to say that.” 

————-

Author's Note: hi hiiii! I'm so glad you guys liked pt. 1! Sooo here's Bucky's version! Hope you guys like it! As always pls like, reblog and comment if you do! <3

And don’t forget to ask a prompt for my 1k bingo game! 💖

tagged: @kpopgirlbtssvt @shara-ne @namelesssaviour

*Any gifs posted are not my own and I give the artist full credit.

[romantichomicide95]

geto suguru

drabble request- @satorizz my first time requesting geto heheh. smut prompt #49 pleasee !! as filthy as possible with no pre-established relationship 👉🏽👈🏽

content warning- 18+ cockwarming, penetration, fingering, slightly dom!geto, squirting, creampie, one bed trope sprinkled in, slight dirty talk.

You and Geto were both exhausted from your mission. The adrenaline was still coursing through your veins as you entered the dimly lit motel room.

“Shit. There’s only one bed.” you say as you look around the dinky motel and the realization hits you. You and Geto stood side by side, glancing at the lone bed that was before you. Neither of you spoke.

"Hmmm. Seems like fate has played an interesting hand," Geto finally broke the silence, his tone carrying a hint of amusement. "I don't know about you, but I could use a good night's sleep."

You turned to face him, leaning your back against the wall. "Are you suggesting we share it?"

Geto flashed you a mischievous smile,. "Well, considering the circumstances, it wouldn't be the worst idea, would it?" He sounded too smooth, and too confident, you thought.

"You must really think highly of yourself, Geto. I mean, what makes you so sure I'd want to share a bed with you?"

His eyes sparkled with something that you couldn’t quite put your finger on, and he took a step closer to you, closing the distance and practically caging you in. "Oh, I've seen the way you look at me when you think I don't notice," his voice low and seductive. "The way your eyes linger a little bit too long, the subtle hints of attraction you try to hide. Trust me, it's hard to miss."

Your heart started to pound slightly, his words catching you off guard. "Well, you certainly have an ego don’t you Geto?” You tried to challenge him.

Geto flashed you his signature playful smile. "Oh, really? So I’m just imagining all those lingering looks? Or the times you find excuses to be near me?” he raised an eyebrow, taking another step forward.

You crossed your arms, feigning irritation. "I never said anything about excuses. “M-maybe I just.” you stutter “maybe I just have a reason to be around you. Doesn’t mean anything.”

He tilted his head slightly, his gaze intense. "Doesn't it though? You like me, admit it.” he puts one hand on the wall next to you and you look at it before looking back at him.

As you stood there, contemplating his words, the air crackled with tension. You locked eyes with him, unable to resist any longer.

"Fine, Geto," you whispered, "Maybe I do like you. Maybe I always have. What’s it matter to you?”

A smile tugged at the corners of his lips as his free hand instinctively reached out, gently tracing the outline of your face. He presses his body against you, brushing his lips against yours. “It matters because I was really hoping you'd say that.”

His actions coupled with his words has the spot between your legs pulsating, needy. The thought of him taking you, doing whatever he pleases had plagued your mind for months, but you couldn’t admit that. You couldn’t feed into his ego even more.

But when he crashed his lips on yours, that thought went out the window, replaced by a need for him. You wrap your arms around his neck as he grinds himself against you, you can feel his hard on through his pants as he rubs it against your clothed pussy, eliciting a moan from you.

Geto bites your lip playfully, pulling away and looking deeply into your eyes. “Tell me how much you want this. Say it out loud.”

“I-I want this Geto.” You avert his gaze looking down to the floor.

He caresses your face again, lightly, before taking your jaw between his thumb and forefinger, lifting your chin to meet his gaze. “Look at me when you talk to me.” he says and the fire behind his eyes awakens a deep seated need inside you, and you feel arousal pool in your panties. “Tell me how much you want this?” he repeats.

You look him in the eyes, “I want you Geto.”

“And what do you want me to do to you huh?” he asks, running his hands up the skirt of your uniform and tracing his fingers along your clothed pussy.

A soft moan escapes your lips as you answer him with a whisper. “I want you to touch me Geto. I want you to fuck me.”

“That's not very convincing now is it?” he smirks at you, leaning in and giving you another short kiss.Looking at you again he slides two fingers inside your panties and rubs your clit. “Do you want me to make you cum?”

You whimper as you nod your head, unable to formulate words around the neediness you feel for him. He pins you against the wall as he rubs your clit, sliding his fingers into your warm pussy. He pumps them in and out of you and you feel yourself clench around them. They’re so long, they reach your sweet spot over and over again, as he trails his thumb along your puffy clit.

He’s pumping in and out of your wet and needy pussy, your lip is tucked between your teeth as he fucks you nice and slow with his fingers. His teeth graze against the skin of your neck and your hips roll into his hand at a similar motion.

“Look at you already shaking just from my touch.” he whispers in your ear. Your pussy tightens on his fingers as you kiss his lips with intensity.

Suddenly, just as you were about to let go, he pulls his finger out and lifts you up, holding you by your thighs as he carrys you to the bed, laying you down beneath him. “Undress for me. Can you do that?” He asks as he pulls his shirt off. You admire his body, eyes tracing from his face down along his abs before you nod once and do as he asks, stripping yourself down to just your bra and panties.

“So pretty…fuck. You’re beautiful” his lips are tasting every inch of your body as he slips your bra and panties off in a swift motion. He gets up and hovers above you, gripping your thighs and pushing them apart. “Fuck…such a pretty pussy. Dripping wet already…guess you really do want me huh pretty girl?”

Your hands are on his belt buckle, pulling it off before hastily undoing his pants. His hand grips your wrist “That impatient to feel my cock are you?”

“Geto…please I need you to fuck me.” you look up at him with pleading eyes and he lets your wrist go. He watches, amused, as you pull his pants off, then his boxers and watch as his cock springs up. It’s bigger than you anticipated, and thick.

He leans down again, kissing you on the lips this time. Hungrily, your tongues dance together as your mouths move in sync. “Ready?” he whispers in your ear before he lines the tip up with your entrance and slowly slides his dick inside. He lets out a deep low grunt as he feels your walls take him in.

“You’re so fucking tight. Fuck, think you can handle me?” He says letting out another grunt.

“Mhm. S-so big Geto, but I can take it.” you let out a whimper as he slowly slides himself inside you, inch by inch.

“Ahhhh -ahh fuck.” he grunts as he feels your walls tighten around him.

You look up at him through thick lashes, his bangs are flat on his face with sweat and his eyes are focused on you. You wrap your legs around his torso and pull him closer until he bottoms out.

He just sits there for a moment, not moving, just looking at you. He’s enjoying the way you’re wrapped around him, the way your pussy is taking him in. God, he thinks he’s drunk off the way it tightens around his cock, off the way tiny little tears form at the corners of your eyes by the way he fills you up.

“Geto, please move.” You say, pulling him even closer with your legs.

His thumb reaches down to wipe a tear from your eye, “Sorry pretty girl. You feel so good just enjoying it.” he flashes you the most confident smile you think you’ve ever seen grace someone’s face. And then he thrusts his hips, once inside you than twice, taking his time to feel you around him. God, do you feel good. He could cum right now, the way your pussy feels around him has his head spinning.

Three, he thrusts again and then he picks up his pace. Filling you up completely every time his hips hit yours. He feels good the way he fills you up. He’s too big, it almost hurts a little, but in a good way. Your breathing is too heavy, moans too loud. It might be a shitty motel but god everyone must be able to hear you right? The way his dick hits all the way into your cervix, the way his thumb circles your clit with each thrust. The way his lips take in your breasts, his tongue circling the nipple. It’s almost too much, too much pleasure.

“f-fuck suguru…sug-mmphh”

“Yeah you like that? Good girl.” He whispers in between moans. His pace quickens as his lips travel from your breasts back to your mouth and he kisses you passionately. His hands fall to your waist as he fucks you hard and fast, pulling you into him. Your fingernails grip his biceps, digging into his flesh.

Sugurus movements become more urgent and desperate and you throw your head back in pleasure as you feel yourself coming undone. He takes his fingers to your clit again as he guides you through your orgasm. Your legs start to shake and you lift your hips up, thrusting into his. “That’s right…good girl. cum for me.”

At his words you feel your orgasm take you over, the best orgasm you’ve ever had as you squirt all over his cock and thighs.

“Fuck, that was hot.” He slows down but doesn’t stop entirely as he feels himself on the verge. “Gunna cum pretty girl where do you want it?”

“Anywhere.” you say and you see his eyes light up and with one last thrust deep into your cervix and one last groan he shoots his cum deep inside you.

He pulls out, leaning down and kissing the side of your mouth. “fuck.” he says, wiping the hair from your face and kissing you again. “fuck…” he repeats with a laugh. “can’t argue about sharing this bed with me now can you?”

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

To burn, to rise

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles, October warm-up round.

Prompt: Halloween

Rated: E

CW (oh boy, here goes): Explicit sexual content; Boot humping, Face fucking; Anal sex; Rough sex; Possessive sex; Mind control; Dubious consent; Humiliation; Degradation; Objectification; Master kink; Mild blood and gore; Biting; Blood Drinking; Temporary MCD; Dark Eddie Munson

Tags: Vampire!Eddie; Dom Eddie; Sub Steve

Notes: Happy Halloween, have some depravity! (Sort of a sequel to this one.)

Steve has been married to Nancy for a little more than three years. It wasn’t until recently, when the fights became more and more frequent, the silences gradually heavier, that he realized he's been living a performance all this time. Tried to be strong, tried to be supportive, tried to ignore his own needs while she pursued her dreams. 

It's weird, he thinks, how quickly that performance shatters. Because the second Eddie kicks the front door shut behind them, it is like every ounce of strength leaves him. The second Eddie presses him up against the wall, framed wedding photos shattering on the floor, he is the one clinging on for support. The second Eddie crashes their lips together and shoves a hot, wet tongue inside his mouth, his nerve ends ignite in an inferno of raw need and desire. 

Eddie pulls away and Steve hardly recognizes the voice that lets out a strangled whimper at the loss of contact, but it must be his own. He feels floaty and numb, detached from his own body. Maybe it's the bottle of whisky he downed before Eddie showed up. Maybe it's the way he's burning up under the gaze of those unnaturally red eyes. Maybe asking a stranger into his home on Halloween night wasn't the smartest idea he's ever had. 

"Where's your bedroom, sweet thing?" 

Maybe none of it matters. 

*

Nothing that happens after feels like a performance. 

It feels right, wrapping his legs around Eddie’s waist and letting himself be carried up the stairs to the bedroom. 

It feels right when Eddie puts him down and devours him with that hungry red gaze as he lowers himself in the room's sole armchair, haughty like a king.

It feels perfectly natural when Eddie tells him to strip in that deep, rumbly voice that fills his blood with buzzing heat. 

It feels good, heeding every single one of Eddie’s commands, so he does. 

Sinks to his knees by Eddie’s feet, straddling one of his boots. Lets his lids flutter closed as ring-clad fingers run from his naked chest to his throat, his jaw. Opens his mouth when Eddie tells him to, presents his tongue. Allows Eddie to press his fingers into the soft flesh of it until drool starts to gather all around them, dribbling down his chin. 

"Look at you," Eddie coos, fangs showing in a fond little smile. "So good for me, so obedient,  just like I knew you'd be. Knew I needed to have you the moment I first saw you, my pretty boy." 

If the words make a vague sense of alarm stir somewhere in the back of his hazy mind, it is quickly smothered by the weight of the praise settling over him, by the vortex of these red eyes sucking him in. There's no need to be alarmed. He is Eddie’s pretty boy, after all, was made to serve and pleasure him. 

"Yes, you were, pet." Eddie's eyes crinkle around the corners and Steve doesn’t remember putting words to the thoughts, but it doesn’t matter either. Not when Eddie is reaching down to open his pants, not when he pulls out his flushed and leaking cock. "Go ahead then, do what you were made for." 

*

Everything fades into a faint blur of heat and arousal after that. He'd never have thought that it would feel this good, having his face fucked until he's choking on drool and precum and the solid, warm weight of Eddie’s cock. Never would have believed it would feel this right, being reduced to a sobbing, whimpering mess as he humps Eddie’s boot. 

By the time that Eddie hoists him up into his lap, dripping filthy praise into his veins like sweet poison, he is a babbling, incoherent thing, begging and pleading to be fucked. He doesn’t remember how he got here, doesn’t even remember his own name, just knows that he needs his master's cock inside of him now or that gaping emptiness will consume him whole. 

Master understands - because he always does, because he's just so, so good to him - and doesn't waste any time. Just grabs him by the hips hard enough to bruise and yanks him down on his cock with a force that makes him scream and his limbs tingle with electricity. Lifts him and slams him back down again, like a doll, like a toy, like-

"-the sweet little plaything you are. Mine to keep, mine to use, mine forever." 

It isn't long before Master comes inside of him, fangs piercing the skin just over his collarbone as he does, filling him up and drinking him dry, all at the same time. 

When it's done, Master brings his own wrist to his red, pretty mouth, opens a vein with quick efficiency and nudges it at his face. 

"Drink, sweet thing." 

He does. He'll do anything Master asks of him. 

When his blood starts to boil and his skin turns cold, he is afraid at first, but Master makes a soft shushing sound and pulls him against his chest. 

"It's okay, pet, it won't last long. You just rest, I've got you." 

And maybe he should be terrified, maybe he shouldn't close his eyes. Because what's starting to drag him under does not feel like sleep at all, and he isn’t sure what the thing that'll rise from it will be. 

But Master is soft, and his hand in his hair is warm, and it doesn’t really matter all that much. 

So he goes. 

And he rests. 

And he rises. 

[waywardangel-wilds]

I wrote this last night when I couldn’t sleep, will I finish it and post it on ao3? Let’s hope.

I sit with my back pressed tight against the wall. I try to hold myself together by the seams, my nails dig desperately into my skin. I thought I had become something of an expert on fear, or at the very least I thought I was familiar with it. But nothing could have prepared me for this universe shifting moment. This lack of control. I squeeze my eyes shut and dare not breathe more than I must. My heart knocks insistently into my chest. Bum, bum it says. Bum, bum, bum, bum, a reminder of this unending life.

“Katniss!” I hear Haymitch before I see him. The storage rooms door flies open, “Katniss, they’re back. Katniss!”

I blink and stare at him uncomprehendingly. He’s still shouting, his hands reaching out to grab me, but the shock is intense. I stare at my mentors’ familiar face, my eyes round and helpless, a child once more.

The child I am.

“He’s alive, Katniss, he’s alive.” Haymitch says in a slower more purposeful tone. He crouches as best as his useless knees will allow him, his hands reaching out to grasp me by the forearms. “Katniss, we did it. We got them back.”

And when I take my next breath, it feels like a car crash. The sounds of the world catch up to me and somehow, the meaning of Haymitch’s words finally enter my mind. Alive. Here.

I keep staring at Haymitch helplessly, but I scramble to my feet. I’m hyperventilating. Haymitch shakes me, but my breathing doesn’t slow. There’s no time. I push past him and nearly fall on my face, rushing down the hall.

I don’t need to ask; I know where to go. He’ll be at the hospital. He’ll be past this hall, around that corner. My body, my heart, something in me knows. It tells me where to go. Keep going, keep going. If I don’t get there quick enough, who knows. I have to get there.

“Annie!” I skid to a stop, taken aback by the absolute emotion in Finnicks’ voice. There’s so much joy, so much love.

“Finnick!” a woman replies, running to him and jumping into his arms. My skin itches, my heart burns. I’m so envious, I have to look away. I used to be held like that, I used to have that much love.

But then my heart stutters. Alive. Here. If I keep running, will the arms that I’m looking for hold me? Will I hear his voice? Will I feel his lips?

“Come on!” Haymitch takes me by the arm and yanks me in the other direction. We’re both running now, I’m surprised Haymitch can keep up. He pulls me towards a hospital room, a very busy one. There are doctors everywhere, nurses too. I shove my way past them because I know, oh god, I know it. He’s here, in this room.

“Peeta,” I gasp, and the longing is so intense. He’s awake and sitting up on his hospital bed. Regrettably, I wasn’t the first face he saw. But it doesn’t matter, nothing matters, not at all. Peeta’s eyes meet with mine and suddenly nothing else exists on this entire planet. Nothing else in this world.

“Peeta,” I repeat with a sob, my vision blurring. I rush towards him, and he sweeps his doctors aside. He’s so thin, and his face is so sharp. But he’s still my boy, the boy with the bread.

He grasps me, crushing me into his chest and whatever was left of my composure evaporates. Nothing holds the walls of emotions, of suppression after suppression, back any longer. My knees soften, and my hands claw at his back, greedily feeling him, ensuring his solidity.

Peeta’s hands are still big and heavy. They feel amazing on my back and my shoulders. I can feel him gasping against my neck, and the tickling of his breath feels like home.

“Is this real?” he whispers with his mouth pressed against my ear. “Are you here?”

“Yes,” I reassure him. “I’m here.”

“I missed you,” there’s a weight to his words, a reverence.

“Me too, a lot.” I choke and smile around my tears. There won’t ever be enough words to tell him. “So much.”

“They said you were dead, but I knew.” He confesses. “I knew.”

I nod. Yes. There’s a desperation in me borne from his complete understanding. “I knew too. I always knew.”

Peeta pulls away from me then, and I can see his face has broken into an emotional smile. He cups my jaw, and when his lips graze mine, everything is okay again. I can breathe, I’m alive.

I stretch up onto my toes, chasing after him. My arms encircle him. I never want to let go. His tears mix with mine on my cheeks, and we kiss. We kiss and we kiss, and we kiss. My tongue sweeps across his bottom lip and the metallic taste of blood fills my mouth, but we don’t stop. His fingers slip into my hair, and his touch lights me up.

His fingers tug too harshly against my hair and I reflexively pull back. He’s shut his eyes tight, his body suddenly tensed. My hands fly up to his shoulders, fluttering in search for injury.

“Peeta, are you okay?”

He doesn’t answer. To my alarm, he starts hitting the sides of his head with his firsts. “Peeta,” I repeat, pulling at his wrists, but he’s stronger than me. “Stop!”

“Katniss,” Haymitch says, taking me by the shoulder but I can shake him off easily, his heart isn’t really in it. “What do they pay ya’ll for? To stare? Help the kid!”

A nurse reaches out to Peeta, but he cowers away, like a frightened child. He folds in on himself on the ground, hiding his face behind his knees, and tugs on his own hair. I drop to my knees and crawl towards him, slapping away the nurses’ hands when she tries to reach out to him again.

“Peeta?” I ask, placing my hands on his knees. “It’s me, Katniss. Where are you? Did you go away?”

“Don’t,” He flinches away from my touch, leaving my hands hovering midair.

I look helplessly over my shoulder to Haymitch, but he looks just as lost as I am. I look back at Peeta, “I—”

A Doctor kneels beside me. She puts her hand on my shoulder, and I fall silent. “Peeta, I’m Dr. Amaltha, I work here at the hospital in District Thirteen. Your friends and I have been waiting a long time to see you. You’re safe. Would it be okay if I touched your knee?”

Peeta stills, a single blue eye peaking through his shaggy hair, “No touching.”

“That’s okay, we’re just a little worried about you, is all.” The Doctor offers him a smile. “Are you in any pain?”

“I’m fine,” he says curtly but reconsiders. “I can manage.”

“I know you can, but if you’re in any pain I can patch you up and you’ll be all better.” She inches ever so slowly closer to him. “Wouldn’t it be nice to go home with Katniss?”

“Home?” he asks.

“That’s right,” she reassures. “Once we check you for injuries, you can go with your friends.”

“No more hospital?”

“None.”

He slowly raises his head. He eyes the doctor uneasily for a moment before moving his gaze towards me. I try to rearrange my features into something less worried but I’m sure I fail. His eyes return to the doctor, “alright.”

She crawls closer to him still and Peeta bumps his head against the wall trying to get away from her. She smiles and he grimaces in return, but he allows her to check his pulse anyway.

“That’s a little fast.” The doctor comments, “Take a few deep breaths for me?”

Peeta complies. After some more goading from Dr. Amaltha he stands and allows her to check him for broken bones. He lets them take his blood pressure, and his shine lights in his eyes with no issues. He puts up a bit of a fuss over the blood work, so they let it go for now, asking instead if he’d let them take an x-ray just to be sure about his bones.

“No machines,” Peeta says insistently.

[veronicaphoenix]

To drown your sadness in a sea song.

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x mermaid!reader Parts: one - two - three - four - five - epilogue Trigger warnings: sexual innuendos, brief mention of sexual intercourse, mentions of blood.

PART FOUR — THE SONG | Words: 2.2k

She doesn’t like clothes. It’s a fact that makes him laugh when he first finds out, seeing her stepping out of his room in his old, shrunken shirt and sweatpants. She looks funny but she also looks clearly uncomfortable. 

“They’re itchy,” she says. “I don’t like it. Can I just wear your white t-shirt?” The one she’s been wearing since he bathed her, the one which is thin and light and oversized. 

“Sure,” he agrees, his eyes still soaking in the sight of her human form. 

“I’m just… not used to wearing clothes,” she adds, her voice low, as if she feels guilty for it. 

“Don’t mind me,” he can’t help replying, his lips curling into a playful grin, “I wouldn’t complain if you chose not to wear any.” 

“You’re cheeky,” she retorts, her smile betraying her feigned annoyance.  

“Just a little” he chuckles. 

With a playful sway of her hips, she tugs down the sweatpants and throws them at him. The last thing she hears it’s his laughter as she closes the door behind her to change.

She didn’t tell him but another reason why she likes that old white t-shirt is because it carries his scent. All his other clothes do, too, but there’s a particular tinge on that one that she really likes, that brings her comfort and a sense of closeness.  

 

Later that evening, while Noah sits cross-legged on the living room carpet with his MacBook open on the coffee table, she embarks on a tiny new adventure. Her mermaid curiosity leads her back to his room, where she’s drawn to the artifacts of his human life. 

In a corner, a guitar stands proudly on its stand. Framed vinyl records are framed and hung on the walls. Leafy vines cascade from the ceiling, lending a touch of nature to the otherwise man-made space. And then, there are books, lined neatly on a shelf. The Lord of the Rings collection catches her eye, and she can’t help but run her fingertips along the weathered spines. 

She decides she will ask him to read to her. She craves the sound of his voice, and she can only imagine how wonderful it would be to hear him weaving tales to her into the night. 

There’s also other books and she wonders if he’s ever read anything about mermaids. It doesn’t matter, really. She’s willing to teach him everything there is to know. 

If only there was enough time… 

Her curiosity doesn’t end there. 

She pulls opens the first drawer of a large white dresser by the bed. It’s a jumble of underwear and socks. She entertains herself trying to find a pair of matching socks, but she finds none. 

In the second drawer, she finds a collection of sweatpants.

“Itchy,” she mutters, quickly closing it in disdain.  

The third and fourth contain an array of clothing—tank tops, pajamas, swimwear— all foreign concepts to her aquatic sensibilities. 

The last one is a chaotic mess, and it feels like opening a treasure that’s been lost at sea centuries ago. Her eyes sparkle as she delves into its colorful contents, feeling a rush of excitement.  

Of course, she has Noah’s permission. She might be a wild creature from the sea, but she’s got manners. She waited for Noah to notice how curious she was about things he had in the house until he told her to explore wherever she wants, for as long as she needs.

She moves aside a clutter of items: empty plastic traveling bottles, an ibuprofen blister, travel plug adaptors, two square silver packages, old cable headphones, and a striped fox seashell the size of her hand. 

Her heart quickens its pace, a rhythm echoing the restless tides of her soul now that she’s away from home. 

She cradles the shell in her hand, feeling its weight, tracing the ridges and valleys with her fingertips. It carries a whisper of the distant shore and the echo of crashing waves. Its surface is weathered by time and tides, but it holds a kaleidoscope of reminiscences anyway.  

It’s barely been twenty-four hours, but she does miss the gentle sway of seaweed forests, the iridescence of coral reefs and the playful dance of sunlight filtering through azure waters. 

She wishes she could show Noah her world. 

So, rising from her kneeling position, she closes the drawer and descends to the ground floor, her steps more confident now as she makes her way to the living room. 

“Found something interesting?” Noah asks, catching sight of her approaching barefoot. 

“The last drawer in that white furniture in the room resembles the depths of the ocean,” she enthuses. He furrows his brow in momentary confusion. Then he remembers all the crap and other things he’s stashed away in that particular drawer. He’s about to feel alarmed when he notices the shell on her hand and he senses the energy radiating from her. 

“Where did you find that?”

“In that same drawer. It doesn’t belong to my region, though,” she informs him, still eyeing the sea treasure in her hand.

“I think a friend gifted it to me from a trip abroad. I’m not sure,” Noah replies, his interest somewhat subdued. He really can’t remember, to be honest. 

Undeterred, she settles beside him, facing him directly. Noah’s attention is drawn to the scales on her knee. He wonders if they cause her any discomfort, given their dry appearance. They look as dry as scabs and he’s about to ask her if they should be worried.  

“Listen,” she says, interrupting his thoughts. 

She places the opening of the shell against his ear. 

He expects the familiar echoes of the sea, but what he receives is beyond it. 

A symphony of sounds unfolds within his mind. Not the typical oceanic murmurs, but a harmonious blend of melody and whispered words.  

It’s a harmony. Each note feels like a brushstroke painting the canvas of his imagination, conjuring up a composition on the lines of the music sheet in his mind. There are whispered words. His soul is stirring. He wants to chase the echoes. 

In that moment, he understands where he failed. As he fell into the grasp of his misery, he failed to see the vastness of the world, how boundless it is. Within its depths lie what he’d been looking for, and he hadn’t been able to see it.

As he listens and tries to retain the melodies, a new element is added to the composition—a voice, ethereal and captivating. 

It’s her voice. 

She’s singing and he cannot hear anything else around him. 

“Don’t stop,” he encourages her while enthralled. 

A few moments after, he reaches for his phone, desperate to capture the magic of her voice. 

Her voice fills the room, a haunting melody that echoes through the corners of the house. He will not dream of anything else ever again. His heart is swelling with a newfound sense of purpose, a clarity that he has long been searching for. 

Even as he sets the shell aside, he can still hear the ocean continue to sing within him, mingling with her voice. It’s a promise. 

The smile she wears as she finished singing is like the last ray of sunshine before the sun sets behind the mountains.  

He’s not the only one elated. She can’t recall the last time she’s heard her own voice, let alone performing with such grace. 

 It takes him a moment to fully grasp the significance of the moment. This is what he’s been waiting for for months. With just a worn seashell by his laptop and a minute-long recording of her voice, he knows that a world of possibilities is right there waiting for his added touch of magic. 

It is music already, but he will make it his. 

When he looks back at her, it strikes him again how any of this is possible. 

“Come here,” he says, his voice restrained with emotion. 

She blinks, her smile falling a little. 

She’s right next to his body but closer isn’t enough for him. He wants her nearer still.  

As soon as she makes attempt to move, his hands are on her waist and he’s lifting her up and settling her onto his lap. She steadies herself against his shoulders, and she can feel the muscles beneath her touch. She holds her breath for a couple of seconds. His brown, beautiful eyes roam her face as if he’s not sure she’s really there. If she’s truly real. 

But she is, and he affirms that reality with the press of his mouth against hers.  

The kiss begins with a slow, tender rhythm, just like their first on the shoreline. But it transforms into something wilder, more urgent when he feels her confidence in her grip, in the way she grabs at his shoulders. The kiss deepens as her head tilts to give him better access. It’s as if she knows exactly what he wants. Her hands move to his neck and soon she’s pulling at his hair, eliciting a low growl from deep within him. 

She wants to hear him growl again. It reminds her of the ocean. 

The ocean, who isn’t gentle; who’s rough and demanding. She wants to feel Noah  just like that.

She pulls at his hair again, aware of what it does to him. She feels proud of herself for learning so quickly.

But amidst the fervor, she forgets one crucial detail: 

She can go a lifetime without air.

Noah can’t. 

And despite how he wouldn’t mind dying in her embrace, in her kiss, she doesn’t want that to happen. 

She pulls away, putting her hands on his chest to push him away as she senses how much he wants to continue. 

“You need to breathe,” she reminds him in a soft whisper. Her cheeks are as flushed as his. 

His grip on her hips starts to loosen. His expression is dazed. She watches as his Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows. 

“I can breathe you,” he replies. His words are laced with enchantment.

He’s definitely bewitched, she thinks as he attempts to draw her back into his embrace.  

She lets out a tiny laugh and attempts to stand up, only to feel her legs tremble beneath her. With a near stumble, she catches herself just in time, steadying herself with a hand on the table. 

“Fuck,” she mutters under her breath. 

The curse breaks Noah out of his trance.  

“Did you just swear?” He asks. 

She meets his gaze with wide eyes, wishing she could take back the slip of her tongue. 

“Yes…?” Her response is self-conscious. She feels somewhat mortified that Noah had to hear such language from her. 

“I didn’t think a creature like you could swear,” he says, a hint of amusement coloring his words.  

Why does he find it funny? She wonders.

She shakes her head in mild embarrassment and straightens up, smoothing down the t-shirt that falls to mid-thigh.  

“I can do more than what you think,” she tells him without paying too much attention to her own words. She’s not trying to be provoking. It’s just a genuine, innocent statement. 

But she quickly notices the effect her words have on him.

“I’m trying to be a gentleman here, you know?” he says, his eyes narrowed and darkening for a second.

She knows exactly what he means, and she blushes. 

The rest of the day is spent in the warmth of the living room floor, with Noah sipping on his coffee while she sticks to juice, finding coffee too bitter for her taste even though it smells comforting, she says. 

Also, juice doesn’t make her puke, which is a relief. 

She still refuses to wear something else beside his t-shirt and underwear, which prompts him to cover her with a blanket when the night starts to envelop them.  

The melodies come easier than they ever have, and every time he manages to get another piece of work done, even if it’s just four seconds, he rewards her with a kiss and a touch of her fingers on her face. She loves the way he tucks her hair behind her ear, how sweet and tender he is. It’s something she’s been wanting to do to him since long, even before they kissed for the first time, but she restrains herself for a little while longer. She will do it very soon, when she’s trapped underneath his naked body on his bed and he’s moving against her, building inside of her the same sensation of a tidal wave that will threaten to devour her.  

Noah is engaged in a phone call downstairs when she locks herself in the bathroom. 

She’s been feeling an unfamiliar discomfort in different areas of her body, and it’s only been intensifying in the past few hours. 

It doesn’t take her long to pinpoint the source: the remnants of scales clinging to her skin. 

Delicately, she traces the ones just beneath her ear. They’re parched, dry. It’s an anomaly, for they’re usually wet and shiny. 

She moves her shoulders, trying to locate more of the pain. Hesitant, she gingerly lowers down the fabric of Noah’s t-shirt, revealing another patch of scales covering a tiny bit of her right shoulder. She reaches out and brushes the area, which is surrounded by a crimson halo. When she touches them, she encounters a dampness which is meant to reassure her. Instead, when she brings the fingers in front of her eyes, instead of ocean water she finds her fingertips tainted with blood.            

This is not her world, not her body… and she knows she’s running out of time. 

'PART FIVE — THE NECKLACE' COMING UP TOMORROW

[shoot-the-oneshot]

Heart Shaped Glitter

Anon 72  “I didn’t do it.” “Then why are you laughing?” “Cause, whoever did it is a freaking genius.”

Max Verstappen x Ferrari driver Reader

The one where pranking your teammate made two rivals fall in love

You thought getting your first contract into F1 would be the greatest dream but then getting signed to Ferrari with one of your oldest friend Charles was a close second and while you two have got to F1 together and are older now it doesn’t mean you’ve grown up. Proven by your next actions.

You were leaned against the wall of the men’s locker room at the gym you and Charles frequented, tapping your foot and waiting for the inevitable.

“Y/n?” You looked up to see the other Monaco resident driver, “Hey Max.” You nodded then went back to waiting, you and the Red Bull driver had never really spoken no matter how many times he has tried but you were always with Charles or Pierre, who were fiercely protective of you and never let him get close. Taking a look around the hallway not seeing either of your shadows.

“You know the women's showers are down there right?” He pointed leaning against the wall with his shoulder, still confused as to what you were doing, he also noticed you weren’t wearing gym clothes. “I’m pulling a prank on Charles he’s in there.” Nodding your head to the wall behind you which you strategically placed yourself right on the other side of the showers.

Now Max understood, your prank war was known to everyone around the paddock and was even a little series on Ferrari social media for how much the fans loved the relationship you two had. He’s seen the videos but has never seen it in person.

“What did you do?” He whispered leaning in his excitement showing. You held in a smirk, “I paid the manager to let me cover the shower in oil.” His eyebrows rose. And he let out a loud laugh that you shushed so Charles wouldn’t hear.  

“This is going to be good.” He laughed quite now, both of your eyes widened as you heard the shower start running, pressing your ears to the wall. If anyone got a picture of two of the top F1 drivers pressed against the wall with goofy smiles on your faces it would be all over formula one articles. You both heard a loud thump and a very girly shriek that you’re causing yourself for not finding some way to record it. Multiple French explicits followed more crashed as he tried to gain footing and failed, sliding around.

“Y/N!” Charles yelled knowing you were behind it. You immediately took off running leaving Max frozen behind you, “Come on Verstappen!” You yelled over your shoulder making him jump into action his longer legs making up the short distance you gained. Just as you were about to turn the corner you caught sight of a very frazzled Charles clutching a towel as he tried to chase you but kept sliding from leftover oil.

“I’m going to get you back for this!”

Yours and Maxs’ laughter echoed through the gym as you ran through dodging people working out, gaining you both weird looks but neither of you cared.

Max grabbed your hand pulling you along faster out the doors, luckily the doormen saw you both making a dash and held them open. You let go of his hand to run to the drivers side of your Ferrari Max quickly followed sliding into the passenger side.

Barely getting the door closed before you pealed out. Max was still chuckling a few blocks away, he was side-eyeing you noticing how good you actually looked driving, sure he saw it every weekend but this was different less serious the carefree smile with your light laughs escaping through your lips, you sobered up feeling a little self-conscious under the Dutch drivers gaze.

“You know these things are pretty nice.” Max snapped out of it playing it off looking around the rest of the interior, mentally curing himself at the stupid attempt to change the subject. Laughing you nodded along tilting your head. “Careful don’t let the media hear you say that, they’ll think you’re joining the dark side.” Giving him a teasing look.

“You know I’d have to see the back of one before making a decision.” He teased right back enjoying the vibe you both had, it felt easy but exciting at the same time. You barked out a very unladylike laugh that your media handler would hate at his words.

“You know I’m currently beating you in the standings right?” “We’ll see how that changes by the end of the year.” And little did he know he was right, things would be very different by the end of the year

That prank changed things between you and Max, suddenly you were stuck to each other on and off the track. Hands brushing as you passed each other during press day. There are tons of videos of both of you in interviews suddenly smiling out of nowhere, only a trained eye would see the other driver passing behind subtle touches left behind. sneaking off to the others drivers room before a race became a tradition, or you being seen drinking the occasional Redbull, plus the fans loved the pictures of the Ferrari and Redbull superstars running hand in hand out of the gym an angry half-naked Charles in the back, Max even had the picture as his phone background. You both kept your affections a secret for as long as you could but it came out when you both showed up with bright pink hair as Charles somehow dyed your shower water unintentionally outing you.

Pierre and Charles were in latters garage as the Ferrari driver filmed a TikTok for social media day he was supposed to be showing the fans all the parts of their racing gear. well, Charles was, you were once again huddled around the corner with Max, Watching the two men. Just as the Monegasques grabbed his helmet your giggles started, making Max cover your mouth with his hand shushing you gently, pulling your back tighter against his chest.

“What the!” Your teammate screamed quickly pulling his helmet off making the glitter you filled it with cover him entirely, and Pierre who was bent over laughing almost falling off his chair.

“I didn’t do it!” He choked out seeing the mans glare settle on him, knowing sometimes Pierre joined in the prank war. “Then why are you laughing?” Charles growled shaking the glitter out of his hair, well trying to.

“Cause, whoever did is a freaking genius!” The French mans words broke the camels back as you and Max started laughing making the glitter bomb move his glare to the two of you. This time it was Max pulling you along as Charles advanced. “Come on Y/L/N!” Throwing you over his shoulder as he ran. Your laughter making Max have a wider smile than the Paddock has ever seen as you ran from your teammate and oldest friend covered head to toe in silver glitter.

He set you down once you reached the safety of Redbull, your chest raising rapidly that carefree smile he loves so much on your face as he looked down at you caressing your cheek. “He’s going to kill you one of these days.” You leaned up pressing soft kisses to his jawline. “You’ll save me before he does.”

“Y/n come on!” Your trainer yelled, making you groan. You hated running around the track it felt no matter what part of the world you were in the sun beamed off the concrete making it unbearably hot. Trudging through the garage you quickly texted Max hoping he’d give you an excuse to skip but not getting a text back, with a sigh you met your trainer and started walking to the track not noting all the extra people around with cameras.

“I forgot my phone you go ahead I’ll catch up.” They ran back to the paddock before you could say anything, with a shrug you walked through the gate onto the track, not paying attention until you came across two cars parked on the track. It was two matte black cars one was a honda NSX with Your country flag as the stipe down the middle exactly like your 458, and the other was a Ferrari with the Dutch flag. In your confusion, you spun around looking for an explanation gasping as you saw Max behind you, on one knee.  

“I’m ready to join the dark side, but only with you as my wife, Will you marry me?” Holding up the most perfect ring, in his shaky hands showed how nervous he was. Nodding your head tears filling both of your eyes Max’s eyes widened, “Yes?” He asked to be sure at your wordless answer. “Yes Yes Yes!” You shouted. Max stood up wrapping you in his arms spinning you around, pressing kisses all over your face until you pulled his lips to meet yours. Breaking apart he slid the ring on your shaking hand. “I love you future Mrs. Verstappen,” he spoke against your hand he pulled to his lips kissing the ring. “I love you too Mr. Verstappen.” Pressing your foreheads together basking in the moment.

Walking hand and hand back through the paddock getting cheers from the crews you laughed seeing yours and Maxs garage covered in balloons ‘Congratulations to the future Mr and Mrs!’ Scrolled across the huge banner. Christian Horner giving you both hugs, “Never thought I’d be happy to welcome a Ferrari driver into the family.” He joked making Max pull you closer. “Neither did i.” Your fiancé teased making you lightly hit him in the arm.

You pushed yourself out of his grip seeing Charles walking over with a box in his hands opening his arms for a hug, “Ugh can’t believe my best friend is going to be a Verstappen,” he shuddered in horror making you laugh. “Here.” Taking the box he held out you pulled the ribbon off a glitter bomb going off on you and Max.

Charles took off running yelling between his laughter, “It’s heart shaped!”

You looked up to your future husband whose eyes were closed, brushing off said pink hearts out of his hair making him look at you. “Sure you want to marry into this?” Max smiled pressing a kiss to your head and nodding. “For life baby.”

hope you liked it e me know what yall thought 

formula on masterlist

[beewolfwrites]

you’re one of my favorite authors so i’m so glad you’re active again! <33 I’ve started rereading awiaf just to remind myself why it’s my favorite fic ever so thank you for feeding into my brain rot since you started awiaf until now.

on the other side of this ask

I have worms for brains and I desperately need chishiya trying to drop hints that he likes the reader but just… is so terrible at it and gets frustrated because if it. He probably doesn’t even know the first thing about flirting, let’s all be honest.

Hey Anon! This probably strayed a little from your request, but if you'd rather have a fluffier version, I'm happy to redo it :)

The idea of Kuina being a horrified wingwoman to Chishiya's terrible flirting attempts was just too funny not to write about.

(Chishiya x gn reader)

(Kuina = losing hope in all humanity)

________________________________________________

It was killing her to watch. 

She’d given him more expert advice than she’d ever given anyone - heaven only knew that boy needed it - but he was still so stiff, so standoffish, and so goddamn terrible. And now, hiding behind a pillar in the hotel lobby, Kuina felt like crawling into a corner and burying her head in the sand. 

‘Thanks… That’s really nice of you Chishiya.’  

The words had come out in the same awkward tone that one might use when humouring children, or fending off an over-familiar stranger on the bus. And what’s worse, Chishiya hadn’t even realised. 

‘You just pull the pin and it should work,’ he explained, showing off the “pin”, which was actually a keyring attached to a piece of string. 

‘Great,’ (Y/N) said, eyebrows drawing in bizarre confusion. ‘I guess it’s useful to have… maybe.’ 

Kuina bit her hand, fighting the urge to drag him away at his heels. Luckily, she didn’t have to, because without even saying goodbye, or ending the conversation whatsoever, he was now walking away, smiling with satisfaction and leaving (Y/N) standing in the hotel lobby looking utterly bewildered by the events that just occurred. As Chishiya passed the pillar, she grabbed his white hood.

He shook her off immediately. ‘Was that really necessary?’ 

‘What the hell was that?’ Kuina hissed. ‘What about everything we practiced?’ 

He shrugged lazily. ‘I thought it went well.’ 

You can’t be serious?

‘That right there? That was a car crash. You can’t just walk up to someone and give them a bomb as a present. They think you’re insane now.’ 

‘I doubt that. I left a note in their room beforehand.’ 

Kuina felt the colour drain from her face. ‘You did what now?’ 

Chishiya gave a knowing smile. ‘While the games were on, I left a note on the bed explaining that I had a gift. It was hardly a surprise.’ 

Oh my god… This is a disaster. 

She placed both hands on his shoulders, locking him in a firm grip that he couldn’t escape from no matter how much he tried to squirm away. 

‘Chishiya, listen to me now. Normal people don’t do things like this. You don’t know (Y/N) well enough to just walk into their room. You’re gonna end up with some really weird rumours going around, and I don’t want to be part of that.’ 

He finally broke away with a scowl. ‘You’re overreacting. If you’re not going to help, you can find somebody else to annoy.’ 

‘I’m literally trying my hardest to help you, but you’re impossible. This is impossible.’ 

He made a small noise of irritation and stared aimlessly at the white lobby wall. ‘Do you have any other suggestions then?’ 

‘What about telling the truth?’ 

‘No.’ 

‘It’s not that bad. Tell them how you really feel. Admit that you weren’t sure how to show it, and you screwed up —‘

‘I didn’t.’ 

‘Yeah, you did. You haven’t got a clue how to flirt, and that was a horror show to watch.’ 

He averted his gaze, looking anywhere but at Kuina. ‘Any other bright ideas?’ 

She rubbed her temple. ‘I’ll see what I can think of,’ she said. ‘Just let me work on it, okay?’ 

As she parted ways with Chishiya in the lobby, Kuina didn’t have much hope. The situation was eating away at her, because believe it or not, she wanted Chishiya to be happy, even if he was an asshole sometimes. Well, most of the time. However, even after borrowing all of her expert advice and tips, he still couldn’t quite make flirting seem natural. 

And worse, he actually did like (Y/N), even if he had never really shared the depths of his feelings. But Kuina wasn’t blind. She’d seen the way his eyes trailed after them, no matter where they were in the room. He would only ask how Kuina’s games had been whenever (Y/N) was placed in the same group. Anybody else wouldn’t have noticed. Except Kuina wasn’t just anybody. 

I think I might actually feel bad for him. 

Stepping into the elevator, she pressed the button for the sixth floor. She was so lost in her thoughts that when the doors opened, it took her a good few seconds to realise that she was standing face to face with the object of those thoughts - the object of Chishiya’s affection.

‘Oh! Hey Kuina, this is actually kind of cool. I was just looking for you.’ 

Oh no.

Kuina could already see where this was going. ‘Really? We can go into my room if you want to talk,’ she suggested. ‘It’s better than standing out here.’ 

They must have been knocking on Kuina’s door, and since the timing was right, that could only mean one thing. There would be a very long conversation ahead. The two shut themselves away in the privacy of Kuina’s room, sitting on two small chairs in front of the window. 

‘Sorry for the mess.’ Kuina began scooping up the array of lipsticks rolling around on the desk behind her. ‘I think I already know why you’re here.’ 

There’s no point beating around the bush.

(Y/N) tried to hide a grimace behind their hand. ‘It’s… well. Have you noticed Chishiya-san acting strange recently?’ 

‘Strange?’ 

‘It’s just that - this is so weird. He stares at me so much, and earlier when I came back from my game, I found a note from him on my pillow. I didn’t even know he’d been in my room.’ 

Seriously, Chishiya? The pillow?!

Kuina feigned surprise. ‘What did the note say?’ 

‘He wanted to meet with me in the lobby, so I did. Just now, actually, and…’ (Y/N) pulled out a soda can with red and blue wires stretching from the lip to the base, and a tiny pull ring on top. ‘He gave me a homemade grenade.’ 

‘I’m so sorry.’ It was the only thing Kuina could bring herself to say. ‘I really am. I can have a word with him if you want?’

‘That’s not all,’ they added. ‘The other day when I woke up I found something in front of my door too. I don’t have it here, but it was a… a shank, I think?’ 

Kuina fought the urge to put her head in her hands and cry. Chishiya hadn’t told her about this, probably knowing she would disapprove. And disapprove, she did. 

‘I don’t have it with me, but it’s a piece of shaved metal tied to a screwdriver. There wasn’t a note but I think it was him. I didn’t really know what to say to him before. I just, I’m a little confused. I always thought he was kind of cute, but all of this is weirding me out…’ 

Hold on. 

Kuina’s eyes widened. She replayed that last sentence in her head. 

Hold on just one second. 

‘I’m only asking because I care,’ they said, ‘but is he okay, you know, mentally?’ 

‘Look,’ Kuina interrupted. ‘This is going to sound crazy, but hear me out.’

Maybe honesty really is the best policy. 

She took a deep breath. ‘Chishiya actually likes you. As in, he likes likes you. He’s just fucking awful at flirting.’ 

(Y/N)’s whole body froze, eyes flashing with hope. ‘You mean he likes me in that way? He has feelings for me?’ 

Kuina nodded and leaned back in her chair. It was like a huge weight had suddenly been lifted from her chest.

‘I wasn’t going to say anything since it’s not really my place, but the two of you are getting nowhere like this. I know how he looks, but Chishiya’s not made of stone. I think he just wasn’t sure how to tell you and decided to make you weapons for protection. He’s really logical like that. I guess he figured regular gifts didn’t have any value in this place.’ 

Have I ruined it?

She had tried to explain the best she could, to put Chishiya in a good light and dissolve any rumours of him being a homemade weapon-obsessed stalker. But by doing this, did she also sabotage his chances? 

(Y/N) smiled gently. ‘I guess when you think about it that way, it’s actually kind of sweet.’ 

Kuina was perplexed, to say the least. There was no way in heaven or hell that Chishiya was sweet. Not a chance. The man was cold, stoic, calculating, basically anything but boyfriend material. But she wasn’t going to say this to the one person who might actually be able to change him.  

(Y/N) stood up and grinned at Kuina. ‘Thank you! I think, I might actually go and talk to him now. His room is just down the hall, isn’t it?’ 

“It’s room nine,’ Kuina got to her feet too. ‘I’ll come with you, but I’ll be hiding around the corner. If it’s okay with you, I want to see how this works out.’ 

‘That’s okay,’ they said. ‘I’d like you to come. It’ll be good having you there, for support.’ 

The pair left Kuina’s room and headed down the hallway towards room nine. Judging from the vague shuffling noises they could hear through the door, Chishiya was inside. Kuina gave a wink of encouragement and hid just behind the corner, the perfect place to listen in and spy from afar. (Y/N) knocked on the door, holding the soda can between both hands.

The shuffling noises paused, then the door opened, revealing Chishiya. When he saw who was on the other side, his lips parted in mild surprise. 

‘Hey Chishiya.’ (Y/N) shuffled awkwardly. ‘I just wanted to stop by to say I’m sorry about before, if I seemed off. I was still kind of thinking about my game earlier.’ They held up the soda can. ‘Really, thank you for this. It’ll be really handy in a pinch.’

To anybody else, Chishiya’s expression would seem static, bored even. But Kuina saw the vague tug of a smile on his lips; she knew better. 

‘If you use it in your next game, I can make you another one,’ he replied. ‘Or if you need a knife that you can hide in your jacket. Tasers too.’

‘Tasers?’

He smirked. ‘All you need is an electronic device. It’s a simple rewiring trick.’ 

The two spoke in hushed tones, Chishiya faintly smirking and (Y/N) taking in every word he spoke. Watching from behind the corner, Kuina was delighted to finally see her efforts come to fruition, and she had to admit, these two oddballs kind of suited each other. Who would’ve known? 

(Y/N) peered over Chishiya’s shoulder, their face lighting up. ‘Wait, is that your workbench? Can I see it?’ 

‘Sure.’ He opened his door wider and (Y/N) slipped inside. 

This is the cutest thing I’ve seen in ages, Kuina thought. Maybe I should become a professional matchmaker. 

And then she froze. 

She froze because Chishiya didn’t close the door behind him. Instead, his eyes jumped over to where she was standing, looking at her squarely. 

Busted!

She gave him an awkward wave of her fingers. However, instead of scowling at her for meddling too much in his affairs, he gave her the briefest of nods - a small thank you for the world’s greatest wingwoman. 

[witch-hazels-musings]

cecidi ad vos

warning: comfort / fluff - exhausted/sleeping reader, character carries reader to bed/couch - character perspective, pre-relationship | “i fell to you“

includes: ayato, childe, diluc, kaeya 

character x gn reader | anthology  

ayato 

you try to prove yourself but you don’t need too. there are so many qualities you have he’s astonished you don’t realize them on your own

supportive, dedicated, wanting to do more, always more, until there isn’t any left to give and yet you still find room to pull from 

he’s seen these in you since the day you met, and it’s why he allows you to work at the pace you do, but now it’s past time and he can tell simply by the quietness of the room 

With a sigh, Ayato finally makes his way back into his office. The halls are empty, the attendants have gone on their way but, most of all, the nuisance distractions have passed under the estate gates and are headed anywhere else. He ruffles his hair and sets his clothes straight expecting to see someone feverishly at work on the tasks he had to leave unattended. No matter that it’s late, no matter that the sun has set hours ago and most everyone not essential has taken themselves to bed, he has no doubts you’ll be sitting on the other side of your table reviewing and organizing the work to lighten his load. 

It’s quiet, serene, calm as he makes his way through the partially closed shoji door. The flickering lights cast peaceful shadows along the wall, enhance the scale of the swords resting in their holsters or the cups that have inevitably gone cold. He searches, considers calling out into the stillness of the room, but when he turns the corner and sees you slumped on the desk his heart sinks into his stomach. 

The first worry is someone was able to reach you. The countless enemies with his name on their list have found a way to his most precious secret and snuffed out their light, but as he makes his way to you - with far quicker steps than he would ever share - he notices the slow, steady breaths that raise and lower your shoulders. 

Your head is resting on one side of your arm, the other loosely rests your lap. He sees the pen you were using hasn’t left the obedient fingers they belong to. It’s as if you were in mid thought when slumber stole you from greeting him. How disappointed his is to miss seeing the smile he has grown increasingly fond of.

Ayato chuckles to himself while his needy fingers brush your hair. “Did you not promise me you’d stay awake till my return?” he hums with a smirk, “ah, no matter, this sight has it’s merits too.” 

With ease, he moves to your side and makes himself room by adjusting the cushions and slipping his feet under the long, mahogany table. As if he knows you won’t awaken, he repositions you so your head is resting comfortably on his lap, your body now covered by the long outer coat he often wears. He moves the lamp so your eyes are not blinded by the light.

Once settled, he pulls the table toward him and begins where you left off all the  while his fingers absent-mindedly ghost over your hair and he imagines all the wonderful faces you’ll show him when you wake up.  

--

childe

you take on more than you can chew, but he likes that in a person. the thrill of being the underdog, of the uncertainties that you’ll come out the other end, and the spectacular reward that follows when you succeed. he knows this high well, and you do too 

it also helps that he knows just where to find you when your obsession takes hold. the sudden overwhelmed desire that consumes you the moment the idea pops in your head until it’s taken all your energy and you either pass out where you are or as your walking down the street 

he doesn’t mind catching you, in fact he prefers that it’s him, but he hates how vulnerable you are when it all comes crashing apart and he’s not there to contain it 

His operatives keep him apprised to everything that goes on in the city. Gathering information requires tact, speed, subtlety, and as long as those under him can meet his requirements, they will earn a steady wage. Though it’s not difficult to keep eyes and ears hidden in the walls and cracks of this bustling city, he feels slight pity for the operative tasked at trailing you. 

‘Don’t kill the messenger,’ means nothing to him when it comes to your whereabouts and safety. 

So, here he finds himself, pushing trough the crowds with a scowl he can’t erase all because the information on his report has soured his mood. 

When he enters the small, secluded shop in one of the more questionable parts of the harbor, he can feel the tightness in his jaw increase. It’s dark, but that doesn’t slow him down; why you even liked this place he would never know. The musty books, the terrible lighting in a building that’s sandwiched between businesses he’d consider shady to say the least. There were plenty of other book shops you could go to, he was even happy to find what you were searching for, but that stubbornness of yours always won through in the end. 

When he finally finds you in the twists and turns of the maze-like shelves, he’s immediately annoyed to see some other far too close for his own enjoyment. 

You’re leaning against the plush chair, legs crossed, a shawl draped over your legs. He recognized it immediately as one he purchased for you a few months ago. Your eyes are closed, a book and sprawling notes scattered in your lap while some lurker makes their way to your side. He’s pissed, but not at you. 

“Stay asleep, okay ... I won’t be long --” The stranger’s cut off by the sudden snatch of their wrist that’s reaching toward you. Childe isn’t playing games, and its obvious by the fury flashing in his eyes. 

“Hey there,” he begins in pleasant tone even though his expression is far from it, “I couldn’t help but notice your hand looks a little broken.” 

“---it’s not bro--”

The stranger groans as Childe twists his wrist, a soft cracking sound filling the normally quiet bookstore, “Oh, how strange. It definitely looked that way. Let me get a closer look,” he threatens and though the stranger stumbles toward you he manages to block their access by shielding you with his body. Clicking his teeth, he shakes his head and looks the stranger dead in their eye, “This looks bad, might want to have a doctor look at that.” 

He doesn’t let go until a few more soft pops fill the air and the strangers cheeks are wet, even though they are nodding so fast nothing can stick for long. Childe watches as they stumble away in a panic, arm to their chest as they dash out the door. A shiver of displeasure runs down his spine until he hears something stir behind him. 

Quickly, he adjusts so he can see you, one arm locking to support him against the opposite side of the chair, the other gripping the backrest to keep him close. 

“Ch-childe?” you groan, fingers rubbing your eyes as you slowly wake up. He’s fixed on you, watching your every move, but that’s nothing new. “Wh-what are you doing -?” 

“Trying to draw on your face, but you woke up and now all my plans are ruined.” 

“Haha,” you poke back, waving him away so you can adjust and stretch. He so badly wants you but he’s trying to be patient. It sucks. “I must have fallen asleep.” 

“I’d suspect,” he teases, assisting you at removing the items from your lap. He puts them back in your bag not caring if all the contents actually belong to you or not. He’d like to see someone go against him anyway - he could use the fight. “Let’s get you to a real bed, yeah?” 

“Mmm, what?” Your still groggy and though you’ve started to get up, you’ve fallen back against the chair, confused. 

“Home. Let’s get you home,” he chuckles as he offers you his hand and slings your bag over his shoulder. When you take it, nodding in agreement, he watches how you follow after him with sleep still clouding your eyes and hopes you can’t feel how he trembles as he leads you out of the bookstore. 

--

diluc

you don’t know when to quit, and he doesn’t know how to deny you. try as hard as he can, he continuously fails. there’s no real need for you to take on some of his work, or for you to work on your own in the upper floor of Angels Share, but you do it anyway 

he’s attempted, many times, to dismiss your suggestions - at first they started small, a little, “i can write up the new menu for you,” or a “let me grab these glasses,” and now it’s turned into you working on his resupply orders while, somehow, simultaneously handling your own work 

‘you don’t work for me,’ he’s said once before and nearly had his chest explode when you replied, ‘I know that, but I just want to help you ... is that okay?’ -- no, he should have said, but yes is what came out 

“Do remember to pay your tab in full before you leave,” Diluc reminds, for the third time, to the stumbling patron struggling to get out of their seat. They mumble something while he rolls his eyes and hides his annoyance in the rows of clean glasses waiting to be used. Though they’d have to be another night since it’s nearly close and he wants to be on his way as much as he wishes the stragglers will leave. 

It’s nothing more than a miracle that he doesn’t slam the door and lock it as soon as the clock ticks past the hour, but he’s practicing patience, which isn’t his strong suit. 

“Thmk you --” the patron slurs as they wave goodbye to the cross-armed bartender. He simply nods and watches them struggle to leave. At least they paid. 

Diluc makes quick work of the last few tasks before heading to the office to lock up his earnings. The lockbox feels heavy which is always a good feeling. Especially as the new month draws nearer. Far better to have enough to restock than be low.

When he opens the door, he practically does a double take. Instead of finding an empty office full of stuffy papers and dreary expectations, he sees you passed out on the small office desk, head teetering on your crossed arms. Diluc looks outside the office at the empty tavern before glancing back to you as if there’s some answer as to why you’d still be here. His throat feels dry, no matter how many times he swallows. 

It’s soft, but he calls your name somewhat hoping you don’t reply. The noise isn’t enough to wake you so he clenches his jaw and takes a few steps into the small room. Carefully, he places the lockbox on the shelf. 

“I thought you left ...” he says so tenderly it makes his chest ache. Diluc sighs and examines the work you’ve laid out beneath you. It’s far more than he anticipated you tackle in one sitting - curiously, your work ethic reminds him of someone. He’s about to call your name again, one hand presses firmly against the paper covered desk while the other hovers over your back to help you sit up, but, when you stir and touch his palm, he curls his electrified fingers and lets his head dip further toward the desk. “Even now,” he laments as he lifts his head and watches you dream, “I can’t bring myself to ...” Diluc’s hand moves hesitantly to your cheek but is unable to make the connection. 

He knows what he has to do but wonders if he can. 

With ease, he moves to lift you from the chair. He takes great care in allowing you to fall against him, stopping just before he lifts you to ensure you are secure, and he’s ready. Diluc turns to leave the office when you suddenly nuzzle against him. Your hand finds safety against his chest as your warm fingers touch his clothes. He stalls, trying not to pass out from the sensation as his blinking eyes gaze down at your sleeping form. 

It’s here, in the half-lit, empty tavern where his arms hold you close and your breath fills the silence that he realizes just how bad he has it. “Rest well,” he pleads as he carries you up the stairs and to the apartment above. 

--

kaeya

your always working or that’s what kaeya perceives. he’s be happy if you took a break, any type of break, but he knows that’ll never happen. honestly, he’s shocked you and Jean aren’t best friends, a match made in heaven, because the way he has to look after both of you makes his head ache -- why is it that everyone who works with the Knights of Favonious are some of the hardest workers and worst ‘taking care of your selfers’ 

the amount of times he’s had to literally take things from you just so you don’t get sick, or the number of books he’s had to personally return to Lisa are enough to give anyone nightmares 

it’s not his fault that you thinking filing paperwork or answering letters is, ‘fun,’ but it’s becoming, very frequently, his problem 

There were many things Kaeya hated. Liars, cheats, those who would do harm to others, paperwork; and yet, out of all of those, he hated being on patrol the most. It didn’t matter what time of the day, it was always two things:

One. boring 

Two. severely cutting into his personal pleasure time 

He especially hated it when he had to patrol at night. The sounds of laughter drifting from the local taverns filling his ears but he’s unable to join them, or gather useful information that would benefit the very knights who force him to keep his distance. Kaeya dreads these shifts, but at least he has one thing to look forward to upon his return: you. 

It was well into twilight when he returns to headquarters. His feet hurt but not as much as his heart when he watched the lights of the taverns dim into darkness. He swore he shed a tear at the sight. Next time he’ll ask Lawrence to cover for him; that guy loves being on patrol. 

The halls are empty save for a few research students holding deep, uninteresting conversations in the workshops. Their voices carry even if they don’t mean to. It’s a nice ambiance for his solo trek back to his office, and, it’s along the way he stumble across your own. 

As expected, the light from your office is spilling into the hallway. The partially cracked door a sign to let those come and go as they please, even when you’re swamped and unable to give them your full attention. He smirks to himself, shakes his head and makes his way toward the door. 

Unexpectedly, he doesn’t see you sitting at your desk. Instead, he catches you slumped against the couch, legs outstretched under the coffee table, head precariously slipping further and further toward the hardwood floor. The lamp from your desk is still burning, but the oil has nearly gone out and is struggling, just like it’s owner, at staying lit. 

As if on cue, you slip away from the support of the couch but luck out at hitting the ground. Kaeya skillfully catches you with the use of his dash. 

“Haha, that was close.” Kaeya laughs as he adjusts you in his arms, your body slumping further into him even as he slides his leg under your back to better support you. He pushes the coffee table away so your head doesn’t hit the corner but you can adjust comfortably into the bend of his arm. He finally settles, letting out a soft sigh at the intimate contact. “If I didn’t know any better,” he begins as he props up his leg next to your right side, “You waited until you could fall into my arms.” His tease makes him laugh but it doesn’t settle the pounding of his heart, nor the urge to run his electrified fingers your brow. 

For a while, he watches you sleep. The steady movement of your chest, the rise and fall of your hands resting across it. He observes how relaxed your face is, how your lips are slightly parted and eyes rush back and forth under closed lids. He wonders what you’re dreaming. Somewhere in the back of his mind he hopes its of him. 

“You just aren’t fair, are you.” Kaeya laments as he shakes his head and picks up one of the many sheets of paper you left on the table. You’re at rest against him, he feels priviliage to be that for you on this quiet evening. Of course, he’ll make sure you’ll find comfort on the couch, but not before he allows himself a reward for all his hard work tonight. 

I guess there are some benefits to going on patrol. 

tag list (broken tags)

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[justjams2003]

Fast Pace-5

Summary: You're a hard-working Chef in Paris and after a freak accident run-in with Carlos Sainz, your life makes a 180. Let's just say with a certain agreement, you get your bills paid and in return stand in as Carlos' girlfriend for the press. But will you be able to handle the pressure and ensure the lines don't blur?

Pairing: Sugar Daddy!Carlos Sainz x Sugar Baby!Reader

Warnings: I've aged up Carlos, he is 33 in this fic.Smoking, smut, sexual themes, age difference, manipulation, control, slight obsession, tell me if I missed any

Dividers by: @firefly-graphics and @s-silk

Taglist: @httpjeonlicious, @f1lov3r, @messersandmesses, @hollie911, @oriconde08 @thehufflepuffavenger1 @fanboyluvr @thatgirlmj @whyamireadingthis @oriconde08 @depressedriches @roseseraj @skepvids @sain55wifey @distinguishedvoidlady @amatswimming @sachaa-ff @lightdragonrayne @lazybot @dark-night-sky-99 @formula1mount @fangirl-dot-com @saintslewis

Word count: 2,7k

Masterlist

Part 4~Part 6 (coming soon)

The bedroom is simply beautiful. There is a huge window showing a beautiful view of the ocean and the bustling city. It even has a balcony with a small table to sit and watch the waves form and crash. The place is beautifully decorated, not a single thing is misplaced and there is staff that dotes on your every need. It's like one of those you would get as an advertisement on the HGTV channel.  

You remember now how you and your mother would watch it during the day when your father was out working. Your taste and hers are complete opposites. While you love big grand archways with walls that seem to have grown out of the stone, she likes sharp corners with bright colours that could easily give you a headache if you look for too long.  

The room is perfectly as designed, except how it was designed is not how you would prefer. There is nothing that can be found wrong... Well, except for the fact that, while the bed is huge and looks as soft as a cloud, there is only one of them. "I must apologise, Hermosa, my cousin has not yet made accommodations for you. I have to admit, he did not think you'd be coming." Carlos scratches the back of his neck and glances around the room.  

You furrow your brows, “Why wouldn’t I come?” You ask, having to raise your head just to meet his eyes. He lets out an embarrassed laugh, “He believed I was too forward and should’ve just invited you without explanation. But, Hermosa, I am an honest man and wouldn’t dare lead you on.” He sends you the wink you’ve grown so used to, but still makes you flustered.  

Before he can speak further about the matter you just smile up at him, wanting to spare yourself any more redness. Changing the topic, you speak again: "The sofa looks much more comfortable than that old bed in my apartment. I don’t mind at all sleeping there." He scoffs and shakes his head. He doesn’t even hesitate, "No, absolutely not, Hermosa. I will sleep on the couch." You glare at him and cross your arms.  

"You have a race. If Caco or someone on your team or even Charles heard that I let you sleep on the sofa they will chew me out." This time he rolls his eyes. "If anyone dares even try glaring at you, I'll fire them in the spot." Your mouth flies open, and your glare grows stronger. Not that the thought of it doesn’t ignite a strange primal need in you. More so that you can’t believe he’d fire someone maybe even important on his team, over you.  

"No, you will not." Without even realising it, your bottom lip pushes out and your eyes stay firm. This would be your first impression of the team. You don’t want them thinking you’re some gold-digger, who orders Carlos around any which way. He raises his brow. "Do not give me attitude, niñita. You will not fight me on this." His voice is stern and his eyes are hard like a rock. You can see there is talking him out of this. Once he sees your fight fizzle out, he continues.  

“I do appreciate that spark of yours and you know I’ll give you anything, but never above your health.” His voice is stern but has the undertone of concern. It flatters you; you’ve always had to take care of yourself. Discarding personal care for survival. “I promise you my health will not be affected by sleeping in the couch.” His jaw locks tight and he crosses his arms. 

Those big biceps flex as he works to contain himself. In your mind, he’s far too caring. In his mind, he feels the need to tie you to the bed. “We’ll see what happens.” It’s all he says, but you can tell words linger on his tongue. “What will happen is that you will sleep on the big, plush, fancy bed. Then you get a full night’s rest and win on Sunday.” You beam up at him, trying to gauge what cracks his rock wall.  

He grins at your words and rolls his eyes. He can easily tell what you’re trying to do. He then motions his head to the bathroom. “Go refresh, we're leaving in an hour to go eat and buy you some clothes." This you can agree with, after all they are the conditions, you had decided on. While the hoodie you're wearing is comfortable, allowing you to hide under Carlos' heated gaze, Netherland's current weather is hotter than France was. 

You had decided to walk, you wanted to enjoy the weather. Yet now you’re starting to see big fluffy clouds starting to form. Carlos had decided on the restaurant and seemed to know exactly where he was going. “Um, Carlos...” You say, struggling to keep up with his fast pace. He slows down and waits for you to catch up. “Wait for me,” you laugh, and can’t help but compare your height.  

He too grins and walks slower. “Could we maybe buy the clothes before we eat?” You ask, hoping he says yes without question. “Yes, of course, may I ask why, querida?” Very suddenly, your worn-out sneakers are the most interesting thing in the world. He senses your hesitance to tell him and encourages you. “We did not eat on the plane, aren’t you hungry?” This only makes you groan, why is he so attentive? 

“You’ll laugh at me,” you mutter, now the reason feels so stupid and insecure. He raises his brow, “If you want me to be serious, I will,” he shrugs and eyes you. He knows how to get the information out of you and won’t be shy to. “I don’t want to be bloated when fitting the clothes. Then I won’t like how anything fits and I’ll feel bad about myself the whole day and I won’t be uplifting like you want.”  

You ramble on, hoping the explanation will make the reason feel less silly. You can see on his face that he’s trying to stay serious. “No, you can’t laugh.” The bad habit of biting your lip creeps up and once again you can’t help but notice the new tear on your sneakers. “I’m not laughing, I’m not laughing, I promise.” He takes deep breaths to compose himself, but like promised, he doesn’t even smirk.  

He takes your hand and then pulls you close, compelling you to look up at him. “We can, I don’t mind. But you must get comfortable with me and know that I think you are el más bello even if you’ve just finished a whole platter for two.” A wild laugh escapes your throat without any control. Some of the other pedestrians even stare just a bit, but you’re chuckling too much to even notice.  

And Carlos loves it. He loves seeing you laugh like this, not a care in the world. It makes him feel like he’s on the top of the world. Because to him, not kingdoms, nor gold, nor any other riches in the world can compare to your laughter. “That’s because you haven’t seen me after Wings Wednesday.” You add on his words which only causes you to giggle more.  

His brows furrow and he gently takes you by the arm guiding you to follow him down a different road. “What is Wings Wednesday?” He asks, moving so that he is on the side of the road, making sure that no one else even dares to bump into you. “I keep forgetting you don’t know these things. I feel like we’ve known each other so long,” you mutter, not thinking that he can hear you.  

“Anyways, Wings Wednesday is at a restaurant near my apartment. Every Wednesday they have botomless wings, me and some of the other chefs go every Wednesday. You should see, we’re like rabid dogs because you don’t really get time to eat after the long shifts. Not to mention we usually sneak some wings into some old butter containers.” You laugh, remember the glares you got the first time you did it. Soon, though, the waiters turned a blind eye.  

Carlos doesn’t lose attention for a single moment. His ears stay glued to every word you speak and this time makes sure to keep a slower pace.  

The first stop was a store with a Dutch name you’re not entirely sure how to pronounce, most of them were names with sounds you don’t know how to enunciate. You got mostly basics, comfortable jeans, plain T-shirts and pyjamas. After that, you went to the cutest little boutique. It felt strange for Carlos to take you here but once you walked in you fell head over heels.  

It’s a vintage resellers shop, small in size but the heart of the person running the shop is huge. “Carlos! So good to see you! Come give Hans a hug,” the man is short and grey but full of energy. He smothers Carlos in hugs and gives him a kiss on either side. Then his eyes lay on you. “Carlos! Who is this beauty you have brought into my store? Already with so many shopping bags? Why you no come to me first?”  

The man looks almost disappointed by the bags that the Spanish man insisted on carrying. Though, he is quick to get over it. Still his words cause you to beam and go pink. “Hans, I’d like you to meet my new girlfriend. We’ve come to get some outfits for the race weekend. My chica linda is quite fashion-focused.” He shoots you a wink which makes Hans grin wildly.  

“I have just the thing for a schoonheid such as you.” Then he wanders off to the back of his shop into a storage room. You glance to Carlos, and he already knows what you want to ask. “He used to work in the town I grew up. He worked for Chanel once upon a time, he’s one of those people who have the best stories. He’s been here, he’s been there. But eventually, he moved back here, but I come to visit every time.”  

After a few minutes, he comes out with a handful of clothes on hangers. “You and I...” he allows you to give your name and then continues. “...we will have those paparazzi foaming.” He then holds out the most beautiful dress. It’s leather, black and white with a zipper in the front and a halter top collar.  

“Oh wow,” you can’t help but mutter out, almost scared to even touch the material. “This one is vintage Alice McCall, it wasn’t shown on the runway. But, als ik moest raden, I’d say early 2000s. Very trendy at the moment.” He then ushers you behind the changing curtain. It fits you like a glove, almost as if it was tailored for you.  

You shove the curtain to the side to show them and Hans lets out a gasp. Carlos, however, his eyes look like the storms that sink ships. His jaw is clenched, and he doesn’t say a word. “You like it?” You ask, feeling unsure, this would be the first thing that you choose for yourself. “¿Gustar? No, mi amor, I love it. I knew bringing you was a good idea.”  

Hans smirks and nods to Carlos. “You know it.” Then he goes over to his pile again and pulls out a royal blue trench coat with fur on the collar and wrists. Along with it, knee-high boots in the same colour. “You see with these I’d wear with, uh... eenvoudige, white dress. Tight of course to show off that figure.” He winks causing you to giggle and a grimace to cover Carlos’ face.  

“Ah, no, you mustn't be like that Carlito. You have the pretty girl, why not show off? That is why you bring her, no?” Hans pokes the taller man in the side with his elbow. It causes you to giggle and then go through the rest of the pile. While the two bicker, you find it at the very bottom of the pile. It’s real leather. Red and black. A vintage Ferrari jacket.  

It catches Carlos’ eye instantly. He stands up and takes the jacket to inspect it. “This one I do like,” he says, carefully pulling the jacket over your shoulders. “Yes, yes. I’d gotten this one last year and had been saving it for someone special. And you are special to Carlos so it must go to you.” The driver stands back to really take a look at you. Those dark browns of his are comparable to a 100-year-old man finding the fountain of youth.  

He looks to be starving for years and now he sees you, a feast. A sinner who’s allowed a peak into the Garden of Eden. “I won’t be able to drive. I’m going to crash.” He laughs and then shrugs his shoulders. As if it is a fact and there is no changing it. You give him a slight hit on the shoulder. “You shouldn’t talk like that. Things like that realise.”  

His eyes show amusement and he rolls his eyes. “No, but it is the truth! I won’t be able to leave your side. I’m going to have to fight off anyone who even looks at you. I can’t keep my eyes off you, I’ll drive right into the wall.” You can't help but roll your eyes at him, and yet at the same time feel the butterflies spring around in your stomach.  

“Perfect for the chica linda. I’ll ring you up,” Hans smiles and while he scans the items, he continues the conversation. “The weather is going to turn soon, have you gone to the beach yet?” He asks while Carlos takes out his wallet. You shake your head, “No, I didn't even think of that.” And then the thoughts fill your mind.  

Is it too much? Does this count as a date? Or is it just normal Sugar Baby duties? Will you go on dates outside of the race weekends? Is the only time you'll be together when you're shopping and at the races? Is it wrong of you to want more? You should be grateful, right? “We'll get some swimwear next.” He says after paying, of course adding an extra few hundred to the amount.  

He always knows what you're thinking when you're thinking it. But the thought makes your stomach curl. From hunger too, but the thought of having to fit into swimsuits or worse even bikinis in front of him causes bile to rise in your throat. “No, no. It's-It’s fine. I'm sure you're busy and have things to do.” He shoots you a glare, like said before, he knows instantly what you're making a fuss about.  

He takes the bags, all of them, and after saying goodbye to Hans you both leave the store. “Y/N, what did I tell you?” He asks after walking to the swimming-themed store in complete silence. Even now you stand dawdling to enter the store. “I know, I know. I'm sorry. It's just this is our first weekend together and I-” You're not sure how to explain yourself.  

You feel like you’re squandering the best opportunity you'd ever have. You felt amazing in those dresses, especially until Carlos’ gaze. But things are moving really fast for you already. He's paid off so much already and you can't help but feel the pang of guilt in your stomach. Is it wrong for you to want things to go slower? Or at least to have started slower?  

Carlos sighs and nods. “Si, I see. I think then today we've done enough, no? We have to go to the gym after eating.” He explains but that too is like a pang in your heart. You'd completely forgotten about that. And as you walk to the restaurant, you can't help but drag your new Adidas against the pavement.  

My taglist is open! If you wish to be tagged in this story alone, please comment or reblog with the words 'tag'. And if you wish to be tagged in all my posts please comment or reblog with the words 'tag all'

[ronearoundblindly]

Sweet requests 💙 I would love some sweet Jake Jensen or Steve Rogers. Reader and then have been fighting, and reader is ready to give up, but their man won’t let them. Please and thank you!

Rerouted, a Jake Jensen x Reader tale

Warnings for some language and innuendo, angst, kinda hurt/comfort due to miscommunication and insecurities. WC 2.7k

Summary: Vacation with your boyfriend is a disaster.

You’ve had smoother starts to vacations, that’s the truth.

Delayed flights. Turbulence. Arriving before check-in with a raging headache.

Jake did his (awkward) damnedest to sweet-talk the desk clerk to let you both into the room early, but his attempts failed and you put those thick headphones right back on and crashed on a lobby chair. You feel his bouncing leg shake the cushions gently as he sits guard over your luggage.

Though your head feels a little better, you need to shower before any real relaxation can happen. You shuffle your feet on the industrial hallway carpet and stare at the back of Jake’s sneakers.

The heavy steel door smacks you hard in the arm when he lets go just at the moment you turn to adjust the rollers of your bag.

“Dammit,” you hiss.

“Shit, babe, are you okay?”

It takes every fiber of your being to simply respond, “yeah.”

You immediately announce your intention to hog the bathroom for a nice long cleanse of your body, mind, and soul.

Jake asks for five minutes first.

Sure. Poop all you want, bud. It’s not like your very first international getaway as a couple has gone swimmingly so far…

You try some stretches to relieve a kink in that weird place below your neck and between your shoulders but not quite over your spine. Worst spot ever. Maybe the shower can heal all travel wounds?

Your boyfriend gives you the all-clear, but you didn’t even hear him close the door or flush. Whatever. He knows it’s your territory now. A forfeit is a forfeit.

A long while later you emerge a modicum improved with a clear head and the memory of not charging your toothbrush overnight. You had to sacrifice a cute beach coverup to make space for the charger. No matter because you’ve got time now.

You change into one of your swimsuits and a light maxi dress, throwing out a comment that some drinks poolside might be a good jumpstart to the trip, but Jake doesn’t move. He’s playing on his laptop.

That joke? The one where ‘you can take the man out of the tech but you can’t take the tech out of the man?’ Yeah, that doesn’t apply to Jake Jensen. It’ll be a cold day in hell when he leaves it all behind, but you check things on your phone all the time, too. Fair is fair.

You unplug what you think is one of the hotel’s complimentary devices—sad blow dryer or shitty coffee maker or something—and set your brush up. 

A quick glance in the mirror gives you a boost. Your skin looks pretty great, all things considered, and you have that new lip gloss to—

“WHAT THE FUCK!”

You jump in alarm, barely able to get to the bathroom door before Jake is right there.

“JESUS FUCK, WHAT DID YOU—fuck.” He rips your charger out of the wall to replace the other black plug. Jake doesn’t even look at you before huffing out “don’t TOUCH that” and racing back to his open laptop on the bed.

“Fuckfuckfuck, come on,” he mutters.

“Are you working?” you screech once it hits you that the device is some sort of signal amplifier. You aren’t tech illiterate, but you aren’t Jake’s level. He knows the golden rule is no work on your together time though.

“It’s important. I have to…there—“ he scrambles to type something out, zoned entirely into his computer.

His computer. Open to work. On your vacation. Which he brought extra equipment for.

Then you see another router on the small desk, and another on his bedside table.

And you’ve suddenly had enough.

“One day, Jay. One day,” you burst. “You couldn’t even give me one damn day of our own vacation.”

That momentary zen you felt flushes right down the toilet with your composure. Tears immediately sting the corners of your eyes. It’s all you can do to snatch sunglasses and a room key from the desk corner and walk out.

“Babe, wait, I just need a—“

The door shuts, fast as ever, loud as fucking thunderclap, and you’re barefoot in the hallway.

You do not fucking care and keep walking toward the pool.

One overly sweet and dangerously delicious cocktail later, Jake still hasn’t come to find you. You sit at the shaded bar with your hand over your eyes to take in the view since these are Jake’s prescription sunglasses you’ve taken. Either option is not great for the last dregs of a headache.

Cocktail number two it is…

Mercifully, clouds roll in. Not the kind that deters guests from the pool or beach. Nothing threatening the splendor of this perfect destination.

You walk to the edge of the pool deck and sip, waiting, alone.

Several times your brain tricks you into turning back, thinking Jake’s come out, thinking he’s groveling behind you. Do you even hope for that? Do you want him to sweep you off your feet? Do you believe him if he comes up with promises upon promises to put the work away, to instead put all that effort into you two?

You have no idea, so you just keep sipping until slurping on air and plunking the empty onto a free lounge chair.

Sputtering and coughing ring to your right.

“Dear god—” Jake wipes his mouth, holding a full coconut husk of your drink of choice “—is that what diabetes tastes like?”

He tries to hand you his peace offering, the peace offering he’s now taken some of and insulted. You turn back to the ocean, and Jake continues to squint harshly, nose scrunched so hard that you can see his teeth.

“Got something in my pocket—“ he smirks “—or maybe I’m just happy to see ya.”

Silence. He can’t hold the gag.

“It’s Tylenol. I grabbed Tylenol for your head.”

When you still don’t cave, he starts twitching, fumbling around with his watch, and clearing his throat.

“I wasn’t—there wasn’t supposed to be a—“ he swivels to look around him and steps closer “—a gig today, but then…boss, um, he—“ Jake waves his free hand out to help illustrate his lack of euphemisms for classified ops “—bungled a…a staging and—fuck it. I give up. He’s an idiot, and I’m a dick, and I’m sorry. I just didn’t want them to get hurt if I could help.”

“You always have to help them, Jay. It never stops. I don’t see this working if you can’t step away for one damn day. I’m not this girl,” you fuss, “and I don’t want to date that guy.”

The wind picks up a little, swishing your hair around the makeshift headband of Jake’s sunglasses. You take pity and return them. He doesn’t put them on immediately though, his look guilty, replying in a soft and broken tone.

“Please don’t say stuff like that. I’m trying.”

“I am, too.” You square your shoulders to his and rip the drink out of his hand. “But isn’t trying and trying and not succeeding just failing in slow motion? Because that’s what it feels like to me every time you choose a machine over me.”

“That’s not fair.”

Your glare stops that line cold.

“What I mean is—ok, this is too…” Jake puts on the dark sunglasses. “Imagine my very sincere, partially-blind eyes when I say this is the best I’ve got. You know I don’t know how to be—“

“I swear to god if you say ‘lovah,’ Jake Jensen.” Little shit is always making a joke out of everything.

Since that is exactly what he was about to say, Jake cocks his hip and scratches his goatee. “Fine. Boyfriend. I’ve never gotten this far with someone, but I want it. I want this. I want it with you. I can’t be better until—ya know—try shit to do the best I can and maybe, actually, get better.”

You bitterly sip your sweet treat, saying flatly, “Charming.”

“I only had my job before—“ he pets his big hands down your bare arms “—you know that. It’s hard to switch off. And I am sorry. I did not intend to jump onto a…call the second we got here.“

Poking at the ice in your drink isn’t distracting enough. You’re mad and hurt. This vacation was supposed to cut you off from all that, to give you and Jake time to hang together uninterrupted, and most importantly, to feel like you were enough excitement and company for the guy inoculated from excitement by years of intense shit.

You do not feel like enough now.

“You brought an entire suitcase worth of equipment,” you say flatly.

“Force of habit,” he counters, trying to move his hands to your waist, but you step back. “It’s like a safety net. You pack an extra outfit per day and I come with…an extra router, couple of splitters, a sat phone, and…whatnot. Same sorta difference.”

“I don’t want to be on vacation with a sat phone and a split couple of wires.”

“Right. I understand that. I know it’s not…ideal.”

“And the next four days are going to be?”

“Ooh,” Jake hisses and makes a face, “if Pooch can survive that long without me, it’ll be a miracle.” He scratches the back of his head while you stare him down again.  “What?”

You clutch your drink, bunch up a bit of your skirt, and storm off down the boardwalk to the ocean.

It takes Jake a hot second.

“No. Hey! Come on,” he pleads quietly, hoping not to attract the attention of other guests while he chases you to the beach.

When Jake first approached you at a bar with the worst pickup line you’d ever heard, it was cute, endearing in an ‘I can fix him’ kind of way, but maybe you aren’t strong enough. You can’t just be training wheels while he gets his shit together. You’re not going to be some fucktoy in the corner and wait for him to get sick of you—or yell at you for doing something wrong—because then he’ll only associate you with being some sort of practice, a relationship that was doomed since he’ll want to start fresh with someone else who never fights with him, someone who understands this tech shit, someone who never gets angry, someone who isn’t insecure about—“

“I’m sorry I yelled,” Jake says, finally grabbing your arm to spin you around. “You are not practice.”

Did you…were you muttering all that…out loud? How strong are these drinks??

He jumps in front of your path when you attempt to flee, embarrassment warming you more than the shaded sun.

“No. No, I am not great at this. I’m doing everything wrong, and, babe, I know that.” Jake wildly talks with his hands and walks backward while you slog through loose sand. “I also know that you have put up with every stupid ass stunt I’ve pulled trying to impress you or be the guy I think you deserve. Which I am also convinced is some dude way better than me anyhow. Please don’t. Please don’t say you’re done with me. I can’t ruin this. You’re the best girl I’ve ever b—“

Jake cuts himself off with a wince.

Your head snaps up.

“Oh my god,” you shriek. “Were you just gonna say banged? I’m the best bang, REALLY?”

“Bagged,” he corrects with a sad flick of the wrist, “I was saying bagged, but then I knew it was wrong so I stopped and I’ve made it worse, haven’t I? Seriously if you just give me five minutes, I can look up the most spectacular apology. I can deep fake that cat from the Tiktoks you like reciting Shakespeare if you want just please—”

“Damn it, Jay. Get it through your head. I don’t want your rehearsed version of being a boyfriend, and for one weekend, I didn’t want to share you with your whole team.”

His eyebrows shoot up over the dark lenses. “Kinky,” he whistles. “Wait, no, I’m sor—”

“Go fuck yourself.” You walk away down the resort shore.

He infuriatingly does not follow this time, and instead, you hear his pathetic call “You look nice by the way. I like that dress.”

When that’s all you’ve gotten by a few seconds later, you glance to see Jake, too, walking away. That’s not right; he’s supposed to grovel. He’s supposed to keep following to convince you he loves you.

Sucking your drink down, you dump the ice, umbrella, and straw onto the sand and lob the coconut at Jake’s retreating form. You don’t have great aim.

It bounces straight off his ass and makes him yelp in surprise.

“What the—did you just…”

You puff out your chest, unashamed, as Jake’s mouth gapes open. He slowly stretches to his full height and adjusts his glasses.

“Why you little...“

“Yeah? What are you gonna—eek!”

 He’s after you.

You squeal and bolt down to the water in a zigzag to evade him.

“I’ll get you, minx,” Jake roars into the wind.

You can’t help but laugh as you barely dodge him. It’s easy for a special ops guy to catch a civilian in a long dress trying to run on wet sand, but Jake grins the whole time and lets you have a few extra moves before his arms wrap your waist.

He lifts you off the ground.

“Think that’s funny, huh?” he growls playfully in your ear, holding you tight as you thrash a little. 

It’s a fit of giggles for him to wrestle you into a hug, facing him. Jake’s still smiling, breathing heavier but not from any great exertion. He rests his forehead against yours, the wire rim of his sunglasses brushing your eyebrows.

“How’s your head feeling, baby?” His hands stroke your sides tenderly, and you sigh, a few more toxic fumes of anger releasing into the breeze.

“Um,” you assess, squinting, “better than my feet.”

You’ve dug the wrung of a barstool into your arch, stood on hot cement, traipsed across a sharp-shelled beach, and run over the solid, water-logged shore, all barefoot.

“I can help with that.” Jake kisses the tip of your nose and sweeps you up bridal style.

After an involuntary scream of alarm, you clutch at his neck. “That’s not necessary.”

“I know, but that’s the point. How else are you supposed to know how unnecessarily crazy I am about you?” For a complete nerd, your boyfriend is quite built. “And I’m gonna guess you are ‘throwing coconuts’ crazy about me, maybe?”

“God help me, I am.”

“Yeah? Glad you dig losers, babe, because I’m the biggest one you can find.” 

As he makes his way up the wooden steps back to the pool, you grip his flexed bicep. “Yeah, you are…”

He puts you down by the tap to rinse your feet, spraying first yours, then his.

“See,” he whispers, standing and moving you both out of the way for a large family to use the water, “I like ‘em frisky, too, so we’re a perfect match.” He keeps his voice very low. “I can think of at least one thing to do to keep you off those poor feet for a few hours.”

You bite your lip, and even though you can’t see his eyes through the mirror-finish, you know he’s affected by that move. “What’s that?”

He gets bashful and ducks his face off to the side--he’s not very smooth with dirty talk. He knows you love to tease him though. He also…loves being teased.

You take his hand in yours, giving it a squeeze, your own small ‘I’m sorry.’

Jake pushes up his sunglasses and beams with a snort of approval. “Well, it starts with ordering room service and then unplugging everything…”

A/N: Thank you for waiting since mid-December for this one, but I'm finally pleased with how it turned out. Sadly, I thought of the fight scenario way back when, and just kept blanking on a way to dig them back out of it. I really, really did not want a bunch of promises and excuses and it was important to me that it not be a one-sided issue. Relationships are, in fact, a two-way street after all!!!

[Main Masterlist; Light Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

@supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @yiiiikesmish @peyton-warren and I don't really know anyone else for a Jake tag, but yeah, let me know...

[mewtwoevolution]

Annie huffed still as she made it back to the room, Captain opening the door with no comment, just letting herself collapse onto the bed and wheeze. She hugged the wimpy little pillow that she was only allowed for her damaged neck tube. 

The door shut with a whir from the electronics.

“What was that?… I’ve never done that before,” She thought to herself out loud as she looked at the empty wall across from the bed, “It felt good…”

She almost hit the ceiling as Banny commented, “What did?”

She floated herself back down with a sigh to calm down and set down the pillow as the banette sat down on the end of the bed, “I… I don’t know what it was. I felt cornered. I was pinned and his claws were hurting my hands cause that electricity pain… and I just, snapped. I felt all of my frustrations burn in my chest and then all my pain vanished and I just… went at him to stop the fight fast…”

“Huh, sounds pretty cool. And you liked it?” He didn’t seem to give away if he knew or didn’t, just smiling supportively.

She looked down at him from where she floated and then to the floor, running those feelings in the moment back through her head, “Yeah… yeah I really did. Like a release. That I could finally end my own pain…”

“Then isn’t that what matters? How you feel about it?” He smirked, “How’re your ha-a-ands- what the hell?!” His eyes were wide at the bloody bandages, “I’m sorry for overlooking that… guess I should hold the book again today?”

She looked down at the blood soaked bandages and the empty space of one finger. That slight shaking as she couldn’t hold them still no longer bothering her, “Please? I’m pretty tired. And it’s okay, I kind of forgot too. It doesn’t hurt anymore…”

•••

Annie woke at that whir and glared at the Zoroark in the doorway, “What now?” She sighed out with contempt.

They narrowed thier eyes at her with a small show of thier fangs at her attitude, “Get up. You’ve got another training session…”

She curled her lip but floated up from the barely comfortable slab to float herself behind them. The motion a requirement to not irritate her wounds.

It felt short despite remembering how long the trip felt that very first time.

This door opened and she nearly froze at seeing him.

The mightyenna.

That damned mightyenna. 

And he wasn’t alone. The hydreigon was with him.

She turned to the door ready to scream at the Captain for doing this or to try and run as her heart raced but that mechanical door was slammed shut.

Annie turned back to see them charging.

Her heart was in her throat remembering the pain. That first blinding burning hot pain from the dog pokemon.

The bright arena turned black with the shadows looking white again as her frustrations boiled up and for a moment that energy enveloped her. 

When it came back she slammed a glowing ball into the leaping dog and easily dodged the now slow seeming attacks from the hydriegon before dashing it to hit it with Psy slash sending it to the other side crashing into the mightyenna. 

Over before it started.

Annie huffed and let go of the energy with a sigh. That was it. She wasn’t going to come here again. They can’t make her, she won’t let them make her. She turned to leave not even looking at the Captain when the door opened to them. Just shoving past to go to the bedroom…

•••

She kept the book as steady as she could, hands pressed to her chest to keep them still and tail draped over the edge of the slab that was a poor excuse of a bed.

The story was almost over. Hero going over the fiery mountains to face the mythical beast of the volcano-

At the door opening and feeling that presence she gave no hesitation, just following her surge of emotions at what she knew came with every time they opened that damned door, “NO!”

Captain had to duck a bolt of energy, they looked a bit baffled a moment before hiding it, “You’ll regret not listening to me… the humans are worse.”

“THEN ILL BLAST THEM TOO! YOU WONT MAKE ME FIGHT ANYMORE!” she screamed both with her voice and protected out with her psychic.

Captain scurried out of the way of another bolt, this one causing a small boom against the hallway wall.

The door closed and she took a moment to calm, letting out the energy with a sigh. It worked… no more pain. She finally had control of herself… She didn’t even know that was something she wanted, but it felt amazing.

Asani, Captain, and Banny belong to @blues-sues

[pedrito-friskito]

strawberry wine - joel miller x ofc!liv stone/fem!reader

after - part twenty-four

series masterlist | main masterlist | read on ao3

for one of you, it’s the end of the road.

a/n:like….y’all know what’s coming. it hurts me. it hurt to write, and I contemplated doing something else, but this is where we ended up. my askbox is open so we can cry together 🤍

word count: 9.2k

warnings: no new territory here, yes I cried writing it

✨@friskito-library for updates on new parts/works✨

“It looks like a fucked-up moon,” the kid says, and Joel hears your quiet agreement. It’s muffled, his right ear contorting the noise, but when he turns towards you, there’s a touch of fear in your face, and without a second thought, he reaches out his hand. “Is this where they bombed?”

You take it, swallowing hard before telling Ellie, “Yeah, they hit most of the big cities like this, shortly after Outbreak Day. They hoped it would slow the spread, and well, it worked here, but in a lot of other places, they weren’t so lucky.”

“Were you all here,” she presses, staring down into the sinkhole you’re standing in front of, “when it happened?”

Joel slides his eyes to yours, seeing the uncomfortable look on your face. “Tess and I weren’t, Liv was.” He squeezes your hand. “Let’s just get a move on, yeah? Lotsa destruction between here and the State House.”

Joel knows how strong you are. He knows you’re a badass, that you make every single person — soldier, smuggler, it doesn’t matter — think twice before fucking with you. But, you’re human. And while he knows you’ve put on a brave face when you’ve been forced to take paths through the city that lead right past the bomb sites, talking about it is another thing entirely.

(With the exception of the one time you accidentally walked past the bookstore you’d been trapped inside when they first bombed. Joel nearly had to carry you back to the QZ.)

Ellie asks a lot of questions as you walk, mostly about Boston outside the QZ, and you being the only one of them to live there pre-outbreak, field most of them. It’s innocent, mainly, the curiosity evident in the young girl’s tone, and for you, it seems to prove as a good distraction.

Your panic, when the radio had gone off last night, Joel knows it well. It’s the same fear, the same twist of panic Joel has felt every day since Tommy stopped answering. But, Ellie seems to distract you enough, even making you laugh a few times, and in a strange, fucked-up way, Joel’s grateful.

Even Tess falls into step with the two of you, listening in on your answers about the baseball stadium and the toppled building you used to work in, which you point out as you walk. Joel keeps himself on your left, but turns his head towards you, listening too. 

Finally, you come around the corner where once upon a time, you would have had a straight shot to the State House.

“It’s right through there,” you tell Ellie, pointing at the crumbled building that’s filling the road in front of you. “We could see it, standing right here, up until five years ago.”

“They bombed again?” Ellie asks, her voice hitching.

You shake your head. “No, but the buildings can only take so much. A few of them toppled the night of the bombings, some days later. I watched two of them crash into each other right after the QZ wall was built.” You drop your eyes to your boots, and Joel doesn’t miss the way you shake your head slightly. “Anyway. It would take us ten minutes, if this wasn’t in the way.”

“So, what do we…?” Ellie trails off, her brow furrowing.

“Long way or short way?” Joel asks, looking between you and Tess.

Tess sighs. “Well, it’s the long way or the ‘we’re fucking dead’ way.”

“I vote long way,” Ellie says quickly, “just based on that limited information.”

You rub your hand over the back of your neck. “Hotel first, we need to check it from up high.”

Joel nods in agreement. “Let’s go.”

+

You take the lead, turning down one block that leads towards one of the still-standing sky bridges. It loops around the city, takes you back toward the hotel, where you need to be. As you walk, Joel hangs back, pulling up the rear while Tess ends up a few yards ahead of you, leaving you and Ellie in the middle. You shoot Joel a look, touching your hand to your ear, but he just shakes his head. “It’s okay.”

Ellie seems intent to keep a bit more space between you today than she had last night, and you can’t say you blame her. She seems tense, her shoulders bunched around her ears, but she keeps her pace with yours as you walk around the long-abandoned cars that cover the sky bridge.

“Where the fuck are they already?” she asks, her anxiety clear in her tone.

“You’ll know it,” you tell her, swinging the bat up to rest it on your shoulder, “when they’re close. Trust me, you’ll know.”

“I didn’t know last time,” she replies, and the way she says the words makes you pause. You didn’t know either. It came out of fucking nowhere, and everything was different, all in one instant.

“How did you get bit?” you ask, curiosity getting the better of you. “If you want to tell me, that is.”

She huffs a little breath before, “You know the old mall in the QZ?”

You can’t hold back your bark of laughter, tilting your head back. “The mall. You mean the mall that’s been sealed off and boarded up almost twenty years now? The one no one’s supposed to go in ever?” You turn to look at her, a nearly conspiratorial grin on your face. “That one?”

The kid almost cracks a smile; you can see it. “Yeah, whatever. I snuck in. I just wanted to see what it was like. Didn’t think there was gonna be anything in there, and then one just came at me outta nowhere. Thought I got away, but…”

She trails off, squinting off into the distance and you stop a second, seeing Joel do the same over your shoulder. “Wait, so it was just you in there? By yourself?”

“Yeah,” she says, almost too quickly, but when her eyes lift to yours, you can tell she’s about done with this conversation.

“How old are you?” you ask.

“Fourteen.”

“Damn,” you mutter, shaking your head. “Y’know, you couldn’t pay me to set foot in that mall. You got some balls, kid.”

The grin is almost imperceptible, but it’s there. “Thanks.”

“C’mon,” Tess calls to you, standing on top of a flipped car. “This one’s stable enough.”

You watch Ellie clamber on top of the car, holding her arms out for balance before she drops down on the other side. Joel moves up beside you, offering his hand. “Y’okay?” he asks as you put your palm in his, using him as leverage to get up onto the car.

“As good as I can be,” you answer, stepping across the car’s rusted axle, dropping down into the spot Ellie had. You watch him climb up and over, almost catching him as he drops down. “How’s the hand?”

“Fine,” he replies, the word almost a grunt. “I just want this over with.”

“I know,” you nod, rubbing your hand over your forehead. “We all do.”

You walk a bit longer before Tess turns back, addressing Ellie. “Nobody’s gonna be coming after you, right? Mom, Dad, boyfriend?”

“I’m an orphan,” Ellie answers, and something in you twinges. “And…no.” The group of you go quiet for a moment, but then Ellie has more to say. “Everyone said the open city was crazy. Like, swarms of Infected running around everywhere.”

You and Joel move a little closer, and Joel actually laughs. “Not exactly like that.”

“People like to tell stories,” you say, the three of you falling into step together, Tess a step ahead. “Trying to discourage idiots like us from sneaking out of the QZ.”

“So there aren’t super-Infected that explode fungus spores on you?” she asks, and for a moment, she sounds so much like a little kid you can’t help laughing again.

“Shit, I hope not,” Tess calls, her tone sarcastic.

“Or ones with split-open heads that see in the dark like bats?”

That has you all quiet. No laughter to be heard. You, Joel, and Tess all share a look. Do you confirm Ellie’s fears, tell her they’re real? Make her more scared than she already is? 

You’re about to say it — Those exist. Clickers. And if you ever see one, run as fast as you goddamned can. — when a loud yell echoes through the city, making you all stop in your tracks.

“What was that?” Ellie asks, and she looks terrified all over again.

You all pause, eyes sweeping in each direction, waiting for something, or someone, to come running at you, or for another yell to echo out. When nothing comes, Joel puts his hand on your shoulder. “Let’s keep movin’.”

+

When your smuggling became more localized in Boston, the hotel became a base camp of sorts. The structure was still mostly intact, safe enough to scout out up high, and it gave you a good vantage point to see the different routes through the city, what was safe, what wasn’t.

Nature’s done its best to take over the lobby, the sunken floor turned into a habitat for ducks and frogs and the odd fish. Not the most convenient, since the stairs upward were across the miniature lake, and something about wet socks made you more squeamish than some Infected. 

Joel pries the sliding doors apart, the group of you enter the lobby, and Ellie’s awe is renewed. “You’ve gotta be kidding me!” She looks at you over her shoulder. “You ever stay in a place like this?”

“Stayed here once, actually,” you tell her, sliding the bat across your shoulders, looping your wrists over it. Joel looks at you with a raised brow. “Dean.”

“Who’s Dean?” she asks, looking between you and Joel.

“Just some dead guy,” Joel retorts. “How do you even know what this place is?”

“Have you ever heard of books?” Ellie throws back.

Joel rolls his eyes, starting to descend the steps, and you start to follow.

There’s more panic in Ellie’s voice. “Wait, are we going in there?”

“Yeah,” Tess replies, nodding her chin to the stairs across the pond. “We gotta get to the stairwell on the other side.”

She looks at you, backing away slowly. “Well, I…I don’t know how to swim.”

“Seriously?” Joel grumbles.

“You think we have pools in the QZ?”

“No, smart ass,” he quips, and hops off the lowest step, landing completely in the water with a little splash, showing Ellie that it doesn’t even reach his waist.

“I don’t know how I was supposed to know that.”

You shake your head. “C’mon. I hate this part.” You grit your teeth as soon as your boots hit the water, your socks instantly soaked, jeans clinging to your legs. You walk quickly, catching up to Joel, lily pads and plants floating out of your way as you go.

“This is so gross,” Ellie says, a little bit behind you. “Hey, check it out!” You turn to see her heading for what used to be the front desk, you and Joel pausing to watch her. “Ding, ding! Yes, sir, I would like your finest room please!” Her voice drops. “Yes, ma’am, would you like me to take your luggage? Yes ma’am, right away, ma’am, I’m—”

“You’re a weird kid,” Joel says bluntly, letting out a low oomph when you elbow him in the ribs.

“You’re a weird kid,” Ellie repeats, grabbing hold of one of the luggage carts and pushing it through the water. “Oh fuck!” she shouts as she moves past the end of the desk, and you see a skull flop forwards. She all but leaps backward, landing on the grand piano behind her, the instrument making a watery noise as she hits the keys. “Oh my god.”

Joel moves from your side to wade around the piano, and you see him lift his boot, nudging at the very dead skeleton.

“Sorry,” Ellie says, and takes Joel’s hand when he offers it. He pulls her to her feet, and as soon as she’s upright, wrenches his hand away. His eyes flick to yours as she moves away from him, heading towards where Tess is now standing on the staircase.

“You okay?” you ask as she wades past you.

“Yep,” she replies, both of you stepping up to the stairs, your jeans and boots dripping water as you go. “Fucking fabulous.”

The stairs are hell. Fucking hell. Your joints creak with every step, and you have to reach out and grab the back of Joel’s belt for support at one point. He leads the group of you up, the rifle held high, Ellie and Tess a few steps behind you.

When you finally reach the tenth floor, both you and Tess nearly collapse against the doorframe as Joel steps through, sweeping the hall with the rifle. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” you heave, leaning your weight on the bat for a second, sucking down oxygen.

“C’mon, it wasn’t that bad,” Ellie says, pushing between the two of you and into the hallway.

“You try climbing ten fuckin’ floors with our knees,” Tess tells her, pushing off the door. “See how you feel.”

Tess pushes past Ellie, following Joel down the hallway, and you bring up the rear this time, resting the bat on your shoulder, tightening your grip on the handle. It’s a familiar path towards the terrace you’ve used as your lookout point, but as you turn the corner, you hear Joel curse, and Tess, “Well, when the fuck did that happen?”

The way is blocked by rubble, giant pieces of concrete too big to move cutting the hallway short. There are a few doors on either side, and you and Tess try both, but they’re locked. You move closer to the rubble, inspecting the blockage. You can see daylight on the other side, and it looks mostly flat. “I’ll climb up there, see if there’s a way around, open it from the inside.”

“I’m the smallest,” Ellie says, stepping up beside you. “It would be easier for me to get through.”

“Yeah, and if you die, we get nothing,” Tess tells her, and moves toward the rubble. “Joel, stay with her. Liv, I’ll come with you.”

You look at Joel, who looks obviously annoyed to be left alone with Ellie yet again. “Give us a hand,” you tell him, and he grabs the kid by the handle of her backpack, moving her out of his way, earning an annoyed scoff from Ellie.

He helps Tess up first, then you, your climb up made easier between Tess’s offered hand and Joel’s support from below. “You good?” Joel calls, his voice bouncing off the concrete.

“Just fuckin’ peachy,” you call back as you and Tess start to slide through the opening in the rubble heading toward the daylight. You meet open air again, sucking down a breath that’s not filled with dust. It’s a bit of a mess, all broken rebar and shards of glass and more hunks of concrete. “It’s kind of fucked up here, we might be a minute.”

“Okay,” Joel calls back, but there’s a slight waver in his voice you know is meant just for you.

It used to be a suite, at the end of the hallway, with a balcony that lead out and around to a staircase that brought you up to the terrace. Now most of the wall is gone, letting the open air inside, and the balcony is definitely not stable enough for you to be walking on. While most of the drywall has crumbled away, there’s a semi-clear path to the staircase, now accessible through the wall instead of the balcony.

You kick pieces of glass out of your way, you and Tess moving towards the hole in the wall, which is partially blocked by the broken furniture still in the suite.

“So, are you gonna tell me what Robin said to you yesterday,” you ask Tess as you both grab hold of the mostly-broken headboard, “or do I have to guess?”

“God, would you drop that?” she grits, the two of you let the headboard topple over, now moved out of your way. “I don’t—”

“You said you won’t go back to Boston, that you’re done with it. What the fuck is that supposed to mean, Tess? Just tell me what she said to you.”

“She asked for a second chance, Liv,” Tess admits finally, her tone exasperated, dropping her hands at her sides. “There, are you happy? She asked me to consider giving her a second chance, and then in the same fucking sentence, she said that if I turned you and Joel over to FEDRA, for the smuggling, if I let her lock you both up, that she’d set us up for life. Like every bad thing I ever did never happened.” Her voice is shaking. “And you wanna know the worst part? The most fucked up part of it all?”

You know what she’s gonna say. “You considered it.”

“I fucking considered it! For half a goddamned second, I considered it. And now here we are, helping the Fireflies, so I guess my second chance is blown to shit no matter what. I can’t go back to Boston, because if she finds out what I did, what we’re doing, then we’re all fucked. Okay? Are you happy now? Are you…” She trails off, tears on her cheeks. “I’m sorry.”

You grab her by the front of her coat, pulling her into a tight hug. “No, fuck, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to push, I just—”

“Actually give a fuck about me?” Tess asks, giving a humourless laugh. “I just can’t wrap my brain around it. I was so in love with her. I was two feet deep, head over fucking heels, and she just…she’s a totally different person now, and it’s like she expected me to stay exactly the fucking same.” She pulls back, shaking her head. “I’m sorry, I just…I wasn’t expecting it, y’know?”

You nod, moving towards the now accessible hole in the drywall. “You deserve better shit than that.” Tess moves to follow you and you glance at her over your shoulder. “You know, I never liked her all that much.”

Tess shoves your backpack lightly, making you both laugh. “You’re a fucking asshole,” she says, but it’s peppered with laughter, her tone a hell of a lot lighter. You continue up the stairs to the terrace, the rest of the path clear. “You told me you loved her.”

“She always said she liked my spaghetti just a little too much,” you say, pinching your fingers together. Tess steps beside you, her shoulder falling against yours as she laughs. “Like, I know my spaghetti is good but that seemed to be her entire range of conversation.”

Tess laughs again. “Your spaghetti is really fucking good.”

“I know it is!”

“You definitely know your way around a flourless noodle,” Tess tells you, and you laugh more, but it cuts short in your throat as you approach the edge of the terrace.

“Well, fuck.”

+

“What about that guy last night?” the kid asks.

His heart does something funny in his chest. It doesn’t skip, doesn’t stall, but something twinges, a memory pulled to the surface, a feeling poorly replicated.

There’s a God’s honest answer on the tip of his tongue when he hears the thump against the door beside Ellie, and Joel’s instincts instantly kick into gear. He lifts the rifle, and Ellie moves to his side of the hallway.

Then your voice rings out. “Joel, put the gun down. It’s me.”

There are more thumping and scraping noises before the door swings inward, and there you are. There’s concrete dust in your hair, a smear of dirt on your cheek, but you’re otherwise intact. The look on your face doesn’t exactly inspire confidence, however, and Joel’s spine tingles with anticipation.

“It’s bad, Joel.”

You push the door a little wider, enough for them to step through. Joel lets Ellie go first, letting you lead the way up the steps. The terrace looks mostly intact, the same as he remembers it. You step onto the patio space, finding Tess leaning against one of the pillars holding up the frame. Wordlessly, you pull back the thick plastic sheet covering the patio, letting Joel step through to the edge of the terrace, Ellie following after him.

There are hundreds of them. Hundreds of Infected, all sprawled out on the concrete below, twitching and snarling and writhing. Ellie steps up on the ledge of the railing, pulling herself up higher, and Joel hears her curse under her breath. “There’s so many.”

“The last time we were here,” you say, glancing at Joel, “they were still deep inside the buildings. But I guess, enough people coming through, looking for the QZ, either it drew them out, or people went inside, looking for shelter, and there you go.”

You all watch as the clouds pass overhead, the sunlight filtering down onto the horde, making them all twitch simultaneously, the snarling growing louder.

“They’re connected,” Ellie says, turning to look at you.

Joel meets your eyes over the top of the kid’s head, and you nod, your eyes cutting to hers. “More than you know. The fungus grows underground, too. Long fibres like wires, stretching out for miles. You step on a patch of cordyceps in one place, and you can wake a dozen Infected somewhere else. Now they know where you are, and now they come for you.” The kid looks away from you, her attention pulled back to the horde below. You shift closer, get closer until she looks back at you. “You are not immune from being ripped apart,” you tell her, and Joel ignores the chill that shoots down his spine at your words. “You understand that? This is important, Ellie. I’m trying to keep you alive.”

Ellie swallows hard, but nods before stepping off the ledge. “So, we’re not goin’ that way.”

“No,” Tess agrees, shaking her head.

“What do we do then?” Ellie asks, looking back at you. “Not the short way?”

Your eyes shift to Joel’s. He knows what you’re gonna say, beats you to the punch. “Museum.”

Ellie is mostly quiet as you leave the hotel, taking a back exit that doesn’t involve cutting through the pond in the lobby again. Quieter still as you make your way through the streets, Tess leading you towards the museum. Joel doesn’t miss the way the kid stays close to your side, and every once in a while, he sees her turn towards you, ask you something, and you give her a quick answer.

“Holy shit,” Ellie curses as you walk up to the museum. The building has definitely seen better days, and Joel can remember earlier runs, years ago, when the cordyceps that now covers the building like ivy didn’t exist, glass panes in the windows not yet cracked by the fungus. “You’ve been in here before?”

You nod as Joel steps past you. “There’s a way across on the top floor.”

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

“It’ll be fine, kid.”

Joel crouches down, inspecting a thick strand of fungus that’s spread out on the ground. It’s paler than the rest, cracked in places, almost dusty. He prods at it with the end of the rifle, sinking back on his heels when it gives a satisfying crack.

“It’s bone dry,” he says, turning back to you, looking between you and Tess. “Could mean they’re all finally dead in there.”

You just nod, sinking down as Joel follows suit, swinging your bag from your shoulders. You pull out the bat, setting it on the ground as you unzip your bag and produce a flashlight. Ellie just sort of stares, seemingly confused before Joel cocks a brow. “Did Marlene pack you one of these,” he asks, waving his  own light in the air, “or just sandwiches?”

“Oh, yeah,” she replies, reaching for her own bag and pulling out a smaller light.

“Okay, rules,” you say, resting the bat on your shoulder, your flashlight slid into the strap of your bag. “Same as last night. You stay between us, we go slow, and if we come up against anything, you get behind and you hide until one of us comes to get you. Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Sorry. Liv.”

“Let’s go.”

Joel hefts the rifle, curling his knuckles around the gun, testing his bruised hand. Ellie looks between the three of you, Joel with the rifle, Tess with her pistol, you with the bat and a gun at your hip. “I have a spare hand,” she says.

“Congratulations,” Joel retorts, and pushes forward to the door, you falling into step behind him. He leans through, careful not to move the already half-open door, and glances around. Clear. He pulls back, nods for the rest of you to follow him.

It’s dark inside, the building rumbling with every step you take, dust falling from the ceiling. There seems to be more fungus than Joel remembers being inside, and every step is calculated, a glance between where his foot is and where it needs to be before he even moves an inch.

The beams of your flashlights sweep side to side, illuminating long-forgotten exhibits and statues. Joel steps towards what was once the gift shop, seeing what remains of a body plastered to the floor, heaps of fungus growing off of it, the only sign it was once a human being the trucker cap where the head was, two legs sticking out from behind. “Yeah,” Joel says quietly, moving the light around, seeing another half-body stuck against the wall. “Cooked.”

“Finally,” you breathe out, tilting your head back on your shoulders. “Some fucking luck.”

“We should have just come this way in the first place,” Tess says, but then Ellie rounds the corner, her flashlight landing on something unseen, and her exclaimed oh shit! makes you all step quickly. You swing the bat down from your shoulder as Joel crosses behind Ellie, ready to shoot.

There’s a person in the corner. A person, not Infected. Human features, not a scrap of fungus in sight, but…bloody. Bloody in the way only one kind of Infected can cause.

Fuck.

“What the fuck did that?” Ellie asks, pointing her light closer as you lower the bat, looking at Joel.

 Your voice has dropped beneath a whisper, barely audible, and Joel stares at your mouth as you speak. There’s fresh fear in your eyes, that kind of terror he’s only seen on a handful of occasions. “Maybe…maybe he was attacked outside and crawled through the door. It was open, it could have been him. I don’t hear anything.”

“What would you hear?” Ellie says, her volume too loud, and Joel grits his teeth, lifting his hand, shushing her silently. She drops her voice to match yours. “Are you saying an Infected did that? Because I’ve been attacked by one and it wasn’t like that.”

“Okay,” Joel whispers, “from this point forward, we are silent. Not quiet, silent.”

“What—” Ellie starts, but he shakes his head at her. 

“No. No questions, just do it.”

The kid looks at you, but then nods.

Joel pushes to the front, leading you toward the staircase. Again, he pauses with every step, makes sure not to step on a patch, alive or not, tries to plant his feet where the steps don’t creak as hard. You get halfway up the staircase when the building rumbles, a loud crash in a far corner, and dust flutters from the ceiling. He sweeps his light as you go, points out spots to step when you pause behind him. 

Crunch.

Joel spins back, pointing the light past you. Ellie’s stepped on the remains of an arm, the hand stuck out onto the step, the joints cracking beneath the weight of her foot. The sound seems to echo, and a moment after, more rumbling follows. But no screeches. You keep going.

The fungus clears up some as you head toward the door that’ll lead out. Independence Hall. The door creaks when Joel pushes it open, checking that the coast is clear before nodding back to you. Tess follows first, then Ellie, and there’s more rumbling, more—

With a loud crack, the ceiling above the door gives way, sending a flurry of wood and debris down, blocking the doorway. You shove Ellie forward, sending the kid sprawling across the ground with a muffled cry, you sliding down after her. Joel cringes at the noise, and as soon as the debris has settled, he steps forward, reaches for your arm while Tess reaches for Ellie.

“Okay?” he mouths, squeezing your bicep once you’re upright. There’s dust smeared on your cheek, and he wipes it away with his thumb. You just nod, give him a half-hearted thumbs up.

You all pause for a second, trying to catch your breath.

And a Clicker screeches, somewhere in the room.

Joel points his flashlight in the direction of the noise, you doing the same, Tess going the other direction. Silence. Then the clicking starts. It echoes through the room, sounding almost like the drip of a leaky faucet.

Ellie’s starting to panic. Joel can hear it in the way her breathing is growing quicker, and you all move backward, deeper into the room, hiding in a group of display cases. More clicking. Tess points her light in the direction you need to go, and the Clicker walks out.

Ugly motherfuckers.

More snarling, more clicking, and you spin, pointing your light over Joel’s shoulder. Another one.

You press yourselves against the glass of the display cases as one of the Clickers moves around the other side. Ellie looks like she’s about to pass out, and Joel catches her attention, tapping her arm. “They can’t see,” he mouths to her, waving a finger in front of his eyes before pointing to his ear, “but they can hear.”

The noises get closer, and Joel just looks at the kid, moves his finger to his lips. Quiet.

Behind Ellie, you’re holding your breath, both hands gripping the bat, and Tess has her face tipped toward the ceiling. Ellie’s shoulders shake, and the Clicker moves around the displays, almost stumbling across the floor in front of you.

Ellie shudders, the sound audible, and that God-awful face whips in your direction, the screech that follows making Joel’s ears ring. He pulls the trigger, firing the rifle as the Clicker lunges forward, grappling him. “Run!” he shouts, shoving the thing backward as the gun goes off again.

It descends into madness. Tess grabs Ellie and the two of them take off, sprinting in one direction, and you dive forward, swinging the bat at the Clicker’s knees as Joel tries to shove it back, losing the rifle in the process. More gunshots sound, and Joel hears Tess yell at Ellie to run.

Joel pushes the Clicker back hard enough to send it reeling, and you follow it with a hard smack to the head. It screams, presumably in pain, and the two of you take off, scrambling through the closest door. Joel pulls his pistol from the holster at his hip, fires over his shoulder, pushing you forward with his other hand. You run past one of those large marble busts on a pillar, and Joel watches you stop dead in your tracks, turning back to push it over, sending it crashing into the glass display on the wall before you’re grabbing his hand and pulling him further down the hallway. There’s another display at the corner, and you push it behind him, reaching for the pistol.

“Bullets?” you mouth.

“Coat pocket,” he mouths back.

You reach for his pocket, your flashlight illuminating the space between you. Clicking echoes, footsteps drawing closer, and your lashes flutter slightly as you fish out the bullets, sliding them into the chamber with shaking fingers. Another screech.

Joel clicks the chamber shut, and grabs your face with his free hand, forcing your eyes up to his. “Stay,” he tells you, and when your lips part to protest, he stops you with a soft kiss. When he pulls back, your brow is hard, but you nod.

Another step creaks the floorboards, and you lean out from behind the display, the beam of your flashlight landing on the approaching Clicker. You lift the bat, ready to swing, when something catches its attention, and its head snaps to the side, changing its trajectory.

You both turn, following the direction the Clicker had gone. Through the glass of more display cases, Joel can see Ellie crouched behind a lower one, her flashlight shooting beams across the floor. The Clicker veers off, not heading directly for her, but still getting too close for comfort.

You take a step forward, but Joel shoots his arm out, stopping you. “Stay.”

Slowly, Joel moves to the edge of the displays. He crouches low, drawing to the opposite side as Ellie’s attention snaps to him. More clicking. Her breathing is shallow, her eyes lined with tears that haven’t fallen. Joel looks at her, darts his eyes back to the display where you’re standing. The kid deflates with relief slightly, turning to follow Joel. He turns slowly, cringing with every snarl that echoes, takes a slow step that has his knees screaming in protest.

Crack.

He didn’t see the shard of glass on the ground. It splinters beneath his boot, the sound too loud.

Everything goes dead silent for a moment.

Screeeeeech.

The Clicker lunges clean over the display case Joel and Ellie are crouched behind, sending them both sprawling on their backs. Joel shoves his forearm against the thing’s chest, trying to keep the head as far away as possible, trying to keep himself away from its mouth. Ellie is screaming, shouting as she tries to push the thing back too.

You sprint into view, bat raised high, and as Joel manages to get a boot up and under, planted in the Clicker’s stomach, he shoves, and you swing. It screeches as the bat connects, but you don’t let up, swinging over and over until it stops moving.

Tess comes sprinting back to where you’re all standing, the second Clicker chasing after her. You grab her, pulling her behind you as the Clicker stumbles forward. There’s an ancient-looking axe embedded in the thing’s ear. Joel lifts his pistol, and empties the chamber, firing over and over and over until it also stops moving.

You’re all breathing heavy, fear in every face Joel looks at. You reach a hand out and he takes it, pulling you to his side. “You all right?”

“Yeah,” you reply, nodding quickly. “Tess?”

“Twisted ankle,” she replies, “but yeah.”

“Ellie?”

“Well, I didn’t shit my pants, so there’s that,” she says, and Joel sees the corner of your mouth twitch. But then the kid yanks up her sleeve, revealing a smear of blood around teeth marks in her forearm, right below her healed bite. “You fucking kidding me?” She sighs. “I mean, if it was gonna happen to one of us.”

Joel’s gut twists. A single bite is one thing; you’re proof enough. But two? What if—

“Hey,” you call, pulling him out of his thoughts, “let’s get the fuck out of here, yeah?”

You grab Ellie by her unbitten arm and make your way across the room to the window that leads out. Joel slides it open, holding it up for the three of you to climb through. Tess grunts as she slides onto her ass, pulling her boot off her injured foot. You swing your bag from your shoulder, fish out a rag from your first aid supplies, handing it to Ellie. “Put this around your arm.”

“Thanks.” The kid wanders away towards the ladder that’s balanced between the museum and the next building, pieces of wood spread across it. “Over there?”

“Yeah,” Joel answers, watching you pull a roll of electrical tape from the bag. The closest thing you have to a tensor bandage or a splint, right now. “I know it looks scary.”

“That was scary,” Ellie calls back, stepping onto the ladder. “This is wood.”

The three of you just watch as she walks across, her arms held out for balance. Joel hears you exhale when she reaches the other side. “Just wait there,” he calls. “Give us a minute.”

You pull on the electrical tape, unfurling the roll some, and Tess lifts her foot, wincing as you start to wrap the tape around her sock. Your hands are shaking, the roll falling sideways, twisting the tape once, and Joel reaches a hand out. “Let me.”

“I got it,” you shoot back, your eyes glued to the task at hand.

Joel sinks back, reaching for his own bag, checking if any of the bullets he has left will fit the rifle. The clip’s almost out. “There’s probably more ahead.”

“And we’ll deal with it when we get there,” you mutter, your eyes still down. Your hands shake harder, the tape falling from your grip again, and Joel reaches forward once more. “Joel, I got it.”

“What about the kid?” he asks, glancing between the two of you. “I mean, the first bite didn’t take, but what about the second? We are out of our league here.”

“God, you can’t ever just take the good news, can you?” Tess snaps, making both of you flinch. “Is it so hard to think that for once, we might actually do something right? That we might get exactly what we want? Fucking Christ, Joel.”

Your brow furrows slightly as you finish wrapping her ankle. “Tess.”

“Just go watch the kid, would you?” she spits, pushing your hands away when you reach for her. “I need a goddamn minute.”

Joel grabs the rifle from where he’d set it down, rising to his feet. He offers you his hand, hauling you up too. When he steps toward the ladder, you don’t follow, and when he looks back, you shake your head. “You go, I’ll catch up.”

“Liv,” Tess starts, but you wave your hand at Joel.

“Go.”

+

You cross the ladder a few minutes later, resisting the urge to sigh too loudly at Tess’s excuses, or lack thereof.

I just needed a goddamn minute.

We all need a goddamn minute, Tess. What—

Just stop, Liv. Please. That’s enough.

You’re all shaken. There’s no getting around that. You can count on one hand the number of times you’ve encountered a Clicker, but it doesn’t matter. You could fight a million and the fear would feel fresh, every single goddamned time.

Heart still racing in your chest, you quick-step across the ladder, the bat held in your grip, and as you touch down on the building on the other side, you slide it between the straps of your bag, rounding the corner to the remaining fire escape that’ll take you back down to street level.

Joel and Ellie stand towards the edge, both of them staring out at the landscape before you. Despite the destruction, there’s no denying how beautiful it is. The State House looms in the distance, a final marker, a landing point. You step up to Joel’s side, curling your hand around his wrist. He jumps, but softens when he sees you standing there, subconsciously leaning into you.

You look at Ellie. She still seems a little shocked, but mostly okay, the rag you’d handed her haphazardly tied around her arm. “You okay, kid?”

“Yeah, I’m good,” she answers, a touch of a smile on her lips as she nods.

The three of you turn as Tess rounds the corner, her steps heavy and echoing as she pushes through you and heads to the ladder. “Let’s go, before it gets dark.”

She grunts loudly as she swings herself onto the ladder, putting weight on her bad ankle. She disappears down the ladder, and Ellie looks at Joel, who just nods toward it. “Go on.”

It’s only a fraction of a moment, but as Ellie disappears after Tess, you see Joel’s eyes dip to his watch, his wrist twisting until the cracked face is tilted towards him.

You know what the watch means to him. You know why he won’t take it off, and you’ve never even dreamed of trying to find him a replacement. It pulls at something, something you’re not quite sure of yet, something that feels completely foreign to you.

“C’mon,” Joel says, leaning over to peck your temple before stepping towards the ladder. “You first, I’m right behind you.”

Despite her foot, Tess continues to lead, and you don’t miss the way she’s putting a healthy amount of space between herself and the rest of you. Ellie falls into step in the middle, you and Joel bringing up the rear. Long-parked cars flank either side of the road, every tree and shrug overgrown, most of the vehicles covered with vines, plants sprouting up through the engines.

“What’d she say to you?” Joel asks as the State House grows closer and closer. He juts his chin towards Tess.

“She’s shaken,” you say, sucking your teeth. “We all are, but…”

“But what?”

You recount what Robin had said to Tess, watching the anger flicker through his features. “That’s why she said she won’t go back to Boston. Not that I blame her.”

“I gotta—” Joel starts, trying to move towards Tess, but you grab his arm, pulling him back to your side.

“Joel, don’t. She doesn’t want to talk about it. I barely got it out of her, and then the museum…she just needs a sec.”

He grits his teeth, the muscle in his jaw ticking. “I never liked her. Robin, I mean.”

You actually crack a smile at that, sliding your arm through his. “That’s what I said!”

A few more minutes of walking, and you’re in front of the State House. It looks similar to the museum, in a way, but the structure is wrapped more with ivy than with fungus. Most of the windows are smashed, and in front of the building, is a truck. Repurposed by the Fireflies, stolen from FEDRA; you can see the paint streaks on the doors, covering up the logo. You’re surprised the little bug isn’t painted in its place.

“Where the fuck are they?” Tess grits out, and Ellie shoots you a look, her eyes wide with panic again.

“Wait here with Tess,” you tell her, and pull your pistol from its holster. Joel moves with you, lifting the rifle as you approach the truck. You reach for the handle of the door, waiting for Joel’s nod before you yank it open. He lifts the rifle, finger twitching at the trigger, but it’s empty. The blood you see on the inside of the door isn’t fresh.

You turn back to Tess and Ellie, holding up your hand. “Stay there.”

Slowly, you and Joel circle the truck, guns raised. The fuel tank is riddled with bullet holes, and there’s the buzz of insects, a body trapped beneath the wheels, long dead. Your gut rolls with the stench, and you hold your breath as you keep moving, back toward the rear of the truck.

“On three,” Joel murmurs, both of you reaching for the doors. “One…two…”

You pull the doors open simultaneously, both of you pointing your guns inside. Nothing. It’s empty.

“Joel!” Tess calls. “Liv!” A moment later, she rounds the truck, Ellie a half-step behind her. “What the fuck is going on?”

“I don’t know,” Joel says, and you shake your head.

“Fucking Marlene,” you grit out, but then Ellie tugs on your jacket sleeve, pointing to drips of blood leading up the stairs.

“They went inside.”

“Come on,” Tess spits, and grabs Ellie by the arm, dragging her quickly up the steps.

“Tess!” you shout, running after her as she wrenches the door to the State House open and pushes Ellie in front of her, lifting her gun as the door bangs shut.

You’re through it a moment later, Joel at your heels, both of you with your guns raised, running after where Tess and Ellie have come to a stop in the middle of the large room.

Fuck.

“Holy shit.”

“Oh my god.”

“Oh, Jesus,” Joel murmurs.

There are bodies, at least six or seven of them. Fireflies, you assume, glancing around, taking in the work lights, the boxes of supplies, the large barrels of gas. The tang of blood in the air is at least better than the rotting body outside, and from the corner of your eye, you see Joel pull Ellie away when she steps too close to one of the bodies.

Meanwhile, Tess is in full panic mode. “I mean, there’s gotta be a, a fucking radio or something, right?” she says to no one in particular, and starts rummaging through the boxes.

“Did FEDRA kill them?” Ellie asks Joel, who shakes his head, planting his boot on the body and rolling it over.

“No,” he grits out. “One of them got bit. The healthy ones fought the sick ones, and everybody lost.” He turns to you. “This isn’t good.” He looks past you. “Tess, what are you doing?”

Tess comes barrelling around one of the pillars, a slightly wild look in her eye as she moves toward Ellie. “Where did Marlene say she was taking you?” she asks, and when the kid doesn’t answer right away, she barks her name.

“Uh, I don’t know,” Ellie answers, and Tess spins to look at you. Your brow furrows at her heaving breaths, the even wilder look in her eye. “Just west.”

“Fuck,” Tess curses, and heads for one of the bodies, crouching down. “Okay. One of them has gotta have a map on them, right?” She looks at you over her shoulder again. “Liv, would you help me?”

“Tess, stop it,” you call, rubbing your hand across your brow. “This is over, we need to…”

Joel catches your hand, squeezing. “We need to go back.”

You shake your head. “We can’t go back, Joel. We have to go to Lincoln, we have to…” You drop his hand, stepping back, your mind whirling. You move towards where Tess is crouched over one of the dead Fireflies, reaching a hand towards her. “Tess, you…you need to go back. I don’t fucking care what Robin said to you, you go back. You go back and you tell her whatever the fuck you have to. You go home.”

“That is not my fucking home!” Tess yells, her voice bouncing off the walls of the State House. You flinch back, and Joel’s right there, his hand curling around your upper arm.

Tess lets out a little sigh as she gets to her feet, her eyes darting around as she takes a half-step toward you. “I’m staying,” she breathes out, and her eyes are watery as she looks at you, then at Joel. “I mean…our luck had to run out sooner or later.” She shuffles forward another step, grabs your hand. “If you ever end up in Boston again, tell Robin that I still loved her, all right? Tell her I never stopped.”

“No,” you say, something between realization and fear settling over you, making your heart race. You pull away from her, falling back against Joel. “What are you saying? No. We’ll take Ellie, we’ll go to Lincoln and we’ll figure it out, but you, you go back to the QZ. You tell her yourself, and just—”

“Oh shit,” Ellie says behind you. Both you and Joel whip your heads in her direction, your breathing going shallow. “She’s Infected.”

You turn back to Tess, going to take a step forward, but Joel has a vicelike grip on your arm, keeping you in place. Tess scoffs, clearly impressed that Ellie figured it out.

“Show me,” you say, pulling against Joel’s hold. He won’t relent. “Show me, Tess.”

She takes a step forward, and Joel hauls you back. Tess sighs, the noise as shaky as you feel. She lifts her hand, pulls the collar of her jacket away, pushing her hair back at the same time. It’s right at her neck, above her collar, the jagged ring of teeth leaving her skin dark like a bruise, still bloody in some spots, and the spindly veins of infection stretch out from it.

“Oops, right?” She lets go of her jacket, letting it fall back into place, and her eyes flick to Ellie. “Take your bandage off.”

With a sigh, Ellie does as she’s asked, and Tess walks past you both, Joel pulling you out of her way as Tess grabs the kid’s arm. “Look at this. It happened at the same fucking time and she…she’s real, you get that? She’s fucking real.” Her hands are shaking as she lets go of Ellie, takes a step back.

You just stare at Tess, at your friend. Your best friend.

“Take her to Lincoln,” she says to you, and you inhale sharply. “Go to Bill and Frank, ask them for help. They’ll give you whatever you need, you know they will.”

“No,” you say quickly, stepping around Joel, pushing Ellie behind you. “We can’t, we don’t even know if they— No.”

“You’re gonna figure this out, Liv,” Tess says, her voice shaking. “You go, and you take the kid with you and you—”

“Tess, no, I’m—”

“No, you shut the fuck up, cuz I don’t have time,” she nearly sobs, and your breath hitches in your throat. “This is your chance, Liv. You get her to the Fireflies, I don’t care how you do it. But you do it. You keep her alive, and you set everything right.” She shakes her head. “Please, Liv, just—”

Behind Ellie, there’s a loud gasp and she curses, reaching for you as you grab her, shoving her behind you again, turning in the direction of the noise. One of the bodies gasps, fungal life returned as it crawls across the ground.

Joel wastes no time pulling his pistol out, silencing it permanently.

From where you’re standing, you can see the tendrils of fungus creep around the dead man’s hand, a patch of cordyceps beneath the tile sprouting through.

“Shit,” Joel grunts and sprints for the door you’d come in through. As soon as he cracks it open, you can hear the snarling echoing through the city, growing closer and closer.

He pulls the door shut with a bang. “How many?” Tess asks.

“All of them,” he says, his voice laced with panic. “Maybe a minute.”

Back at your side, you reach for Ellie as Tess picks a rifle up from the ground, uses it to hit the cap off one of the barrels of gasoline, and tips it on its side. “What are you doing?” Ellie calls.

“Making sure they don’t follow you.”

You go to step toward Tess as she flings a box of grenades across the ground. “Tess, wait, just—” She grabs your arm. Behind you, Joel steps forward, his boot sliding in the gasoline, and you look at him over your shoulder.

“Take Ellie outside,” you tell him, watching that hard mask of his fall into place. “I’ll be right there.”

“Liv—”

“Now, Joel.”

He grabs Ellie by the arm and starts hauling her toward the back door. She doesn’t go willingly, instantly screaming no!, calling him an asshole. The door thumps shut, and you turn back to Tess, tears pouring down your face.

“You take care of him, Liv,” she tells you, grabbing your shoulders. “Take care of both of them. They’re gonna need you, you hear me? They won’t make it without you.”

The truth is on the tip of your tongue. You can’t let her die, not knowing what you are. Not knowing that you could have been the reason she’d live past today, if you hadn’t been so selfish. The guilt is worse than any infection. “Tess, there’s something I—”

She pulls you to her, hugging you tightly, and you can feel her hands shaking at your back, her fingers tapping against your shoulders. “I know. Tommy told me, before he left. It didn’t matter, Liv; it doesn’t matter. I knew Joel would never let them take you, no matter what it would fix, not if it wasn’t guaranteed, if it meant taking you from him. But now…this could be real. She’s real, Liv. The kid. She can fix it. Make up for all the bad shit we did.”

It hits you like a ton of bricks, leaving you nearly limp in her arms. “Tess—”

“Take care of him, Liv. Please. For me.” She hugs you tighter. “Take care of yourself.” Then she pushes you back, out of her arms, so hard you stumble back a step, and she presses her gun into your hand. “Take this, and go. Please.”

You take another step back, a shaky breath falling out of you both at the same time. You hear the door creak open again. “Liv!” Joel shouts. “Come on!”

“Go,” Tess says again, just as Joel yells your name a second time.

You sprint back to the door, Joel grabbing you by the sleeve as soon as you’re within reach. The snarling gets louder, echoing through the State House as Joel slams the door shut. You take off running as soon as you’re out, Ellie standing on the steps, waiting for you. You grab her hand as Joel nearly leaps down the steps, all of you running as hard as you can, trying to get away from the building. Your feet hit the grass on the other side of the pavement, and behind you, the building rumbles, an explosion blowing out the windows, flames spewing from every window. It sends you all sprawling forward, stuck looking back at the building in horror.

The fire catches instantly, billowing outward, the plants clinging to the structure smoking away, screaming and flaming Infected stumbling out the door you’d just run out of. Joel lifts the rifle and you raise Tess’s pistol, still gripped tightly in your hand. Black smoke billows out of the State House, and wind whips at your face. You wait a few moments, guns raised, waiting to see if any Infected make it out. Nothing comes, and you drop the gun, hearing it clatter to the ground.

You cover your face with your hands, and you scream. The noise should be loud, Joel should grab you and cover your mouth with his palm, silence you somehow, but you scream so hard no sound comes out of you.

You feel Joel’s hand on your back, pulling at your jacket, tugging on your backpack. The bat is pressed impossibly hard between your shoulder blades, and he pulls it off of you, tossing it toward Ellie and hauling you to your feet. He crushes you to his chest, burying his hand in your hair. It’s the same thing he’d done last night, when the radio had gone off, when your panic over Bill and Frank had spiked. His hand moves down, palm covering the back of your neck, and he squeezes.

“We need to move, Liv.”

You suck down a deep breath, letting it fill your belly, forcing yourself to ignore the way your spine feels like it might rattle out of you completely. “We do.”

Ellie has tears on her face as she turns toward you, your bat held loosely in her grip. Joel releases you, and starts walking, slinging the rifle over his shoulder. You hold your hand out to her, and she takes it.

PREV | NEXT

[lorata]

Just had an important exam go awfully and I’ve been rereading everything you’ve put on A03 to cheer myself up. Just popping up to say thank you for everything youve posted. Over the years it’s become my comfort read whenever things go badly

one time in undergrad i crammed so hard for a final that on the day i blanked and literally wrote nothing. as in like, it was a japanese exam and i couldn't even remember how to write my name in katakana despite having studied for 5 years

WHICH IS TO SAY i send all my commiseration and i fully endorse stress relief through putting characters in situations

to that end, here's an old thing I wrote and i ..... think ....? i never posted, of Petra having a worse day than me

(and if i already posted it and forgot....... YOU'LL HEAR IT AGAIN!)

Petra expected the sleep deprivation tests. It makes sense, given everything else that the Centre prepares them for, that they’d want to see how their tributes perform when pushed to the limit. It makes sense because the Centre makes sense, because the rules make sense, because that’s how the world works and anyone who wants to get anywhere needs to come to terms with that. Petra has a long time ago, whether she likes it or not, and she knows better than to complain.

It’s just. It’s just. When she imagined the sleep deprivation tests, she always pictured taking them alone.

Petra closes her eyes, imagining not sleep but silence, beautiful and dark and filling the room with its wonder and pushing out everything else. Pushing out the irregular beeping and humming and whining noises coming from the speakers at the ceiling; pushing out the sound of her own breathing, rough and ragged and rasping and much too loud. But most importantly, pushing out the sound of her test partner on the far side of the room, who’s decided to deal with the lack of sleep by talking to himself non-fucking-stop.

“Lachlan,” Petra says in what the Centre should give an award for being the nicest voice a person could possibly manage in this kind of situation. “If you don’t stop talking I’m going to make you stop talking. I don’t think you’re going to like it.”

Lachlan ignores her, continuing on the steady stream of babble. The words don’t even register anymore; at one point he’d been talking about his sisters, growing up in the merchant part of town and how they used to drag him out to look at fabric in the windows and beg their father to trade for some. That didn’t even make sense — who gets excited about fabric, what is wrong with civilians — and so Petra eventually tuned out the meaning, but it hasn’t stopped him from talking. His voice has gone dry and scraping but he keeps going, hands fisted in his hair.

A shadow moves in the corner, and Petra tenses and curls her hand around her knife but doesn’t move. It’s not real. It’s not real, it’s her brain playing tricks, because the first ten, fifteen times it showed up she attacked it and wound up crashing into the walls with nothing. It’s just her and Lachlan in the room no matter what she sees, because the walls are solid and she would know if a door opened to let someone in. She would know.

(She would know, wouldn’t she?)

It’s not just the room. There have been other tests, agility tests and weapons tests; after 24 hours and 48 hours they had to spar with each other while the trainers counted out each time their moves went sloppy, and they had to scale the rope and the climbing wall and do pushups while counting aloud. They only had to count to ten but Petra could never get past three without losing count, and by the time she got there her muscles burned and her arms trembled and she’d practically made out with the floor more than she had all the girls in Residential.

The worst were the memory and calculation tests, lists of numbers to add together or words to remember and repeat back. Petra rattled off the death list well enough, deeply ingrained in her brain like that, but everything else is a blur. She thinks she got all the answers right — it feels like she did — but Petra knows that arrogance and cockiness are in her file so she needs to be realistic. Maybe she passed, maybe she didn’t; she won’t know her score until the end. Every few hours they’re brought out and given another round, and Petra hopes they don’t make her write anything next time because all she’s going to manage is KILL LACHLAN over and over and over.

Air brushes the back of her neck, and this is a sealed room and how could there be air if something isn’t moving — Petra whirls and slashes with her knife but there’s nothing there. She hisses, moves with her back to the corner and keeps tracking. Lachlan, on his end, hasn’t stopped croaking.

“Lachlan, if you don’t stop I’m going to kill you,” Petra says. He keeps going and so she raises her voice to match him, their words spilling over each other. “I’m going to go over there and I’m going to cut out your tongue and feed it to you while you choke on the blood, and then I’m going to cut out your eyes and stuff them down your throat but I’ll give you a tracheotomy so you can keep breathing because I don’t want you dead yet, I want you to suffer because you are driving me crazy. You’re driving me crazy and I’m going to get a bad score and it’s going to be all your fault and then I’m going to find you and make you sorry, or you could just stop talking —“

On and on and on, until Petra can’t tell her voice from Lachlan’s anymore, the two of them rasping away on opposite sides of the room. A few times the shadows move and something lunges but Petra throws her knife and kills it, and once she’s sure it’s dead she retrieves the knife and goes back to her corner. Don’t kill Lachlan, she reminds herself, he’s her ally and she hasn’t been given the signal to kill him yet and she has to follow the rules, but she tells him what she’s going to do as soon as she’s allowed and it soothes her, calms her, to have a plan because plans are good.

Finally the door opens and light floods the room; Petra leaps to her feet and so does Lachlan, and they’re both swaying but they stand at attention because that’s what you have to do.

“And that’s time,” says the trainer from a million miles away. “Good job, both of you. Go to bed and we’ll have evaluations tomorrow.”

Evaluation means there’s something to evaluate and tomorrow means she’ll be here tomorrow, and both of those mean she passed. Petra laughs and pumps the air with her fist, and the shadows still move and her trainer’s face is screwed up in a terrifying rictus — or is it a mask, a mutt-mask — but she passed and so did Lachlan. She staggers out the door and heads out down the hall to her room.

She doesn’t remember getting there but she must have, because she wakes up in her own bed, flopped on top of the covers. Someone took the knife, though.

Petra sleeps for fourteen hours and no one comes to wake her, which is another sign she did well. Once she wakes Petra drags herself up to the shower, and she scrubs her fingers through her hair and holds her face up to the spray, letting the cool needles of water bring the blood back. She looks like shit when she catches herself in the mirror, bloodshot eyes and dark, hollowed sockets, but one of the older girls showed her a trick for that. It takes a few minutes, but Petra turns the water in the sink on full cold and scoops up handfuls, pressing it against her face and gasping at the shock.

By the time she finishes and pats her face dry, the circles under Petra’s eyes have faded. She grins at her reflection, pinches her cheeks to bring back the blood flow, and runs her fingers through her hair to let it start to curl.

The last thing she wants to do after three days without sleep is worry about what she looks like, but no Two ever won the Games by looking unattractive. Nobody in the Capitol wants to see a Victor who looks like a mutt chewed them up and spat them out, and Petra heads back to her room to change into a fresh uniform before she makes it out to the cafeteria.

Not all the others in her year have made it, and Petra gives herself a small high-five. Selene is there, of course she is, and she’s not stupid either; she’s done the same as Petra, made sure she looks a little less like death before coming in, but some of the girls are slumped over the table, hair mussed and faces pale.

“Chipmunk made it, huh,” Selene calls out, poking desultorily at her plain oatmeal. There’s fresh fruit on the breakfast bar, at least, and Petra grabs herself an apple and two peaches along with the bowl of unappetizing mash and the mandatory protein shake. “Thought you would’ve chewed through the walls.”

“Ha, ha,” Petra says, dropping into her chair. Normally she’d be at Selene’s throat, but she’s tired enough not to care and just rested enough after her sleep to be charitable. “How’d you do? I wanted to kill Lachlan, he wouldn’t shut up.”

Selene grins, sharp and triumphant, and Petra raises her eyebrows. The last time she looked like that, she’d driven a girl out of the training room in tears and Sarah hadn’t come back the next day. “I actually did try to kill Adam. He flipped out, started screaming for the trainers. They had to come take him out.”

As a general rule Petra tries not to approve of anything Selene does, but Adam is the most annoying boy in her year. She’ll never forget being dared to kiss him when they played spin the dagger, how he’d shoved his tongue down her throat and then acted all boo-hoo baby when she chomped down hard enough they both choked on the blood. Adam is annoying and entitled and the only bad thing is that Petra wished she’d had the honour of driving him out of the Program.

Petra cracks up, and Selene is grinning and Petra hates her but she hates boys more, and Petra leans her head against the table and laughs until she can’t breathe. “We need to convince Lyssa to break into the office,” Petra says finally. Lyssa is the best at picking locks; she’s gotten them all their files so they can see exactly what the Centre has on them. If Selene had taken a shot for every time hers said insubordination she’d be dead now. “I would kill to see that.”

Selene tosses her a showy wink, and Petra snorts and picks up the peach, tossing it in her hand before taking a big, juicy bite.

Later the trainers tell her she got a high pass, and Petra revels in it for all of half an hour before finding out that so did Selene. It makes sense — in the Arena, responding to lack of sleep with instinctive murder is a pretty good reflex — but Petra still grumps and takes it out on the targets at the throwing range. The only consolation is that she catches Selene stomping over to the crossbows, which means she’s just as annoyed about Petra’s score as Petra is about hers.

That cheers her up, and Petra grins and gets the next bulls-eye with her eyes closed, just because she can.