#miles's expression is gold here

[surielstea]

Spelling it Out

Based on a request.

Pairing: Cassian x Fem!Reader

Summary: Reader is a bit oblivious to Cassian’s flirtations, so Cassian has to go the extra mile to prove he truly wants her.

Warnings: Cassian probably makes some suggestive jokes somewhere in here, but it’s all fluff! :)

4.6k words.

"I brought coffee," I announce as I step into the studio's warm embrace, the door swinging shut behind me to keep the morning chill at bay. I balance the two cups in one hand, the other cradling the new set of paints Feyre had asked me to pick up this morning.

"Back here!" Feyre's voice carries from the storage room, muffled slightly by the rustling of cardboard.

I follow the sound, stepping into the small back area where she's surrounded by half-unpacked boxes. She exhales in relief as she rushes up to me, taking her coffee with eager hands.

"You're a lifesaver," she groans, lifting the steaming cup to her lips. "Thank you."

I set the paints down, glancing at the boxes. "I thought the shipments were too heavy to unload?"

Feyre hums around her coffee, eyes twinkling. "Oh, I had help—"

Before she can finish, a figure stalks through the doorway, his presence effortlessly filling the space. A box—one that Feyre and I together had struggled to move—rests in his arms like it weighs nothing.

"This should be the last one," the male says, setting it down with casual ease.

His voice is deep, rough-edged in a way that demands attention. I take in the broad cut of his shoulders, the way his wings shift behind him, arching slightly as he straightens. And then I see his face—hazel eyes rich as molten gold, a scar cutting through his dark brow, and a mouth curled into an easy, knowing smile. He's ruggedly handsome, but not in that delicate, ethereal way most High Fae are. No, he's something else entirely—something solid, real.

"Help from Cassian," Feyre finishes, amusement lacing her tone.

The name stiles me immediately, and I was a fool for not immediately putting it together the second I saw him. Cassian. Lord of Bloodshed.

He turns his gaze to me, openly assessing, and I take the opportunity to do the same. There's something about the way he looks at me, like he's mapping every detail—filing it away for later.

"I didn't know we'd have company," I say, forcing my focus back to the present. "I would've brought another coffee."

Cassian huffs a soft laugh. "Oh, no need. I've been up for hours." His voice carries the same warmth as his grin, rough yet inviting. "But that's a kind gesture."

I nod, offering a small smile in return.

"I don't believe you two have officially met," Feyre chimes in, shifting her attention between us. "Cass, this is my very talented friend. She keeps this place running."

"She gives me too much credit," I say, shaking my head.

Cassian, however, tilts his head, his expression unreadable. "I doubt that." The certainty in his tone knocks something loose in my chest.

"This is Cassian," Feyre continues, grinning. "Rhys' brother and the best guy to call for lifting heavy things."

Cassian makes a sound of protest. "Don't forget hilarious, intelligent, devastatingly handsome—I mean, the list goes on."

I huff a quiet laugh as he extends his hand.

"Well, it's nice to meet you, Cassian." I smile as I take his hand.

His fingers close around mine, warm and calloused, his grip firm but not overwhelming.

"Likewise, sweetheart." His smirk deepens, and before I can pull away, his thumb brushes ever so slightly over the back of my hand—a touch so fleeting, so deliberate, that I almost convince myself I imagined it. Then he winks, a quick, knowing thing, before finally releasing me.

I swallow, ignoring the odd flutter in my stomach. I've heard the stories from Feyre, how when she originally arrived in the night court she may as well have ended up with Cassian with his relentless flirting. He's joking, I remind myself. That's just how he is.

Cassian dusts his hands off on his leathers before flashing me an easy grin. "You must be the one keeping Feyre sane around here."

I huff a quiet laugh, setting down the paints. "I do my best. But she keeps me busy."

"She does that," he muses, glancing at Feyre. "Though I didn't realize she had such a beautiful assistant."

I blink at him, caught off guard. "Oh—I'm not really her assistant. More like a glorified errand runner."

Feyre scoffs. "That is not true."

Cassian's gaze flicks back to me, assessing. "You're an artist too, then?"

I nod while shucking off my winter coat and hanging it on the back of a chair. "That's the idea."

His grin widens. "Now I'm definitely going to start hanging around more. I could use a few painting tips."

Feyre snorts. "You paint?"

"Not yet," he says, unbothered. "But I'm a fast learner. And I've always appreciated a good work of art."

Something about the way he says it, about the way his hazel eyes flick over me like he's taking his time, makes my stomach flutter.

But before I can respond, he flashes me a smirk, turning back to Feyre. "Anyway, mission accomplished. Boxes are in, and I fully expect my reward."

"Which is?" Feyre asks dryly.

Cassian smirks. "Your eternal gratitude. And maybe a good bottle of whiskey, if Rhys is feeling generous."

Feyre rolls her eyes, but I can't help my smile.

"How about next time we need your help, you'll be the first one we call?" I suggest, noticing Feyre's playful disinterest in rewarding him for being a good friend.

Cassian grins like I've just made his day. "Oh, sweetheart. You can call me anytime."

His voice drops just enough to send an odd warmth curling through my stomach. But before I can overthink it, he turns toward the door.

Cassian turns slightly, glancing at me and Feyre. "I'll be seeing you around, hopefully." He directs at me. "See you for dinner, Feyre."

And just like that, he's gone, leaving only the scent of wind and cracking embers in his wake.

I shake my head, amused, as I turn back to Feyre—only to find her already watching me over the rim of her coffee cup.

"What?"

She only smirks, taking a slow sip. "Nothing."

I frown but brush it off, reaching for the new paints.

Cassian was just being friendly. That's all.

Right?

—

From that moment on, Cassian made every excuse to come to the studio. Half the time, he didn't even bother with a valid reason—just threw out a casual "I was in town" when, in reality, he always was. Velaris wasn't nearly as big as he made it out to be.

The bell above the door rang, and I didn't need to look up to know whose footsteps were approaching behind me.

"Is that supposed to be a bird?" Cassian mused, leaning over my shoulder.

I scoffed, shoving his face away. "It's a dog, and you know it."

He chuckled, easily dodging my half-hearted push and settling right back beside me. "Mmm. If you say so." His wings rustled as he peered at my work again, this time with something softer in his expression. "It's amazing, sweetheart. You're so damn talented."

The sincerity in his voice made my stomach flutter. I tilted my head back to look up at him, caught off guard by the rare note of awe in his tone.

That awe melted into something else—something warm and teasing—as he placed both hands on my shoulders and started kneading gently.

I nearly groaned on the spot. "Gods, you're perfect at that." I exhaled, practically melting under his touch.

Cassian hummed, his thumbs working expertly over the knots in my shoulders.

I sighed blissfully, rolling my shoulders into his hands. "You should've been a healer."

He chuckled, his breath fanning against my ear. "I'd rather just take care of you, sweetheart."

I smiled, tilting my head further into his touch, completely missing the way his fingers stilled for a beat before continuing their slow, deliberate strokes.

"You really are tense," he murmured, pressing into the tight muscles just beneath my neck. "Is this what happens when you spend all day hunched over, painting little dogs that look like birds?"

I smacked his arm lightly. "If you're going to insult my work, at least pretend to be subtle about it."

"Who said anything about insulting?" His thumbs dug in a little deeper, his voice dropping just enough to make my skin heat. "I love watching you work. All focused, biting your lip, completely lost in it."

I wrinkled my nose. "That makes me sound like some kind of absent-minded hermit."

Cassian grinned. "A very cute absent-minded hermit."

I rolled my eyes. "Flattery will get you nowhere, Cassian."

"That's funny because I feel like it's getting me everywhere," he mused, his hands still kneading at my shoulders. "You're practically purring."

"I am not purring," I argued, though I made no move to stop him.

"Cassian, stop distracting my employees!" Feyre's voice rang from the back room, laced with exasperation.

Cassian smirked, straightening up from where he'd been massaging my shoulders. "Employee," he corrected with a lazy grin. "And I'm motivating her."

I rolled my eyes, but the warmth of his hands still lingered on my skin, a phantom pressure I refused to dwell on.

He chuckled, stepping back, stretching in that way that made every muscle in his absurdly broad body flex just enough to be noticed. His wings flared slightly, shifting behind him like an afterthought before he shot me another smirk. "I'll let you get back to it, sweetheart." Then, with a slow tilt of his head—"Unless you'd rather take a break and let me keep working these magic hands?"

My breath caught for half a second before I forced myself to scoff. "No," I said, ignoring the small blush creeping up my neck. "But... could I ask you a favor?"

Cassian perked up instantly, arms folding over his chest. "Anything, gorgeous."

I hesitated, suddenly second-guessing myself, but forged ahead. "I need to paint an anatomical feature I've been studying. I have a few reference images, but..." I swallowed, glancing at his wings. "I was hoping I could use you as a live model?"

His brows lifted, hazel eyes gleaming with intrigue. "My wings?"

I nodded. "Your wings are far more magnificent than the sketches in my book."

The moment the words left my mouth, I realized how they sounded—how appreciative they were—and my face went hot.

Cassian, of course, took full advantage. His wings stretched slightly as if preening under the attention. "You just trying to get me shirtless, sweetheart?"

A very unhelpful image flashed in my head—of him, shirtless, all sculpted muscle and golden skin, wings fanned out behind him in the studio's soft light.

"No!" I blurted, before catching myself. "I mean—it's just for the wings."

Cassian barked a laugh, shaking his head. "Only teasing, sweetheart. I'd love to."

I exhaled in relief. "Good. Are you free tomorrow?"

He tilted his head, grinning. "I'm here whenever you want me."

Something about the way he said it made my stomach flip.

I bit my lower lip slightly, nodding. "Thank you."

"I wouldn't thank me so fast," he mused, gaze flicking to me with unmistakable mischief. "You owe me after this."

I narrowed my eyes. "Owe you what?"

Cassian made a show of looking away, tapping his chin as though deep in thought. "Haven't decided yet," he hummed, lips twitching. "But don't worry, sweetheart. I'll think of something."

I huffed, waving him off. "Go bother someone else, Cassian."

He gave a dramatic bow, smirk firmly in place. "As you wish."

And with that, he sauntered off, wings twitching ever so slightly as he disappeared into the back of the studio—leaving Feyre standing there, watching me, amusement dancing in her eyes.

I turned back to my canvas, heat still prickling my skin.

—

I wasn't nervous.

There was no reason to be nervous.

It was just a painting. Just a model session. Nothing different from the dozens I'd done before.

Except, of course, this time the model was Cassian. And he was currently standing in the doorway of the studio, a lazy, devastatingly handsome grin on his face as he crossed his arms over his chest.

"Told you I'd be here whenever you wanted me."

I cleared my throat, turning away quickly to gather my supplies. "Yes, well, I'd rather not have students knocking over easels trying to get a look at you, so we're setting up in the back."

He let out a low chuckle as he followed me. "What, afraid they'll get distracted?"

I rolled my eyes. "No, but I know you will."

"Fair point."

Once we stepped into the back room—where there were no prying eyes or interruptions—I pointed to the stool in the center of the space. "Sit there, facing away from me."

Cassian obeyed, but not before flashing me a smirk. "Getting bossy already?"

I ignored him, busying myself with setting up my canvas. "You can take off your shirt now."

"Damn, sweetheart—at least buy me dinner first."

I froze mid-motion, whipping my head around. "That's not—I didn't—"

Cassian just laughed, reaching over his shoulder to grab the back of his collar. In one smooth motion, he pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it onto a nearby table.

I regretted looking.

Because Mother above.

Cassian was made of solid muscle—thick, powerful shoulders, his back broad and sculpted as if the Cauldron had taken extra care in crafting every ridge, every dip, every inch of him. His wings, folded neatly against his back, only added to the sheer size of him.

I swallowed hard, thankful beyond belief that he was facing away.

"You good back there?" Cassian teased.

"I'm fine," I said, maybe a little too quickly.

I turned my attention to his wings. The pose needed to be just right—relaxed but natural, something that would emphasize their power without looking stiff or unnatural. I stepped forward, lifting my hands, then hesitated.

"Can I touch?" I asked softly, if there was one thing I learned from studying Illyrian anatomy it's that their wings were sensitive, sacred.

Cassian went still.

For a moment, there was silence. Then—so quiet I almost missed it—his breath hitched.

When he spoke again, his voice was different. Lower. "Yeah, sweetheart. Go ahead.

I exhaled slowly before pressing my fingertips to the strong, leathery membrane of his wing. Warmth radiated from him, the muscle beneath my touch twitching slightly as I carefully adjusted his positioning.

It was... exhilarating, in a way. To be granted access to something so personal.

I stepped back to assess the placement. "Are they too heavy to hold like that?"

Cassian laughed. "That's adorable."

I frowned. "What?"

"Sweetheart, these wings have carried me through battle, through storms, through the Illyrian mountains at full speed. I think I can manage to hold them still for a few hours."

I huffed. "Fine. But will you be able to sit still?"

That earned me another chuckle, this one softer. "Guess we'll find out, won't we?"

I shook my head and finally picked up my pencil, settling in front of my canvas.

"Alright," I murmured to myself, letting my nerves melt away as I focused on the work ahead. "Let's begin."

The soft scratch of pencil against canvas filled the room, steady, rhythmic—an anchor keeping me grounded as I worked.

I started with the shape of his wings, mapping out their vast expanse, the way they framed his body like an extension of his very presence. The leather stretched taut over powerful muscle, lined with delicate veins and faint, nearly imperceptible scars.

I shouldn't have been staring so intently.

I shouldn't have been so utterly captivated by every detail of him.

And yet, as I let my pencil glide over the page, shaping the curve of his shoulder blades, the slope of his spine, the corded muscles of his back... I couldn't stop.

He's just a model. Just another subject.

Then why did my fingers tremble slightly when I shaded the deep ridges of his scars? Why did my chest tighten at the thought of what he must have endured to earn them?

Cassian shifted slightly, flexing his shoulders, his wings twitching.

I snapped out of my daze, scowling. "Sit still."

He huffed a laugh. "I don't think I've ever sat this still in my entire life."

I hummed in response, refocusing. Carefully, I traced the lines of his back, the contours of muscle that spoke of centuries of battle, of training, of dedication. My gaze flicked up to his wings again, and a quiet sigh escaped me.

"What's that sound for?" he asked, the amusement clear in his voice.

I hesitated, then admitted, "They really are beautiful, you know."

Cassian stilled for a fraction of a second before letting out a soft chuckle. "Careful, sweetheart. Keep saying things like that and I might start thinking you actually like having me here."

I rolled my eyes. "You act like I don't."

Silence.

A pause, just long enough to make my stomach flutter with uncertainty.

Then, "Good. I like being here."

I pressed my lips together, pretending that warmth hadn't bloomed in my chest at his words. Pretending that I wasn't getting lost in the strong, elegant lines of his body.

I dipped my brush into the paint, moving on from the sketch to the first careful strokes of color.

Cassian's voice broke through the quiet. "You know, if you wanted a full anatomy study, you could've just asked."

I blinked, pulling back slightly. "...What?"

He turned his head just enough to smirk at me over his shoulder. "You're painting my back, too, aren't you?"

My cheeks heated. "Well—yes, but—"

"Seems unfair to only get half the view."

I huffed. "I don't need the full view, Cassian."

His smirk deepened. "That's a shame. I'd be a very cooperative model."

I nearly choked on air. "Just—shut up and sit still."

He laughed, the sound warm and rich, settling in my bones.

I shouldn't have been enjoying this so much.

I shouldn't have been admiring the golden-brown glow of his skin, the way the light cast soft shadows over the planes of his back. I shouldn't have let my eyes linger on the scars that marred him—proof of all he had endured, of everything he had survived.

And I certainly shouldn't have wished that all his teasing, all his flirtation, was anything more than just casual banter.

Cassian was like this with everyone.

Wasn't he?

I was not going to let Cassian distract me.

Even if he was currently sprawled in front of me, shirtless, his wings stretched just so, his body the most stunning thing I'd ever painted.

Even if his words curled around me like smoke, warm and teasing, making my thoughts race in ways they shouldn't.

I swallowed hard and turned my attention back to the canvas, forcing myself to focus.

I just had to finish the painting.

And ignore the way my heart had begun to beat just a little too fast.

The rhythmic strokes of my brush filled the quiet space, punctuated only by the occasional scrape of bristles against canvas and the steady sound of Cassian's breathing.

Nearly an hour has passed, and to his credit, he'd been holding still remarkably well. Mostly.

"You're awfully quiet back there, sweetheart," Cassian mused, his voice carrying just the hint of a smirk. "Not getting bored, are you?"

I huffed, dipping my brush into a deeper shade of pigment. "I'm working, Cassian."

"I am your work right now."

I rolled my eyes. "And you're a very high-maintenance subject."

Cassian chuckled. "I prefer engaging. You should be thanking me, really. Keeps things from getting dull."

I let out a soft laugh despite myself. "You're half-naked in front of me, Cassian. Things aren't exactly dull."

Silence.

A beat too long.

I froze as I realized what I'd just said.

Cassian's wings twitched. Then, "Well, well."

I groaned. "Forget I said that."

"Oh, absolutely not." He turned his head slightly, just enough for me to catch the smug curve of his lips. "You just admitted to being entertained by me. I'm savoring this moment."

"I said forget it."

"Nope. It's mine now."

I sighed, glaring at the canvas like it had personally wronged me.

Cassian chuckled again but thankfully let it drop, settling back into his position.

A few minutes passed in something almost resembling peace. I worked on layering in the first washes of color, the warm tones of his skin against the deeper hues of his wings.

Then—"So, do I get a say in how I'm portrayed?"

I lifted a brow. "Are you worried about artistic liberties?"

"A little."

I fought back a smile. "I could make you look very dramatic, if that's what you're asking. Add some storm clouds in the background. Maybe a tragic tear rolling down your face."

Cassian snorted. "As tempting as that sounds, I'd rather not be mistaken for some brooding, tortured soul."

I hummed. "That is Azriel's aesthetic."

"Exactly. We can't both have it."

"I don't know," I mused. "I think it could work. Maybe a single candle for dramatic lighting—"

"Absolutely not."

I grinned, but before I could make another remark, Cassian stretched, his wings flexing slightly before tucking back into place. The movement was so fluid, so casual—so utterly him.

I quickly went in with another light sketch, wanting to capture the way his muscles moved, the effortless strength in his frame.

"You still with me back there?" he teased, amusement lacing his voice.

"Yes, Cassian. Some of us are capable of focusing."

"Some of us just don't need to focus that hard to admire what's in front of us."

I frowned slightly, not quite catching his meaning. "What?"

He chuckled. "Nothing, sweetheart."

I shook my head, deciding not to press it.

"Alright," I finally said, leaning back to study my work. "I have the basics down. You can put your shirt back on now."

Cassian made a low, exaggerated noise of disappointment. "Damn. And here I was hoping you'd need me to pose for a few more hours."

I rolled my eyes. "Don't sound too heartbroken. I will be making you sit for another session later."

His grin was wicked. "You just can't get enough of me, can you?"

"Shut up and put your shirt on, Cassian."

He laughed, grabbing his discarded shirt—but the knowing look in his eyes told me that he'd be holding onto this moment for a long time.

And for some reason, I didn't mind one bit.

—

Cassian came in for many sessions after that.

I probably could've finished the painting on my own after the first few sittings, but he insisted I get all the colors right, all the details perfect. And, well... I wasn't exactly going to complain about having him shirtless in front of me for hours on end.

So, day after day, he showed up, sauntering into the studio with that insufferable smirk, stretching his wings like he owned the place. And I let him, indulged him—indulged myself—until the painting was finally finished, until there was no reason for him to sit for me anymore.

The thought left a strange hollowness in my chest, but I ignored it, focusing instead on adding the final highlights to his wings.

Cassian shifted in his seat, rolling his shoulders.

I glanced up. "Getting restless?"

He grinned. "You gonna keep me trapped here all day, sweetheart?"

I smirked. "You're free to go anytime." I glanced at the painting. "But you'd be leaving unfinished art behind, and that would just be tragic."

Even though all I had left to add was a small, near-invisible highlight, I liked the idea of keeping him there just a little longer.

Cassian chuckled, shaking his head. "Fine, fine. I'll sit still for you a little longer."

Something in the way he said it—for you—sent a ripple of warmth through me, but I shoved it aside. I exhaled, finally setting my brush down.

"Alright," I said, stretching my arms. "You're officially free."

Cassian groaned dramatically, standing and rolling his neck. "Finally." He grabbed his shirt, but instead of putting it on, he slung it over his shoulder, turning toward me with that insufferable smirk. "Is it done?"

I turned the easel slightly toward him.

It was hard to admire my own work. After staring at it for so long in every unfinished form, I wasn't sure if I loved it or if I just loved the image I had painted. But I could say I was proud of it. That was enough.

Cassian stepped closer, blinking at the still-wet canvas. His brows lifted, his mouth parted slightly. He didn't speak, didn't crack a joke, didn't smirk like he usually did.

I shifted under his gaze. "Well?"

He inhaled, slow. "Sweetheart..." He sounded almost reverent. "It's... it's beautiful."

A laugh bubbled from my lips. "You're only saying that because it's you I painted."

"No—I mean, I am beautiful, but this is... magnificent." His voice was softer than usual, quieter.

Something flickered in his eyes as he turned toward me, something warm and fond. It was enough to make my stomach flip.

I swallowed. "Thanks, Cass."

His grin returned. "Proud of yourself?"

I nodded, offering a small smile. "Yeah. I am."

His wings twitched. "Good. You should be."

A comfortable silence settled between us for a moment, the weight of his words pressing into me in a way I wasn't sure how to handle.

Then Cassian cleared his throat, stretching his arms over his head. "Now that it's finished..."

Something about the way he said it sent a prickle of anticipation down my spine.

He grinned. "...About my favor?"

I groaned. "You actually kept track of that?"

Cassian scoffed. "Sweetheart, I'd never forget a promise like that." He crossed his arms over his broad chest, eyeing me like he was scheming. "And I know exactly what I want."

A slow, lazy smirk curled his lips.

And for some reason, my stomach flipped all over again.

I raised a brow, waiting.

Cassian took a step forward. Then another.

My stomach flipped. "Okay?"

"I want you to go out with me."

I blinked. "What?"

His smirk deepened. "That's my favor. You and me. A date."

I stared at him, sure I'd misheard. "You're joking."

"Nope."

My heart did something strange, something uneven, and I let out a short, breathy laugh. "Cassian, you flirt with everyone."

"Not like this." His voice was quieter now. Steady.

I swallowed. "But—you're just messing with me. You've been messing with me this whole time."

Cassian sighed, running a hand down his face. "Gods, you're impossible." Before I could react, he stepped closer, hands coming up to cup my face, thumbs brushing my cheeks.

My breath hitched.

"Sweetheart," he murmured, tilting my chin up slightly. "Listen to me. I have not spent weeks finding every excuse under the sun to come here, sitting shirtless for hours just so you'd look at me, calling in a whole-ass favor just to take you out—just to mess with you."

I opened my mouth, but no words came out.

Cassian's thumbs brushed against my skin again, his hazel eyes locked on mine. "I like you. I want you. And I swear to the Gods, if I have to spell it out anymore, I'm going to start carving it into the damn walls."

I let out a breathless laugh, my face burning. "You're serious."

His lips curled. "Took you long enough."

I exhaled, shaking my head slightly. "I—"

"Just say yes, sweetheart," he murmured, voice teasing, but there was something else in his gaze—something warm, something steady. Something real.

I swallowed hard. Yes."

Cassian grinned. "Good choice."

His hands lingered on my face for just a second longer before he pulled back, grabbing his shirt off his shoulder and throwing it on. He shot me one last smirk as he backed toward the door.

"I'll pick you up tomorrow after your class."

And with that, he was gone, leaving me standing there—heart racing, mind spinning, trying to process the fact that Cassian had actually just asked me out.

That all this time, he hadn't been messing with me at all.

Feyre was going to laugh at me for not catching on sooner when I tell her.

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[critterbitter]

The twins and their starters may have grown slightly taller, but their love of shenanigans have tripled, no, quadrupled in size.

On that note did you know Eelectrik has a glow animation?? Perfect nightlight eel. Absolute gold standard for creature. Click here for the masterlist!

Bonus shitpost under cut ft @birdsaretoddlers’s incredible take.

(plus a fanfic drabble that birds did while we were discussing in chat! Check out their funny writing @birdsaretoddlers) “Lam lam pentttt. Lam.”

“Language. I am not calling them that. This is a civil discussion about the capacity of a 284 Berkshire’s firebox, not a playground argument.”

“Lammm Pent.”

“If you possess my phone I will have to put you in time-out in your ball, and neither of us will like that.”

The argument over a literal online flame war was cut short by the door flying open, one of the hinges breaking off with the force and flying somewhere into the aether, never to be seen again. Or at least, not without a strong magnet.

Emmet stood there, proudly, holding his newly-evolved Eelektrik, his grin a mile wide. Ingo picked his heart up out of his femoral artery, where it had lodged itself, and gently removed Lampent from where she hid, hanging over his shoulder. Emmet stood there, eyes twinkling, clearly ready to perform the coveted Bit. Ingo opened his mouth, got halfway through a word, and his twin took the proffered delight of cutting him off.

“I am Emmet and I discovered something INCREDIBLE. INGO LOOK.”

Ingo looked, because what else was he going to do? He would allow his twin to complete his circus act, it was only proper and polite. Eelektrik trilled with delight. Emmet twirled like the best of Nimbasan runway models, clearly wrestling his eel, cooing platitudes to it as he writhed and squirmed to get it into position.

“Me beautiful slimy baby, my beloved pool noodle, my beeesstt conductor!~” Doing something that could generously be called ‘dislocating his shoulders’, Emmet managed to get his eel flipped up and around his neck. He flopped forwards, bonelessly, tipping his hat and giggling madly. He was grinning harder than normal. Ingo was a little scared.

“But now, Eelektrik can do MORE. OBSERVE.”

He threw his shoulders back, standing up as tall as he could, somehow not throwing himself ass-first onto the floor as the fifty pounds of eel he was currently deadlifting remained stationary over his neck. Emmet’s arms flew upwards and out, rocking back and forth in jazz hands. Eelektrik frilled its fans, made another happy little buzz and-

"Eelektrik boa."

“DRAGONS ALMIGHTY. THE EEL GLOWS.”

There it was, clear as day. Eelektrik flashed it’s spots in natural bioluminescence, blinking like a neon sign. Bright beautiful yellow and clearly charged, Emmet’s hair stood on end, pushing his hat an inch off his head. They blinked in a rhythmic, pulsing manner. It was almost hypnotizing to watch, in a way. Ingo snapped back to reality, realizing his mouth had dropped open and Lampent had ceased questing for his Pokedex. Recognizing Emmet was looking for a response, he threw his arm out in a thumbs-up so fast his arm hurt, snapping his suspender against his neck.

“Brrravo! Ten out of ten! Majestic eel scarf!” He praised, Emmet’s expression only growing further full of himself and his achievement, which was well deserved. Lampent echoed the sentiment, flashing back at Eelektrik in response.

Now that both Pokemon could glow, they’d never have a problem in the caves again!

[undiscovered-horizon]

[Mihawk prefers to keep work and his private life separate. On one rare occasion when these two have to comingle, Mihawk is rather upset at the attention you attract.]

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When Mihawk said "It will be just a moment, my dear", you didn't think the issue would take more than half an hour. Yet here you are, two hours after he had left you in a fussy lounge in the back of Midnight Grove...

...and not a Dracule Mihawk in sight.

You let out an exasperated sigh and take another sip of your mai tai. The band is playing yet another song that sounds vaguely identical to the previous one. Similarly, the mob of other patrons seems to be merging into one, murky background of blurry figures in your eyes. Being used to the peaceful yet refined companionship of Mihawk, the aura of Midnight Grove is beyond unbearable.

Mindlessly playing with a coaster featuring a howling wolf, you don't notice a Marine cadet approaching you.

"I'm afraid I have to arrest you, my lady."

The unexpected and, frankly, unwelcome comment makes you look up from the devilishly fascinating coaster. Your eyes fall on a well-built man with long hair and a smug expression. The glint in his brown eyes makes you tense up in discomfort.

"Excuse me?" you ask him, not understanding the meaning behind his words.

The cadet gives you a bad parody of a flirtatious smile. "You look too beautiful," he purrs out.

You can't help but laugh. Somehow, you're undecided whether his pick-up disgusts or amuses you or maybe both. Perhaps his audacity forced a laugh out of you - the ring on your fourth finger is neither modest nor simple. Considering how the large gem in the golden band shone in the low light of the Midnight Grove, even a blind man could tell from a mile away that you are anything but single.

"Anyone waiting for you at home?" he continues his rather poor attempt at flirting.

With a casual flick of your wrist, you toss the coaster on the table. Feeling both curious and entertained, you decide to play along - for now, at least. "Why are you asking, sailor boy?" you question before taking another sip of your drink. The ice has melted and the diluted drink now tastes mostly of old freezer.

"He must be mighty jealous about you. And considering the gold you're wearing," he makes a point of staring at your cleavage, "a millionaire, too."

"Oh, this?" You look down at the necklace of jewels and pearls. A memory flashes before your eyes, suddenly remembering Mihawk's face, barely visible in candlelight as he clasps the jewellery around your neck, telling you sweet things only men in romance novels tend to say. "Yes, it's a gift from someone. I'm sure you know him," you tell the Marine cadet in a casual tone, already imagining how hilarious his face of terror will be when he realizes whose spouse he's been trying to woo. "Tall, yellow eyes, a rather large sword and...

"Awfully annoyed at your impertinence, boy."

The low, guttural voice laced with withheld anger makes both of you look away. There, standing right behind the cadet, is Mihawk himself. Part of his large physique blocks the scarce lighting, making him look significantly more insidious. In the twilight of the Midnight Grove, with fury burning in his eyes, Mihawk appears closer to a demon than a man.

Although the room is dark, you can clearly see the way the cadet's blood draws from his face and the way his eyes are suddenly bigger than an owl's. He scrambles to his feet, almost falling off his chair. Then, muttering apologies and promises of better behaviour, the young Marine runs off only to disappear in the crowd of Midnight Grove's patrons.

Mihawk's eyes follow the youngling for a moment.

"I should have him strung up and killed," he says more to himself than you.

"Or," you speak up, a playful smile curling your lips, "you could sit down, have a drink with your beautiful wife and gloat about the fact that you're the only man to undress her."

You might just be a witch because the change in his demeanour is instant. There is still something wild in his bright, yellow eyes but it's not bloodthirst or anger anymore. You notice how he glances at the ring and the necklace, admiring his own signs of "ownership". One would think they're big enough to send the message. Alas, some people just refuse to receive it.

"You have me convinced," Mihawk says as he sits down next to you.

[mggslover]

How the Unsub Stole Christmas ❆

A Holiday to Remember: part 2

In which the BAU's holiday getaway takes a dark turn when a family is found murdered on Christmas, forcing the team to investigate while reader struggles with painful memories of her past and her growing, unspoken feelings for Spencer Reid.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!bau!reader Genre: crime, angst, smut (18+), fluff, found family Content warnings: graphic cm case descriptions!!, mentions of shitty childhood, reader getting in some unsub trouble, oral (f receiving), p in v sex. Word count: 9k 🫣 i swear it reads really fast A/n: read part 1 first! writing this story genuinely brought me so much joy, and i hope you will experience the same while reading this. this will be my last fic for the year 2024, so thank you from the bottom of my heart for all the support, i can't wait to see what the new year will bring for this blog. don't forget to interact with this post if you've enjoyed! 🎄🤍 dividers by @issysh3ll

It shouldn’t have surprised you that you’d be called out for another case. Still, the disappointment lingered thick in the air.

“It was fun while it lasted,” Garcia murmured softly, her tone sad. JJ wrapped an arm around her, bringing her in for a side hug. “Don’t worry,” she reassured gently. “The trip isn’t over yet.”

Penelope seemed satisfied enough with that answer, but then spoke up again. “I don’t want to stay here on my own. It’s spooky knowing someone got murdered just miles away.”

“You can come with us to the station. Rossi, Morgan, Prentiss and Y/L/N, you’ll head to the crime scene. A deputy will be waiting for you there.” Hotch instructed. 

You exhaled softly and gave a brief nod. Spencer glanced over at you, his eyes filled with that quiet empathy you’d come to recognize over the years.

“Good luck,” he said, his voice low but sincere.

“Thanks,” you replied, your words equally soft. “You too.”

Half an hour later, you arrived at the crime scene. The neighborhood was so small it hardly felt like one—just a handful of houses scattered across large, snow-dusted plots of land. It looked peaceful, almost idyllic, as if nothing could ever disturb the calm. The street was adorned with Christmas lights and festive decorations. The only thing slightly out of place was a crack in the bench beside one of the houses. Otherwise, the neighborhood looked like it had stepped right out of a holiday card.

As you stepped out of the car, you noticed the few neighbors who hadn’t yet been driven inside by the cold. They stood in clusters in front of their homes, bundled up in scarves and coats, watching the scene unfold with cautious curiosity.

You looked over at Prentiss. “We should start doing some interviews—maybe send a few of them over to the station.”

She nodded, her expression focused. “Got it.” Without another word, she made her way toward them.

You followed Rossi and Derek toward the red wooden house, where the Deputy awaited by the front door. He looked young—probably around your age. 

Rossi introduced you to Deputy Wilson. Wilson gave a sheepish smile, “Sorry it’s just me. Almost the whole department is unavailable because of the holidays.”

“Convenient timing for a murder,” you mused.

“The scene’s been left as it was when we found it,” Wilson continued. “The back door’s been forced open, and you can see boot prints in the snow leading to the backyard.”

Morgan immediately stepped forward. “I’ll get a shot of those prints for Garcia,” he said, already heading toward the backyard.

Wilson looked at you and Rossi. “You want to take a look inside?”

You paused before heading in, shaking the snow from your boots and making sure not to use the doormat—the one engraved with the names of the family members. It felt wrong, almost disrespectful, to dirty the only thing that might be left of them. 

You took in a sharp breath as you entered the house. Your gaze was first taken by the large Christmas tree standing in the corner of the living room, decorated in red and gold. But then you noticed the bloody mess underneath it. Four bodies—two adults and two children—lay scattered on the floor, broken Christmas ornaments surrounding them, as though the killer had dropped them carelessly after his violent act. The mother and father were draped over each other, their throats slit cleanly. The teenage daughter, too, had her throat cut, but her body was twisted in a way that didn’t seem accidental. The small boy—no older than ten—was slumped between them, his face frozen in an expression of terror, a look that would haunt you for days.

The scene before you was a sickening parody of a perfect Christmas. Each of the bodies wore a smile, painted over their lips in blood. It was a mockery of joy, an image of happiness forced onto the dead.

You felt a wave of nausea rise in your throat and turned away, needing a moment to breathe. It was then that you noticed the walls, once filled with family photos, now smeared with blood. Shattered frames lay scattered on the floor, as if the killer had intentionally destroyed everything that was dear to them. 

Rossi spoke first. “The unsub who stole Christmas,” he mused, his tone almost playful despite the grim reality.

You gave a sharp exhale, a brief scoff escaping your lips. “Yeah, you could say that.”

You put on your gloves and picked up a shattered picture frame from the floor. You handed it to Rossi without a word. He took it, studying it for a moment before speaking again. “One thing’s for sure—this wasn’t just a murder. This is deeply personal.”

You nodded, scanning the room. The starkness of the crime scene was still sinking in, but your mind was already running through the facts. “The execution was meticulous,” you murmured, your gaze flickering over the room, “but the aftermath... messy. The unsub rushed out of here—didn’t even bother closing the back door behind him, and those footprints? Almost like he didn’t care at all about leaving evidence. We might even get lucky and find DNA on the bodies.”

Rossi considered it. “It could be that he was in a hurry. In a small neighborhood like this, people will notice anything out of the ordinary. He probably knew he had to move fast.”

You hummed in return. “It still doesn’t add up. You can’t plan a murder with this much detail and then completely overlook how to cover your tracks afterward.”

You took another slow turn around the room, examining the details. Every piece seemed to add to the strange puzzle, but none of it fit together. As you passed the fireplace, something caught your eye: a piece of paper tucked into one of the stockings. You reached for it carefully, your fingers brushing the corner stained with blood.

You unfolded it with precision, revealing the scrawled words in black ink. The sentence was short and written in Latin, a language you hadn’t encountered in years. You stared at it, furrowing your brow as you tried to make sense of it.

“You wouldn’t happen to know Latin, would you?” You asked Rossi, half-joking, though the seriousness in your voice remained.

Rossi looked up, his expression a mix of confusion and dry humor. “Does it look like I know Latin?”

You smiled, already pulling your phone out of your pocket and speed dialing Spencer. As the phone rang, you turned your attention back to the paper, the blood spatter still making your stomach turn.

“Hey,” you breathed out as he picked up the phone after the second ring.

“Hey,” Spencer replied. “Are you okay?” His voice was soft with concern, your single syllable being enough for him to decipher how you feel.

You glanced over your shoulder at the murdered family, swallowing hard before turning away. “I will be,” you responded. Once that fucker is behind bars.

You straightened, pushing the thoughts away, and focused on the task at hand. “I’ve just found a piece of paper at the crime scene. It’s a text written in Latin. I figured it’d be quicker to ask you than wait for Garcia to look it up.”

Spencer hummed in acknowledgment. “Good call. What does it say?”

You glanced at the paper again, stumbling slightly over the unfamiliar words. “Nunc sciunt te perfectum non esse.”

There was a beat of silence on the other end of the line before Spencer spoke, his voice calm but precise. “Nunc sciunt te perfectum non esse. ‘Now they know you’re not perfect.’” His perfect Latin pronunciation made you wince at how poorly you’d read it.

“What’s that supposed to mean? A taunt?”

Spencer’s voice was thoughtful. “Sounds like he’s trying to prove something. It’s definitely personal.”

You exchanged a look with Rossi, who was standing nearby, holding the broken picture frame. “Yeah, that’s what we’ve been thinking. Whoever this unsub is, he knows the Reynolds family intimately.”

“Garcia’s already digging into the family’s background,” Spencer replied without missing a beat, already a step ahead.

“Good,” you muttered, relief washing over you for a moment. “How are things going over there?”

“JJ’s been trying to reach family, but they don’t live nearby,” Spencer answered. “A snowstorm hit. I’ve been tracking the meteorological data, and the chances of them making it are close to zero.” 

You nodded, a dull ache settling in your chest. “Well, I’m going to keep looking around here. The bodies will be picked up soon to go to the lab, and then I’ll be heading over to the station.”

“Alright,” Spencer replied, his tone warmer now. “I’ll see you there. Be careful.”

“Always am,” you said, offering a small smile even though he couldn’t see it.

The words on the note kept drifting through your mind. Maybe it was the sentiment that came with Christmas—or maybe it was the fact that, up until now, you were having a perfect holiday, something you never thought you’d get to experience—that made the scene remind you of your childhood. How everything looked so joyous from the outside, especially during the holidays. But if you looked closely, you’d see the cracks. The ornaments on the tree, hastily glued together, their edges jagged and uneven. The hole in the wall, cleverly concealed behind your stocking. 

You were probably overthinking it. After all, it wasn’t the family that was broken like yours was—it was the unsub who had shattered their picture-perfect life.

Rossi’s voice broke through your thoughts. “You okay, kid?”

You blinked, pulling yourself out of the past and into the present. “Yeah, I’m fine. Let’s get out of here.”

You and Rossi walked into the secluded room the Sheriff had arranged for the team, exchanging your findings with Morgan and Prentiss along the way. You’d made a quick stop at a Chinese takeaway to grab food for everyone, knowing the team needed fuel for the long hours ahead.

The rest of the team was already seated around the table, and Reid was in the middle of showing Hotch something on the map of the neighborhood.

“Oh, you guys are the best!” Penelope sighed, her voice full of appreciation as she caught sight of the plastic bags you were carrying.

“We couldn’t leave you to go hungry,” Emily responded with a grin.

You took a seat closest to where Spencer was standing, and he naturally slid into the chair beside you. You reached into the bag and pulled out the only plastic fork, knowing he’d struggle with chopsticks. He flashed you a grateful, closed-lip smile as he took it from you.

Once everyone had filled their plates, the conversation turned back to the case.

“Garcia dug up some useful info,” JJ began. “Stephen Reynolds owned a construction company that’s on the verge of going bankrupt. It’s possible the unsub was an employee who got fired—or was cut loose because the company couldn’t afford him anymore.”

“It seems like the whole family was targeted,” you added, leaning forward. “The note was left in one of the children’s stockings. It doesn’t feel like the murder was just directed at Stephen.”

“That’s why we need to find out more about the Reynolds family outside of their neighborhood,” Hotch said. “The employees at the construction company could have insight. It’s clear the neighbors aren’t going to give us much.”

Rossi’s eyes narrowed, a skeptical look on his face. “Did they really not give you anything? The neighbors, I mean.”

Prentiss shook her head. “Nothing useful. They kept insisting that the Reynolds’s were a perfect family. They even seemed offended when I pressed for more.”

“That doesn’t sit right. The note specifically mentioned how the Reynolds’s are not perfect.” Rossi replied. 

“I gotta give it to them, though,” Garcia chimed in. “The Reynolds’s are model citizens. The parents were both heavily involved in charity, and the kids have won multiple prizes in spelling bees and other competitions.”

“Has anything bad ever happened in that neighborhood?” Morgan asked, clearly skeptical about the idea of perfection.

Penelope clicked away on her laptop. “Well, there was a fire in one of the houses about ten years ago, because of damaged Christmas lights.” She made a sad face as she continued searching. “Oh, and a cat got stuck in a tree once… didn’t make it.”

“What happened to the family in the house?” Spencer asked.

Penelope’s fingers paused over the keys. “Uh, let me see… The Eriksens died from smoke inhalation. Oh… this is sad. They left a child, Christopher Eriksen. He was put into foster care when he was just eight.”

“Did the Reynolds’s live there when that happened?” JJ asked.

“Yeah, they did. Actually, they organized a fundraiser to build a bench with the parents’ names engraved on it, in their memory.”

You felt your pulse quicken at the mention of the bench. Something about it seemed strangely familiar, but you couldn’t trust your mind right now—not with everything still scattered from the case, and the ghosts of your past tugging at the edges of your thoughts.

You could feel Spencer’s gaze on you, but you decided to ignore it, keeping your focus on Hotch as he spoke up. 

“It’s best if we head back to the cabin to rest up,” he said. “Tomorrow’s going to be a long day, and the station’s closing tonight so everyone can spend time with their families.”

Everyone nodded in agreement, the relief of getting some rest evident on their faces. But as the team began gathering their things, you couldn’t shake the feeling of unease that had settled in your chest. You hated the idea of putting the case on hold, even if it was just for the night. The face of that little boy kept haunting your thoughts, his wide eyes silently pleading for answers, for peace. You couldn’t help but feel like you were letting him down.

Spencer’s hand snakes up on your shoulder, his warm hold holding you in place. His lips barely moved as he mouthed, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you whispered, shaking your head.

The entire car ride had been silent. Spencer’s gaze would occasionally flicker over to you in the backseat, but you kept your eyes fixated on the road, watching the scenery blur past.

The silence stretched on as you said your goodnights to the rest of the team and walked toward your shared room with Spencer. As you both got ready for bed, there was an unspoken tension hanging in the air. Now, lying in the king-sized bed, you both stared up at the ceiling, the quiet stillness between you thick with unspoken words.

“When are we finally going to talk about what’s wrong?” Spencer’s voice broke the silence, careful but insistent.

You stayed quiet for a moment, trying to gather your thoughts. “Nothing’s wrong,” you replied, your words coming out a little too quickly.

“There’s obviously something wrong,” he pressed gently. “You know you can talk to me, right?”

“I know,” you answered honestly. Usually, Spencer never had to push. There was something about him—something warm and patient—that made it easy to open up, to share your thoughts without fear of judgment. But this time, it felt different. It wasn’t just the case. It felt personal, something you couldn’t fully explain.

“I don’t know what’s wrong,” you said, thinking aloud. “It’s just… something’s off. And I don’t know if it’s just me.”

“What do you feel?”

You hesitated. “It sounds stupid,” you muttered, brushing it off.

“Nothing you could say would sound stupid to me.” His words were soft and sincere, making your chest tighten with warmth. You turned your head to face him, noticing the proximity.

“You thought it was stupid that I shower at 115 degrees,” you said with a playful smile.

Spencer let out a soft chuckle, the tension easing just a little. “I don’t think it’s stupid that you like it,” he said, his voice gentle. “I just think it’s stupid that you’d risk hurting yourself over it.”

His eyes warmly looked at you. One hand rested underneath his pillow as he lay on his side. You turned toward him, mirroring his position.

"I’m really struggling with this case," you softly admitted, trying to keep eye contact, though your gaze flickered down, betraying the weight of your words.

“Was it hard seeing the crime scene?”

"Yeah," you choked out, your throat tight. You blinked quickly to try to stop the tears that threatened to spill. “It was... it was horrible.”

His hand reached out to gently rub your bare arm under the blanket. "It’s completely normal to feel affected by what you saw," he began, his voice steady but laced with the kind of empathy that only someone like him could offer. "Witnessing something as violent and horrific as the bodies of two children—it’s traumatic. It’s a lot for the brain to process, especially when it involves young victims. According to studies in neuropsychology, traumatic experiences, particularly those involving children, can cause the brain to release a surge of stress hormones like cortisol and adrenaline. It’s not strange that it leads to emotional responses, like anxiety and flashbacks.”

“I’ve been experiencing flashbacks,” you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper. You met his gaze, looking for reassurance, and he gave you the space to speak, waiting patiently. “It actually started earlier today, when we arrived at the cabin. I’ve never experienced a Christmas like this, you know, the kind that feels warm and joyful. I- I don’t know if I’m making connections that aren’t there, but the feeling I had in that house was the same feeling I used to get when I was growing up.”

He tilted his head. "What feeling?"

“...Jealousy.”

His eyebrows knitted. “Jealousy?”

You nodded, swallowing hard, gathering your thoughts. “You could feel so much rage in there. Everything that made the home feel homey—that warmth, that love—was completely shattered. The way the unsub positioned the family members under the Christmas tree, the way the note was tucked into the stocking… There’s a reason for it. Christmas represents this idealized view of perfection. I don’t think the message was to prove that the company going bankrupt is some sort of imperfection in the family’s picture-perfect life. No, it feels like the unsub was jealous of their happiness. Of the fact that they had a family who seemed perfect—something he never had. He wanted to destroy it. To ruin their happiness. He could never have it, so he shattered the illusion of perfection entirely.”

Spencer was quiet for a moment, processing your words. “So you think the Reynolds’s were targeted as surrogates?”

“I guess so. But you don’t just stumble across a neighborhood as desolate as theirs.” you responded.

“It could still be one of the employees of the construction company. If Stephen bragged about his perfect family to the wrong person, it could have triggered something.”

You hummed in agreement, but Spencer could see there was more on your mind. He raised an eyebrow. "What is it?"

“As I got older, I learned that blaming others wasn’t going to make me feel any better about my situation. It’s like the unsub hasn’t realized that yet. The way he executed this crime—it’s almost like a child throwing a tantrum. He was so meticulous in setting everything up, and then once he got what he wanted, he just… walked away. There was no care for the aftermath, no consideration of what would happen afterward.”

“Do you think the unsub could still be a child?” he asked, his voice tinged with disbelief.

Your mind clicked, and for the first time, the puzzle pieces seemed to fit together. “How old was the kid when he was put into foster care?" You asked, already knowing the answer.

“Eight. Why?” Spencer's confusion was evident.

“It’s been ten years since that house caught fire. That would make him eighteen now, and—"

Spencer’s eyes widened as realization struck. “And that he just got out of foster care.”

"Exactly," you said, rolling out of bed and storming downstairs.

“Hey! Where are you going?” Spencer called after you, quickly grabbing his cardigan from the chair in the corner of the room before hurrying to catch up.

“Be quiet, I don’t want to wake anyone.” You instructed, feeling Spencer’s presence behind you as you moved toward the kitchen.

“What are you doing?” he hissed in a whisper as you opened Garcia’s laptop on the table. You didn’t respond, your fingers already flying over the keys as you settled into a chair.

Spencer huffed, knowing full well there was no stopping you once your mind was set. He hovered behind you, draping the cardigan over your shoulders. “I’m not covering for you if Garcia finds out,” he warned, glancing over your shoulder at the screen.

“That’s fine. I know exactly what to say to win her over,” you said nonchalantly, clicking away. In your mind, the image of Spencer in the shower was still vivid—a story you could easily use to distract Penelope if it came to that.

You paused, your heart skipping a beat as you found the file. “Here it is,” you muttered, eyes scanning the information on Christopher Eriksen. You clicked to open it fully, Spencer already reading ahead of you.

“They found bruises all over his body when he was put into foster care,” he read aloud, his voice tense as the words sank in.

You leaned forward, your breath catching. “This is it,” you murmured. “His parents— they must’ve bought into that ‘perfect family’ image of the neighborhood, but behind closed doors, they were hiding this. Can you imagine what it must’ve been like for him? Everyone thinking his parents were saints, while they were hurting him? All the while, they’re the ones who get a memorial bench, their lives celebrated while they tortured him.”

“It was on Christmas that he was put into foster care. Now, it’s the first Christmas since he’s been out. It makes sense to go back to the place where it all started,” Spencer concluded.

“I need to go there,” you said urgently, slamming the laptop shut.

“Have you lost your mind?!” Spencer asked, bewildered. He immediately followed you as you rushed to the door, still in your pajamas. “You’re not seriously planning on going out like that?”

“It’s just a quick peek. I need to see if I was right about the bench,” you said, almost to yourself, already focused on the task ahead. You didn’t even glance behind you as you pulled on your shoes and yanked open the front door, wrapping Spencer’s cardigan tighter around yourself to ward off the cold.

In moments like these, Spencer knew exactly who had trained you. You were unmistakably like Gideon—determined, single-minded, and often impulsive once your mind was set. And that, in turn, always left Spencer in a state of mild panic.

“You can’t drive at night,” he said, his voice rising with concern as he followed you into the snow-covered yard. “You have nyctalopia!”

You didn’t stop, your focus unwavering. “You should take night-blindness seriously, it takes forever for your pupils to dilate, and by that time, you’ve already missed the stop sign or, I don’t know, hit a pothole or something. Your contrast sensitivity goes down, so objects blend into the background, and—did I mention the glare from headlights? Because that’s a huge problem, and it makes it worse! You’re already having trouble seeing, and now the glare from every car that passes is just blinding you. It's like trying to navigate in a fog, but it’s just light fog, which—okay, that’s a really bad analogy, but you get the point!”

His words fell into the background as you continued walking, your mind fully occupied with proving your theory. The case had been driving you mad. If you could just confirm that the bench was broken—that Christopher was the one who’d done it in a moment of anger—everything would click. The case would be solved. You’d give the Reynolds family peace. And, selfishly, you’d give yourself peace.

“Please,” Spencer begged, now standing in front of the car door, blocking your path. “If you’re going, at least let me drive.”

His comment made you halt in front of the car. “You hate driving,” you pointed out.

“I’d rather be uncomfortable for a few minutes than risk something happening to you,” he admitted.

You stared at him, feeling a surge of gratitude for how much he cared, how he believed your theory and was willing to go along with you. 

You reached out and took his hands. It was a gesture he rarely tolerated from anyone, but you’d learned over the years that Spencer appreciated it when it came from you. You looked up at him, your eyes meeting his. “Thanks, Spence,” your words were simple but your voice was full of appreciation.

He swallowed, his eyes softening as he nodded. “We’ll just take a quick look, right?”

“I swear,” you promised. “Just a quick look.”

He sighed, still clearly uneasy but unwilling to argue. You handed him the car keys and moved to the passenger side, sliding into the seat. 

—————

Spencer slowed the car as you neared the familiar area, the headlights casting long shadows over the snowy driveway.

"Let’s stop the car here," you suggested. The thought crossed your mind just in time—it would be very inappropriate to drive into a quiet neighborhood with an unknown car at this hour, especially after a murder had taken place.

You and Spencer stepped out of the car, the cold biting at your skin as you walked side by side. You stayed close to him, partly to keep warm, partly to follow his tracks through the snow, the dark pressing in around you. The Christmas lights that had lit up the neighborhood earlier were now off, leaving everything shrouded in an eerie quiet.

You made your way to the bench. Your hand skimmed over the smooth wood, lingering on the top right corner where you felt a distinct break—something sharp and jagged where a piece had clearly been broken off. You exhaled in relief. You were right.

Spencer’s hand shot out to gently grab your wrist, his fingers warm against the cold night air. "Careful," he warned. "You don’t want splinters. Stay here, I’ll grab a flashlight from the car."

You nodded, watching as his footsteps faded into the distance, his figure disappearing into the darkness.

You scanned the area. Everything was silent, beside the occasional crunch of snow beneath your feet. Your eyes were drawn to a dim light flickering from inside the rebuilt house where the Eriksens used to live, just past the bench. Before you could second-guess yourself, your feet were already moving toward the light.

You crept closer to the window, standing on your toes to peak inside. The house was barely furnished, still very much in the process of being worked on before it could be sold. You pressed your hands against the cold glass, forming makeshift goggles with your fingers, your face just inches away from the window as you tried to get a better look.

A sudden pressure on your stomach snapped you out of your thoughts. Before you could react, an arm tightened around your waist, yanking you away from the glass. For a brief moment you thought Spencer was playing some kind of prank, trying to startle you—but the movement was so fast and forceful, you knew Spencer would never grab you that aggressively.

Your gasp caught in your throat, immediately silenced as a cold, rough hand clamped over your mouth. Panic surged, but your body went stiff when the sharp edge of a knife pressed to your throat. You didn’t need any further confirmation that this was the unsub.

"I don’t know who you are," the voice rasped, his breath hot and heavy against your ear. "But you shouldn’t have shown up here."

You could feel his rage, his plan ruined by your unexpected presence. Every instinct screamed at you to fight back, but you remained frozen, knowing that one wrong move could end it all.

“I didn’t plan on killing anyone innocent, but you’ve put yourself in this situation,” he spat, his grip tightening on the knife.

In that fleeting moment, you made a decision. Taking a leap of faith, you sank your teeth into the soft flesh of his palm. The sudden bite startled him, and by sheer luck, he loosened his grip on the weapon.

“Christopher!” You shouted, the name ringing out with urgency.

It was enough to catch him off guard. In that instant, you turned, quickly positioning yourself with a better angle. He was taller than you—still, just a boy, consumed by something far beyond his control. His pain was evident, lurking beneath the fury in his eyes. You knew this wasn’t what he wanted. 

“Who are you?” His voice was strained, the words gripping with suspicion and confusion.

“I’m here to help you,” you said sincerely, keeping your voice steady.

“No, you’re not,” he denied.

“I swear I am. I know what happened to you. I know what your parents did to you.”

Without warning, he shoved you hard against the house. Your head slammed into the window, a sharp pain exploding in your skull. “You don’t know anything!” he screamed.

“I do, Christopher. I do!” The words came from a place of desperation, your breath ragged. “I understand. I know how much this eats at you, how alone you feel because you’re the only one who knows the truth. But it doesn’t have to be like this. You don’t have to hurt anyone else. The truth will come out. People will know what your parents did, what really happened here. You’ll get what you want, the world will see that they’re not perfect.”

For a split second, something flickered in his eyes—something soft, vulnerable. 

“They all knew what happened!” He said in anger, pointing at the houses surrounding you. “They all knew and no one said anything!” He shook his head, “I’ll never get what I want. It’s too late for that.” he muttered bitterly.

Despite his words, you felt a flicker of hope. He was talking. He was listening. That had to count for something.

“It’s not too late, Christopher,” you firmly spoke. “I thought the same thing once. But family… family isn’t just the people you’re born to. You can build your own, one that will love you despite everything. I’ve got that family now.”

He swallowed hard, his face momentarily flickering with doubt. “I wish I could believe you,” he said, his voice tinged with regret.

And then, in a flash, his arm shot out. Instinctively, you braced yourself, squeezing your eyes shut, waiting for the inevitable strike.

As the seconds stretched on, a flood of memories flashed before your eyes, a cruel reminder of everything you had to lose.

But then, a loud thud echoed in the night. Christopher crumpled to the ground, his body going limp. You whipped your head up, heart in throat, and saw Spencer standing behind him, the butt of his gun covered in blood, the impact of the blow knocking Christopher out cold. 

A shaky breath escaped you, half a sob, half a gasp of relief. You stumbled toward Spencer, your legs nearly giving out as you threw yourself into his arms. 

“I’m so sorry,” you cried into his chest, voice cracking. “I was so stupid. I shouldn’t have—”

He shushed, brushing a hand through your hair as he held you close. “It’s okay. You’re safe now,” he murmured soothingly. “I’m here. You’re safe.”

Twenty minutes later, the team and the police arrived. Spencer had called Hotch the second you’d calmed down enough, and by the time they got there, Christopher was still passed out. The officers dragged him into the back of their car, while JJ and Prentiss took it upon themselves to reassure the neighbors that they had someone in custody.

You knew exactly what was coming when Hotch finally made his way over to you and Spencer, but your head was pounding too much to care.

Hotch scanned the two of you with a sharp, disapproving look. “Really? You went to catch an unsub in your pajamas?”

“The whole ‘catching the unsub’ thing wasn’t exactly part of the plan,” you muttered, wincing slightly as the headache flared.

Hotch exhaled sharply, then turned to Spencer, his gaze a little more pointed. “I could’ve expected this from her, but I expected better from you, Reid.”

Spencer shifted uncomfortably, knowing there was no defense. “I’m sorry, sir.”

Hotch gave a sigh in response, his expression softening just a fraction. “I’m too tired to deal with the two of you right now. I expect to see both of you in my office in the morning.”

“Actually, I checked all the rooms in the cabin, and there’s no office. Which is surprising, considering—”

“Spence,” you interrupted him with a nudge of your elbow.

He shot you a tight-lipped look, turning back to Hotch. “We’ll see you tomorrow.”

—————

The second you closed the car door behind you and buckled your seatbelt, you passed out. You’d always slept best during car rides, and especially now, with your mind much quieter now that Christopher Eriksen wasn’t your problem anymore.

When you finally arrived back at the cabin, you were still sound asleep. Derek told Spencer to wake you, but he didn’t have it in him. Instead, he carefully made his way to your side of the car, unbuckling your seatbelt. He lifted you into his arms, trying not to huff too loudly as he carried you through the thick snow. He made his way up the stairs quickly, hoping Penelope wouldn’t notice the wet tracks from his boots inside the house—he couldn’t take them off while holding you.

He was glad you were in your pajamas as he gently laid you on the bed. He walked over to the closet, grabbing some extra blankets and draping them over you, hoping it would help you regain some warmth.

Then, he crawled into bed beside you. Closer than he would’ve dared if you were awake, not quite touching, but close enough to share body heat. His gaze lingered on you, watching how peaceful you looked. The night had been a lot to handle, but he knew he’d do it all again if it meant keeping you safe.

The bright light reflected off the snow outside, filtering into the room. Groaning, you rubbed your eyes, the movement only making your headache worse. You huffed and carefully opened your eyes, being met with the sight of Spencer. His hair was a curly mess, and a small, warm smile painted his face.

“Hey, how’s your head?” he asked softly.

The events of last night rushed back to you, and you groaned again. “So, all of that really happened?”

“It did,” Spencer confirmed.

“I really hoped I just got drunk on too much Glühwein,” you sighed, wincing at the thought.

“You can still do that tonight,” he teased.

“No,” you muttered in disgust. “I need to recover from this first.”

You glanced over at him again, seeing the concern still shining in his eyes.

“I’m sorry for putting you in that situation last night,” you said quietly. “Everything about it was just... stupid.”

“If you hadn’t insisted on going, who knows who else he could’ve hurt,” Spencer pointed out.

“I guess that’s true.” You thought about it for a second, the weight lifting slightly. “Still, I shouldn’t have dragged you into it.”

“I’m glad I went with you,” Spencer said, his voice softening. “If I hadn’t... I don’t want to think about what could’ve happened to you. I would never forgive myself if I wouldn’t have been there in time.”

You gave a heavy sigh, turning your gaze to the ceiling. “That’s why it’s probably best we stay friends,” you mumbled, more to yourself than to him. Despite Emily’s pep talk, this was proof that it wouldn’t be wise to start something serious with Spencer.

“Friends instead of what?” Spencer asked, his voice higher, as if eager to hear the answer.

“Instead of us dating,” you said, almost offhandedly, not realizing you were speaking aloud about something you’d never discussed before, even though the topic would come up eventually.

Spencer froze, his eyes wide, hope flickering in them as he looked at you. “You would date me?”

Your heart skipped a beat. You froze too, catching up with the fact that you had said that out loud. Your cheeks warmed, and you immediately turned your gaze to the ceiling, not daring to look at his expression.

“Uh—hypothetically,” you stammered, scrambling to cover your tracks.

“You would hypothetically date me?”

You swallowed, still too flustered to look at him. “Yes. If... you would, I mean. If you wanted that, too...?”

Spencer was silent for a beat, his gaze never leaving you. “Do you really mean that?”

“Yes,” you answered, your voice steady despite the racing thoughts in your head.

He slowly moved closer to you, his hand reaching out to cup your cheek. You flinched back instinctively, and he immediately withdrew his hand, his expression apologetic.

“What are you doing?” you asked, your heart beating faster.

“You said you’d want to date me,” he murmured, his voice unsure.

“Yes, but—” you stopped yourself as the realization hit that he was planning to kiss you. “Oh.”

Tentatively, you reached out and placed your hand on his cheek. You leaned in a little, but this time it was him who pulled back.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice breathless.

“Kissing you.”

“Oh,” he breathed out, his tongue darting over his lips. “Okay.”

You smiled softly, then closed the distance, your lips gently pressing to his.

Spencer hummed in satisfaction, both of you staying like that for a moment, neither of you wanting to pull away. You were the first to break the kiss, catching your breath. If it were up to Spencer, he’d keep his lips on yours forever.

Your eyes fluttered open, faces still inches apart. Spencer cupped your face and pulled you back in, placing several soft pecks on your lips before he leaned on his arm, slightly hovering over you as he deepened the kiss.

You tried to mirror his movements, but a sharp pain shot through your skull. “Ouch,” you hissed, pulling back.

“Just lay down, let me take care of you,” Spencer assured, the warmth of his words making your heart flutter. You slowly lower yourself onto your back, the soft sheets crinkling beneath you, and Spencer moves above you, the blankets still covering both of you.

His lips found yours again. He kept them slightly parted, giving you the chance to slide your tongue against his. The world outside seemed to disappear as you melted into each other, lips moving in sync.

The kisses become more heated, each one a little deeper than the last. His hand moved to cup your face, his thumb gently stroking your cheek, the other hand resting on your side, his touch sending little sparks of warmth wherever it brushed.

You could feel the heat between you growing. “I’m so warm…” you mumbled against his lips. 

His eyes darkened slightly. “Yeah?” His voice was rough as his fingers lightly trailed over the buttons of your pyjama shirt. “Do you want me to take this off?”

You nodded, and he slowly started undoing each button with purposeful care. His gaze flickering between your eyes and the exposed skin. He let out a moan when your shirt finally fell open, his eyes taking you in. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathed out in awe, before pressing his lips to yours again. 

You responded eagerly, your hands fumbling between your bodies to undo his shirt in the same way. You slid the fabric off his shoulders, letting your hands run over the muscles of his back, feeling the heat of his skin. 

He gently pressed his body weight down on you, and you shuddered at the feeling of your nipples pressing against his bare chest.

His lips delicately kissed your face, until he reached your ear. He nipped at your lobe, sending a jolt of heat straight to your core. “Do you like that?” he murmured, his breath hot against your skin.

You answered in a soft moan, your body arching into him. He didn’t need to ask again; he could tell you were enjoying this as much as he was.

His lips slid lower, kissing and sucking on your neck, while his hand slid down to cup your breast, his thumb brushing over your nipple in slow, teasing circles.

His mouth moved to your collarbone, and then he teasingly dipped lower.

“God, Spence,” you softly moaned as he placed a wet kiss on your lower stomach. “That feels so good.”

His hand, which has been resting on your breast, trails down until it reaches the waistband of your pyjama pants.

“More, please,” you whimpered, lifting your hips instinctively. His fingers slide around the band as he slowly pulls them down, his eyes drinking in the sight of you.

He lowers himself onto his stomach on the mattress. With a tender touch, he lifts your legs over his shoulders.

“Is this okay?”

For a moment, you’ve lost yourself in his gaze—those warm brown eyes looking up at you, his pink lips swollen from his kisses…

“Y-yeah,” you manage to respond, nodding.

You moaned as his mouth made contact with your inner thighs, his tongue warm and wet against your skin. He took his time, kissing his way to the sensitive spot where you needed him most.

“Spencer…” you breathed, your voice shaky with need.

The anticipation was unbearable as his hot breath tickled you, but you didn’t have to wait much longer. Slowly, his tongue flicked over your pussy, and you gasped, your body trembling at the touch.

He moaned in response, as if he couldn’t get enough of the taste of you, his tongue swirling in soft, teasing motions that had your hips lifting off the bed in search of more. 

“So fucking sweet,” he muttered against you, before repeating the motion, licking you again and again, while he grinded himself against the matress.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, urging him closer, deeper, your body quivering as he continued. He alternated between sucking and licking your clit, his finger moving up and down your pussy until it entered you gently, then slowly adding another, the stretch an overwhelming pleasure. 

You gasped his name, your body writhing beneath him as the pressure built with every move. “Spencer… please, don’t stop…” you begged, voice thick with need.

His fingers curled inside you, pressing just the right spot as his tongue continued swirling around you. Your legs started trembling as you reached the edge.

“I’m—“ you gasped, but the words dissolved into a string of moans as the wave of pleasure crashed over you. Your legs were shaking as you came undone, clenching around his fingers, your hips bucking against his mouth. 

Spencer didn’t stop, though. He kept going at a gentle pace, letting you ride out the intensity of your orgasm. Then, he slowly pulled away, his lips glistening as he looked up at you, eyes wide and full of wonder. 

“Was that good?” he asked softly, licking his lips. 

You laughed breathlessly as you nodded, your chest still rising and falling rapidly. “Come here,” you whispered seductively, pulling him in by the back of his neck to kiss him. You could taste yourself on his lips, which only added to your arousal.

Spencer’s eyes darkened with desire, his forehead pressed to yours. “I need you. I need to be inside of you.”

You nodded, moving your hand down his body, feeling the hardness of him against your palm. He helped you pull his pants down, and you stroked him gently, feeling him twitch in your hand before guiding him toward your entrance. He let out a low groan, his eyes never leaving yours as he slowly pushed into you.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he moaned, his hips stuttering as he filled you completely. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer as his thrusts grew deeper, more urgent.

You could feel every inch of him, every movement as his cock repeatedly hit those places inside that made your head spin. The room was filled with the sound of skin against skin, your moans mixing with his ragged breaths.

“You’re so warm,” Spencer whimpered. “So perfect for me.” 

Your hands gripped his back, nails digging into his skin as you urged him on, your body moving with his. His pace quickened, and you couldn’t hold back the desperate cries that escaped you. 

“Spencer… I’m so close,” you gasped.

“Me too,” he moaned, his hips slamming into yours. “Let me come with you. Please, let me come with you.”

You nodded, your body trembling. “Now, Spencer…” you begged in a breathless plea.

His breath hitched, his body tensing as he gave one last deep thrust, and then, with a loud, guttural moan, he came inside you. You followed a moment later, your body clenching around him as you fell apart. 

The room was filled with nothing but your ragged breaths, the sound of two bodies, tangled in a quiet, shared moment of bliss. Spencer collapsed beside you, his chest rising and falling as he took your hand in his, pressing a soft kiss to the back of it.

“That was… perfect,” he whispered, his voice full of awe.

You smiled softly as you placed your head on his chest, fingers lazily tracing his stomach. “Yeah,” you said in a breath, your heart full of him. “It really was.”

You let out a soft groan as Spencer stood up, and you instinctively reached for his hand, pulling him back toward you. “Don’t go yet,” you pouted.

Spencer smiled, his eyes twinkling with a mixture of amusement and affection. “I’ve got something for you,” he said, wrapping a blanket around his waist before walking to the corner of the room. He rummaged through his bag, his back turned to you for a moment as you blatantly checked him out.

“I miss you,” you murmured, leaning back into the pillows.

He chuckled softly, glancing over his shoulder. “I’m not even five feet away from you.”

You shrugged, your voice a little teasing. “Still feels like you're miles away.”

With a smile, he walked back toward you, sitting down on the edge of the bed, his hands behind his back. “Which hand?” he playfully asked.

“Left,” you replied without hesitation.

He swiftly shifted the small box he’d been holding from his right hand to his left, then grinned, revealing the gift. “Here you go.”

You blinked in surprise. “That was your present?” you asked, your voice filled with wonder as you recognized the familiar wrapping Garcia had handed you the day before.

Spencer nodded, watching you closely. “Yeah. Open it.”

Your hands trembled slightly as you unwrapped the gift, your heart racing with excitement. Beneath the paper was a velvet black jewelry box. You glanced up at Spencer, your eyes searching his for affirmation. He gave a soft nod, accompanied by an encouraging smile.

With a gentle flick of your fingers, you opened the box—inside was the most stunning heart-shaped locket you’d ever seen.

“Oh my God, Spencer,” you breathed out, feeling a mixture of awe and disbelief. “It’s… it’s beautiful.”

A shy smile tugged at Spencer’s lips as he ran a hand through his hair, pushing it behind his ear. “It used to be my mom’s,” he explained. “She doesn’t wear jewelry much anymore, but she wanted me to keep it... to give it to someone special one day.”

Your heart melted at the thought, and you looked at him with newfound tenderness, the weight of his gesture sinking in. 

“She was happy when I told her I wanted to give it to you,” he added.

Your eyes widened slightly. “Your mom knows about me?”

Spencer nodded, a faint blush creeping up his neck. “I tell her pretty much everything. She likes hearing about you most.”

“Why?” You curiously asked.

Spencer's smile deepened, and he looked down at his lap for a moment, as though gathering courage. When he looked up at you again, his eyes were full of love.

“Because you make me happy.”

After your intimate moment with Spencer, the inevitable conversation with Hotch had to happen. Just before the talk, Hotch received a call from the lab confirming the DNA found on the Reynolds matched Christopher Eriksen’s—meaning the bittersweet news of Christopher going to prison.

“I still don’t get how the two smartest people on the team act like half a brain when they’re together,” Hotch had said with a half-smile, glancing at you and Spencer. “But… you did good work.”

—————

Later that morning, Emily spotted you, her eyes immediately drawn to the locket around your neck. “Fancy,” she commented, her smirk growing as she cocked an eyebrow. “Where did that come from?”

You felt your cheeks heat up as you absently played with the necklace, a soft smile on your lips. “It’s Spencer’s. He gave it to me.”

Emily’s smirk turned into a knowing smile, and you could see the proud glint in her eyes. “You two are something else.”

—————

Throughout the day you and Spencer did your own thing, trying to act casual in front of the team—yet every time his hand brushed your back or he leaned in for a quick kiss in the empty hallway, your heart fluttered. You couldn’t help but sneak glances at him as he played chess with Rossi, your eyes catching his in those fleeting moments.

You felt Spencer’s presence behind you like a familiar warmth as you stood in the kitchen. He slipped his arms around your waist and buried his face in the crook of your neck, placing soft kisses.

“Who would’ve thought you’d be such a romantic?” you mused, running your fingers through his hair, the feeling of him against you enough to make your heart race.

His lips hummed against your skin. “It’s your fault,” he stated, his voice thick with affection. “You drive me crazy.”

You tugged him up the stairs to your shared room, pushing him playfully onto the bed. You stood between his legs as you began to slowly peel away your clothes, revealing the red laced lingerie set Derek had gifted you during Secret Santa.

“Never thought I’d be thanking Derek for gifting you this,” Spencer mused, his hands sliding up and down your legs, a smirk displayed on his lips.

You smiled, tracing his jaw with your thumb, the heat between you growing. “What do you think of checking out the hot tub?” you purred.

He swallowed nervously, his eyes flicking down to his lap. You rolled your eyes as you responded in a sigh, “You can choose the temperature.”

Before you could say another word, he scooped you up, lifting you over his shoulder with a playful slap to your ass. You yelped, giggling as he carried you off toward the bathroom.

—————

The cabin was large, but unfortunately not big enough to avoid Garcia, so you knew what was coming when you heard the familiar sound of her heels clicking against the hallway floor. She was heading straight toward you, her finger pointing accusingly at you.

“I slept with Spencer.” you hurriedly spilled out before she could say something.

She stopped in her tracks. Her face went through a thousand different expressions in the blink of an eye—confusion, disbelief, excitement—before she finally let out a high-pitched squeal. “You... you slept with Spencer?”

“Twice,” you giddily answered, the smile creeping across your face before you could stop it.

Garcia’s expression finally broke into a huge grin, and without missing a beat, she grabbed your hands and started bouncing on the spot. “Derek is gonna lose his mind!”

You barely had time to protest before she was already up the stairs.

As the end of the day drew near, the group gathered around the fire pit in the backyard, cocoa mugs in hand, the warmth of the flames casting flickering shadows on everyone’s faces. 

“Are you sure your phone is on silent?” Garcia asked Hotch, eyeing him with suspicion.

“I’m sure, Garcia,” Hotch replied with a small smile.

She was satisfied, her focus shifting to Rossi. “The honor is yours. You may present the last Secret Santa gift.”

Rossi cleared his throat, glancing around awkwardly. “Now, this might sound like a cheap excuse for forgetting to buy a present…” Laughter rippled through the group, and Garcia shot him an offended look. “But... I think I can speak for all of us when I say the best gift is us being together in this beautiful location.”

He turned to Hotch, his voice genuine. “Aaron, you’ve built a good team here. A good family. You should be proud.”

Hotch���s smile softened, his eyes briefly glancing over the group, the weight of the moment settling on him. “I am. Thank you, David.”

And for the first time, you didn’t question whether you deserved a place in this loving, dysfunctional family—you knew you belonged.

[amirasainz]

Please write one with Norris!reader. She is competing in the Olympics with pair ice skating. Her and her partner win gold. Lando who is sadly in a different country for a race watches the performance with the other drivers. Everyone, like really everyone, is so happy that she won and is celebrating. Proud older brother Lando

Enjoy reading and send some requests!!!

-xoxo babygirl 💕

Golden

The bright lights of the stadium glinted off the ice, reflecting the high energy of the crowd as they waited for the final pair of skaters in the Olympic Pairs Free Skate competition: Y/N Norris and Thomas Liu. The audience had been buzzing for days about their challenging program, filled with complex lifts and intricate footwork. But while everyone in the packed arena held their breath in anticipation, there was someone thousands of miles away, nervously glued to a screen, who was probably even more tense than the crowd: Lando Norris.

Lando was in his race gear, sitting with a group of Formula 1 drivers in a hospitality suite that McLaren had set up for the race weekend. It was nearly midnight in this part of the world, but he’d made sure to arrange for a screen to be set up so he wouldn’t miss a single moment of his sister’s performance.

“Mate, you look like you’re about to race right now,” Carlos said, nudging Lando with a grin.

“Tell me about it,” Charles chimed in, laughing. “You’re sweating more than before a qualifying lap.”

Lando’s foot tapped against the floor nervously as he adjusted his position. “Guys, you don’t get it. Her program is… it’s insane. She and Thomas have been working on this routine for months, but it’s, like, terrifying. There’s this lift — he flips her over, mid-air — if it goes wrong…”

Max Verstappen raised his eyebrows, giving Lando a supportive pat on the shoulder. “You’ve got to have a little faith, man. She’s been working toward this for years. She’ll crush it.”

The feed cut to a shot of Y/N and Thomas taking their positions at center ice. Thomas’ hand reached out, giving Y/N a reassuring squeeze before the music started. Even from miles away, Lando could see the glimmer of determination in his sister’s eyes.

The routine began, and almost instantly, Lando’s hand went up to his mouth, his face contorted in a mix of pride and pure anxiety.

Carlos nudged him again. “She’s graceful out there, you know. Doesn’t even look nervous.”

“Yeah,” Lando replied, unable to tear his eyes away from the screen. “She makes it look easy, but it’s not. Not even close.”

The other drivers had gathered around as well, all offering quiet words of encouragement, their own faces tense as they watched. Even Lewis, who was typically the calm and collected one, had his arms crossed tightly, his eyes narrowed in concentration.

“She’s incredible,” Oscar murmured, shaking his head. “I didn’t know figure skating could be this intense.”

As the performance continued, Y/N and Thomas flawlessly executed their jumps and spins, moving in perfect sync, like two parts of a well-oiled machine. Then came the most challenging part of their program, the lift that Lando had mentioned.

Lando’s breath hitched as he leaned forward, gripping the edge of his seat. “Here it comes. This… this is it.”

Thomas skated backward, pulling Y/N into a complicated lift, where she twisted in mid-air before he caught her smoothly. For a moment, it looked like they might wobble, and Lando’s heart skipped a beat. But Y/N steadied herself and completed the maneuver with a look of pure confidence.

“Yes!” Lando punched the air, his face lighting up with pure, unfiltered joy. The drivers around him erupted in applause, patting him on the back, some even whistling in admiration.

The performance ended with Y/N and Thomas holding their final pose, frozen on the ice as the audience rose to their feet, the entire stadium erupting into cheers. Lando’s eyes were wide, his expression one of astonishment and pride as the scores flashed across the screen.

Gold.

“She did it…” Lando whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “She won gold. She actually won!”

The entire room broke out into celebration, with Charles and Carlos jumping around him, Max ruffling his hair, and Oscar giving him a quick, excited hug.

“Your sister’s an Olympic champion, mate!” George exclaimed, grinning widely.

“I told you!” Lando’s voice was loud with pride as he looked around the room, practically glowing. “My little sister just won gold. Do you all understand? Gold! Olympic gold!”

From across the room, Zak, who had been watching with a keen interest, raised a glass in Lando’s direction. “Congratulations, Lando. Quite the feat. She’s a Norris, after all.”

Lando laughed, his voice almost cracking as he replied, “Thanks. I think I’m more proud of her than I’ve ever been of anything.”

With a grin, Lando looked at the screen again, watching as Y/N and Thomas embraced each other on the ice, their eyes wet with happy tears as they took in the roaring applause of the crowd.

“Did I tell you guys she’s been skating since she was three?” Lando was practically bouncing as he regaled the room with tales of his sister’s determination. “She’d get up at five every morning to practice. And she’d never quit. Never.”

One of the F1 media team members overheard the conversation and couldn’t resist joining in. “I think we’ll need a press release from McLaren. ‘Lando Norris’ sister wins gold!’”

“Please do!” Lando laughed. “I’ll shout it from the rooftops myself if you don’t!”

The drivers laughed, and for the rest of the night, Lando didn’t stop talking about Y/N. Every person he passed, from engineers to team staff, he’d proudly announce, “Did you hear? My sister’s an Olympic champion!”

Carlos was laughing, shaking his head. “Lando, I think you’ve told everyone in the entire paddock at least three times already!”

“And I’ll tell them again!” Lando shot back, grinning ear to ear. “Did I mention? My little sister’s got an Olympic gold medal!”

Back on the screen, the ceremony began. Y/N stood on the podium with Thomas, a gold medal hanging around her neck. When they lifted their medals to the sky, the drivers raised their drinks in a toast to her from miles away.

“To Y/N Norris, Olympic champion!” they all cheered.

As the night went on, Lando’s pride didn’t wane for even a moment. He went on and on, telling anyone who would listen about her dedication, her talent, her hard work. And as he finally made his way back to his room, Lando couldn’t resist sending Y/N a message.

Lando: Y/N, I am the proudest brother in the world right now. I knew you could do it. You’re incredible, you know that?

A few moments later, his phone buzzed with a reply.

Y/N: I had the best brother in the world cheering for me. Thanks, Lando.

Lando smiled, putting his phone away, a warm sense of pride flooding through him. In his mind, there was no race, no podium, no championship that could ever compare to the feeling he had at this very moment. His sister was an Olympic champion, and he was—without a doubt—the proudest big brother in the world.

[risingoftime]

WHERE HE WAITS | LOUSTACK |

I heard your hearts dancing ᝰ.ᐟ

synopsis: Stack Moore is the man standing between Louis and Lestat. Blood, business, and something far more dangerous than desire.

The smell of New Orleans was different than Chicago. It was sweet with rot and jasmine, steeped in music and magic. Stack didn’t like it at first. The way it made his cigarette smoke hang longer. But the city grew on him, like moss, like a wound you stopped minding.

Tonight was different from most nights for Stack; Mary had just left him, and he was on the hunt for the vampire responsible for the dent in the food supply. He was following blood. Not fresh blood, old blood. The kind that clung to walls long after the body was gone. He’d been in juke joints, card rooms, even back alleys behind brothels. But tonight, the trail led him to a narrow street with no name, where the gaslights flickered like they knew something was coming. And there he was.

All dressed in his Sunday's best, like mourning never left him. Candlelight spilled from an open window, catching on the edge of his cheekbone. He looked less like a man and more like a question with sharp teeth to Stack.

"You following me?" Louis asked, not turning his head. Just spoke it softly, like he already knew.

"I don’t follow. I hunt." Stack didn’t blink.

Louis let out a slow, bitter laugh. "You think I’m a meal?"

Stack stepped closer. "No. I think you’re what’s been leaving bodies all over the city. Just wanted to see if the bloodsucker wore silk."

"And if I am?" Louis turned then, his eyes were dark like the night sky.

Stack’s grin curled. "Then maybe I’ll let you teach me something." They stood there, the tension between them like a loaded gun. Louis stepped forward, hands behind his back like he didn’t need them to kill.

"You’re like us. The only way I was able to figure it out was now. I could feel your presence from a mile away," he said. It wasn’t a question.

Stack’s voice dropped an octave. "Well, I ain’t go flaunting it around like you do."

"Then you haven’t been paying attention."

And just like that, the street seemed quieter, waiting to see who would flinch first.

Louis’s eyes dragged over Stack slowly, like he was trying to read him, and his expression shifted between amusement and disdain. "I’ve heard of you, you know," Louis said, finally breaking the silence.

"Stack Moore. The man turning sweat and sound into gold. You manage that juke joint down the street."

Stack raised a brow, a bit taken aback by Louis's knowledge of you. "So you’ve been tunin’ to the gossip."

"Yeah, it seems my brothels are rather quiet these days. Yours, on the other hand…" Louis let his voice trail off, his gaze lazily roaming over Stack's imposing figure again with an interest he hadn't had in a while. The frustration building within him, courtesy of Lestat, needed an outlet. This moment felt like the perfect escape for the night.

He took another step forward, now chest to chest, close enough that Stack could smell whatever cologne Louis wore; it was undoubtedly rich and expensive.

"… is anything but."

Stack didn’t step back. “Business booms where people feel safe enough to do what they like to do in the dark.” Stack let out a small chuckle at the innuendo. "I’m just good at what I do. "

"I don’t doubt it," Louis said softly, "I’d like to continue this conversation somewhere less… uncovered."

Stack has heard of Louis de Pointe du Lac as well. It was a mouthful for him to recount his name, the Black people here were so pretentious 'bout shit like names. Where Stack came from, you just hoped that you would wake up to live another day. Stack leaned in slightly, testing the tension between them. "This is where you lure men into your lair, pretty boy? Talk numbers and slip in a little neck?"

Stack ran a hand into his pockets to grab a cigarette and a lighter. He lit it with ease, exhaling smoke from the corner of his mouth before continuing. "Just to let you know, I don’t usually take invitations from men in prettier shirts than mine."

"You think I’m trying to charm you?" Louis smiled, faintly at what Stack was hinting at.

"I know you are," Stack said, lips curling. "But let’s get one thing straight. I like pussy."

Louis walked deeper into the alleyway, his back turned as if Stack’s declaration didn’t bother him.

"And yet," Louis said, not looking at him, "you still stalk me!"

"Curiosity’s a hell of a thing." Stack laughed more to himself, as flashbacks of that night last year. The last time we could watch the sun, the last time he was with his brother. If only he hadn’t been so easily swayed by Mary.

"Temptation’s a hell of a thing too," Louis added. Stack was now trying to be in step with him; this wasn’t the point of his finding Louis. He was supposed to be telling him to get off his territory, not striking up a conversation.

"I live just a few blocks from here," he said without looking back. "One drink! You owe me for lost revenue."

"Just so we clear, I don’t owe you nothin’, not a damn thing." Stack hesitated momentarily, habitually brushing his thumb over his belt where his revolver was. "You always talk business this late?" he asked.

"Only the dangerous ones."

That got a grin out of Stack. "You think I’m dangerous?" Stack continued matching his pace, not because he was curious or cautious. But because Louis wasn't what he expected, and it's been a while since he ran into someone similar to him in more ways than most.

"I know you are," Louis murmured, stepping closer. "I can smell it on you. Violence, ambition… the kind of hunger that doesn’t die easily."

Stack’s jaw twitched. "You ain’t exactly soft yourself."

Stack hadn’t expected the vampire’s house to feel like this. The inside of Louis' house looked like a museum. Filled with decor that seemed as old as time itself. Velvet red drapes covered the windows, and the self-portraits of Lestat and Louis bore into Stack's soul with their inhuman stares. Their gazes followed them like hounds on a scent, sharp and unblinking. Candlelight flickered against skin, and the wineglasses glinted like blood.

Louis stood near the fireplace, his presence a strange blend of elegance and quiet threat. Stack swallowed hard. Something stirred behind his eyes, resentment maybe? Or was it desire, confusion, or interest? He looked at Louis, really looked. The way his mouth curled around danger, at the elegance wrapped around centuries of grief.

"…Fuck it," Stack muttered. "One drink."

Louis handed him the glass, their fingers brushing. "Good," he said. "Just one."

They both knew it was a lie.

taglist | @marley1773 @iheartamora @childishgambinaax @klssngss @sinnersappreciation @fadingbelieverexpert @carriemill @blankface333 @slugstarzz @king-cookiex @theelusivemidnighthoe @spicyscorpioo @xxx-aurora-swirls @riellarielle25 @z0mmba3 @remmickcherie @casarahsisland

[b38rman]

SLOW MOTION, DOUBLE-VISION ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡☾ ﾟ｡⋆ Ollie Bearman

tags - ollie bearman x afab!reader, childhood friends to lovers, reader is in uni, light angst, eventual smut (with feelings), explicit sexual content

synopsis - No matter how many years passed by, it was glaringly obvious that you would never admit to yourself that you’d always wished for Ollie to be the one for you. It was hard back then, and it was even harder now. (OR: Your head knew that your childhood best friend would never be the one for you. Your heart just hadn’t realized it yet.)

rating - explicit

warnings - 18+ minors dni, slight angst (a little bit of arguing), explicit sexual content, unprotected sex

a/n - very obviously inspired by gold rush by taylor swift. ollie IS gold rush to me. highly recommend listening to it while thinking of him.

Whenever Ollie ran, you would chase him. Whether it was through his garden, between classrooms, or around your dinner table, you'd been doing it ever since you could remember. 

That was until he ran far, far away from you to Italy—of course you wouldn't follow (no matter how badly you wanted to.)

It was amidst this chase when you realized that no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't stop longing for him. You'd known this since you were 12 years old, when he grinned from the pew next to you as he caught you falling asleep during a church sermon. After that, you couldn't stop realizing the squeeze in your chest when you made him laugh, or the way he'd look at you at the end of a karting race, and how he'd thank you on those days like your company meant more than the accolades he was collecting. 

At 16 and 17, when he'd just moved and you'd already begun preparing for university, you'd try to keep in contact regularly. You'd watch as your laptop screen filled with the smile that had made your knees weak even from a thousand miles away and promptly force yourself to shut down those feelings.

"Hey you." He'd say, like he always did. "Hi. How was work today?" You'd answer, and he'd beam before talking your ear off for an hour or two, or until he decided he was too tired to keep going. 

Many times you wished you could reach through the screen and trace the freckles on his cheeks. You longed for the certainty of knowing how they felt under your fingertips.

On these calls, you knew that he just needed someone to listen to him. It wasn't that you weren't genuinely interested in what he was saying—of course you were—it was just that maybe your life was getting so bland that you had nothing to share with him, or that all of those things paled in comparison to what he was doing. The distance was far greater than the mileage separating both of you.

"Good night Ollie, sleep tight." You'd say at the end of one of these calls, watching his eyes blink slowly, indicating that he was already drifting off.

"You aren't telling me something." He answered. You felt your stomach twist.

I miss you, was definitely on your mind. I love you and I want you here were more self indulgent options for sure.

"I'm telling you everything." It was a white lie, but you couldn't think of what else to say to that.

You watched as Ollie's face dropped and shifted into an expression you couldn't read. He paused to take a moment, before going back to his own sleepiness.

"Good night." And the screen faded to black.

Over time, the calls became less and less frequent. It was sad, honestly; you went from seeing him basically everyday to feeling like you were barely a part of his life. Ultimately, though, it became clear how you were worlds apart from each other, especially since he stopped coming home for holidays and birthdays, and you didn't have the time to visit Modena no matter how many times you'd promised that to him in the past.

You existed on different planets—entirely different dimensions and planes of reality. He could pick and choose between celebrities and Instagram models, and you were stuck highlighting textbooks living from deadline to deadline.

That was until you got the call. 

“Ollie’s coming home.” Your mom said as soon as you picked up. You were cycling from one building to another between your classes and had three missed calls from her already. 

“What?” You hoped the shock surfacing in your voice wasn’t that obvious, considering how jarring it was in comparison to your mom’s excitement. 

“Yes! Come home for the weekend, it’ll be just like old times.” Your mom answered, thankfully not detecting your nerves.

It would be like old times, but this Ollie  wasn’t. You didn’t know what to do with that. What you were sure of though, is Ollie wasn’t running anymore—and you weren’t sure if that meant you had to stop chasing him too.

Ollie was standing behind his parents when you arrived at their house. It felt surreal, like you were undergoing some kind of half-dream, half-deja vu state. After greeting his parents with the usual pleasantries about how university is treating you and how you grow up so fast, you finally got to lay eyes on Ollie after three whole years. 

All you could see in that moment was him. It was like your mind fell silent and the only sound that cascaded through your body was that of your heart pounding against your ribcage.

In front of him, you were five, twelve, sixteen, and nineteen all at once. 

The silence felt like it lasted a lifetime, but he pulled you in before he could say a word.

The world went silent as you closed your eyes and let yourself stay in that moment. It was as if his parents and little brother weren't in the doorway with you—as if the world was your hometown and Modena was universes away.

"I missed you." Ollie said so earnestly your body was going to explode. He buried his face in your hair and you swore he was a few inches taller than he was when he left you.

"Me too." You replied into his chest, trying to breathe through how overwhelming everything was.

You were on your phone, lying in Ollie's twin-sized mattress, perfectly preserved like a sacred relic from your childhood. You'd remember nights when you'd snuggle together, his touch like a comforting anchor amidst seas that he could calm with his hand. You wondered if it was the same as it had always been. Would it be different now? Was it different now?

You glanced above the screen to watch Ollie reassembling his simulator in silence. It was comfortable, with the only air of awkardness coming from the elephant standing in the corner of the room; that being you not being on conversational terms previously despite being 'best friends.'

"Need help?" You asked, as you watched Ollie furrow his brows at some part that looked like any other part, which was confusing in itself but you were willing to help anyway. 

"No, all good." He chewed his bottom lip, clearly still frustrated and at a loss at what to do. 

You pursed your lips together and calmly asked a second time, "You sure?"

"Yes! I told you I didn't need your help the first time. Why aren't you listening to me?" Ollie let go of the parts he was holding, opting instead to press his eyes into his palms. "It used to be so easy to have you around, I just can't figure out why it's so different now."

"Well maybe it's because you're different now, Ollie." You couldn't help but raise your voice back at him as your heart pounded for entirely different reasons now.

"Oh, I don't know, maybe you were the one who stopped talking to me." His eyes pierced through you, but his glare was so obviously laced with hurt. It hurt you too—of course it did. 

You took a deep breath before replying. 

"You could literally pick any other girl to talk to, I don't know why what I do matters so much to you." You felt the tears well up in your eyes as you tried to stop your voice from fraying at the send of your sentence. You closed your eyes and covered your face in an attempt to stop the tears, but that proved futile as the warm wet streaks soon lined your face.

You felt the side of the bed dip and a hand reach out to gently touch the hands on your face. 

"Hey, I'm sorry, look at me." He wrapped his calloused hand around your wrist and exposed your red, splotchy face in all its glory to him. "You know me, you know I don't care about—" Ollie gestured loosely with one hand "—them. Besides, none of them will ever be you."

You tried not to overthink his statement too much as he moved his hand from his wrist to your cheek, then to your forehead. You held your breath as he leaned forward to press a kiss on your forehead, then down to your right cheek. You felt all the air exit your lungs as he pressed his forehead to yours, so impossibly close to you.

Growing up, you'd always wondered what it would be like to study how perfect every freckle and feature on his face was. Now that it was happening, the overwhelming glimmer in his eyes barely gave away that none of this was a pipe dream that you'd imagined from too many days away from him.

"Can I—" Ollie started. 

You grabbed his chin and smashed your lips together, taking him by surprise before he could even finish his sentence. People describe kissing to be like fireworks going off in your belly, or like butterflies swarming—however, there were no butterflies or fireworks, because those things couldn't even come close to what you were feeling. 

The kiss was hard and deep and neverending. It wasn’t the kind of kiss that came from years of anticipation—it was something else entirely; gentler, more deliberate. You felt Ollie’s hand slide to your waist, pulling you closer as though he was afraid you might disappear. Every inch of space that had once stretched between you over the years seemed to fold in on itself, leaving only the heat of his lips on yours and the sound of your uneven breaths filling the room.

“Ollie,” you whispered against his mouth when you finally pulled away, your voice barely audible. His name hung in the air like a confession.

He looked at you, his eyes filled with something raw, and you almost wished you could look away from how immense it was. “I mean it,” he murmured. “None of them will ever be you.”

Your chest tightened, the weight of those words nearly leading you to collapse. You didn’t need him to explain further because it made sense now. From the moment he grinned at you in that church pew, to the countless video calls where his smile never quite reached his eyes anymore, and even now as his thumb brushed gently across your cheek—it all made sense.

But there was still a sliver of fear inside you. “What happens when you leave again?” you asked softly. Your hand found its way to his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart beneath your palm. “What happens to us then?”

Ollie let out a shaky breath, his forehead pressing against yours again. “I don’t know,” he admitted honestly. “But I do know that I can’t keep pretending it doesn't feel like this to me. I can’t keep running away from this—away from you.”

His words hit you like a tidal wave. For years, you’d chased him, only to stop when you thought he’d never look back. But here he was, tethering himself to you with a kind of sincerity that was so intense it was just on the verge of too much. 

You didn’t say anything more. Instead, you let yourself kiss him again—this time slower, more intentional. His lips moved against yours like he was committing every moment to memory, like he didn’t want to forget a single second of this.

Eventually, the kiss deepened, and his hands roamed cautiously over your back, your waist, like he was overriding the memories he had of you with this one. You felt the mattress shift as he pulled you down with him, your body fitting against his as though it had always been meant to. The warmth of his hands against your skin grounded you, making you feel like this wasn’t just a dream.

“Ollie,” you breathed his name again, your voice trembling as his lips found your jaw, your neck. “I’ve waited so long for this.”

“So have I,” he confessed between kisses, his voice husky and filled with need. “You have no idea how long.”

You stayed on your sides, your head spinning as you continued to kiss. Maybe it was the oxygen that you were losing from kissing for this long, or maybe it was how high you were on the fact that Ollie felt the same way about you. Either way, you knew where this was leading, and you could barely believe that it was happening here, in Ollie's bedroom. You couldn't figure out if it felt sacred or if it unlocked certain fantasies that you didn't dare indulge in. 

Ollie was the one who made the first move, daring to move his warm, calloused hands over your ribcage, tantalizingly close to your breasts. "Please, Ollie," you brought your mouth away from his for a moment to plead. "Need you." You said, punctuated by you moving his hands under your bra. 

You shuddered under his touch as his hand rubbed across your nipples, leading you to jerk your hips forward into the growing hardness in his pants. You knew the moan he let out would fill your ears and mind with yearning long after this.

You toyed with the hem of his shirt as both your movements grew more and more desperate, and that cued Ollie to rid of his shirt altogether. You followed suit with your shirt and bra, making sure to spend enough time admiring just how beautiful all of him was, like he himself was chiseled out of the marble they used to make the statues of demigods.

"You're staring." He said smugly, eyes glistening with mischief and warmth. You chuckled back at him. 

"Well I'm sorry." The apology came out sounding snarky and sarcastic, and it was Ollie's turn to laugh.

"You aren't though." Ollie quipped back before diving into your neck once again, licking and biting just to get some noises out of you. 

He then helped you out of your shorts and underwear, seemingly desperate to run his fingers through your folds. "Fuck, you're so wet for me." You gasped as he ran his fingers over your clit and your hole, spreading your wetness around. 

Ollie made quick work of his own pants and boxers, and you indulged him by wrapping your hands around his dick, hard and leaking pre-cum. After you gave him a few experimental pumps, he was relenting. "Ah—wait—don't want to cum yet." 

Soon after, your hand was replaced by Ollie's as he guided his length into you, inch by inch. He had one hand at the base of his dick, and the other holding your knee up, making the angle better and ensuring that you were properly open for him to lay all of his love into. 

You didn't even have time to think after he bottomed out inside you, because soon after he was setting a pace that could only be described as relentless, like he was trying to repent for the years you'd waited. You couldn't help the moans that escaped your mouth as he pounded into you. 

You held on to him as he laid into you, whimpering as sweat began to form on his brow. 

"Tell me," He said, breathless as the room was filled with the sounds of skin against skin, "Tell me you love me." 

Your heart felt like it was bursting at the seams. "I love you—God, fuck—I love you."

With that, Ollie was burying himself deep into you and reaching his climax, painting your insides with pearly white rivulets. You were not far behind, clenching and cumming around his cock as he ground the last of his orgasm into you. 

As soon as Ollie pulled out, he was grabbing napkins from his bedside table, cupping a wad of them at your entrance as his cum seeped out of you. He seemed focused on it though, how you were practically dripping with his release and yours. 

"I could get used to this." Ollie's breathing turned heavy.

"You're kind of nasty." You replied playfully, shifting the mood as he cleaned you up.

"You love it." He joked, but you knew there was more behind that. 

"Almost as much as I love you." You followed up, laying a kiss on his flushed cheek. 

For the first time in years, you didn’t feel like you were chasing him anymore. He was here—grounded, steady, and most importantly, yours alone.

[loveharlow]

SYNOPSIS‧₊˚[12k] After four longs weeks stranded, a miracle comes to you and your friends in the form of a flying fish. But some things are just too good to be true...

WARNING(S)‧₊˚ swearing, mentions/graphic depictions of injuries/blood, mentions/graphic depictions of death/violence, kidnapping, Carlos Singh saying "ya know" every other syllable

˗ˏˋ series masterlist ˎˊ˗

NOW PLAYING‧₊

FROM THE VERY BEGINNING, IT WAS ALWAYS KOOKS AND POGUES. Some people with everything, some…with nothing. That’s the way it's always been. That’s how they wanna keep it.

Some people make the best of it. And some people fight against it. Imagine gold was a part of that. For you and your friends, the treasure was your way out — how you evened the scales. How the pogues win. But at some point, you kind of have to wonder…was the treasure an escape? Or was it a trap?

This was your fourth week on Poguelandia and the sun wasn’t shining as bright as it was when the group of you first arrived. Literally and metaphorically. 

The storm that hit last week left you and your group of friends with practically nothing — it killed the shelters you’d built, swept away most of the food inventory and God knows what else. You were back at square one, but there were no dice to roll this time. And even though it wasn’t really even your ideal solution, the group figured it was time to talk about-

“Rescue?” JJ scoffed, eyeing your figure besides him as the two of you constructed spears — replacing the ones that had been swept by the tide. “From what? From…from Paradise?” He said unbelievably, looking at the island around him with a lopsided smile on his face. “I’m not going back. Ever.” He shrugged. “I mean, look around. We got everything we need.” 

“Right…” You chuckled, wrapping the twine around the materials in your hands. “Except for food, shelter…a shower.” You proclaimed, a grimace on your dry lips, a product of the lack of fresh water. 

“Isn’t this what we wanted?” JJ asked you, blue eyes looking into yours as he sighed. “I mean, this is exactly what we talked about. Surf Trip, remember?”

“Exactly, JJ. Surf Trip. Not a deserted island with nothing for miles.” You tried to reason, your eyebrows raising as you spoke, a mild expression of worry on your face. “Our current food inventory stands at five sardines, four baby crabs, and three and a half coconuts.” You reminded the blonde, wrapping the last of the twine around your spear. “As much as I don’t want to go back to our old lives, we can’t survive out here much longer…”

“Which is precisely why we’re making these handy-dandy spears, lil lady.” He deflected, standing from his spot and outstretching a hand to you, his weapon clutched in the other. “Ready to go provide for the family?”

You simply sighed and nodded, taking the boy's offer for help in standing even though you didn’t need it much at this point — you found yourself actually able to put weight on your leg, something that put a smile on your face.

“Let’s go kill somethin’!” The blonde cheered, leading you hand in hand towards the water. 

“Don’t say it like that.” You chuckled. “It sounds so barbaric…”

“That’s the circle of life, baby.” JJ smiled over his shoulder as you two got closer to the shore. “Unless you wanna eat coconuts forever.”

You almost audibly groaned at the thought. “After the past month, I think I’m good on coconuts.”

Your toes were met with the refreshing cool of salt water as you and JJ entered the shallow end of the ocean waves, just enough to catch some small fish. Your hands unlinked as you peered down at the small creatures you could see, holding your spears in the correct fashion.

“You ready?” JJ asked, eyes focused on the fish swimming as he licked them in concentration, holding the spear like a primitive survivalist. “Remember, watch your shadow — they see that? They’re gone.”

“You are aware I took a college course in marine biology, right?” You side-eyed your blonde boyfriend playfully. “Technically, I’m the expert here.” 

“Oh, my bad.” He feigned mock surrender. ‘Let’s see whatcha got then, princess.”

The two of you exchanged smiles before averting your attention to the water beneath your feet, spears in hand as you waited for an opportunity to strike something good.

“Hey,” JJ spoke up. “Hey, baby. Baby, it’s a skate.” JJ pointed out, tip of his spear trailing the aquatic animal. “It’s a skate right there, you see him? He’s comin’ over by you.” The blonde urged, allowing you to take the kill.

“Where?” You asked, trying to find out where he was looking as you looked from side to side.

“Right there!” He pressed.

“Right where?!”

“Right-” He gave up on trying to help you find the animal, raising his spear before plunging it down. “Dammit, I missed it...” He cursed himself, trying to find where the fish had swam off to. Suddenly, something brushed the top of your foot, causing you to look down — catching the sight of a decent sized stingray swimming beneath you.

Without a second thought, you plunged the sharp end of your spear into the middle of the swimming creature, raising it up for your boyfriend to see. 

“You did it!” He celebrated, throwing his hands out as you held the stingray at a distance. ‘We’re havin’ skate tonight!”

“Oh, shit...” You laughed breathlessly, eyeing your dinner as you held it out away from you. 

“C’mon baby, let’s fire this thing up.” JJ urged, walking in the direction of your designated spot on the island. “Good job, mama.” He winked, playfully tapping your ass as he walked by.

“JJ!" You whined. "You’re gonna make me drop it!”

“OKAY, JOHN B, YOUR TURN. TRUTH OR DARE?” Sarah asked her boyfriend as she sat beside him, tearing a piece of charred stingray between her fingers. It had to be mid-day, some time in the afternoon — JJ cooked the stingray you’d caught, effectively feeding your starving group of friends.

“...Truth.” The boy shrugged, tossing a piece of the meat into his mouth. 

“Truth?” Sarah reiterated, to which John B nodded. The blonde girl looked to the sky, seemingly trying to gather a thought with a bright smile on her face before looking at JB once more. “If you could do it all again…what would you do differently?”

“Uh...get the gold out before Ward did.” JJ answered with a grimace, despite the question not being aimed at him. 

“Maybe hide the cross a little better.” Pope added from his place next to Cleo.

“...Not yell ‘murderer’ at Ward, maybe.” Kie added, cringing at the memory. 

“Keep Marley safer.” You threw out from your place under JJ’s arm. “Or not go to Barry’s alone.” You joked wiping grease from the corner of your mouth with the butt of your palm.

“Who is this Marley ya keep talkin’ about?” Cleo asked, tying her hair up and out of her face. “Is it someone’s little sister?”

You couldn���t help but giggle at the thought, tearing off more meat from your stick. “No, it’s my dog. I have a Golden Retriever.”

“...That’s what you been yappin’ about ever since we got here, girl?” Cleo asked, a playful smile on her face. “A dog? Where I'm from, we don't bring the strays home. Nuh-uh.”

“Tread lightly, Cleo.” Pope whispered in her direction, throwing a mischievous smile your way. “She gets a little iffy about her ani-”

“Watch the ‘a’ word, Pope.” You warned the boy, throwing a small pebble his way as he ducked out of its path. “Marley is my baby and she will be addressed as such.”

“Of course. My bad...” Pope fake apologized to which you jokingly flipped him off.

“Anyway, answering the question that was directed at me,” John B broke through the conversation, eyeing the four of you who responded in his place. “I would…steal a couple bottles of rum off the boat we jumped off, maybe?”

“Yeah, why didn’t you do that actually?” JJ asked his friend.

“I don’t know,” John B started, squinting his eyes at the blonde boy. “Maybe ‘cause I was in a fight to the death?” 

“I would look both ways before crossing the street.” Cleo interjected with her own answer, eyeing John B. You didn’t know exactly what she meant but clearly John B and Sarah did, the blonde girl laughing hysterically as John B grimaced.

“Yeah, my bad.” He cringed. “My bad...”

“Your turn, chief.” Cleo looked up at John B, prompting him to ask a question.

“All right, Kie,” He turned to the tanned girl next to him. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth.” She said without a moment’s thought.

“Alright, um…” JB stuttered for a question. “If you could go home to your parent’s house on Figure Eight this instant, would you do it?”

Kiara drew her lips into a thin line, the question posing a hard answer. “...Not a chance.” She smiled, looking around at her friends and the beach. 

“Seconded.” Sarah threw out, holding up her coconut that she’d been drinking from. 

“Hear, hear!” JJ added, holding up his own coconut and holding up your hand in his free one. 

“The shower’s tempting, though.” The girl added, shrugging with a longing frown.

“Ooh, I could use a fat shower right now.” Pope said, a look of longing on his face. 

“Y/N.” Kiara called, you picking your head up and looking in her direction. “Truth or dare?”

“I mean,” you threw your hands out. “Do you really need to ask?” You almost always chose the same answer — dare, of course.

Kiara brought her shoulders up, a questioning smile on her face. “Big Jump?” She suggested, everyone looking at the cliff behind you all. “Nobody’s done it yet.” She teased.

“Uh-uh.” Cleo shook her head and wagged her finger. “Not with that leg.”

You audibly groaned. “Can't I do one fun thing?” You pleaded, giving the girl your best puppy-dog eyes. “And look!” You perked up, practically jumping up from your spot and standing straight on both legs, despite the mild soreness in the injured one as you did so. “I am perfectly fine.” You smiled, hopping back and forth from foot to foot, your friends giggling at the movement. “It’s like it never even happened.”

Cleo just shook her head like a disappointed mother before averting her attention to JJ, jutting her chin in his direction.”What do you say, Rude Boy?” She asked, raising a brow in his direction.

“Wow, looking to my boyfriend for answers, now?” You complained, the girl shooting you a quick look before looking back at JJ.

JJ seemed to ponder on the thought before standing up next to you. “I say let her go.” He claimed, throwing an arm over your shoulder. “If we’re gonna be stuck here, might as well let my girl do one fun thing.” He smiled, Cleo rolling her eyes playfully as John B gagged, you and JJ shooting him a look of warning. “But, I have one condition.” JJ added before swiftly sweeping you off your feet and into his arms, holding you bridal style as you gasped. Your arms quickly went around his neck as he held you. “I’m comin’ with you.”

YOU AND JJ WERE PLANTED AT THE TOP OF THE CLIFF, peering down at your friends who peered up at the two of you. 

“You won’t!” Cleo and Pope yelled from their place in the sand, and even with the distance, you could see the smug expressions on their faces.

“Oh, we won’t?!” JJ challenged, edging closer to the edge of the cliff. 

“Do it!” Sarah yelled, the others cheering. Their whooping and hollering continued as JJ turned to you to speak.

“Ready?” He asked, hyping himself up.

You nodded, quickly looking down at the raging water beneath you. “Full Pogue.” You said, looking back at JJ, a bright smile blooming on his sunkissed features that made your cheeks go warm.

“Full Pogue, baby!” He cheered. “Whoo, let’s go!” Was the last thing he said before the two of you, almost in sync, ran and jumped off the cliff — a rush of adrenaline not even allowing you to scream as you let yourself fall through the air and into the water, the waves engulfing you in an endless of cool blue. For a second, you thought you were in heaven, until your head broke through the surface.

“Hell yeah!” Your friends cheered from the shore, running towards the water to meet you and JJ where the both of you started to swim back to the shore. 

“You’re two brave idiots...” Cleo smiled as the five of them pulled the two of you into a tight group hug, quick and fleeting before everyone continued back towards camp. 

“I actually thought I was gonna die.” JJ said breathlessly as you walked, shaking the water from his hair. 

“You looked like you were gonna die.” Pope responded “I thought you were gonna die.”

You giggled behind the two boys. “Can’t kill a pogue.” You shrugged, wiping the ocean water from your face before wringing it out of your hair.

Pope and JJ exchanged a look before high fiving one another. “Can’t kill a pogue!”

“WHAT IF…TONIGHT IS OUR LAST NIGHT HERE?” You asked, facing JJ. You traced the outline of his face as the bonfire illuminated parts of it. The sun had retired for the night, relinquishing the sky to the moon and stars. It's warmth replaced with a humid chill, carrying small droplets of water from the ocean. After facing a day of attempting to rebuild, cliff jumping, and stomachs full of stingray and coconuts — everyone was out cold. Sarah and John B were cuddled together across from you and JJ, Kie huddled under a coconut tree, and Cleo and Pope were sleeping back to back, closer than the night before. It was like they got closer each time.

JJ’s eyebrows furrowed, the blonde already fighting sleep, not wanting to fall asleep before you. “What d'you mean?”

“Like...what if, by some miracle, we get rescued tomorrow?” You rephrased your initial question. 

“...That would be a miracle to you?” JJ asked, almost judgmentally. 

“I’m not saying it would be...” You shook your head, fingers threading through his hair as you both laid facing each other in the sand, legs intertwined. “But I guess I’m not saying it wouldn’t be.”

JJ shuffled closer to you, eyes tracing your face. “...Why d'you want to leave so bad?” He asked, voice low and solemn. “I thought this was our dream.” He said sadly.

You sighed, turning on your back to look up at the stars, trying to find constellations as you spoke. “It is, JJ.” You reiterated. “But it also… isn’t.” You shook your head, biting your cheek as you clasped your hands over your stomach while JJ tucked your hair behind your ear, the action causing you to glance at him briefly before looking at the stars once again. “This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. We were supposed to find the gold and everything was supposed to be okay. And then we could go on our surf trip without looking over our shoulder or worrying about what we’re gonna eat tomorrow.” You explained. “And there’s so much shit back home that isn’t really over — Marley’s still there, my mom’s going to trial…” You continued. “So, it’s not that I want to leave.” You started, turning your head to look at JJ whose eyes hadn’t left your face. “I just know we can’t stay.”

“GUYS, WAKE THE HELL UP!” Cleo’s voice rang throughout the island, waking you and JJ from your slumber, opening your eyes to the rising sun. You and JJ exchanged exhausted, confused glances before the sound of mechanical whirring in the sky diverted your attention to the clouds — the two of you watching in awe as a plane flew over the ocean. The first one you’d seen in a month.

“Oh, shit…” You both muttered under your breath, JJ immediately going to wake up John B, who had a similar reaction before waking up Sarah, who looked around groggily before registering the small plane in the sky, staring at it with an indecipherable look on her face. 

You took the opportunity to get up from where you’d slept in the sand, shaking Kiara awake before joining JJ at the shoreline as you watched the aircraft fly over the waters — Pope and Cleo running down the beach to try and flag it down. You just stood in shock.

What were the odds?

You watched as John B, teary eyed and relieved, waved his hands violently. “Hey!” He called. “Hey, we’re over here! Over here! We’re right here!”

Your eyes didn’t miss the way JJ turned away from the water, a deep thought behind his eyes before they drifted to meet yours. Neither of you said anything. You’d never say anything to him about it, but you knew deep down that JJ didn’t want to leave. Where you had Marley and Pope had his family and John B had The Chateau and Kie had her family and Sarah had Wheezie — JJ had nothing left to go back to.

His worst nightmare was coming true — going back to Kildare. John B was yelling for help and Pope and Cleo had gone to light the emergency fire you all had set up for this exact situation. It was over.

Your peripheral caught the sight of a bright, orange glow on the cliff top. Cleo and Pope got the fire light and they were calling for help from their place at the top while John B, Sarah, and Kie waved for help. But your eyes never left JJ. You didn’t want to go home anymore than he did. But you were the realist in this situation. Poguelandia had kept you all alive as long as it could, but it was time to go.

Your eyes left JJ and found the plane once more, watching it disappear into the clouds before re-emerging, flying in your direction.

“He sees us.” Kie said breathlessly. “Guys, he sees us!” Her shock turned into excitement. 

“He’s gonna go to the pond.” John B concluded, letting his arms fall back by his sides. “Come on.” He urged, jogging in the direction of the pond before picking up the pace, the four of you following. “Come on!”

WHEN YOU ARRIVED AT THE POND, The pilot had just landed — a blue and white private plane with the words ‘FLYING FISH’ painted in yellow on the side. The group of you exchanged weary glances, but it didn’t deter John B from approaching the aircraft as the pilot lowered the stairs.

“Hey there!” The man flying the plane greeted you all, stepping down from the vehicle. He had long auburn hair, a questionable outfit, sunglasses, and looked to be in his thirties, you presumed. He didn’t seem too cautious of the seven strangers he’d come upon on a deserted island…

“Hello, hello.” John B greeted back, far too chipper to be approaching a man he didn’t know. But you figured you were the ones who flagged him down.

“We’re gettin’ out of here!” Pope cheered, him and Cleo running down from the hill they were on top of, clapping JB on the shoulders. “We’re finally gettin’ out of here.” The dark-skinned boy celebrated breathlessly. 

“Well, what do we got here?” The pilot asked, observing you all one by one. 

“Ah…” John B stuttered to find words now. “Y’know, just some castaways.” He responded. It was a half-truth. Hopefully, this man had no idea who any of you were. And why you really ended up on this island. 

“Ha, well, I’ll cross that off the grocery list.” He joked, but it didn’t land very well with the semi-tough crowd. A moment of silence swept over you all, sharing looks back and forth. “Uh... hang on.” The pilot broke the ice once more. “I got just the thing for y’all. Just one second…”

One glance at Sarah and John B could tell from her stone cold expression that she was not on board. “Hey, no, look at this guy.” He tried to reason with a smile on his face. “...You think he works for your dad?” Sarah didn’t respond to, or even really acknowledge, the boy — eyes laser-focused on the overly-giddy pilot who now held booze and a first-aid kit. “It’s okay.” John B tried to soothe, a light hand on his girlfriend’s shoulder.

“Two things you need on a deserted island,” The man smiled, balancing on the stairs of his plane. “First-Aid and rum.” He concluded, baring all his teeth in his smile. “Incoming!” He warned before tossing the bottle of liquor at Sarah’s feet, the bottle splashing in the shallow pond water, causing the girl to back up as it hit the surface. “And here ya go.” He motioned towards the group, tossing the first-aid kit to you all, which Pope caught. “Figured you need it more than me.” He shrugged, eyes on your leg as he threw a hand out in your direction. “What happened there? Shark?” He chuckled.

“Man.” You retorted bluntly, crossing your arms in defense. 

The man nodded silently, sensing you weren’t exactly in the mood for conversation. “So, uh, what’s the story? You guys sank a boat?” He asked lightheartedly.

“Uh, jumped off one.” John B corrected, scratching the back of his head. “...Her dad’s.” He pointed his thumb at Sarah, the group collectively looking at him with a disappointed expression. 

“In-laws, man.” The pilot made an ideal conversation. “They’re tough. Well, have no fear. Jimmy’s here.” He joked, hand on his hip like Superman. 

“Well, all hail Jimmy.” Cleo smiled, looking at the man with a small smile. “Guys, let’s go.” She urged, being the first one to board the airplane, followed quickly by Pope, then John B, then Kie — you, JJ, and Sarah being the only ones to display some sort of hesitation before following behind the others and boarding. 

“Welcome aboard the Flying Fish!” Jimmy cheered, allowing you all to crowd inside the aircraft before closing the door and taking a seat in the cockpit. “I’m Jimmy Portis. I’ll be your captain today. Is this all? Seven of you?” 

“Uh, yeah.” John B answered. “That too heavy?” He asked cautiously, noting the space — or lack thereof — inside the plane.

“Nah…” Jimmy reassured. “...Well, maybe, but I think ol’ Fish here’ll probably be okay. We could always throw somebody overboard, right? Ha ha...” He joked. You think.

Jimmy started up the plane, the vehicle jerking dangerously before he managed to get it off the ground. Nothing but the sound of the propellers and you all breathing took up the silence until JJ broke the ice. “So, what were you doin’ all the way out here, Jimmy?” He asked, eyeing Portis suspiciously. 

“I got a little guide outfit in Saint Vincent.” Jimmy replied, raising his voice loud enough to be heard over the loud machinery. “I was spottin’ fish.” 

“What were you spottin’?” JJ inquired further, all eyes on him.

“Eh, you know, the usual.” Portis shrugged, glancing briefly at you all in the back. “...Wahoo.”

Your brows furrowed at Portis’s words, the quick change in your demeanor not going unnoticed by the blonde next to you as Jimmy put on his aviation headset, limiting his hearing. “What is it?” JJ asked, causing the rest of the group to turn their attention to you, leaning in as you licked your lips, eyes going back and forth between Portis and your friends as you spoke.

“Wahoo don’t run in September.” You spoke, tone low. 

“...Are you sure?” JJ asked, raising a brow.

“Marine Biology, remember?” You defended yourself. “Whoever this guy is, he’s not a fisherman.” 

“Maybe the run just starts earlier out here?” Pope threw out, but even the genius himself didn’t seem sure of his words. 

“In the Caribbean?” JJ doubted, face falling.

“...No.” Sarah finally spoke. “I know what this is.” She shook her head, tone dangerously low — if you didn’t see her lips moving, you wouldn’t recognize her voice. “He’s working for my dad. And he’s probably been looking for us the entire time.” 

“Alright,” JJ started, staring at the floor of the plane as he gathered his thoughts. “Well, we gotta find out. Start lookin’ for…some sort of clues or somethin'.” He suggested, blue eyes wandering the plane and the abundance of photos and newspaper clippings taped to the walls inside. Suddenly, he paused, sights set on a satchel hanging from the back of Portis’s captain chair.

With a finger signal, he urged John B to distract the pilot, the brunette getting the hint as he leaned forward from where he sat behind Jimmy. “Hey, Jimmy!” He called.

“Yeah, what’s up?” The pilot called back, the remaining five of you watching as JJ maneuvered quietly towards the bag. 

“How, uh, how long you had this bird?” John B continued his line of questioning.

“Oh, about ten years now.” 

“Oh, cool. Cool...How long you been flyin’?”

“I’ve been flyin’ all my life.” Jimmy told JB, you watching as JJ slipped a hand inside the bag, fishing around for…something. He managed to pull out a book.

“Uh, who’s that lovely lady right there?” John B pointed to a picture on the control panel, trying to keep Portis distracted. 

“Oh-ho-ho. That right there? That’s Cynthia.” Jimmy perked up at the mention of the woman.

“Cynthia?” JB pressed further as JJ inspected the book — V.S. Naipul’s The Loss of El Dorado…

It had to be a coincidence…right? Some people just have an interest in gold hunt centered history, you dismissed. The six of you exchanged wordless glances, watching as JJ flipped the cover open, a photo wedged in between the cover and the title page. Tilting it so the rest of you could see — the blonde revealed a picture of the Coastal Venture, aka the ship you all had jumped off of a month ago that put you where you were today.

“Oh my God...” Sarah gasped, snatching the picture from JJ’s fingers. “This is the boat we were on. With Eberhimi and the cross.” She said, showing the rest of the pogues the picture. 

“So he was lookin’ for us?” Cleo asked, cheery demeanor diminishing by the second. 

“Exactly.” JJ agreed.

“He’s working for my dad.” Sarah concluded, clenching her jaw. 

Just then, the plane jerked violently, causing you all to grip at the walls and each other. “Hey, y’all better hold somethin’!” Portis warned. “We got some unexpected turbulence up here!”

“Guys, whatever it is, it’s happening fast…” Kiara spoke, peering out of the window. “Look.” She urged you all, all eyes turning to the window where you and JJ sat.

“That looks like Barbados...” Cleo observed, expression tightening in confusion. “I’ve been there with Terrance.”

“Okay…” JJ breathed, turning back to look at you all. “There’s seven of us, one of him.” He gathered, glancing quickly at Jimmy. “You know my vote. We storm the cockpit.”

“Then who’s gonna fly the plane?” You asked, shooting a blank expression at your impulsive boyfriend. 

“I’ve seen Pope play fly simulators.” JJ threw out, Pope’s face twisting at the unwanted Pilot Nomination.

“I crop-dusted for my uncle. Last summer.” The boy corrected. “This is not the same thing.” 

“We don’t have time to pretend that’s a real option.” Kie reprimanded. 

“Do you have an idea?” JJ argued.

“Something safe.” You offered, backing Kie. 

“Why don’t we just wait until the plane lands somewhere safe and then we sneak out?” Pope added his two-cents. “And if somebody comes to mess with us, we mad-dog ‘em.” 

“Okay…” JJ seemed to concede. “I like the mad-dogging part.” 

“Put that back.” You advised the blonde boy, referring to the book he still had in possession. “Put it back.” You whispered.

JJ signaled John B once more to distract the pilot again as he gathered the book and other items that jumped out of the bag, edging closer to the captain’s seat to return them to their initial place. “Hey, Jimmy. Is that Burning Man right there?” JB spoke.

“Yeah, that’s Burning Man, all right. That’s my first time.” He spoke with glee about his past experiences as JJ flipped open the satchel. 

“How many times you been?”

“I started goin’ when I was eighteen.” 

“Yeah, I’ve heard a lot about it-” John B tried, but for some reason, Portis felt the need to look back in JJ’s direction, catching the blonde with his hand in his bag, cutting off John B’s next words.

“Hey, man!” Portis shouted. “What the hell’re you doin’?!” He raged, reached a swift hand out to grab JJ — effectively knocking the headset off of his own head and sending the Flying Fish swaying side to side. “That’s mine!” Portis yelled, completely abandoning the steering wheel and grabbing at JJ. “Who are you really?!” 

“Fly the plane!” Sarah yelled at Jimmy, her words falling on deaf ears as John B and you fought for Portis to release JJ and the others held onto the walls for dear life. 

“It’s my book! Give it back!” 

“Please fly the plane... Please fly the plane...”

Jimmy seemed to come to his senses when the plane started beeping, releasing JJ and grabbing hold of the steering wheel. The Flying Fish was taking a nosedive straight into the ocean. “Come on... Come on, Fish...” Jimmy spoke to himself.

You all watched fearfully as Jimmy tried to regain control of the aircraft, failing to get it back on track before it hit the surface of the water, causing you all to hit your heads against the roof of the plane. For a second, all you saw was black, a burning pain blooming on your thigh until the plane steadied and you opened your eyes — the entire cabin was filled with water, already up to your chests. 

The sounds of sputtering and coughing filled the space as everyone collected themselves. “Is everybody good?” Pope asked. He received no response but everyone seemed to be okay. “We gotta get out here...We gotta get out before it sinks...”

John B scrambled to the back of the plane, kicking out the door — a beam of sunlight blinding you all temporarily. Peering out of the open door, you all could see a fleet of men in uniforms with utility belts and bulletproof vests coming towards the plane, running down the beach. “They... don’t look friendly.” John B muttered, backing away from the door. 

“No, they look very unfriendly.” Pope reiterated, voice biting. “But we gotta go. C’mon...” He led you all out of the plane, jumping into the water one by one. “Y/N, come on.” Pope urged, you watching from inside the sinking plane as your friends waded in the water.

Your eyes fleeted back and forth between them and the pilot. What about him? The thought of leaving him here to die made your stomach turn. “Hang on!” You called back, turning in the water to go further into the plane. 

“No, no, no, Y/N, come on!” John B called, keeping his head above water. 

“Y/N, what are you doing?!” JJ’s voice bellowed, followed by Pope’s urgent tone.

“Come on, get to the pier.” He instructed the others as you swam to the front of the plane, ignoring the soreness in your leg as you did so. Reaching Portis, your hands went under his arms to feel around his torso — his seatbelt was off. Good. Clasping your hands in front of his chest, you used every ounce of strength you had to carry the unconscious pilot out of the broken cockpit window, struggling to keep both him and yourself above water. 

You caught the sight of your friends swimming towards the pier as you swam to shore, in the opposite direction. You could put Portis on the shore and swim back to your friends. You could do it.

“Wait,” JJ said, hiding underneath the pier with the others. “Where’s Y/N?”

“...She went the other way.” Sarah said, all eyes on your figure bobbing through the water with Jimmy in hand, swimming to the sand. Two people ran up to help you, taking Portis’s limp frame off your hands. 

“Take him...” You breathed, kneeling in the sand and trying to catch your breath as they tended to the pilot. The man of the pair performed CPR on Portis and within seconds the pilot was coughing up salt water — bright blue eyes looking around terrified until they landed on you.

“...Thank you.” He rasped, laying limply in the sand.

Your jaw clenched as you peered down at the man, kneeling in the sand. “You lied to us.” You spat. “Who are you?”

Portis didn’t respond, the sound of motor engines in the distance causing you both to turn your heads, finding two men on ATV’s and in those aforementioned uniforms heading your way. “Oh, God…” Portis groaned at the sight of the officers before turning back to you. “You should get out of here.” He warned frantically. 

You cursed, your eyes going between Portis, the guards, and your friends before you up and ran further up the beach and into the mess of grass and trees. You came up on a gate, watching as another car with more guards arrived and making it so there was no way off the beach. Thinking on your feet, you hid behind one of the boats in the grass, hoping they would think you got away.

“Policemen! Search all over the area!” One of the guards commanded his team, accent heavy as the sound of heavy boots filled your ears from all directions. You cursed, knowing if you didn’t move fast, they’d find you. Taking notice of a gap under the boat, you quickly crouched, finding a crawl space underneath the structure. Wiggling underneath, you hoped the boat and the barrels that were holding it up would hide you well enough and not collapse overtop of you. 

The sounds of whispers and whistles around you made your heart race, the sound of footsteps still looming from every which way. Your heart jumped to your throat when a shadow passed by the barrels holding up the boat you were hiding underneath — one of the guards inspected the structure and peered in between the gaps in the barrels before his eyes unfortunately seemed to spot you.

“Hey.” He grunted, reaching out for you. Without a thought, you used your good leg to kick him through the barrels, sending the man flying onto his back with a hard grunt. You started scrambling to get from under the boat when he sat up, rubbing his head. “She’s over here!”

Coming out into the light, you tried to make a run for it, but you were caught by the man and another guard before you could go anywhere — the two men restraining you in their strong hold.

“Get off!” You fought against the policemen. “Let go of me!”

“Dammit.” JJ cursed from his place under the pier — the pogues watching as the men took you away. “What’re we gonna do?” JJ asked immediately, eyes focused on the two men loading you into their truck. “We’re goin’ after her, right?” 

“...What can we do?” John B threw out solemnly. 

“Where are they taking her?” Kiara pondered in deep thought. 

Voices up on the bridge the pogues were hiding beneath had JJ looking up even though he couldn’t see anything. “They’re all up there…”

“They’re lookin’ this way.” Cleo pointed out, the guards on the beach averting their attention to the pier one by one. “We gotta go.” She warned, being the first to, begrudgingly, swim away — not without a sad glance in your direction first.

The others were quick to follow as JJ lagged behind. John B was the only one to notice the blonde boy’s lack of movement. “...We gotta go, JJ.” JB urged, a hand on his best friend’s shoulder. He didn’t say anything. “JJ, come on. We can’t save her if we get caught.” Those words seemed to register more clearly in the Maybank boy’s mind, finally convincing to swim away with the others. He’d come back for you. That was a guarantee.

“We lost the others. We’ll keep searchin’.” A voice came through on the walkie that the guard in the pick-up of the truck that was sitting with you had in hand. You were handcuffed and soaking wet, eyes snapping towards the shadow walking dangerously close to the truck in the corner of your eye — Portis. 

A hard expression set on your face as he stood in front of you, clearly in some sort of kahoots with these men considering his proximity to the truck without one of them telling him to back up. “...I saved your life.” You hissed, shivering from the cold.

“I know, I know. I’m sorry.” Jimmy profusely apologized, your face not softening in the slightest. “I’m gonna try to help you, okay? I swear, I didn’t know it was gonna be like this.” He claimed — he didn’t know what was gonna be like what? “Look, if you don’t fight, if you just do what they say, these guys…they probably won’t hurt you.” ...Probably?

You shook your head in disbelief, squinting your eyes at the pilot. “...What did Ward promise you?”

Jimmy’s face contorted into one of pure confusion as the truck started up. “...Who?”

“WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?” Pope questioned angrily to his group of friends — the six of them hiding out of sight. “Why would they wanna kidnap Y/N? It doesn’t make any sense.”

“It’s called bait.” JJ deadpanned, slumped against a wall. 

“I am so…sick of this.” Sarah spat, eyes on the ground as she sat next to JB. “...Do you think that there is any way we could trust the cops?”

JJ sputtered before getting up, approaching the girl. “The cops? You’re jokin’, right?” He asked in disbelief of Sarah’s suggestion. “You seriously think your daddy hasn’t called them already?” Sarah lowered her head at JJ’s words and clearly agitated tone of voice, going silent.

“I have a crazy idea.” Pope started. “Why don’t we call my parents?”

John B sighed, eyes going towards the curly-haired boy. “And say what, Pope?”

“And say we’re alive.” He sassed back, exhaustedly. “I haven’t seen my family in I don’t know how long. They’re probably worried sick about me. We can just call ‘em and maybe ask ‘em to wire us money or something.” 

“And put them in danger?”

“I got a better idea.” JJ cut into the conversation between his two friends. “...And faster.” He said, holding up a wallet clutched between his two fingers. 

“...Whose is that?” Sarah asked, blinking at the blonde. 

“You seriously think I’m gonna go through someone’s backpack and not pinch their wallet?” He asked, shooting a look at the group as he opened the wallet and pulled out an ID. “‘Jimmy Portis. 101 Cattle Wash.’ I bet that’s where they got my girl. All right? So, that’s where we’re goin’.” He concluded, passing the wallet off to John B as Pope interjected.

“Yeah, that’s conceivable, but can we at least think this through?” 

“You got a better idea, Pope?” JJ challenged, tone flat. He eyed his friend before walking, not seeming to care whether the group was following behind. “C’mon. 101 Cattle Wash!” He called over his shoulder. “That’s where we’re goin’.”

“TAKE HER UPSTAIRS. THE ORINOCO ROOM.” The maid beside you commanded the guard in front of you, the woman looking you up and down before noting the reopened wound on your leg. “And call the medic.”

After a long drive through the middle of nowhere, you’d arrived at a large property — acres of land surrounding a large estate. They’d unhandcuffed you halfway there and now you were standing in the foyer of the property, surrounded by two guards and a maid.

“This way.” The guard instructed, grabbing your forearm rather roughly and pulling you in his direction. “Up.” He directed simply as he walked you up the staircase. Reaching the top of the staircase, the man opened one of the many doors, practically tossing you inside before speaking. “Inside.” You glanced around quickly — it was a nicely decorated bedroom. That was all.

You whipped around quickly in order to catch the man before he most likely slammed the door shut and locked you inside. “...Why am I here?” You inquired, voice low. “Who are you working for?” 

The guard fixed you with a hard look before speaking. “Dinner at eight.” He ignored your inquiries. “I’d clean up.” He suggested, something smug and unwilling in his voice as he looked you up and down.

You clenched your jaw and balled your fists as he backed out of the doorframe, turning away from you. “Just tell me what they want.” You tried before he walked away, your path being blocked by an older woman with grey hair, holding a med-kit in her hand. “...Who are you?” You asked, eyes fleeting between the item clutched in her grasp and her eyes.

“I’m Doctor Alvita.” She smiled, one of the only people here to do so. “Don’t worry, I won’t be here long. I just need to take a look at your leg-”

“My leg is fine.” You snapped. “I don’t need or want you people touching me until you tell me where I am.”

The doctor just sighed, setting her kit down on the dresser and opening it with her back to you. “You’re at Vaux Hall. I can’t tell you much more than that.” She said simply, turning around to you with an orange liquid, gauze, scissors, and a needle with thread in her hand. 

You swallowed harshly at the sight of her supplies. “Sit. Please.” She motioned for the bed, you silently climbing up onto it as she kneeled in front of you, cutting away your shorts to fully reveal the gash on your thigh. 

“...Can’t you at least tell why I’m here?” You spoke after a few moments, ignoring the burning sensation as she doused your leg in an antiseptic.

Silence. The doctor offered no response as she steadied your leg with one hand, bringing the needle to it with the other. You panicked internally as the cool metal tip made contact with your tender skin, the pain only increasing as she pierced your skin. Sucking air in through your teeth, your fingers threaded in the silk sheets of the bed you were sat on.

This went on for what felt like forever, but you never made a sound — just sat in tense silence as you clenched your jaw so hard you feared you would a chip a tooth. You counted the seconds until she neared the end of the gash, pulling the surgical thread through one last time before knotting it off and snipping it as you released the breath you were holding.

“There. Should heal much nicer now.” She smiled smally, standing from her knelt position and turning back to her kit.

Your eyes wandered the room, landing on the pair of scissors she’d absentmindedly left lying beside you on the mattress. You thought on it for a brief moment before snatching up the utensil and swiftly standing from the bed. You walked towards her quickly, startling the woman as you threw her around to face you by the shoulder and held the scissors to her neck.

“What’re you-”

“Tell me where I am.” You demanded, pressing the metal further into her neck, watching her swallow harshly as her hands gripped the desk behind her. Her wide eyes darted around the room before landing back on you. 

“...They won’t hurt you-”

“Then why am I here?!” You pressed, stepping impossibly closer. “You don’t work for Ward. So, who do you work for?-”

“Guard!” The doctor screamed, catching you off guard before shoving you back as you hit the bed before steadying yourself. At the sound of a pair of rapid, heavy footsteps, you dropped the scissors to the floor as Doctor Alvita stood shocked, holding a hand to her neck as she took deep breaths.

“What’s goin’ on in here?” The man spoke in a loud, deep voice as he burst through the Orinoco Room door.

“...I’m all done here.” The doctor spoke, shooting you a mean glare as she hastily secured her kit and snatched it from the dresser, picking up the scissors from the floor and standing next to the guard. The man shot you both pointed looks before seemingly dismissing his own suspicions and leading the doctor away as he shut the door in your face and locked it. You cursed under your breath, turning away from the door. There wasn’t much in the room — a bed, a closet, and a window…

Walking over to it, you pulled back the sheer curtains slightly — watching as a trio of guards talked on the patio of the property. One of them had a dog, not that it mattered. Backing away from the glass, you ended up next to the closet. It was open with, what looked like, five of the same pieces of clothing inside — a scarlet colored, spaghetti-strap dress — a note attached to the one in the front. 

“PICK YOUR SIZE”

“THIS IS IT.” JJ proclaimed, stopping in front of the worn down wooden sign in front of the dull blue bungalow — ‘101 Cattle Wash’. “Let’s go around back.” He led his group of friends onto the property. Your friends crept around the house, tiptoeing through shrubs and bushes to get to the backyard, crouching down slightly as they walked closer to the house. 

“Hey,” John B called quietly, looking at the group and throwing his head in the direction of one of the windows.

“Window?” Pope asked. “Want some help?” To which JB shook his head.

“Nah, I got this.” He assured, firmly gripping the base of the half-open window and pulling himself up. The five of them watched the boy struggle slightly to pull himself up, their attention being diverted when JJ’s voice broke through the air.

“Whoa.” The blonde jumped, spotting a small family of crabs edging towards his feet. “Yo, get off.” He tried when one of the pinching crustaceans climbed onto the toe of his boot, the boy trying his best to shake it off. “Get off! Dude-” He grew frustrated, attempting to pick up the crab and throw it somewhere else when it pinched his finger. “Shhhit!” He exclaimed, flinging the creature across the lawn.

“Shhh!” Kiara tried, whipping her head in his direction.

“What’re you doing?” Pope added in, his tone hushed. “Does the element of surprise mean nothing to you?” 

“It turned my thumb purple…” JJ pouted, shooting Pope a childish glare.

“Shh.” Cleo butted in. “Relax. It’s just a crab, man...” She assured, rolling her eyes at the boy’s theatrics.

“Damn little sea spider.” JJ muttered under his breath, following his five friends as they followed after John B — each entering the house through the window one by one. The house’s interior was crowded with beads, tapestry, and poorly-tended plants.

“I’ll take the front.” Cleo whispered, weaving through the mess of decorations and furniture.

“I’ll take the back.” Sarah compromised, finding her way and shooting John B a weary glance.

“Y/N?...” Cleo whispered, peeking her head around every door frame of the front of the house.

“Y/N?” John B called out after her as he peeked into a dark room, a bit louder but still relatively quiet.

JJ and Pope scavenged every part of the house that wasn’t being looked at. Your friends were leaving no stones unturned, even examining the cracks in the walls as if you’d be there. “Kie,” JJ called out, eyeing the brown-haired girl as she peeked into a another room before turning at the sound of her name. “No one in there?”

Kiara shook her head, leaving the room. “No.”

JJ sighed frustratedly, running a hand through his hair as the group recollect in the middle of the home. “Okay, well, if she’s not here, where the fuck is she?” The six of them fell into frustrated silence, thinking of where the hell else you could be possibly be. This wasn’t Kildare. They didn’t know the way this island worked or other possible places you could’ve been taken. This was their only lead…

“Guys?...” Pope spoke, walking over to a painting on the wall that caught his attention. They all furrowed their eyebrows and exchanged confused looks before walking over to the Heyward boy and taking a look at what he’d found. 

“What?” JJ asked, clearly lost. “It’s a burning boat.”

“It’s the San Jose.” John B clarified, eyes locked on the piece of art. 

“This is the boat from Denmark’s diary.” Pope corrected even further. “The ship that Captain Limbrey stole the cross from.” 

“And the Merchant gold.” 

“...Great.” JJ added in, looking at his two friends with a bit of annoyance. “Whatever. It’s about the gold, not my girl. This...doesn’t help us.” He refocused his friends before walking off to see if he could find something of actual use as they stared aimlessly at the painting, dismissing his words.

“Well, Portis is a treasure guy.” John B concluded, raising a brow as he spoke.

“...This is too close to our boat.” Pope said, the wheels turning in his mind. 

Kiara sighed from the back of the house, letting her arms fall at her sides. “Just let it go.” She groaned. “That’s not why we’re here-”

Her words were broken with a clean whistle from Cleo as she stared out of one of the windows facing the street. “Guys, guys, guys…” She lured the five of them over, Sarah being the first one over her shoulder.

“What?” She asked, peering out of the window. “Shit…It’s Portis.” She cursed, your six friends watching the man pull up into his own driveway and cut the ignition on his truck. “Do we run?”

“No.” JJ and Kiara said in unison, the group turning to them as the sound of Jimmy getting out of his car rang out.

“Just follow me. And do what I say.” JJ demanded, conviction in his voice as he instructed his friends to hide as the sound of Portis’s voice got closer and closer — he was on the phone, arranging repairs for his plane. 

He entered his home just as everyone had settled into their places, scattered around the room. Ending the call, Jimmy stopped in the middle of his living room, a crab at his feet as he sighed. “I’ve had it with you guys…” He complained, making moves to bend down and pick up the creature before JJ was jumping up from his hiding place and ramming his shoulder into the man, sending him flying back in Pope’s direction, who was quick to jump up as well, putting Portis in a headlock.

Once it became clear that Pope was struggling to subdue the man himself, John B got involved, charging at Portis who was quick to push him away and into a wall before he managed to get out of Pope’s hold. 

Portis was quick to try and flee his home, running through the open front door until he was tripped by three small feet — Kiara, Sarah, and Cleo managing to send the man flying forward.

Jimmy fell to the ground with a grunt, JJ and Cleo being the ones to grab him by his arms and clothing, slamming him against his patio furniture. JJ kept the man planted against the wooden table as Cleo held a knife to his neck. 

“You guys really shouldn’t be here right now.” Jimmy spoke through labored breaths, still catching his own. 

The two ignored his statement as the remaining for watched them interrogate the pilot. “Where is she, Jimmy?” JJ pressed, edging his face closer to the older man’s.

“Answer the man.” Cleo added, balling her face up in anger. 

“You really don’t wanna know…” Portis shook his head, the two pogues holding him down exchanging an angry glance.

“Talk.” Kiara spoke up, taking a step forward and putting a broken bottle under Portis’s chin. “Who took her?”

“Was it Ward?” Sarah spoke up from her place behind the three, standing with her arms crossed and a hard expression on her face.

Your friend's faces fell when Portis broke out into laughter. “Ward?” He chuckled, despite the weapons being pointed in his direction. “Who’s Ward?” He cackled before his laughter died down into frustration. “You guys really don’t understand who you’re messing with.”

“Then we’ll call the cops.” John B threw in, trying to see if he could intimidate any more information out of him.

“Sure, call the cops.” Jimmy shrugged, throwing his head back onto the tabletop. “See how far that gets ya. This guy owns the cops.” He informed, all five of their eyes trained on him as Pope looked around the patio, spotting the bag Jimmy arrived with and discarded as he entered his home. “He’s got eyes all over the island looking for you. All of you.” Jimmy gritted through his teeth and Pope opened the satchel, rummaging through it and pulling out an envelope. “He’s a big man.” Jimmy proclaimed. “The Kingfish.”

“The Kingfish?...” JJ reiterated to himself, eyes locked on to Portis as he tried to process the man’s words.

“Hey.” Pope spoke up, wedging between his friends and holding up the envelope for Jimmy to see. “What’s this?”

“Hey, what the-” Portis started, going from zero to hundred within a second. “Take your hands off my shit!” He warned, almost jumping off of the table before JJ slammed him back down and Cleo pressed the weapon further against his jugular. 

“Shut up.” JJ rolled his eyes, growing annoyed.

“Hey, quiet down!” Cleo warned.

“What is it?” JJ asked, eyes on Pope as the boy opened the parcel and pulled out a hefty amount of Carribean money as Jimmy just laughed to himself. “What’s that, Jimmy?” JJ turned back to the man in question, his anger plastered across his features clear as day. “Is that the payoff? Is that the payoff for my girlfriend, Jimmy?” He pressed, yanking the man up further by the neckline of his shirt. “Is it?!” He jerked him around.

“Hey,” Pope started again, noticing something in the corner of the envelope. “What’s Vaux Hall?” He asked the pilot, waving the piece of paper in his face. Jimmy just locked eyes with the Heyward boy, shaking his head slightly.

“You really don’t wanna go there, man.” He said, voice wavering. “That’s the lion’s den.”

John B nodded his head, a stone hard look on his face as they finally somewhat cracked the older man. “That’s it. That’s where Y/N is.” He concluded for himself. “Come on.” He directed his friends, entering the house with Pope as Portis yelled behind them.

“You really don’t wanna go there!” He warned as JJ and Cleo continued to restrain him while Kiara and Sarah watched.

“Do we look afraid to you?” Cleo asked, pointing the tip of her knife under his chin.

Portis gulped, swallowing his fears before responding, a thin layer of sweat emerging on his forehead. “...You should be.”

Cleo looked at JJ, who fixed her with a deadpan expression, before smacking her teeth just as Pope and John B emerged from inside the house, hands full of attire. “Let’s go. C’mon.” The Routledge boy urged, running down the steps of the patio. “Portis, we’re taking some clothes. Deal with it.” He shot over his shoulder as the pilot was finally released, all six of your friends fleeing his property.

Jimmy sat up on his elbows, calling after them as he watched their figures run away. “Big mistake!” He shouted, catching his breath and collecting himself. “You’re just gonna make it worse for her!”

“POPE, ARE YOU SURE WE HAVE THE RIGHT ADDRESS?”

“...I know you aren’t talkin’ to me about having the right address.” Pope sassed, eyeing the blonde who had his head thrown back in exhaustion, walking at the front of the group.

“That’s exactly what I’m asking.” JJ affirmed, turning around to face the boy. They were walking in the middle of nowhere — no houses, no businesses, nothing around for what seemed like miles. Just tall grass and bushes and trees to shield them from the blistering sun and suffocating heat.

“Look, the place says Vaux Hall. It’s on the map.” Pope reassured, looking at the map bolted to the Bus Stop sign they walked up on. 

“Yeah but we don’t know if that’s where we are.” JJ countered, flicking the sign with his hand in frustration.

“Okay, well we're in the the general vicinity, so.” The boys argued, oblivious to the sound of a heavy duty truck pulling up beside them. The first vehicle they’d seen in hours. 

“Why don’t we just ask someone?” Cleo suggested, growing tired of the bickering and turning to the man driving the tractor that was pulling up near them. “Hey!” She waved, the man slowing down the vehicle and fixing her with a look, offering no words. “Pardon I.” She excused herself. “Y’know where we can find Vaux Hall?” She asked, peering up at him.

“...You kiddin’ me, right?” The dark-skinned man asked, turning in his seat and looking at the expanse of land. “Everything you can see, all around you, is Vaux Hall.”

“Oh.” JJ spoke, looking around at the nothing that surrounded him. “Everywhere.”

“Okay, so who lives up there?” Kiara inquired, shielding her face from the sun with her hands while using one to point upwards, towards the hill.

“Up there?” The old man asked himself, looking in the direction she pointed. “Carlos Singh. Just on the other side of that wall.” He clarified, watching as your friends eyed the stone wall. “But…take it from me.” The man started once more, gaining their attention. “He’s no one you wanna get to know.” He warned before taking the brakes off of his tractor and driving off, watching through his sideview mirrors as your friends went in the direction of the wall anyway. In search of you.

IT’D BEEN AT LEAST AN HOUR SINCE YOU’D BEEN LEFT IN THE ROOM ALONE. You’d done as instructed, changing into the dress provided to you as you adjusted the newfound tenderness in your leg. Somehow, it felt better and worse all at once.

You were standing by the window, peering out at the vast expanse of land and the lack of places to run to when the door abruptly opened, causing you to turn your head away from the glass pane.

In the doorway stood a brown-skinned woman adorned in a maid’s uniform, her hands clasped in front of her as she looked to you with a small smile. “He’s ready.” She spoke simply.

You didn’t offer a verbal response or ask any questions, tired of not receiving satisfactory answers or none at all. So you simply nodded, watching as the woman turned around and walked away, leaving the door open as an invitation to follow her. 

The sound of birds chirping traveled through the many open windows as she led you down the stairs, lighting illuminating through the stained glass windows that were littered throughout the estate.

The woman led you to an open door, the sound of liquid pouring coming from inside as she stood by the doorframe, motioning for you to enter with her arms. You took slow steps, passing through the door to find a man with his back turned pouring liquor into a glass. He was dressed in a suit, hair buzzed. 

“...Excuse me?” You announced yourself, looking cautiously around the room. At the sound of your voice, the male set the liquor bottle down and turned around to see who’d entered the room.

You felt yourself freeze when you made direct eye contact with the devil himself.

“...Hi, sunshine.” Rafe smirked, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

You couldn’t stop yourself from biting your lip in anger, your fists balling at your sides as you stormed towards the Cameron boy. “I knew you and Ward were behind this shit.” You snarled, hair and dress whipping around you as you gained on him. 

Rafe’s face twisted as you came to a stop in front of him, a mere foot between you two at this point. “What are you talkin' about?” He asked, offended. “You tryin' to weasel in on my deal right now? Is that what’s goin’ on?” He pressed, leaning down in your face.

“What fucking deal?” You spat back, words spewing quickly from your lips as Rafe’s eyes flickered between your own an the now stitched up laceration on your leg that the cocktail dress failed to conceal. “I’ve been stranded on an island for a month, I don’t give a shit about whatever deal your talking about-”

“What happened to your leg?” He cut you off, taking you by surprise as you stopped talking.

“...Take a guess.” You sassed, cocking your head to the side. “Don’t worry. I’ve been in worse pain.” You shot, looking the boy up and down.

“I wondered if your little reunion would cause sparks, y’know.” A third voice interjected, the both of you turning your heads in the direction it came from to find a man with his back turned staring out of a window in the conjoined room. He chuckled to himself as he turned around to look at the pair of you. 

“Who are you?” Rafe asked, annoyance in his tone as the man took slow, calculated steps in the direction of you and him, rubbing the full-beard that adorned his face.

“...Me?” The man reiterated, pointing to himself. “My name is Carlos Singh.” He smiled, fixing his blue and black plaid blazer before adjusting his gold watch. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr.Cameron.” He spoke, shoving one of his hands in his pocket and use the other to point at you. “And Ms.Carter, I do apologize for the rough tactics in bringing you here. But please, come.” He urged you both, pointing to the furniture behind him. “Sit down.”

You and Rafe exchanged a quick glance before narrowing your eyes at Singh.

“Come.” He said more firmly, his body half turned away from you now. “I don’t bite.” He smiled. Another moments pause and you locked eyes with Rafe who was seemingly waiting to see what you would do. You clenched your jaw before looking away from him and walking into the conjoined living area, taking a seat on the edge of the couch.

“Rough tactics...” Rafe finally spoke, his thoughts lingering on Singh’s words as he entered the room and took a seat himself on the other end of the same couch. “What about me?”

“Yes, Mr. Cameron, false pretenses.” Carlos replied, pouring himself a drink. “But the ends justify the means, I’m afraid.” He assured, swiping up his glass as he turned to find a seat himself as he eyed the two of you, sat noticeably far apart. “We have a lot to talk about.”

“Why are we here?” You swiftly responded, sat leaned back on the sofa with you arms crossed defensively, fixing Singh with a deadpan expression. 

“Well, Ms. Carter, Mr. Cameron — we share certain interests, y’know. Objectives…” Carlos began, leaning forward in his seated position, swirling his glass around in his hand.

“Is this not about the cross?” Rafe sighed, manspreading in his seat as he threw an annoyed hand out. 

“It is.” The man assured, a bright smirk on his face. “Tangentially, it is about the cross, but it’s also about somethin’ much, much bigger than the cross.” He explained, standing from his seat and walking to a painting on the wall as your eyes trailed him. “By orders of magnitude, the completion of a grand quest. You see…” Carlos started, turning slowly to face you both once again. “The story goes that four-hundred and fifty years ago, a Spanish soldier came out of the Orinoco Basin wit’ a few gold beads. And they asked the Spanish soldier where the beads came from, the Spanish soldier replied he got them from a peaceful Indigenous tribe who lived in a city of gold.” He recalled the story enthusiastically. “El Dorado.” Singh emphasized, a hazy look in his eyes. 

“And for the next four-hundred and fifty years, people tried to find that gold, y’know.” He spoke with passion, pacing the room as he did. You and Rafe never took your eyes off the man. “They tried. Conquistadors, knights, captains of ships, tribes, entire nations. All fightin’ each other in a race for the end of the rainbow.” He informed. “Thousands of lives, laid on the pyre of gold fever. And it falls to me, y’know.” Singh pointed to himself repeatedly, emphasizing his point. “It falls to me to complete the task. To bring full circle a quest that has gone on for almost five-hundred years…Perhaps the greatest quest in the history of the western hemisphere, y’know.” He continued his borderline villainous monologue as you shifted in your seat, growing aggravated. “And you two,” He started again. “You two are goin’ to play a part in that.”

You side-eyed Rafe slowly at Carlos’s words, watching as he drew his lips into a thin line, growing increasingly annoyed. Your gaze refocused on Singh as he started speaking once again.

“Ms. Carter,” He dipped his head in your direction, eyes boring into yours. “Are you interest in history?” He asked slyly, taking a seat in an armchair across from you and setting his glass down on the end table next to it.

“I prefer to leave the past in the past.” You said, tone flat as you eyed the older man, straightening in your seat. “More a future person, y’know?” You mocked slightly as Rafe groaned, eyes on him now.

“Yeah, I didn’t listen to a word you said, okay?” He spoke, pinching the skin between his eyebrows. “How much you gonna keep philosophizing?” He questioned, jaw tense as he stared Singh down.

The wealthy man simply chuckled, fixing Rafe with a flat look, the smirk he’d had all afternoon quickly disappearing. “You are direct…aren’t you, Mr. Cameron?” Rafe offered no verbal reply, the two men sitting in suffocating silence as they sized each other up with their eyes, both leaned forward in their seats as your eyes darted between them. 

“...What do you want from me?” You broke their pissing contest, wanting the answer to the question you’d been asking since you were hauled in the back of a truck on the beach. 

Carlos spoke, eyes still on Rafe as he did. “I’ve come to believe that you and your friends,” He started, slowly fixing his gaze on you. “Are in possession of somethin’ that can help me get what I want.”

“Which is?” You asked, cocking a loathsome eyebrow as you sat up straighter. 

“...An old manuscript.” Singh told you, staring down at his hands for a moment. “A diary, actually.” 

At his words, your mind went to the only diary Singh could be looking for that was connected to the gold. The diary. Denmark’s diary.

“...I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Rafe spoke up, shrugging one shoulder. Singh’s smirk was returning as his eyes traveled from a genuinely clueless Rafe to you.

You leaned back once more, shrugging as you maintained eye contact with him. “I don’t know anything about a diary.” You said simply, crossing one leg over the other. Singh dipped his head at your words, seemingly laughing to himself before his expression hardened.

“But how else could you have learned that the cross was on The Royal Merchant?” He threw out, eyes locking with yours. 

It was silent for a few beats before you sighed, adjusting yourself. “Look, I can’t help you.”

Singh just let out a single, low laugh. “I was hopin’ you wouldn’t say that, y’know.” He squinted his eyes at you, drawing his lips into a line. “...’Cause unfortunately, I don’t believe you.” He spat, his casual demeanor quickly turning into something more sinister. “You and your friend here couldn’t have found the cross without it.” Carlos snarled.

“He’s not my friend.” You snarled back, eyeing Rafe for the smallest of seconds before fixing your glare on Singh. 

“Well, we can’t all be friends.”

“Look,” Rafe cut in with a harsh sigh, clapping his hands and standing from his seat. “This is ridiculous, okay? I’m out.” He affirmed, walking away as he spoke. “I don’t know anything about a damn diary, okay? So…” Just as Rafe turned to leave, a guard side-stepped in front of him — a large gun in his hand as he blocked Rafe’s path.

“...Do I look like a fool to you, Mr. Cameron?” Singh asked, slowly picking up his glass and sipping from it as he stared at Rafe’s back as Rafe stared at the guard — shoulders moving up and down as he laughed to himself. Singh stood from his seat, approaching the Cameron boy. “Do I look like a fool to you?” He repeated, raising his voice.

Rafe simply walked away from the guard, shrugging his shoulders in response to Singh’s question. 

“...You have the cross.” Carlos told him, voice nearing a villainous whisper as he slowly pointed behind him in your direction as his eyes remained focused on Rafe. “She and she friends had the cross at one point. So, one of you,” He pointed back and forth between you and Rafe. “Has the diary.” At Singh’s words, Rafe’s eyes darted to you, stuck on your figure on the couch as Singh continued. “And if you really don’t know, then I suggest you convince your friend to tell me.”

You looked away from Rafe’s burning gaze at Carlos’s words, but you could still feel his burning blue eyes on the side of your face. 

“Once I have the diary,” Singh turned around to you, the bright smile back on his face. “You’ll be free to leave.” 

“ENJOY THE GROUNDS DURIN’ YOUR STAY.” Carlos welcomed you and Rafe, leading you both back up the room you were locked in prior to meeting. “I must warn you though,” The man looked at the both of you, standing in the doorway. “I’m not a man of infinite patience.” He warned, taking his hands out of his pockets and holding up one finger. “You have one day.” He said, voice dropping dangerously low. “...Go to the window for a little demonstration.” He smirked, throwing his head in the direction of the largest window in the room and backing out of the door, closing it behind himself.

“Hey, hey!” Rafe called, walking towards the door as you stayed planted. “You just done talkin’?!” He shouted through the wooden entryway, rattling the handle.

“It’s locked.” You said, walking over to the window Singh had pointed to and pulling the curtains back. The sound of vehicle approaching travelled through the glass as Rafe’s footsteps got closer to you. But your attention was stolen when two people exited the driver and passenger seats of the truck, pulling a man from the back, his plea's so loud, they were clearly heard through the window.

“Get off me, man! I didn’t do nothin’!”

“Who the hell is that guy?” Rafe’s voice appeared dangerously close to your ear, sending a chill down your spine that you brushed off as the man came into view, two guards dragging him by each arm.

“I know him.” You said, tone flat. “It’s Jimmy Portis.” You said, shaking your head as you came to a sad realization. “He was trying to help me…” You muttered to yourself, Rafe’s eyes on you for too long before returning to the window to watch whatever this was play out.

The two guards dragged Jimmy out of your field of vision just as Singh came into frame. He stopped in his tracks, turning around to look at the two of you from his place outside. In slow movements, he reached for the waistband of his pants, pulling out a gun with a sadistic smirk on his face.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa…” Rafe mumbled to himself, watching Singh’s eyes leave you two and he turned around and continued to walk away and in the direction Portis had been taken. Your eyes widened as you came to grasp the reality of what was happening.

Moments passed and just as you were taking in another labored breath, the sound of a single gunshot rang out. 

You didn’t know this Singh guy. But it was clear that if Ward was a sinner, this man was the devil.

“...This diary.” Rafe breathed, turning to you and putting a hand on your shoulder that you promptly shrugged off.

“Don’t.” You warned, eyebrows set into a hard line. “Ever.”

Rafe just licked his lips and sighed. “Okay, no bullshit. Okay?” He spoke frantically, wide eyes searching you. “Do you have it?” He asked, but you didn’t look at him, eyes still staring longingly out of the window. “Y/N.” He gritted, gaining your attention as you slowly drifted your eyes to him. 

You stared at him for a few moments, watching the boy send himself into a frenzy. You don’t know what he thought your answer would be.

With a shake of your head, you answered him.

“...No.”

next chapter >

feedback is appreciated! thanks for reading.

©loveharlow.

note: i'm managing the taglist so if i can't tag or haven't been able to, i'm sorry i'm just going to remove you :( its a long list and trying to just takes too much time xx

[theemporium]

nicojack valentines blurb? 🫶🫶

thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

.

“This is evil.”

You snorted a little, unable to help yourself even with the sight of your boyfriend pouting on your phone screen.

“No, like genuinely evil. It’s Valentine’s Day and I have two really hot partners that are being really hot hundreds of miles away from me. This is a crime.” 

Nico couldn’t wipe the fond expression off his face as he tilted his head into camera view. “We are proud of you though,” he said with a  genuine smile. “You’re playing so well, baby.” 

Jack narrowed his eyes at the way Nico was tucked up behind you on the sunlounger. “Do not try to sweet talk me, Hischier. You’re both half naked and sunbathing all day. I’m freezing my balls off over here.” 

Your expression fell. “I knew you wanted us to come to Montreal. We should have never—“

Jack’s pout instantly melted away to a softer expression. “No, baby, no. I meant it when I said I wanted you both to go somewhere for bye week. I’m just being dramatic. I promise I’m happy the two of you are having fun.” 

“I still feel bad,” you murmured, lips pressing together as you examined Jack’s expression like you were looking for a sign on whether he was lying or not. 

“Well don’t,” Jack replied, all bratty and huffy which made Nico beam a little. “Because you both are going to make it up to me when we are back home.” 

You smiled at his words. “Oh yeah?” 

“I expect to be spoiled rotten,” Jack said, his own grin starting to grow on his face. “I’m gonna be bringing back gold for you both. You need to match that.” 

Nico hooked his chin over your shoulder, eyes crinkling as he smiled at the younger boy. “It’s gonna be all about you for days, baby.” 

“And until then, I expect exclusive content. I have not received nearly enough photos from you both. And the ones you have sent, you’ve been far too clothed.” 

You snorted. “Well I’ve been trying to get him to stop wearing shirts when he isn’t even buttoning them but he’s being difficult.” 

“I’m trying to be respectful to the other people here,” Nico said, rolling his eyes but he didn’t look that put off by the suggestion. 

“Who cares about them? Your boyfriend is deprived over here.”

“Deprived and freezing his balls off,” you added with a grin.

“Fine, fine, whatever keeps you and your balls happy,” Nico replied, laughing at the way Jack’s face brightened. 

“Happy Valentine’s to me!” 

.

[jandthecrow]

Connected

Simon Ghost Riley x Reader

SUMMARY: Simon gives you one of those trendy bracelets made for couples on Christmas Day. Literally saw an ad for it and immediately thought about this.

CW: SFW, wholesome, Soft!Simon, Christmas Day, established relationship, non gendered reader

The room was quiet except for the soft crackling of the fire and the occasional rustle of wrapping paper. Snow fell lightly outside, the sun making the snow glow with a beautiful sheen. You and Simon sat close together on the living room floor, surrounded by open boxes and torn ribbons. The morning had been filled with laughter and surprises both big and small, but Simon had one last gift for you.

He reached behind the couch and pulled out a small box, wrapped in baby blue paper and tied with a simple white string. His fingers paused on it for a moment before he handed it to you, his eyes holding yours.

“This one’s… different. Don’t know if you’ll like it,” he said, his voice quiet but steady.

You tilted your head, as you took the gift. “Different how?” You say examining the box and the little white snowflakes printed on the thin paper.

“Just open it,” he grunted, his gaze unwavering.

With a small smile, you tugged at the white string and peeled back the paper, revealing a sleek black box. Lifting the lid, you were met with the sight of two bracelets nestled inside; sleek, simple, and modern. One was slightly larger and blue, clearly meant for a bigger wrist; Simon’s wrist specifically. While the other was smaller and white gold - with a small skull printed on top (he had to stake his claim somehow lol) designed for a smaller wrist - yours.

“Wait… are these what I think they are?” you asked, glancing up at him.

“They are,” he confirmed, his tone gruff but softened by the emotion in his eyes. “Thought it’d be… useful. For when I’m not here.”

You picked up the smaller bracelet, running your fingers over its smooth surface. “They’re the ones that send a signal, right? To let the other person know you’re thinking of them?”

Simon nodded, his forearms resting on his thighs as he leaned forward watching you. “Yeah. You press the button, and it buzzes on the other end. Subtle. Nothing flashy.”

Your chest tightened as the weight of the gesture sank in. He wasn’t the type to voice his emotions often, but this - this was his way of saying he wanted to stay connected, even when countless miles separated you.

“I…” You trailed off, trying to find the right words to express your aching heart. “Simon, this is… it’s perfect.”

He shifted slightly, reaching for the other bracelet and sliding it onto his wrist. “It’s not much, but I figured… if you ever needed… or um missed me… or maybe if I wanted you to know I’m thinking about you - this would help.”

You slipped your own bracelet onto your wrist, marveling at how well it fit. “It’s more than enough,” you said softly, pressing the small button on the side.

A faint vibration buzzed against Simon’s wrist, and his eyes crinkled at the edges as he glanced down at the bracelet. Without a word, he pressed his own button, and you felt the gentle pulse against your wrist in return.

The exchange was silent, but it spoke volumes.

“This way, you’ll never be alone… even when I’m not there for you,” he said his voice breaking and filled with a rare tenderness.

You reached over, placing your hand on top of his. “And neither will you.”

The two of you sat there for a while, the fire place crackling as the fire danced. The world outside seemed to slow, as if the world was giving you this moment to savor.

“Merry Christmas, Simon,” you whispered, squeezing his hand.

“Merry Christmas, love,” he replied, his thumb brushing over your knuckles.

The bracelets weren’t just a gift but a promise. No matter where he was, or how far apart you might be, you’d always have a way to reach each other. A silent signal that said, I’m here. I’m thinking of you. And for both of you, it was everything you could ever ask for.

[huellitaa]

pretty girl winter 🧁❄️🎀

ok so winter is my FAVOURITE season ever!! i am THE christmas girl of all time and i wna make this the most beautiful pink christmas ever! and i am so excited to spend it with my favourite people ever (my tumblr girls) ❄️🩷

🧁𓂃 ࣪˖ winter music ♡

sweet dreams, tomorrow x together

last christmas, ariana grande

sleigh ride, the ronettes

merry & happy, twice

beautiful christmas, red velvet / aespa

santa tell me, ariana grande

doughnut, twice

winter wonderland, beabadoobee

jingle bell rock, bobby helms / aespa

rocking around the christmas tree, brenda lee

let it snow! let it snow! let it snow!, dean martin

have yourself a merry little christmas, judy garland

christmas dreaming, laufey

one more sleep, leona lewis

cindy lou who, sabrina carpenter

(🎀🗒 note: i also have a playlist filled with lots of these songs and music here! ♡)

🎀𓂃 ࣪˖ winter beauty ♡

moisturiser moisturiser moisturiser. hand cream is also a must so they dont get cracked and dry, especially in the winter! ❄️🫶🏻🩷

i dont take cold showers in the winter bcuz i get ill easily , so i always take warm showers w 30 seconds of cold at the end 💭🎀💗

vanilla, cinnamon, musk, chocolate, pomegranate, cherry, pudding and sweet, rich scents 💭🐧🫶🏻

makeup in pale pink, white, soft gold, silver, lots of sparkles, dewy and light

red lip gloss / stick is an essential! 💭🎀

🎄𓂃 ࣪˖ winter fashion ♡

fluffy coats!!!!! i personally love my massive black trenchcoat its v cute

scarves, hats, gloves, etc ♡ 🎀🧸

leggings, tights, long socks, leg warmers, etc. (i esp love sheer tights!)💭

anything faux-fur lined

pink, silver, gold, and white ♡

boots, uggs, doc martens, clunky shoes!

🎀💭❄️ simple formula to a cute winter fit:

skirt -> tights -> long sleeves -> coat -> shoes

(long sleeves can be anything from turtleneck to jumper, tights can be leggings / long socks or whatever you like, and the same goes for shoes! this is an easily versatile idea, not one size fits all 🫶🏻)

🧸𓂃 ࣪˖ winter movies ♡

muppet christmas carol!!!!!♡ my fav ever

the nightmare before christmas

beauty and the beast: the enchanted christmas

the miracle on 34th street

the grinch (live and animated)

jingle all the way

the polar express

home alone

mean girls (not a christmas film, but the jingle bell rock scene is iconic)

(🎀🗒 note: one thing i like to do is compile a list of all ur favourite shows and their christmas / winter episodes and just binge watch all of them!! 🩷🫶🏻🎄🧸)

🌨𓂃 ࣪˖ winter activities ♡

i love journalling and scrapbooking at any time of year, but i feel like it's always extra cosy in winter! playing some christmas music, cuddling up in pink pyjamas and journalling 🫶🏻🎀🩷

anything to do with baking and hot food is so cosy; gingerbread houses and hot chocolate, christmas cupcakes !! 🎄🫶🏻

i dont really know what category this falls into, but around christmas time i always love to make things about my family and friends; painting, decorating photos and hanging them up, journalling about them, and so on ! 💭💝❄️

make a list of all the people you're getting christmas presents for this year and compile a little bundle of things for them! 💗💭

learn about old winter tales and folklore, fron your culture or from others 🌨🎀

take up sewing, knitting, crocheting, etc. even if you've never done it before 🩷🧸

christmas market hopping!!!!!! one of my favourite things to do in winter is go out with my friends, go shopping and just browse the stalls bcuz theyre always so cute and cosy 🧁🐧💗

writing & making christmas cards ❄️🎀

unnecessary acts of kindness! this should go without saying for majority of the time, but i always love to go the extra mile during christmas to keep with the spirit and everything 🫶🏻🧸🎄

ice skating. obviously. i wanna go w my friends this year !!! 🎀⛸️🧁☃️

all my love, and happy december! 🎄🎀🫶🏻💗

[goldfades]

𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐓𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄 𝐃𝐈𝐌𝐄 ───── LAMELO BALL

free palestine carrd 🇵🇸 decolonize palestine site 🇵🇸 how you can help palestine it's crucial that we stand in solidarity with those who need our support. right now, the people of palestine are facing unimaginable hardship, and it's up to all of us to do what we can to help. whether it's raising awareness, donating to relief organizations, or supporting calls for justice and peace, every action counts. we can amplify their voices, shed light on their struggles, and work towards a future where every individual can live with dignity and freedom. your support can make a difference! FREE PALESTINE!

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 5.7k (i got a bit carried away per usual)

⟢ ┈ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | lamelo spots you courtside, turning in the game of his life just to impress you. what starts as playful banter at an afterparty quickly turns into a connection that neither of you can ignore.

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | lamelo being COCKY AF, ummmmm... mentions of drinking, banter, allusions to lamelo being a hohohoho, just very banter-teasing heavy

⟢ ┈ 𝐞𝐯'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 | i'm feeding the secret lamelo ball fangirls out there cause i see you and i fw you a lot cause ur just liek me, i hope yall enjoy !!!

The buzz of the Spectrum Center feels electric tonight. Maybe it’s the high stakes of the game, or maybe it’s just the way Lilah’s energy rubs off on you—effortless and magnetic, like she was born to thrive under these arena lights. You sit beside her, court-side, her gold bracelets jingling softly as she waves to someone across the court. Her husband, Miles is warming up, all easy confidence and sharp focus. He catches Lilah’s eye, grins, and points toward the two of you, a silent “this one’s for you.”

Lilah leans in, her voice just audible above the noise. “Miles is going to kill it tonight. He always does when I’m here.” She nudges you playfully. “You’re my lucky charm, though, so don’t go thinking you’re off the hook.”

You laugh, shifting in your seat as the players take their positions. Basketball’s never been your scene, but when Lilah called and begged you to come as her plus-one, you couldn’t say no. Something about her insistence—“You need to get out more!”—made it impossible to refuse. And now, as the lights dim and the announcer’s voice booms through the arena, you’re glad you came. The energy is infectious, the atmosphere electric.

Then, your attention shifts.

Number one, LaMelo Ball, steps onto the court. He’s hard to miss—tall, sharp-cut features, and an aura that makes it seem like he knows everyone’s watching him. Which, let’s be honest, they probably are. He moves with a kind of casual arrogance, his presence larger than life even among his teammates. You’ve heard his name a dozen times, always tied to words like prodigy or superstar, but seeing him in person is something else entirely.

And then it happens.

As if sensing your gaze, he glances your way. It’s quick, just a flicker, but enough for his eyes to find yours. Time slows—or maybe it’s just your imagination—because for a moment, it feels like he’s staring straight through the noise and chaos of the arena, right at you. There’s something in his expression—curiosity, intrigue—that makes your breath hitch.

He smirks, the corner of his mouth lifting in a way that’s almost imperceptible, then turns his attention back to the court. But you notice the difference immediately. His movements become sharper, his energy more focused. Every pass, every shot, every step is precise, like he’s putting on a show and you’re the intended audience.

Lilah nudges you again. “I think LaMelo just checked you out.”

You laugh it off, but your pulse betrays you, thudding a little too hard against your ribs. You’re overthinking it, you tell yourself. It’s just a coincidence, an accident.

On the court, LaMelo thrives in the rhythm of the game. He’s always been good at this—reading plays, threading passes, finding space where none should exist. But tonight, something feels different. There’s a spark under his skin, a hum that makes every move sharper, every decision quicker. He knows exactly why.

Between plays, he glances toward the courtside seats again, where you’re sitting with Lilah Bridges. He doesn’t even know your name, but he can’t stop looking. There’s something about the way you’re perched there, so effortlessly composed, your laugh soft but luminous whenever Lilah says something funny. The arena lights hit your face just right, making you impossible to miss, even with the chaos of the game surrounding him.

“Yo, Melo,” Miles mutters during a timeout, smirking as he catches LaMelo glancing toward the sideline. “You good? You’ve been zoned in all night.”

LaMelo grabs a water bottle and takes a quick sip, playing it cool. “I’m always locked in.”

Miles doesn’t let up, chuckling as he leans closer. “Nah, not like this. You’ve been balling like you got something to prove. Who’s got you locked in like that?” He follows LaMelo’s line of sight, and when his gaze lands on you, his grin widens. “Ahhh, I see. You’re been peepin’ Lilah’s friend.”

LaMelo doesn’t confirm or deny it, but the way he smirks back says enough. “Who is she?” he asks, keeping his voice low, casual.

Miles shrugs, wiping his face with a towel. “That’s Lilah’s girl. She’s cool, real chill. Don’t know if she’s your type, though.”

LaMelo raises an eyebrow, his confidence peeking through. “What makes you think she’s not my type?”

Miles laughs, shaking his head. “Man, I’m just saying. She doesn’t seem like the type to get caught up in all... this.” He gestures vaguely to the court, the arena, the larger-than-life spectacle that comes with being LaMelo Ball.

LaMelo doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he lets his eyes drift back to you, the corner of his mouth twitching upward when he catches you clapping at something Lilah says. There’s something about you that feels... different. It’s not just the way you look, though that’s definitely a big part of it. It’s the way you carry yourself, like you’re perfectly content to stay in the background, even though the spotlight would suit you just fine.

“She doesn’t have to get caught up in all this,” he finally says, dribbling the ball idly as the timeout winds down. “I just wanna know her name.”

Miles shakes his head, chuckling. “Good luck with that, man. Lilah’s probably gonna run interference if she thinks you’re trying to pull something.”

LaMelo grins, his confidence unwavering. “Guess I’ll just have to ask her myself.”

When the whistle blows and the game resumes, he’s locked in again—but this time, it’s with a purpose. He’s not just playing for the win. He’s playing to make sure he earns your attention, the same way you’ve unknowingly captured his.

The ball is in his hands again, and LaMelo moves like the court is his stage. Each dribble echoes, every pass and shot calculated to perfection. He’s already good at this—great, even—but tonight, he’s playing like he’s got something to prove. To himself? Maybe. To you? Definitely.

He steals a glance toward the sideline during a lull in the game. You’re still there, leaning slightly toward Lilah as the two of you talk. Whatever she just said has you laughing, your head tilted back, a hand coming up to cover your mouth as if to stifle the sound. It’s unguarded, genuine. LaMelo feels his focus falter for half a second, his gaze lingering just a little too long.

“Yo, stay with me!” His teammate barks as he claps his hands, trying to pull LaMelo’s attention back to the game.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good,” LaMelo says, waving him off. And he is good—better than good, actually. He’s in a rhythm now, and the team is feeding off his energy. Every basket he scores gets the crowd louder, and every assist he dishes out has the bench on their feet.

But you’re still there, just at the edge of his vision, a quiet distraction that’s becoming harder to ignore.

By halftime, the Hornets are up by ten, and the arena is buzzing with excitement. LaMelo plops down on the bench, catching his breath. Sweat drips from his hairline, and he swipes at it with a towel. As the coaches huddle the team together, his thoughts drift back to you.

Miles is the first to notice. Again.

“You ain’t slick, bro,” Miles says, shaking his head with a grin as he grabs a Gatorade. “I saw you peeking at her all through the second quarter.”

LaMelo scoffs, though he doesn’t bother denying it. “I wasn’t peeking. I was glancing. Big difference.”

Miles laughs, the sound low and knowing. “Whatever you gotta tell yourself. I’m just saying—don’t let Coach catch you getting distracted out here.”

“I’m not distracted,” LaMelo shoots back, leaning forward and lacing his fingers together. His smirk is quick, confident. “I’m locked in. You see the score?”

“Yeah, yeah, we see it,” Miles says, rolling his eyes. “But don’t think I didn’t catch you asking about her earlier. You really gonna make a move on Lilah’s friend?”

“Why not?” LaMelo’s answer is immediate, like he’s already decided.

Miles shakes his head, taking another sip of his drink. “She doesn’t look like the type to fall for all that charm you’re so proud of.”

LaMelo just grins, leaning back against the bench as the coaches wrap up their halftime pep talk. “Good. That’s the fun part.”

The game resumes, and LaMelo’s energy is sharper than ever. The crowd roars with every shot he makes, every assist he dishes. He’s putting on a clinic, and it’s impossible not to notice. The announcers are hyped, the fans are on their feet, and even his teammates are feeding off his fire.

And yet, every time he scores, his eyes flicker back to you.

It’s subtle—so quick that most people wouldn’t catch it—but Miles does. And so does Lilah, apparently. By the fourth quarter, she’s leaning over to whisper something to you, a sly smile on her face. You glance toward the court briefly, and for a split second, your eyes meet LaMelo’s again.

That’s when he knows.

The final buzzer sounds, and the Hornets walk off the court victorious. The energy in the arena is electric, fans cheering as the players exchange high-fives and congratulations. But LaMelo’s already thinking about the afterparty.

As he heads to the locker room, he catches up with Miles. “So, what’s the move tonight?”

Miles raises an eyebrow. “Why you asking me? You don’t usually roll through these things like that.”

LaMelo shrugs, keeping his tone casual. “Just curious. Lilah’s coming, right?”

“Yeah,” Miles says slowly, catching on. “And I’m guessing her friend will be there too?”

LaMelo doesn’t answer, but the look on his face says it all.

Miles chuckles, shaking his head as they head down the tunnel. “Man, you’re bold. Good luck with that one. She’s way out of your league.”

LaMelo smirks, the challenge lighting a spark in his chest. “No such thing as out of my league.”

As he steps into the locker room, his mind is already racing. He doesn’t know much about you yet—just the way you look when you laugh and the fact that you’ve already got him playing like he’s got something to prove.

But he’s determined to find out more.

The afterparty is in full swing by the time you and Lilah walk in, the pulsing bass of the music vibrating through the floor as laughter and conversation fill the space. It’s one of those places that feels effortlessly cool—dim lights, plush leather seating, and enough space for the players to spread out without it feeling cramped. You weren’t planning to have too much fun tonight, but the energy in the room is infectious.

Lilah tugs you along toward the bar, her arm looped through yours. “Okay, first rule of these parties,” she says, grinning as she leans in close, “always let me order your first drink. Miles swears I have good luck when it comes to the bartenders.”

You laugh, watching as she flags someone down with a wave and effortlessly orders for both of you. A minute later, a glass of something bright and fizzy is pressed into your hand. You take a sip, pleasantly surprised by how smooth it is, the citrusy kick warming you from the inside.

“Good, right?” Lilah asks, already sipping hers.

You nod, letting the drink loosen you up as you glance around the room. The players are scattered across the space, some tucked into booths with their significant others, others leaning against the bar, laughing and clinking glasses. It’s easy to spot LaMelo. He’s tall, for one thing, but it’s more than that. He has this magnetism about him, like the energy of the room shifts wherever he goes.

And right now, his attention is on you.

You notice it immediately—the way his eyes seem to find you no matter where you stand. He’s subtle about it, leaning casually against the bar as he talks to one of his teammates, a faint smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. But every so often, his gaze flickers in your direction, lingering just a beat too long before returning to his conversation.

At first, you try to brush it off. He’s probably like this with everyone, you tell yourself. Smooth, confident, the kind of guy who knows the effect he has on people. But the longer it goes on, the harder it is to ignore. Each glance feels deliberate, like he’s testing the waters, waiting to see how you’ll react.

And you can’t help it—you start to react.

You catch yourself standing a little straighter, your laugh a little more unguarded, the occasional glance in his direction just to see if he’s still looking. He always is. It’s a game, one that you didn’t realize you’d started playing, but now that you’re in it, you can’t seem to stop.

“Okay, spill,” Lilah says suddenly, pulling you out of your thoughts. She’s leaning against the bar beside you, her lips curled into a knowing smile.

“Spill what?” you ask, trying to sound casual as you take another sip of your drink.

She tilts her head toward LaMelo, who’s still standing across the room, his attention now fully on you. “Don’t play dumb. I saw the way you two were eyeing each other. What’s the deal?”

“There’s no deal,” you say quickly, but the heat rising to your cheeks betrays you.

“Uh-huh.” Lilah doesn’t look convinced. “He’s been staring at you all night, and don’t think I haven’t noticed the way you keep looking back.”

“I’m not—” you start to protest, but she cuts you off with a laugh.

“Relax,” she says, her tone playful. “I’m not judging. I mean, it’s LaMelo. He’s... well, you’ve seen him. But I’m just saying, if you’re into it, I’d say the interest is mutual.”

You glance back toward him, and sure enough, his eyes meet yours. This time, he doesn’t look away. Instead, he raises his glass slightly in a silent toast, his smirk deepening when you feel yourself falter under his gaze. There’s something disarming about the way he looks at you—confident but not cocky, curious but not overbearing.

“See?” Lilah teases, nudging you with her elbow. “I told you.”

You shake your head, laughing softly as you turn your attention back to her. “I’m just here to have a good time, Lilah. That’s all.”

“And you should,” she says, her smile widening. “But just so you know, if you’re not careful, he’s going to be the highlight of your night.”

You don’t respond, but the way your pulse quickens at her words tells you she might be right.

The party is in full swing now, the music loud enough to vibrate through the soles of your heels, and the energy in the room has shifted into something more electric. A few drinks in, you’re feeling looser, lighter. Lilah’s infectious laughter and Miles’s constant teasing have you at ease, your initial hesitations about the night fading into the background.

You’re seated now, perched on one of the low leather couches with Lilah on one side and Miles on the other, their banter flying back and forth like a friendly game of verbal ping-pong. You chime in every now and then, mostly to laugh or roll your eyes at one of Miles’s exaggerated stories about life on the road with the team.

“Tell me I’m lying,” Miles says, leaning back with a triumphant grin after his latest tale.

“You’re lying,” Lilah shoots back immediately, taking a sip of her drink.

You laugh, shaking your head as you reach for your own glass. The world around you feels pleasantly fuzzy, the edges softened by the buzz in your veins.

“Y’all don’t believe anything I say,” Miles grumbles, though his tone is more amused than annoyed.

“We believe the parts that make sense,” you counter, flashing him a teasing smile.

“Oh, she’s got jokes now,” Miles says, nudging you with his elbow. “Lilah, where’d you find her? She’s got a little spice.”

Lilah grins, leaning toward you conspiratorially. “You should see her when she’s really on a roll. She’ll have you questioning your whole life.”

You laugh again, the sound light and unguarded. It’s been a while since you’ve felt this carefree, and you let yourself sink into it, the atmosphere wrapping around you like a warm blanket.

But then, out of the corner of your eye, you see him.

LaMelo.

He’s making his way across the room, his long strides purposeful but not rushed. He’s dressed casually—ripped jeans, a designer jacket, and a chain that catches the light just right—but there’s something about the way he carries himself that makes him impossible to ignore.

“Yo, Miles,” LaMelo calls out as he approaches, his voice cutting through the hum of the party.

Miles looks up, grinning as he leans back against the couch. “What’s good, Melo?”

LaMelo stops in front of the group, his hands tucked into his pockets as he nods toward Miles. “Just making my rounds. What’re you over here talking about?”

“Oh, you know, just telling these ladies about how I carried you last season,” Miles says, his grin widening.

LaMelo rolls his eyes, his smile lazy and amused. “Yeah, sure. That’s why your stats were looking real pedestrian, huh?”

Lilah laughs, nudging Miles. “Don’t let him come over here and do you like that.”

“I’m gonna let him have it,” Miles says with a wave of his hand. “Only because I’m in a good mood.”

LaMelo chuckles, his gaze sliding over to you for the first time. His smile softens, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your breath catch.

“And who’s this?” he asks, his voice dropping just slightly, the playful lilt in his tone unmistakable.

Lilah jumps in before you can answer, her grin smug. “This is my girl. Be nice, Melo.”

LaMelo raises his hands in mock surrender, his eyes still on you. “I’m always nice.”

You can’t help but smile, the warmth of his attention settling over you like a spotlight. “I’m [Your Name],” you say, your voice steady despite the way your pulse has quickened.

“LaMelo,” he says, extending a hand toward you. His fingers are warm when they close around yours, his grip firm but not overpowering.

“I know,” you say, the words slipping out before you can stop them.

His smile deepens, a flash of teeth that somehow feels both charming and dangerous. “You know, huh? Should I be flattered or nervous?”

“Depends,” you reply, your lips curving into a sly smile. “Do you usually get nervous when someone knows who you are?”

Miles lets out a low whistle, shaking his head as he looks between the two of you. “Oh, this is about to be good.”

LaMelo chuckles, leaning slightly closer, though he’s careful not to invade your space. “I don’t get nervous,” he says, his tone easy but confident. “But I gotta admit, you got me curious now.”

“Curious about what?” you ask, tilting your head slightly.

“About you,” he says simply. “Lilah’s been holding out on me.”

“Oh, don’t drag me into this,” Lilah says, laughing as she raises her hands. “You can ask her whatever you want. I’m staying out of it.”

The conversation flows easily after that, his questions playful but sincere, your answers just teasing enough to keep him on his toes. The world around you fades, the music and the chatter of the party becoming a distant hum as you go back and forth.

Every now and then, you catch Lilah watching you, a small, knowing smile on her face. You can feel the heat of LaMelo’s gaze every time he looks at you, and you’re not sure if it’s the drinks or the chemistry between you, but you find yourself leaning into it, letting the moment stretch and unfold in ways you hadn’t anticipated.

And when he laughs—low and genuine—you realize you don’t mind it at all.

As the conversation flows, Lilah gives you a sly smile and stands, tugging on Miles’s arm. “Come on, babe, let’s grab another round,” she says, her tone overly casual.

Miles glances at her, then at you and LaMelo, and smirks knowingly. “Oh, I see how it is. Melo’s about to show off his ‘game,’ huh?”

“Go,” Lilah says, rolling her eyes and shoving his shoulder lightly. She looks at you one last time, her expression smug. “Have fun, girl.”

You watch them disappear into the crowd, your laugh trailing after them, but the moment they’re gone, you feel the shift in the air. It’s subtle, like the space between you and LaMelo suddenly carries a different weight.

“Guess it’s just us now,” LaMelo says, leaning back against the couch with an easy confidence.

“Looks like it,” you reply, glancing at him over the rim of your glass.

“So,” he starts, stretching the word out as his eyes flicker over you with a mix of curiosity and amusement, “how long you been friends with Lilah?”

You set your glass down on the low table in front of you and cross your legs, meeting his gaze head-on. “Long enough to know she’s trouble.”

He chuckles, the sound low and warm. “Yeah, Miles says the same thing, but I think they balance each other out.”

“Definitely,” you agree, your lips curving into a small smile. “She keeps him in check, though. You should’ve seen her last week when he left his sneakers in the living room. I thought she was going to throw them out the window.”

LaMelo laughs, shaking his head. “Miles? Yeah, that sounds about right. Dude’s messy as hell. He leaves his stuff everywhere in the locker room too.”

You raise an eyebrow, tilting your head slightly. “And you’re not messy?”

He smirks, leaning forward a bit. “I didn’t say that. But I’m smarter about it. I know when to clean up.”

“Oh, so you’re strategic about your messiness,” you tease, the corner of your mouth twitching upward.

“Exactly,” he says, his grin widening. “You get it.”

There’s a pause, not awkward but charged, the kind of silence that feels more like a question waiting to be answered. His eyes stay locked on yours, the intensity of his gaze softened by the hint of a smile playing on his lips.

“You’re not what I expected,” he says finally, his tone thoughtful.

You blink, surprised. “What do you mean?”

He shrugs, leaning back again, his arms draped casually along the top of the couch. “I don’t know. Most people at these parties, they’re either trying too hard to impress or acting like they don’t care at all. But you… you’re different.”

“Different how?” you ask, narrowing your eyes slightly.

He tilts his head, studying you like he’s trying to solve a puzzle. “You’re real. Like, you’re here, but you’re not trying to be seen, you know? And you’re funny. Most people wouldn’t call me out for being messy two minutes into a conversation.”

You laugh, feeling a flush of warmth creep up your neck. “Well, maybe you’re just easy to tease.”

“Oh, I am?” he asks, his eyebrows lifting in mock surprise.

“Definitely,” you say, your tone playful. “You’ve got that vibe.”

“What vibe?”

“The kind that says you’re used to getting your way, so you don’t know what to do when someone gives you a hard time.”

He lets out a sharp laugh, shaking his head. “Damn, you don’t hold back, huh?”

“Not really,” you admit, shrugging. “But you don’t seem to mind.”

“I don’t,” he says, his voice softening just enough to make your stomach flip. “I like it.”

For a moment, the world around you seems to fade, the noise of the party dulling to a distant hum. He’s leaning slightly closer now, his elbows resting on his knees as he looks at you like you’re the most interesting thing in the room. And maybe it’s the drinks or the way his smile feels like a secret he’s letting you in on, but you find yourself leaning in too, just enough to match his energy.

“What about you?” he asks suddenly, breaking the silence.

“What about me?”

“Why are you here tonight?”

You laugh softly, gesturing toward the general chaos of the party. “Lilah dragged me, obviously.”

“Obviously,” he echoes, his smile turning teasing. “But you’re staying. That means something.”

“Maybe I just like good company,” you counter, raising an eyebrow.

“And am I good company?” he asks, his tone dipping just enough to make your pulse quicken.

You meet his gaze, holding it for a beat longer than you probably should. “You’re okay,” you say finally, your lips curving into a teasing smile.

“Just okay?” he asks, feigning offense as he presses a hand to his chest. “Damn, I thought I was doing better than that.”

“You could be,” you reply, leaning back and crossing your arms. “Guess you’ll have to step up your game.”

He laughs, shaking his head. “Alright, I see how it is. You’re a challenge.”

“Is that a... bad thing?”

“Not at all,” he says, his grin softening into something more genuine. “I like a challenge.”

And just like that, the banter shifts into something deeper, the playful teasing giving way to a quieter connection. You can feel it in the way he looks at you, like he’s trying to memorize every detail, and in the way your own walls start to lower, letting him in just a little more than you expected.

And for the first time that night, you wonder if Lilah was right. Maybe this party was worth it after all.

The night deepens, the party’s energy settling into a comfortable rhythm as conversations grow louder and laughter fills the spaces between songs. The buzz of a few drinks has made everything feel lighter, easier, and you find yourself more at ease than you’ve been in a while.

LaMelo is right there with you, his laughter rich and unrestrained, his eyes lighting up every time you say something witty. You’ve lost track of time somewhere between his playful teasing and the stories you’ve been swapping, your banter feeling less like a first meeting and more like reconnecting with someone you’ve known forever.

“You fell off a jet ski because... you weren’t paying attention?” you say, your laughter bubbling over as he shakes his head, a sheepish grin tugging at his lips.

“I wasn’t paying attention because my brother was trying to race me!” he defends, leaning forward as if his explanation will make it sound less ridiculous.

“And how’d that work out for you?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

He laughs, shrugging. “It didn’t. Clearly.”

You shake your head, the grin on your face refusing to fade. “You’re a mess, you know that?”

“I’ve been told,” he says, his gaze steady on yours. There’s something in his tone, in the way he looks at you right then, that sends a small thrill through you.

As the conversation flows, the space between you feels smaller, even though neither of you has moved. The music thumps steadily in the background, but it’s like you’ve created your own bubble, the party fading into a distant hum.

At some point, Lilah and Miles return to your little corner, Lilah plopping down next to you with an exaggerated sigh. “Okay, I’m officially tired,” she announces, though the glint in her eye suggests she’s anything but.

“You’re always tired,” Miles teases, slinging an arm around her shoulders.

“Don’t start,” she warns, though her smile softens the words. Her gaze flickers between you and LaMelo, and you can see the gears turning in her head.

“What?” you ask, narrowing your eyes at her suspicious expression.

“Nothing,” she says, dragging the word out as she leans closer. “Just noticing how much fun you’re having over here.”

“Lilah,” you warn, though you can’t hide the small smile tugging at your lips.

“Don’t mind her,” LaMelo says, his voice easy and warm. “She’s just jealous I’m better company than she is.”

“Oh, please,” Lilah scoffs, though she looks thoroughly entertained. “Anyway, we’re heading out soon. You two wrapping this up or what?”

You glance at LaMelo, unsure how to answer, but he beats you to it. “Not yet,” he says simply, his eyes still on you.

Miles chuckles, standing and pulling Lilah to her feet. “Alright, we’ll leave you to it. Don’t have too much fun now.”

“We won’t,” you say, rolling your eyes as they walk away, though you can feel your cheeks heating.

LaMelo leans back, his expression unreadable for a moment before he smiles. “You good?”

“Yeah,” you say, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “They’re just... nosy.”

“They mean well,” he says, his tone easy. “But they’re definitely nosy.”

You laugh, and just like that, the playful atmosphere returns. Another round of drinks later, you’re both laughing over some absurd story he’s telling about a teammate, the kind of laughter that makes your stomach ache and your eyes water. You can’t remember the last time you felt this comfortable with someone so quickly, and it’s equal parts exhilarating and terrifying.

As the night winds down, you find yourself sitting closer to him than you were before, the warmth of his presence almost tangible. When the conversation finally slows, he looks at you, his expression softening.

“This was fun,” he says, his voice quieter than it’s been all night.

“It was,” you agree, smiling.

“I should probably let you go before Lilah comes back and drags you out of here,” he says, though there’s a reluctant note in his tone.

“Probably,” you say, but neither of you moves right away.

After a beat, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone, holding it out to you. “Here. Put your number in.”

You hesitate for only a second before taking it, your fingers tapping at the screen as you save your contact. When you hand it back, he glances at it, his smile widening just slightly. “Got it.”

You stand together, and he walks you toward where Lilah and Miles are waiting near the entrance. LaMelo lingers as you say your goodbyes, his hands tucked into his pockets and that easy smile still on his face.

“You heading out too?” Miles asks, clapping LaMelo on the back.

“Yeah, in a bit,” he says, his eyes flickering to you briefly.

As you step outside into the cool night air, Lilah hooks her arm through yours, a knowing smile on her face. “Well, that went better than I expected,” she says as you walk toward the car.

“What do you mean?” you ask, though you can feel your heart beating a little faster.

“I mean,” she says, drawing the word out, “that Melo doesn’t usually exchange phone numbers. He usually... invites girls over.”

“Oh,” you say, your voice softer than you intended.

“Oh,” Lilah mimics, her grin widening. “Girl, he’s interested. And don’t act like you’re not, too.”

You don’t reply, but the small smile that creeps across your face says more than words ever could.

The morning sunlight filtered through your curtains, warm but unwelcome as it coaxed you awake. You squinted at the brightness, groaning softly as you turned over in bed. The faint hum of last night’s energy still lingered in your veins, memories of laughter and teasing banter replaying in fragments. Your mind, unbidden, drifted back to LaMelo. The way his smile had crinkled the corners of his eyes, the low timbre of his laugh, the quiet confidence that seemed to fill the space around him.

You reached for your phone on the nightstand, swiping it open almost instinctively. No messages. Your stomach sank a little, disappointment curling low in your chest. Not that you were expecting anything—not really. Still, you’d exchanged numbers. It wasn’t unreasonable to think he’d reach out. A simple “good morning” or a follow-up joke from last night. Something.

But the screen stayed blank.

With a huff, you tossed the phone aside, telling yourself it didn’t matter. You barely knew him. He owed you nothing. And yet, you couldn’t ignore the slight pang of rejection. Shaking off the feeling, you got out of bed and set about your day, throwing yourself into work to keep your mind from wandering too much.

The next few days passed in a blur of tasks and deadlines. You kept busy—busier than usual, if only to distract yourself from the lingering thoughts of LaMelo. You told yourself you weren’t thinking about him, that you didn’t care whether he texted or not. But every time your phone buzzed, your heart betrayed you, skipping a beat before you realized it was just an email or a message from Lilah.

By midweek, you’d all but convinced yourself to forget about him entirely. Clearly, whatever connection you thought you’d felt hadn’t been mutual. And that was fine. Disappointing, sure, but fine. You’d move on. You always did.

It was late afternoon when it happened. You were sitting at your desk, half-focused on your laptop while sipping from a cup of tea. Your phone vibrated on the table beside you, a faint buzz you almost ignored. But something made you glance over.

One new message.

You picked up the phone, the screen lighting up in your hand. And there it was.

hey, it’s lamelo

Two words. That was all it took to send your heart into an unreasonably giddy tailspin. You stared at the message, your mind scrambling for a response even as your pulse quickened. You tried to play it cool, telling yourself it wasn’t a big deal. But the stupid smile tugging at your lips betrayed you completely.

For a moment, you just held the phone, rereading the message as if it might disappear. Finally, you started typing back, deleting and retyping several times before settling on a response.

hi, took you long enough

You hesitated, your thumb hovering over the send button. Was that too flirty? Too casual? But before you could overthink it any further, you hit send, the message disappearing into the ether.

The wait for his reply felt endless, though it couldn’t have been more than a minute. When your phone buzzed again, your heart leapt.

had to make sure you’d still be interested

You laughed out loud, shaking your head at his audacity. It was classic LaMelo—cocky but somehow charming enough to pull it off.

and what if i wasn’t? you shot back, your fingers flying over the keyboard.

His response came almost immediately.

guess i’d have to work harder to change your mind

You smiled, biting your lip to keep from grinning too widely. If there was one thing LaMelo knew how to do, it was keep you on your toes. And, despite yourself, you realized you were more than okay with that.

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

[eregyrn-falls-art]

And here it is, the video version of the "Trouble" Multi-Artist Lyric Comic! All the kudos in the world to @stariousfalls for editing this whole thing together!!!

Go here for the post with all of the lyric page art viewable separately. Go to the Trouble Lyric Comic tag on my main blog to see links to people's posts of their art.

Below the read-more, please find the credits, with tags/links to everyone's blogs!

And once again, huge thank you to everyone who participated in this project -- it was so much fun to work on! And special thanks to @mercury-falls for helping me to organize all of this! I'm still so jazzed to see this final product -- the "amv" to this song that I've been wanting to see since 2016, and here it is, and it's wonderful! And it's even MORE wonderful because this represents a LOT of people coming together to express and share their love for this show.

(Go here for some more extended thank-yous!)

CREDITS

Photo Collage One: Elishevart, Pinkplatiploo, Zephrunsimperium, Creativepup, Batman-gif, Fordtato (all newspaper clippings), Shadeartstuff, Skysdrawings

I’ve been a beggar: lemonfodrizzleart

And I’ve been a king: kingsofjersey

I’ve been a loner: muria-art

And I’ve worn the ring: everlight_283 (instagram)

Losing myself: batman-gif

Just to find me again: tazmiilly & gin-juice-tonic

I’m a million miles smarter: eregyrn-falls-art & stephreynaart

But I ain’t learned a thing: annakitsun3

I’ve been a teacher: gobblewanker

And a student of hurt: skysdrawings

I kept my word: orangephoenix6

For whatever that’s worth: mother-ofthe-universedraws

Never been last: jackyjackdraws

But I’ve never been first: jasmine-sketchbook

Oh I may not be the best: stephreynaart

But I’m far from the worst: spectralreplica

Oh I may not be the best: elishevart

But I’m far from the worst: zkyeline

Oh, I’ve seen trouble: fexiled

More than any man should bear: mischieflily

But I’ve seen enough joy: ginandshattereddreams

I’ve had more than my share: gin-juice-tonic

And I’m still not done: morcian-draws

I’m only halfway there: jamesfenimoreharper

I’m a million miles ahead of where I’m from: fordtato

But there’s still another million miles to come: deerpines, orangephoenix6 & fordtato

Photo Collage Two: Creativepup, Cbmagus49, Inkdrawndreamer, Bluefrostyy, Fordtato, Mother-ofthe-Universedraws, Fordtato & Jamesfenimoreharper, Shadeartstuff, AlphaZeD, Bewildred-grimsley

Oh I keep on searching for the City of Gold: vililae

So I’m gonna follow this yellow brick road: cbmagus49

Thinking that maybe it might lead me on: cutebatart

I’m a million miles farther: hellmandraws

And a long way from home: eregyrn-falls-art

I know that there’s a plan that goes way beyond mine: possumbreath

Got to step back just to see the design: pottersfieldcustodian

The mind fears the heart: rechoclo

But the heart doesn’t mind: novantinuum

Oh I may not be perfect: tazmiilly

But I’m loving this life: hubbabubbagumpop

Oh I may not be perfect: athgalla-arts

But I’m loving this life: thisiswhereidraw

Oh I’ve seen trouble: purblzart

More than any man should bear: shadowofaghost5

But I’ve seen enough joy: alextwdgf01 & fordtato

I’ve had more than my share: dragonsheepstudios

And I’m still not done: acetyzias & stephreynaart

I’m only halfway there: cryptidjeepers

I’m a million miles ahead of where I’m from: chiiroptereh

But there’s still another million miles to come: stephreynaart

Photo Collage Three: Cbmagus49, Fordsy, Puppylove, Lemonfodrizzleart, Jamesfenimoreharper, Gin-juice-tonic, Fordtato & Vililae, Rusted-blue, Sciencevillain, Mother-ofthe-Universedraws, Possumbreath, Shadowofaghost5, Pinestwinssimp, Nour386, Cutebatart, Possumbreath, Melodramaticwolf, Tazmiilly, Eregyrn-falls-art

[solspina]

Absolution in Angelism

Luis Dante ⋆˙⟡

trapped within an endless and grotesque night terror, dante realizes that he’s been here a million times before. with his serf finally losing her title and nothing changing, something has to be done.!

have part two to my dante blurb because i can’t find motivation to write rn :( so sorry if this feels rushed!

tw: heavy descriptions of gore

tags: @ottobooty @kit-williams @moodymisty

the pulpy floor seemed to yield with every step dante took forward. blood splashed onto the golden calves of his armor with every sickening squelch the ground made, occasionally accompanied by the snapping and cracking of fragile and decayed bones. trapped pockets of air were released from the endless heap of flesh beneath his feet, emitting muffled gurgling in their wake. the air was thick with the stench of rot and putrescence, and it pooled in his throat with every shallow breath.

this was no battlefield; he had walked through those before and come out relatively unfazed. he had seen the bodies of his brothers, and been able to identify each one by their faces and mourn them as individuals. that wasn’t the case this time. instead, each face engraved into this unholy amalgamation of human meat was indistinguishable. if he looked hard enough, he could make out the shapes of different body parts. hands, feet, arms, faces here and there, all cauterized together into an unholy organic mixture.

but the sights, the horrors, were no longer new.

dante had been here before.

the soles of his boots were soaked in shimmering crimson, the gold underneath providing a metallic finish to the display of gore beneath him. he used to tremble at such an image, completely appalled by the gore and putrid smell of decay within this world. now, though, he simply continued walking.

the emotions this place had brought forth in him before now felt minuscule in comparison to what took their place.

he once hesitated to cut away at the arms that reached up to pull him down, for although this mound of flesh was undoubtedly a hive, each limb seemed to react to his presence as if it were an individual. the arms would recoil in pain, the hands would be crushed beneath his feet with a deafening crack, the faces would release guttural and piercing screams from their throats before blood erupted from their mouths as they choked.

axe mortalis no longer spared them it’s mercy.

once he believed them innocent. once he believed them individuals, some form of human.

but they tormented him. night after night they dragged him back into this morbid, pungent smelling nightmare. night after night they made him watch his personal serf be cradled in the arms of his beloved primarch, had his primarch been a bloodthirsty and hideous monster. night after night he watched die the woman who made him wish to keep living, her death unwanted but granted by the hands of the demi-god who had denied him the death he both wished for and deserved.

“dante…”

accompanied by his thoughts were the apparitions he had walked for miles to see.

she lay limp and nude in sanguinius’ arms, a familiar sight to the now scowling dante. the lips of the angel were wrapped in tight suction around the skin of her neck, and tears fell from her sorrowful and pained eyes.

many times, he had fallen to his knees and pleaded this monster for mercy. he had allowed it a thousand times to torment both him and the helpless serf in its arms. he no longer cared. he was not real, and neither was the blood dripping from axe mortalis or the endless sea of limbs that reached up to claim him. the fear, the sadness, the pain, all faded into resentment for this mockery of his primarch.

how dare it wear the face of the angel.

his expression remained unchanging as he pulled infernus from his waist and aimed at the chest of the false sanguinius, his hands steady and his voice firm as he spoke to the mimic.

“get your hands off of my wife.”

it’s lips departed from the woman’s neck as it’s face contorted into both confusion and shock. dante was not afraid of him? what had happened to the trembling and sobbing man that used to fall to its knees in anguish? was it abnormal in the modern world to use weaker serfs for blood letting?

no, dante had become just as much a terrifying spectre as the false sanguinius had. blood found itself on his body from head to toe, and he showed no sign of hesitation in pulling a gun on his beloved primarch.

“get your hands,” dante readied the great infernus, placing his finger on the trigger and closing one of his eyes. “off of my wife.”

“dante…”

his wife turned toward him, still caged in sanguinius’ arms, trembling as blood fell from her chin in waterfalls. her breathing remained shallow, now accompanied by wheezing and the occasional moan of pain as the angel dug sharp fingernails into her skin. blood trickled from those wounds, too.

“i love you, dante…”

his eyes closed at the bright flash of white light that consumed his vision.

with a hiss and the ringing of his ears, all had gone still.

had sanguinius killed him?

had he been pulled under again?

no. he could still feel the squelching of meat under his armor. he could still see red all around him. red, and only red. not the shining gold of noble armor or the white of two perfect wings…

red, and only red.

he had pulled the trigger.

he woke with a sharp intake of air, but without his heart skipping a beat this time.

he let out a sigh of relief, for the lack of him jolting awake meant that his peacefully sleeping wife could remain in her state of blissful rest. he looked upon her features, something he was seldom able to appreciate when she was merely his serf, a title much too low for someone of her beauty and compassion.

she had been up nearly every night with him, increasingly so after their marriage. bags had begun to develop under her eyes as a result of her constantly interrupted sleep.

maybe he would allow her rest this morning, rather than wake her to join him for his morning routine. a celebration, he would see it as, for their nightly routine was over.

finally over.

he had little time until his day would begin, and so he lay back down. his body faced the sleeping woman, his eyes continuing to memorize every centimeter and detail of her face.

he lay still for many moments, fighting the urge to close his eyes again and slip into the first peaceful dream he would have in years, a liberty only afforded due to his newfound protectiveness over his wife. for being his wife meant he could treat her as a serf no longer, she gave him duty to attend to… that of her life in the false primarch’s hands.

even after everything he had done both in his dreams and in the waking world, deserving this felt impossible.

it was death that he deserved. the sweet release of death, not the warm and loving embrace of a woman he once held in servitude and only recently brought up to his level. she deserved better long ago.

he moved his hand to gently remove a stray hair from her head, placing his palm down on her cheek once her hair had been tucked securely behind her ear. one final moment in bed to remember throughout the day, a reason to look forward to the next period of rest.

with a kiss placed gently to her forehead, he rose from the comfort of the sheets, immediately missing her warmth, wondering if he could make an excuse for not tending to his duties today.

no. he was responsible for half of the imperium. those duties could not wait.

though they would, if it were ever her need.

he walked toward his door, sparing her one final gaze before he turned his attention to axe mortalis, taking it in his hand as it surged to life with power at his touch, just as she had done to him. his spare hand reached for the keypad on the door, pausing to gaze at the foreign object taped over the numbers by the handle.

a paper, an incredibly small one in which words were inscribed upon its surface with the same pristine delicacy that dante’s smile held as he read over the writing.

“i love you, dante”

[lovelyladyabsinthewrites]

Consider this a part 2 of Can't Escape the Nightmares cuz I keep getting ideas for this story 🙃

Pairing(s): Jasper Hale x Human!Reader, platonic!Rosalie Hale x Human!Reader

Warnings: mentions of past assault, mentions of past rape, noncon themes discussed, reader is jasper's mate, platonic!rosaliexreader, human!reader, nightmares, trauma, ptsd, dark content, mention of blood, brief mention of murder/death, hurt&comfort, ft the cullen fam, yes i'd like to sign up to be protected by rosalie ✋🏼, and my depressive ass could certainly use a man like jasper lol

Words: 1253

Summary: It was hard for you to be outside. Not after what happened. And with the Cullen house surrounded by a sea of towering trees. . . It was difficult for you to even step onto the wrap around porch. Everything about the outside reminded you of that day in the woods.

They'd smelled your blood from miles away, noticing that it grew closer and closer until Rosalie was upon the doorstep with you dangling in her arms. Your eyes were open, though void of expression; merely staring at these near angelic looking family with gold hued eyes.

Your injuries were nothing major, yet your blood yanked at their olfactory senses.

And Jasper was helpless when, eyes being engulfed by jet black.

The expression in Rosalie's expression though kept him at bay.

"Get him out of here. He can't handle it." Rosalie snaps, her hold on you growing tighter.

Intently watching Jasper's every move, you see the rigidity of his frame and the back and forth sawing motion of his jaw. He must have ground his teeth to oblivion, at least that's what you thought.

Never imagining the true inner turmoil that was engulfing his every sensibility. Jasper's perpetually cold skin suddenly felt like it was on fire. A monster scratched at his mental door. A monster that wanted to taste every inch of your skin before sinking his straight, razor teeth into your delicate paper-like flesh.

"Jazz, snap out of it." Edward motions for Emmett to keep him back. His hiss is low as not to scare you further. Knowing all the horrors you had just gone through

The fog that reduced his head to a warm flush lifts enough for him to finally notice the state you were in.

Large splotches of red and rich purple are smattered across the entirety of your arms and legs, with a giant one blooming on your jaw. His stomach recoils at your lack of clothes. Connecting the visual clues together to realize what had happened and why Rosalie was dyed in a mess of different blood types that didn't belong to you.

You were already broken.

Suddenly that monster was silent, it too watching with baited breath as Rosalie carries you up the staircase and to Carlisle's office. The older blonde vampire quick and on her heels.

Jasper's monster seemed to take that moment to decide something that was against its very nature: it would protect you, guard you and keep you.

There will always be that hunger in him for your blood. But no longer would he be ruled by it.

When exhaustion finally swept over you, Jasper peeks his head into Carlisle's office. Rosalie sat on the floor in front of the couch you were asleep on.

She's in front of him in a flash, barring him entrance with a fatal snarl.

He dare not mess with this gold mama bear.

It was hard for you to be outside. Not after what happened. And with the Cullen house surrounded by a sea of towering trees. . . It was difficult for you to even step onto the wrap around porch. Everything about the outside reminded you of-

"They can't hurt you again." Edward mentions behind you as you stood in the front door, hand quaking above the doorknob.

That didn't relive the nausea in your stomach. Your eyes shut tight and Edward winces when your mind immediately goes to the day that you were assaulted.

When you catch yourself you immediately apologize and take a step back. "S-sorry. I didn't mean to-"

"No, don't apologize." He's firm on this and finally you turn around. Surprisingly, the Cullens had understood the trauma you had gone through more than you would have thought. Every one of them had gone through a horrifying event much like your own. Rosalie's was almost identical to your's and possibly the very reason why she had saved you and killed those monsters who abducted you. And has protected you since then. She reminded you of a mother hen.

When Jasper first showed interest in you, Rosalie actually became aggressive toward him; telling him that you weren't ready for such a relationship. That you needed to heal more.

Jasper never stepped over any boundaries. He never came close to it. He waited. Helped you whenever you asked for it. Approached you tentatively until you told him that he didn't have to tiptoe around you. Many months were required before this. In the meantime you allowed Rosalie (and to a smaller extent, Alice and Esme) to tend to you and repair your fragmented body.

The only time he used his power on you without your permission was when you were asleep and suffering from your all too frequent nightmares.

"If you want, I can go outside with you. Maybe we can take a short walk around the house." He softly offers when you glance back at the door.

They were all so kind to you, never asking when you'd be ready to leave their house. It never came up. In fact you had the suspicion that Rosalie would insist on you living with them from now on. An unofficial part of the Cullen family.

You knew their secret. Living there, it didn't take long to discover that they were not human. From their perfect pale skin, to their golden eyes, there was something different about them. The way Edward was able to anticipate your every needs or how even being in the same room with Jasper had your anxiety simmering down. Even Alice displayed odd signs that you would have normally passed off as some kind of mental illness when she'd stare off into the distance. You now knew it was her getting a glimpse of the future.

"Thank you, but maybe today isn't the day. . ." You force your trembling lips to quirk up into a tentative smile though it could not fool Edward who could hear the inner turmoil in your mind. He never pushed.

He nods and lets you amble back upstairs to safety. The Cullens required no sleep so their bedrooms were essentially just for decoration. Rosalie and Emmett happily gave up their room so that you could seek out privacy when you were too overstimulated to be in their company. They even bought a tv just to put in the room for you. You didn't know what you did in your life to deserve them.

But before you go to your own designated room, you stop in front of Jasper's with a tentative hand raised to knock on his door. You were always nervous when asking him to hang out with you while Rosalie was gone. You'd heard Rosalie whisper to Emmett one night about you being Jasper's 'mate'. She must have thought you were fast asleep but you heard them discuss the possibility of a relationship between you and the other blonde Hale.

It made you self conscious now when you were near him. You'd known that he was. . . attracted to you.

You jump when his bedroom door opens to reveal his figure. "H-Hi."

His smile is always so sweet and even shy. "Hello."

"Um," Your fingers twist the hem of your shirt anxiously. " well, Rosalie is gone. I was wondering if you wanted to hang out for a little bit. . . Esme bought me a new dvd. We can watch it?"

Adoring the way his eyes crinkle when his smile broadens, you take a step back to allow Jasper to exit his room and close the door behind him. "Lead the way, ma'am." Your chest squeezes when that southern drawl of his comes out.

Trusting anyone again wasn't an easy journey. But being cradled by the Cullen family was bound to heal some wounds.

And perhaps water the seed of love that had been planted in your heart by Jasper.

[littlxpxtal]

The Beach

TYRANTS || STORY MASTERLIST

PAIRING: rafe cameron x fem!reader

WARNINGS: MDNI 18+ Content, swearing, sexual content, drug and alcohol use, violence

WORD COUNT: 3k

If I told you that I loved you

Tell me, what would you say?

If I told you that I hated you

Would you go away?

Now I need your help with everything that I do

I don't want to lie, I've been relying on you

Fallin' again

I need a pick-me-up

I've been callin' you "friend,"

I might need to give it up

April

Fuck you

I hover my thumb over the send button for a long breath. When I exhale, I press send, click my phone off and toss it onto my bed. It lands face down.

I walk over to my bathroom, shutting the door behind me and striping down.

The pogues went back to the cut, sending JJ off into the swamp lands with a backpack full of food and camping gear. We are hoping in the next few days we can figure something out to make sure he can come back home safely.

While I shower, I think of all the new information I learned about the mission, and how getting the rest of the gold out was the next goal, but they would have to do it very strategically.

My mind wanders to rafe for a second, and I wonder if he’s back from his trip. Then I remember I hate him, and don’t want to hear back from him. I think about how after my shower, i'm going to block him. I should’ve done that after sending the message anyways.

I’m not entirely sure why it took me so long to send it. I drafted that text the same night JJ and I talked about rafe. I think it just took me a bit of time to finally be able to let go, and let him know I refuse to be treated like this.

There was a small part of me that hoped he already blocked me, so he wouldn’t even see the message from me.

Tomorrow is the last day of spring break, and my family will be back on the outbreaks by nightfall. I think about how I’ll try my best to be asleep by the time they get back tomorrow so I can avoid any questions.

The pogues helped me clean everything, washed bed sheets and dishes, took out the trash and wiped everything down. There was no trace of life in the house, not even from me.

I make mental to do lists of what I still need to do before graduation, what i should wear to school this week, and what color to polish my nails. My mind wanders and runs a million miles a minute as I step out of the shower, ringing my hair into the towel, and plopping it on top of my head. I lotion my body and face up, then wrap myself in a robe.

When I walk out of my bathroom, a shriek spaces my lips.

Rafe is sitting on the edge of my bed, and he’s playing with one of the trinkets from my book shelf.

“What’re you-“ I hold on tightly to the doorknob, ready to run back into the bathroom if needed. I couldn’t read his expression at all.

“You shouldn’t leave the door that leads from the outside, directly into your bedroom, unlocked. Especially when you’re home alone.” He says coyly.

“I think we are privileged enough to know that we don’t really have to worry about those kinds of things here on figure 8, now do we?” I tilt my head, and take in his presence. He’s wearing a hoodie with the hood up. His eyes are on my body, wrapped up in a silk sobe.

“Why are you texting me all crazy like that for, hm?” His eyes finally flicker up to meet mine. They are cold and hard. I glance over to scan my room, find anything to pique my interest enough to not give into the urge to look back at him. My heartbeat raced and I felt my mouth get drier by the second.

“I had been wanting to say it for days, but I figured it would be best if I waited until you were done with your trip so I didnt bother you.’ he scoffs and stands up, taking a step towards me. I responded with a small step backwards, my breath hitching in my throat.

“You think some text behind a screen would’ve ruined my trip? You think saying “fuck you” to me, is something I would get worked up about?”

my lips trembles, my body is reacting in a way as if im getting scolded, or reprimanded for speaking back to an adult.

I don’t speak, my body freezes and he takes another step towards me, his head dipping down.

“You think I care about the fact that you helped hide maybank here at your house?” I hyelped, and my hands trembled. I looked down at the ground, and he’s finally close enough where I can smell his cologne.

He hooks his finger under my chin, and I flinch. My back is pressed against the doorframe, and he leans forward, pushing my chin up, and y eyes meet his,

“Cat got your tongue?” He coos, his eyes look manic, and there’s a slight tremor in his hand.

“I think you do care. And it would’ve ruined your trip.” I finally croak out, letting out the breath I had been holding.

“And I mean it. Fuck you rafe. Fuck you and the mind games you play with me. Your not even my boyfriend and you like to control everything, and if i'm not doing something you Like, you use move onto another one of your girls. Like im disposable, like i dont matter. And I know i Fucking matter to you.”

I dont really mean to say the last part, but it came out anyways. I was just being honest.

He doesn’t respond for a while so we stand in silence, and he stares down at me, his finger still holding under my chin.

He leans down and presses a soft kiss to my lips. I dont object, but I dont open my mouth for more.

“You dont mean it” his whispers, his lips brushing against mine.

“Yes i do” I mumble, my brain getting light from the feeling he brought in my mind.

his other hands reach up and trailing down the valley of my chest against the robe. His fingers make it down to where the rob is tied, and he glances up with a smirk.

“Tell me, y/n, did you finally sleep with him? Did you get back at me?” He hot breath fans against my chest, and he lowers on his knees, slowly pulling open the tied pieces of my robe.

”What Don't you get about the fact that JJ and I don't do that. Never have and never will.” I try my best to pretend I am unaffected by the way his fingers trail up my inner thigh, right to the line of my robe, barely hanging open. His lips press right below my naval, and a whimper escapes my lips.

“It would’ve ruined my trip” he whispers, using his hands to open my legs, I press harder against the wall, the towel on my head finally dropping to the ground, I pull my wet hair to one side, looking down at rafe. His pupils are blown, his bottom lip between his teeth, waiting for my response.

“I know it would’ve” I say with a smirk.

”you give me a constant headache” he grumbles, pressing another kiss to the inside of my thigh.

”You Make this whole thing so hard. Would be easier if you just stopped overreacting” I retaliate, bending my knees slightly, opening up my thighs more. He grips my hips and Iicks a strip up my slit.

“Wheres the fun in that?” He says with a chuckle before diving in, suckling on my clit, his fingers burned deep into my hips. I moaned out in pleasure, my hands entangling themselves in his hair.

He hums with pleasure against my heat, and I find myself panting, my head hung low, bottom lip between my teeth.

“So did you fuck her again?” I ask, hissing as he sucks hard on my clit in response.

“Nah” he responds quickly, before his mouth attaches back to my folds, his tongue lapping up and down rhythmically.

I whimper a few times, and he looks up to my eye contact with me.

“You’re easy to piss off” he says against my pussy.

”sounds like you do it on purpose” I groan and bcuck my hips against his face. He releases his mouth, its covered in my slick, and his eyes are still blown out. His right hand trails down, and he runs two fingers between my folds, pushing into my hole, just teasing it slightly. I breath out heavily and he smirks.

“You’re fun to play with” he drawls out, his eyes focuses on the way his fingers are sliding into and out, deeper with each pump. My legs start to shake as he curls his fingers inside. Once they are fully inside , he quickens his pace, the silence in the room filled with the wet sounds of his fingers pumping in and out of me.

“‘M not a fucking toy” I grit out, pulling his hard harder, squeezing my eyes shut as I feel myself reaching my peak. He doesn’t respond, and instead brings his mouth back up to my clit, flicking it with his tongue, swirling around in circles, clockwise then counterclockwise.

“Fuckkkkk” I groan out, seeing white behind my closed lids. I cum all over rafes face. I dont get to ride it very long, before he’s dragging me over to the bed, and pushing my face down, ass up. He pulls the robe full off my body, and presses my face down into the pillows, I feel himself line his cock up with my entrance, and he pushes in.

”Rafe” I groan, holding out the sheets with all my might. I finish riding out my high as he pounds into me from behind, his hands gripped on both sides of my hips.

Profanities slip from his mouth, accompanied with a few whimpers of my name.

I gain enough strength to push my self up, so im in tabletop position, while he still pumps in and out of me. I turn my head and look back to see the hoods of his eyes are hanging low, his jaw is slack, his tongue peaking out the side, and drips of sweat are beading on his forehead. A whimper erupts from his mouth, and he grunts after, his eyes snapping open to meet mine, as if he sensed me looking at him.

“This what you wanted? Huh?” I bat my lashes innocently and bit my bottom lip.

”Wanted to piss me off so much I just had to come over and fuck you just to get you to shut the fuck up? Huh pretty girl?” My eyes roll back and my head hangs down. He’s tsks his tongue, leaning forward, one hand gripped tightly on my hips, the other gathers my hair in his fist, and he yanks me back, my shoulders pressing up against his chest. He cocks his fist down to the right, angling my head up and back to look up at him. His pace hasn’t faltered once, and the continuing sound of my pussy squelching against his throbbing cock is only getting louder, I can no longer contain my moans, and I squeeze my eyes shut as they spill out of my mouth. He takes this opportunity of my open my mouth to spit in it. My eyes shoot open, and we hold eye contact for a second before I swallow and he smiles.

“All you have to do is ask nicely you know?” His grip on my hair still tight, and his dick is ramming into my harder than before.

“That doesn’t sound like something I’d do.” I whisper, looking deep into his eyes. His smile never faulters, and he leans down and kisses me.

“Don’t ever say that shit to me again” he says, breathing into my mouth, his eyes shut, still pounding relentless into me.

“What? Oh, Fuck you” I whimper out. Everything happens so quickly.

His eyes snap open and they darken, he lets go of my hair, pushing me down by my shoulder too the bed.

”Don’t.” He gives my ass a hard slap, making me yelp out.

”Ever” he pulls his dick out, and grabs my hips, flipping me onto my back.

”fucking” he pushing my legs open, and wraps them around his hips.

”say that” his right hand reaches up and wraps around my throat, putting just enough pressure.

”again” he growls the last word before ramming himself into me.

I lift my head up and attach my mouth on his shoulder, sucking harshly to cover the moans I wanted to scream out. His head rests against mine, and he grunts.

“You gonna be a good girl for me now?” He breathes out heavily, and looks down at me. We make eye contact and I pout, refusing to give in. His hand is still on my throat, and he gives it a squeeze. I groan in response, shutting my eyes.

“Look at me” he commands. My eyes flutter open and he has a smirk on his face.

“I’ll only be a good girl if you promise to stop fucking other girls”

His hips stutter a second before he completely stops. The grip on my throat is released,and he pushes himself up on both hands, hovering over me, my legs still tightly wrapped around his hips.

“Is that what you really want?” He asks sincerely.

I wiggle my hips to try and get him to keep going, but he doesn’t budge.

“I dunno. Can we just keep fucking?” I please, grabbing onto his bicep and reaching up to kiss his neck.

“Sure” he whispers before thrusting again.

We dont say anything the rest of the time, until Rafe is about to cum.

”’m close”

”Not inside me” I protest.

”Fucking duh” he grumbles into my neck before pulling out and finishing on my stomach. He immediately stands up, grabs a tissue and starts cleaning me off.

Once he’s done, he passes me my robe, and he puts his clothes back on.

“Well, are we like good now?” He asks, checking his pockets for his wallet and keys.

”Yea, we always were”

”Right” he says, scratching the back of his head. “Im just gonna” he points towards the door he snuck through. I nod my head in understanding, and watch him leave. I turned off my bedside lamp, and laid in silence.

My moment of self loathing was interrupting by my phone ringing.

Sabrina

I answer immediately

“Sab?” I say into the phone, sitting up.

”Y/N, you need to get down to the beach right now. Like NOW”

I furrow my brow, take my phone from my ear to check the time. I was 9:27pm

”I dont know Sab I was about to go to bed honestly.”

”Bitch, it’s the last night of spring break. And mostly everyone is back, and we’re partying on the beach. Get here NOW” she yells the last part into the phone before hanging up. I hurriedly pack a bag with miscellaneous illegal items, slip on a hoodie and shorts then run out the door. I check Sabrina’s location to see where on the beach she was, and it was decently close for me to make it on foot.

When I arrive, I see a mix of faces, those I get along with, and those who I simply pretend dont exist on a regular basis. Before Sabrina sees me, I catch a glimpse of rafe. He’s taking a drag of a cig while Kelce talks to him and Topper. Topper looks semi interested, while rafe looks like he couldn’t care less. His face looks angry and hard. And hot. Like. Really fucking hot.

Before I could analyze his face more, Sabrina yells out my name, and his head whips in my direction. I look away before our eyes meet, and smile when they land on Sabrina.

“Hi baby, I missed you” she cried out, standing up to greet me with a hug. She’s sitting on a towel that topper brought. I smile down at them and look around to see where I can set up. Conveniently, there’s a spot next to rafe in between him and some random kook.

“Why dont you go sit by rafe and cheer him up a bit. He’s in one of his moods.” Topper jokes, nudging his head over. I give a fake smile and trudge over, laying my towel down without acknowledging him.

When I sit down, he gives me a Look.

“What? We’re you saving this for someone?” I say with a smirk. He gives me a fake smile, and laugh then rolls his eyes.

I pul out the bottle of wine I stole from my parents bar and take a big gulp. I hand it out to him, and he takes it, drinking a small mouthful before passing it back.

We get along cordially, mainly because we dot actually talk to each other. We just silently pass the bottle back and forth between each other, while people chatter among us.

When the night gets late, and everyone starts slowly leaving the beach, it ends up just me and rafe, my head laying on his lap, staring at the stars as he stroked my hair and looked out into the ocean.

”This is nice” he mumbles. I nod my head in agreement and he looks down.

His face is sad, and his eyes are brimmed with tears.

“Y/N, I dont think I can be the person you need.” He whispers, and a tear slips down from his face and lands on my cheek. He wipes it away then looks back out into the ocean.

“Could you try?” I as. My face is hot and flushed from the alcohol, and I was probably going to say something I would later regret. But i don't care. I wanted him to want to try for me.

“You might have to teach me”

“Okay” I whisper. “Rafe?”

”Yes, Y/N?”

”Can you take me home? And will you stay with me?” He smiles.

“Of course”

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Tags: @ltristessedureratoujours @davinashifts333 @tomholland792