#tan murder them all

[respectthepetty]

*walks back into the room with a sparkle in my eye*

I just find it sooooo interesting that when Tan asked if Phi was Non's boyfriend . . .

He didn't say no.

And even the mom was under the assumption they were still together.

I don't know when is a good time to tell your ex's family that you broke up with him (by telling him to get lost and die) but . . . I feel like it should've been before this.

Maybe? Perhaps? Possibly?

[deadsetobsessions]

Alley Drunk! Danny AU- Part 1

[Pt.2] [Pt.3] [Pt.4]

To not turn into a giant raging asshole hell bent on murdering people and destroying the world after everyone he loved died, Danny had ran from Amity with his chosen vice.

A bottle. That’s right. Even after Jazz’s talks about alcoholism as a poor coping mechanism as a form of self harm, he still chose alcohol. Or maybe that’s why he picked it, because it reminded him of her, right before the booze took the sting of grief off of her memory. He was never really all that good at listening to Jazz.

And now she’s gone, so it’s moot point. Danny really hated Nasty Burger.

Danny made it all the way to Gotham, bottle constantly glued to his hand. It’s better than Vlad’s creep-o-self looming over him all of the time. He bummed out on the streets, fitting into crime alley like a native. Danny learned to pickpocket. Not much, just enough for a bottle when his ran out. He stayed human. At first he tried to convince himself that it was because he didn’t want to be perceived as a meta in a city where Batman notoriously disliked metas. Then, as he sunk deeper, he admitted to himself in a shameful curl of a whisper that it was really because alcohol affected his human side much easier.

Ghosts need an ungodly amount of alcohol to even get slightly buzzed. Danny’s human side? Only one full bottle the shittiest tequila he could find could even hope to be more than buzzed. It sucked.

He’s spent two years being an alcoholic that didn’t actually get that drunk. Technically, underage drinking was a crime. But then again, so was being a vigilante ghost. So, whatever. He does what he can to dull the grief. Mostly, he slept on covered and hidden nooks on top of Crime Alley’s roofs. Gotham city had taken pity on him and cleared her smog clouds when he was awake at night. Stargazing helped, at least. It gave him a little hope. It gave him a little wish to change and better and live like he wants. But then the night ends and when the day comes, Jazz isn’t there. Sam isn’t there. Tucker isn’t there. His mom and dad are not there.

Danny always went back to the bottle, in the end. Not that it did much.

Which was why, when he saw three looming figures over a tiny child, Danny’s saving people thing flared with a vengeance and his surprised ectoplasm burned what little buzz he had achieved by downing most of the bottle away, leaving him stone cold sober and pissed.

Danny sighed, dumping the rest of the nasty tasting liquid out. There’s no point drinking that little.

He approached the trio, who were beating up an actual child. Ancients, he hated Crime Alley sometimes.

“Give me your shit, you little punk!” Asshole 1 decided to say like a typical mugger, raising his leg to kick the curled up kid below. Danny doesn’t let him land the kick, smashing the bottle on the asshole’s head before any of them clocked his presence. He pivots, pushing a bit of that extra strength he normally keeps on a tight leash into his hands, and punched the other two in a quick fashion, knocking them out.

With that taken care of, Danny turned back to the kid who was still curled up. Danny sighed again, the trembles in small shoulders plucking on his heartstrings.

“You okay, kid?”

The kid uncurls, and Danny stared. Holy shit, is he looking into a mirror? Blue eyes, black hair, and tanned skin. Holy shit, he’s even got similar jaws to Danny.

“Huh.”

The kid flinched.

“Y-y’er the drunk,” the kid flinched again, eyes darting to the broken bottle still clenched in Danny’s hand. “I- I ain’t got money, honest. Please-”

Danny blinked down at the kid, brain connecting the dots after so long without actual interaction. He’s panicking and staring at the bottle in Danny’s hand like it’ll kill him. Danny raised the bottle and the kid closed his mouth with a click, terror worming its way into the kid’s eyes.

“I wasn’t going to mug you myself, kid.”

“But- y’er the- the Alley drunk.”

Danny blinked. Did he get a reputation without knowing again? Goddammit.

“I guess. Am I famous or somethin’?”

“Nobody- nobody fucks wit’ ya.”

“I also don’t hurt kids.”

“…”

The kid stared at him dubiously and with a sinking feeling, Danny realized that maybe the kid already had some terrible experiences with a heavy drunken hand. He promptly chucks the bottle further into the alley.

“I drink, yes. But I’m also not the kind of scum that would lay hands on a kid, let alone anyone that didn’t provoke it first.”

“Oh.” The kid uncurled more, looking at Danny warily, more at ease now that the bottle has left the chat.

“Yeah. I’m Danny. Stone cold sober, right now.”

“…”

Danny waited.

“Peters.”

“Okay. Peters, do you wanna take their shit?” Danny pointed a thumb at the knocked out would-be-muggers behind him.

“Y… yeah, sure. What’s my cut?”

“All of it.”

Peters stared.

Danny shrugged and started looting.

"Y'er so fuckin' weird."

----

See, the thing is, Danny hadn't anticipated saving Peters- "'s actually Jason"- would result in having a duckling following him around. The kid, Jason, glared at everyone who even looked at them wrong. But that's not the problem, because Danny could take anyone who took issue with Jason's looks, it's more like there's a child following him around now and Danny doesn't want to be the reason Jason turns into an alcoholic. It's- well, it made him cut down on the drinking. He even got jobs- legitimate jobs that sucks out his his poor ectoplasmic soul.

Why? Because Jason's apparently homeless. While that's something Danny's okay with for himself, he can't ever condone that for an actual child. Jason's walking around in threadbare clothes and thin soled shoes in the middle of Fall, for Ancient's sake.

Danny grumbles as he piled a bunch of clothes into the shopping bag as he checked out. Gotham's Walmart is a different kind of hell, but Danny feels right at home.

Sure, the work might suck out his soul and he might hate being sober, but Jason's face every time he comes home to an actual place to live, warm clothes, and food was worth everything.

[yandere-writer-momo]

Yandere Short Stories:

Limerence (Prequel)

Yandere Rebellion Leader x Princess Reader

TW: Yandere behaviors, mentions of past SA (on yandere’s part), murder, death, blood, a man slaughtering your entire family to be with you, etc

(Your name) quietly sobbed into her knees, her body curled tightly into a ball on the floor of her closet. The loud screams of the servants ring out through the hallways. Not a single doubt in her mind that the castle staff were being slain like cattle by the rebel troops.

When did everything go wrong? Would she soon join the rest of the castle’s inhabitants when the troops inevitably found her? Would they be merciful or would they gut her like a fish?

(Your name) didn’t want to think about it too much… she just hoped her death would be quick and painless.

Crack! Slam! Her door was splintered apart with brute force that made the closet doors shake. (Your name) quickly covered her mouth before she screamed out in fear. She didn’t want to alert the intruder of her whereabouts…

(Your name)’s breath hitched when she spotted a pair of leather shoes that stood outside the closet door through the crack of the door. Oh god… this was it.

(Your name)’s arms flew up to shield her face but strong hands quickly moved her arms out of the way so soft lips could be lovingly pressed against her soft cheeks.

“It’s okay… it’s me.” A smooth voice hummed softly while he continued to pepper (your name)’s face in kisses. “It’s Adonis.”

(Your name) reluctantly peeked her eyes open to see if his words rang true. Adonis’s chocolate curls were wild and his sea foam green eyes were filled with admiration. This was indeed her handsome childhood friend who stood before her.

“A-Adonis?” (Your name)’s brow furrowed in confusion. Why on earth was her stepmother’s personal servant here and why did he press kisses all over her like she was his lover? Didn’t he belong to her stepmother?

Adonis hummed in reply, his actions failed to cease while his hands now cupped her cheeks. “Yes, darling. It’s me… I’m here to get you out of here.”

(Your name) was shocked to be pulled into a warm embrace. Adonis’s muscular body did little to soothe her nerves, quite contrary. Adonis’s hug felt like a cage.

“Where’s my stepmother-“ (your name) nearly squealed when Adonis nipped at her neck. An angry red mark now visible on her smooth skin. “Adonis, what was that for-“

“She’s not in the picture anymore.” Adonis inhaled deeply to try to calm himself before he lashed out any further from the mention of his despicable mistress. “She interfered in our relationship for far too long.”

Relationship? What was Adonis talking about?

“Adonis?” (Your name) then noticed the speckles of blood that covered his tan face in shock. Blood?! Adonis wasn’t bleeding so whose blood could that be… no. Did this mean Adonis betrayed the royal family?

No… Adonis had been with her family for over a decade. They grew up together! Adonis and her were always such good friends! So why would he slaughter her family in the name of love?

“I love when you say my name, darling.” Adonis bent down and pressed his full lips against yours in a tender peck. “We no longer have to worry about what others think. I abolished this unfair system.”

(Your name) felt tears run down her face as Adonis continued to ramble. His sea foam green eyes lit up with madness. “We don’t have to sneak around anymore! You and I can finally be together, the way we were always meant to be.”

Realization sunk into (your name) at Adonis’s words. Did he mean the moments the two of them would run into each other in the rose garden at night? The nights where she’d have nightmares of fire and death while he would be slipping out of her stepmother’s chambers? The times she’d sit beside him on the bench and listen to each other’s woes? Adonis and (your name) always had a friendship since they were children… to think he interpreted her kindness for love was astounding. What on earth made him think she loved him?

“I’m so happy to finally be free. I no longer have to touch that vile woman ever again.” Adonis gave you a bright smile. “You were my shining light through this entire ordeal of my servitude. Without you, I’d be so lost.”

Adonis pulled her towards the window of her tower to gesture to the various fires set ablaze on the castle she once called home. The same scenery she often saw in her nightmares have become a reality.

“I destroyed it all. You’ll no longer have nightmares and I’ll no longer have to be intimate with our enemy!” Adonis gave you a bright smile when he took your smaller hands in his large ones. “This is the biggest gesture I can give you to express my utmost feelings to you. I’d set the whole world ablaze if they opposed us. It doesn’t matter the extreme, because I’m willing to go to any length to be with you.”

[misserabella]

two geniuses (a vacancy gone wrong)

enemies to lovers;; spencer reid x fem reader!

masterlist!

sypnosis;you get a couple of days off, so you decide to spend them on a california hotel. except things start to go wrong when you meet spencer there. and later on, when you find yourself with cuffs around your wrists. there might be a killer whose obsession revolves around you. and he seems to have focused on reid as well. heads will start to roll!

cw; +18 content! minors dni!, talk of murder, graphic scenes, weapons, blood, alcohol consumption, tension, lots of fighting and bickering, lots of tension, teasing, flirting, pool scene!!!!!, reader gets drunk and flirts with spencer, spencer gets jealous? over another guy, spencer is confused, sharing one bed!!, murder of a secondary character, stalking, towards reader, secret murder admirer obsessed with reader… angst, fluff and smut in upcoming chapters!!!

you took a deep breath, a smile making your soft lips curl as the salty air hit your skin along with the warmth of california.

hotch had given you and the team a couple of days to relax. the last couple of weeks had been very intense with cases and lots of jet flights. all of you deserved a little time to wind down.

and so you’d chosen to gift yourself a four day vacancy on a 5 star beach hotel.

you were enjoying the feeling of the sun tanning your skin, the company of a good book and the cold comforting feeling of a margarita going down your throat when you crashed against something solid, your liquor splashing itself down your chest, making your exposed —claded in bikini— skin sticky.

but that wasn’t the worst of the situation. it was who you’d crashed against.

“you must be fucking kidding me…” you muttered to yourself. what the hell was he doing here?

he seemed as surprised and pleased to see you as you were to see him. your name fell from his lips in a breath.

“fuck.” you swore, trying to get the drink out of your skin. “there goes my fucking drink.” you sighed.

“nice to see you too.” he scoffed, trying to not look down at your exposed body.

you rolled your eyes. “what the hell are you doing here, reid? came to make my life a misery even on vacancy?”

“you wish. i’m actually here for my vacancy as well. just my luck to bump into you.” he explained, seeming as uncomfortable for having shared traveling destination with you as you were.

you sighed. “look. you don’t like me, i don’t like you. so let’s just… pretend we don’t know each other, hm?” you offered. “just want a couple of days away from everything i know.”

he nodded. “yeah, okay.” and just as he accepted, someone else came to find you.

“hey… is everything alright?” your eyes met matt, a guy you’d met on the pool of the hotel. spencer frowned at the unknown face, by the way he talked to you and touched your shoulder he seemed close. maybe a fling?

“yeah, sorry to keep you waiting, just… my drink.” you smiled at him, and something about it made spencer’s stomach churn. he’d never seen you smile. well, you’d never smiled at him like that. but he should understand that. your relationship wasn’t the best.

“oh. don’t worry, i’ll get you another one, hm?” he said, and you nodded. “you two know each other?” he inquired, and just as spencer was about to explain that you worked together you stepped in and shook your head.

“no. i’ve never seen him before.” the man nodded, and you took his hand. “let’s go.”

spencer watched you walk away with matt, his irritation growing stronger. he clenched his jaw so hard it aches, trying to compose himself. he couldn't understand why he was feeling this way, but he knew he had to get a hold of his emotions.

deep down, something screamed at him something that he already knew, but he dismissed it as simple hatred for your presence on his well needed vacation.

it seemed to be that his holiday wasn’t off to a great start.

-

he should be able to look away. but he couldn’t.

the hotel club was pretty full, but once spencer spotted you dancing with matt on the dance floor he couldn’t take his eyes away from you. he couldn’t help the sourness washing over him, his heart tightening at the sight of someone else making you laugh. his hazel eyes follow your every move, his attention completely focused on you. he tries to think of quantum theories, trying to lighten up his mood but it doesn’t help.

over the last few weeks he’d tried to stop thinking about that night with lila. he’d never thought that the sight of a gun pointing to your head would scared him so badly, but it had terrified him.

his head had flown towards you. there was no more lila. just you. he could still remember your pissed off face when the unsub had caught you. if only you knew the truth…

he watched as matt put his hands on your hips, and with a thick gulp, faced the bar, ordering a strong drink in an attempt to drown out his thoughts.

spencer can't help but watch you and Matt from his seat at the bar. he can see you drinking heavily, downing drink after drink as you dance your mind away. he worries about the amount of alcohol running through your veins, and in the back of his mind he tries to ignore the fact that this man could possibly be a killer.

although his worries disappear when matt gets a call.

he seems worried, and with a quick chat he leaves you. you seem disappointed, and made your way out of the club.

…

next time he sees you, it’s when he’s going back to his room. you’re in the pool, fully dressed, floating and looking at the starry sky. you look like a painting, and he doesn’t realize he had been staring until you notice him.

“reiiiiid” you sung out his name. “what are you doing here?” you giggled, looking at him through hooded eyes.

“i should be asking that question. are you drunk?” he inquired. he looked good. with a white sheer shirt —which sleeves were rolled up his arms—, short linen cream pants and a pair of brown shoes. his hair fell on soft curls around his face. you wondered if they’d feel as silky as your mind made you believe.

“maybe… why?” you turned around, water spilling down your chest.

“you know how easy it is to drown while intoxicated?” he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “alcohol increases the risk of drowning by impairing judgement, reducing coordination, and delaying reaction time.”

“yeah, yeah… always the same genius, huh? you don’t know how to have fun!” you exclaimed, rolling your eyes.

“i know how to have fun.” he retorted, a soft frown tugging from his perfect brows. something inside you tugged in the need to smooth it out with your fingertips.

you hummed, ignoring his words. “get in.”

“what?” he incredulously spat.

“the water feels amazing, spencer, grab a suit and get in.” you repeated, and he shook his head, his tone changing.

“i’m not gonna grab a suit or get in.”

“but why? we’re on vacation! isn’t that what people on vacation are supposed to do?”

“yeah well i’d prefer it if you didn’t die, not want gideon or hotch coming down on me for it .” he muttered, to what you once again were rolled your eyes. “can you get out of the pool? please?”

you groaned. “fine…”

you got under the water once again, swimming your way towards the edge of the pool and the profiler, who expectantly waited for you.

“can you at least help me get out?” you asked, offering him your hand, he sighed, slightly scrouching down to take your hand, struggling when you didn’t seem to be helping him to get out of the pool, rather, you seemed to be pulling from him.

“what are you…?”he tried, but before he knew it, the cold water was engulfing him, soaking his clothes and body.

once his head breached the edge of the water he heard your laughter, his honey hair all over his face as he pushed it back with his hands.

“ha, ha. very funny. laugh it up, y/n.”

“oh my god, you should have seen your face!!” you chuckled, hugging your stomach due to how hard you were laughing.

“god, i would drown you…” he sent you daggers with his eyes, muttering under his breath curses as he looked at his state.

“woah spence, that’s a weird kink you’ve got. thought about talking it with a therapist?” you mocked him, using his own words to stab him.

he let out a single dry chuckle “you’re real funny tonight, huh?”

“i always am funny, you’re just too stuck up to notice.” you shrugged your shoulders, nearing him. your eyes on his exposed chest, now that the sheer shirt had almost become invisible due to the water. you’d never expected him to look like that… his chest was formed, with great wide muscular shoulders and defined abs…

“stuck up?” he scoffed.

“you don’t relax. ever.” you nodded. “you never enjoy yourself.” you looked up at him as you stood on the pool. suddenly, he seemed so tall…

“yeah?” he inquired, his eyes on yours, his muscles tensing when your hands fell on his shoulders.

“yeah…”you bit down on your bottom lip. “just look at you, so worried i might drown. you’re so cute.”

spencer is caught off guard by your sudden comment, his expression softening for a moment. he feels a flutter in his stomach, but he quickly tries to push it aside.

"excuse me? what did you just say?"

he can't help but be taken aback by your sudden flirtatiousness, his heart rate picking up slightly as he processes your words.

“i said… that you’re cute spencer. didn’t know you cared so much about me.” you chuckled, your arms surrounding his neck.

his eyes widen, feeling a mixture of surprise and something else he can't quite identify. he can feel your body press against his, and his mind starts to race with conflicting emotions.

you’re warm. so warm… and your skin is soft.

his heart is pounding as he stares at you, his mind struggling to process what's happening. After a few moments of silence, he finally speaks.

"of course I care... i wouldn’t want anything bad happening to you."

“you’re just worried about hotch and gideon being pissed if i died.” you tease and spencer can't help but chuckle at your comment, shaking his head slightly. he's surprised by how playful you're being in this situation, but at the same time he feels a warmth spreading through his chest as he hears your words.

"yeah, I have a feeling they wouldn't be thrilled if I had let anything happen to you." he says softly, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“hmm, your smile” you hum, looking at it.

he frowns, his lips tightening in a thin line.

"i didn't realize my smile was such a big deal," he says, a hint of a blush creeping up his cheeks.

“no, it’s just… i’ve never seen it before.” you mutter.

“i guess i don’t smile ever so often.”

“no. you don’t. you’re usually all frowns around me.” you chuckle.

“you and your awesome personality don’t help me smile.” you scoff.

“well it’s pretty…, your smile i mean.”

“you’re drunk.” he answers and you roll your eyes.

“i am. but i know a pretty boy when i see one, reid.”

spencer feels a heat rising to his cheeks as he hears your compliment. he's caught off guard by how casually you said it, like it's a simple fact. like statistics, like victimology. and it strikes him.

"you think I'm pretty?" he asks, his voice slightly teasing as he quirks an eyebrow.

you hum, pulling him closer and down into the now warm water.

“what are you doing?” he asks, frowning. confused. everything is confusing him.

“nothing…”your fingers dug on his wet locks, brushing them away from his face, his puppy hazel eyes digging into yours.

“you’re definitely doing something.” he whispered, trying his best to not let show the shiver that went down his spine when your nails scratched his nape.

“want me to stop?” you breathed out, almost choking when his hands held you by your waist, his fingers digging on your hips.

no.

spencer's heart races as he hears your question. he knows he should say yes, that he should step away and put some distance between you.

but instead he find himself leaning into your touch, his eyes locked onto yours. he feels like he’s the intoxicated one. like he’s drunk off of his mind. ‘cause somehow, this close distance with you doesn’t feel bad. quite the opposite. he likes it. and that scared him to death.

his voice a low, husky murmur. “we should get you to bed.” he advised, to what you smiled, falling into his chest.

“i’m not tired.” you breathed onto his neck, making his skin grow on goosebumps.

“god you’re absolutely gone, aren’t you? you’re gonna hate me so bad tomorrow…”

“probably…” you snickered.

you stare up at him, one of your hands on his chest as his hazel eyes shifting from your eyes to your lips. you bit down on your bottom one the moment your own eyes fell to his mouth, the image of lila kissing him weeks ago replaying in your mind. you wondered how it would feel like, how his lips would feel like, would they be soft? would they feel as plush as they look? how would he kiss you? would he be sweet? would he be rough and mean?

the two of you seemed to near the other, got closer, like two magnets being pulled to each other.

your breaths mingled, and his hold on your waist tightened. “we shouldn’t.” he muttered, his eyes slightly fluttering at the scratching on his scalp.

“why?” you inquired, tilting your head to the side to get closer. he seemed to be fighting with himself. internally. to push you away? to not devour you?

but deep inside, spencer knew the truth. he knew the reason for his hatred towards you. the murdering need to keep away from you, when all his body begged for was to keep you close. he wasn’t ready to accept it yet, though. he wasn’t ready to let himself know that he wanted you. and so he denied himself of the pleasure that would be holding you closer.

“‘cause you hate me, and you’re drunk. you probably won’t remember a thing tomorrow.” he explained. always the gentleman…

“does that mean you would kiss if i weren’t drunk?” you inquired him, catching the moment his breath hitched. his mouth fell open, unable to form words, and you smiled. devilishly. he should have seen it coming, but he was so entranced that by the time he had caught on you were already drowning him.

“got you!” you laughed, seeing the pissed of expression he sent you. he was seething. “god reid, didn’t know you had the hots for me!” you teasingly pinched him to what he groaned, taking you by your hips and getting you on his shoulder as if you weighted nothing, making you shriek as he walked towards the stairs out of the pool. he was gonna carry you to your room if he needed to.

“you’re getting in bed, now.” he spat, to what you couldn’t help but tease him one more time with a…

“in yours?”

-

“fuck! come on!” you cursed as the door locked you out once again. “it’s not fucking working!” you’ve been trying to get into your room for the last 5 minutes. it wasn’t working.

“here, let me try.” spencer offered you his hand, and you handed him your card, only for his try to be negated again. “there must be some kind of problem with the key.”

“i’ll guess i’ll have to go to reception and get it fixed.” you slurred, taking the key.

“that’s not gonna happen. it’s closed.” spencer sighed, to what you frowned.

“closed? why?”

“some technical problems with the computers, didn’t you see the sign this afternoon after lunch?” you groaned.

“and what am i supposed to do now? sleep on the corridor?” silence filled the space you two

share, until spencer’s lips parted.

“you could stay in my room.” he said. “i mean it’s only a few doors down. tomorrow morning you could get your key fixed. and i could lend you some clothes to change to, since you know, yours are soaked…” he started to ramble.

“share room with you? thought you would rather die.” he rolled his eyes.

“i mean it’s not exactly my dream, but i can’t leave you here all alone.” you cooed.

“what a gentleman. who knew you’d have it in you, huh?” he scoffed.

“i’m not doing it for you, i’m doing it for

gideon.” you hummed, watching him take out his key and start walking towards his door, guiding you and opening it for you.

his room was the same as yours; small, one bed, one bathroom. you hadn’t thought about the fact that you would have to share a bed with him. you smirked, wanting to tease him further. get on his nerves.

“you sure it’s not cause you want me in your bed, reid?” you laughed, and he looked at you.

“you get drunk and your IQ lowers, huh?” he retorted, grabbing a pair of new and untouched boxers, shorts and a shirt for you to change onto.

“i’m smarter than you.” you scoffed, legs wobbly.

he hummed, giving you the clothes. “here. change into this, i’ll put your wet clothes out to

dry so tomorrow- woah! what are you doing?!” he quickly covered his eyes, looking away as you started to pull from your tank top, getting rid of it. you looked at him as if he were dumb.

“changing?” he heard you unbuckling your shorts.

“well, there’s the bathroom for that!” he panicked, his cheeks warming up when he caught a glance at the exposed skin of your stomach and cleavage.

“you think i can make it there without falling? you have high hopes for me.” you slurred, laughing.

“god.” he quickly got a change of clothes and left for the restroom, his cheeks crimson red and his breathing heavy. it was easy to hate you, easier than actually thinking about what you really got out of him. how close you two stood in the pool, the look in your eyes, your teasing, your undressing… “get a hold of yourself, reid.”

remember. she’s a pain in the ass. she drives you crazy.

she drives you crazy, she drives you crazy, she drives you crazy…

once changed in his pajamas, he came out, finding you already changed and sitting on his bed.

“i already put the clothes to dry.” you muttered and he nodded.

he silently stared at you, at your still damp hair, clear skin, beautiful eyes… at your body clad in his clothes, at how big his white button shirt was on you, how it reached your thighs, how…

“aren’t you gonna get in?” you ask him, snapping him out of his mind. it wasn’t as if he was engraving the image into his eidetic memory…

“oh, yeah.” he quickly moved, surrounding the bed to get on the other side as you ruffled with the sheets, covering your exposed legs.

the two of you laid there in complete silence. he had his hands on his stomach. he laid like a mummy, what made you chuckle.

“well this is absolutely not awkward.” you muttered and he sighed.

“well excuse me for not being thrilled for having you in my bed.” you chuckled. “you’re not exactly my dream roommate.”

“you wish i were.” you retorted and he scoffed.

“oh yeah, totally. you caught me.” he sarcastically said and you laughed. “anyways, shouldn’t you be sleeping? by the time of alcohol you’ve ingested you should be passed out cold.”

“you underestimate me, reid.”

“i’ve noticed…” he muttered.

“i’ll let you sleep now, i know geniuses need their sleep hours to function properly. or at least men, but even with that they seem to

not really achieve it.” he chuckled.

“thanks?”

“you’re welcome, agent.”

“it’s doctor.” he corrected and you rolled your eyes, moving onto your side to give him your back.

“whatever. later.” you said your good nights and he hummed, moving just like you and closing his eyes.

ten minutes later the two of you were passed out.

-

it’s the next morning and your head is pounding as you wake up. reid is already up, reading on the room’s desk. of course. very of him.

memories or last night fill your mind and you curse. what the hell were you thinking? maybe you weren’t. you were drunk. that had to be it.

“well if it isn’t the sleeping beast.” he says and you groan, taking your temples.

“isn’t it supposed to be the sleeping beauty?” you inquire.

“i said what i said.” you roll your eyes. of course. “nice hangover right?”

“yeah and your voice surely doesn’t make it any better.” he chuckles, his eyes still on the pages.

“your clothes are dry, left them on the bed.” he announced, and that’s when you see them. you took them, muttering a ‘thanks’ before going to the bathroom and change in between curses and groans that only seemed to amuse more the genius on the other part of the room.

“not funny!” you tell when you can practically hear his smile.

“it actually is. funnier than actually seeing you drown yesterday.” you roll your eyes, opening the door of his room to leave. he quickly stands, following you. “where are you going?”

you groan, your head hurting so bad it was almost like a migraine.

“why do you care?”

“well actually, hotch called and he told me to…” his words died in his mouth when the two of you came face to face with police officers.

“y/n y/l/n?” one of them inquired and you nodded, frowning when one of them harshly manhandled you and pushed you against the wall.

“hey! what the fuck? what are you doing?!” you tried to fought, but he was handcuffing you as the other agent recited your rights.

“you’re under custody for the murder of matthew jackson.”

“reid?” i looked at him with panic in my eyes. he was in shock.

“no, you must have it wrong. we’re fbi agents.” he tried to stop them but they were taking you away.

“yeah, and i’m mary poppins.” the agent scoffed.

“reid!” i yelled for him as they pulled you away.

“i’ll talk to hotch! i’ll find you!” he promised, and you only hoped he would keep it.

…

“i’m not talking until my teams gets here. deal with it.”

“we’ve already called them, they are on their way.”the officer disregarded your comment.

“only part of the body was found. now tell me.” the interrogator stared you down. “where’s. the. head.” you groaned.

“oh, i don’t know! i must have dropped it on my way here, come on!” you sarcastically said. he slammed his hands on the table to which you were cuffed up.

“where’s the head!?”

you slammed your hands back. “if you don’t shut up your head will be rolling next!!” you yelled back. you were irritated. your head was pounding, and now you were cuffed being interrogated for a crime you had not committed first thing in the morning! you hadn’t even had your coffee for gods sake. he gave you a glare. “look. i didn’t do shit. i’m not the killer.”

“we found the body in your room.”

“i wasn’t in my room yesterday. i left it at 6pm and spent the night out.”

“lies!”

“actually, it’s the truth.” your eyes met those hazel ones as spencer made his way into the interrogation room, being followed by hotch.

“doctor reid and agent hotchner. fbi.” they showed their badges. “you’re interrogating one of the members of my team about a crime she has no matter in.” you sighed in relief when you saw them, spencer making quick work of taking off his suit’s jacket to give it to you, since your tank top exposed you.

something about it made you feel calmer, safer. also surprised you. he wasn’t kind to you, at least not if that meant nothing in return. maybe last night events had changed something.

“if she doesn’t have an alibi i’m on the right to keep her here as long as i see fit.” the officer challenged the brunette man.

“she has an alibi. i can prove she wasn’t in his room on the time of the death.” reid said and the officer looked at him.

“oh yeah?”

“yeah. i can, because she spent the night with me…in my room.”

silence fell into the room, and you coughed, clearing your throat.

“now. will you release my agent?” hotch recomposed himself and the officer sighed shaking his head and taking the keys to your handcuffs out.

once released you got up from your seat, putting on spencer’s jacket to cover your semi-exposed chest. your holiday clothes were not the best to work on the field, even less to get arrested on.

“you okay?” hotch checked up on you, and you nodded, massaging your temple.

“yeah, besides the fact that if had you hadn’t shown up now we would have had a second case…” you joked, making him chuckle as you three get out of the interrogation room, meeting with the rest of the team.

derek whistles when he sees you. “well if it isn’t the hottest serial killer in the USA!” you flip him the bird. “nice to see you too sweetheart.”

“here.” jj handed you pain killers and a bottle

or water, what made you almost cry in relief.

“oh thank god, my head is about to split open.” you said while taking them, making quick work of swallowing a pair.

“agent hotchner, thank you for coming.” one of the detectives of the police station suddenly approached you and your group. “and these must be agent morgan, gideon, prentiss, jareau and doctor reid.” he offered them a handshake. “doctor reid, not agent. agent y/n was very specific about that when she asked for all of you.” spencer frowned, tilting his head with a confused but amused smile as he shook his hand. you rolled your eyes when his attention shifted towards you, seeing his eyebrows raise. “sorry for my agents’s actions. you know… protocol.”

“we understand it, sir. what can you tell us about the case?”

“ ‘doctor reid?’ “ he teased you, leaning onto you and you pushed him away.

“whatever reid, don’t think this means i like you. ‘cause i don’t.” he hummed, that fucking smirk still plastered on his face.

“we share bed one night and you’re already falling for me, y/n?” i scoff.

“you wish, reid. now wipe that smirk out of your face before i rip it off.” he chuckled.

“you sure you don’t wanna rip my head off instead?” he jokes and you give him a dirty look. “what? it’s funny.”

“excuse me?” all of you turn at the sound of an unknown voice. it’s a post man, holding a box in between his hands. “package for y/n y/l/n?” you frown. the whole team seemed to frown. how could somebody know you would be here?

“uhm yes, that’s me.” you stepped forward, and the post man nodded, taking out a digital pad.

“need you to sign this.” you nodded, approaching him, taking the box. it was heavy, ‘fragile’ printed on its sides. “a letter came with it.” he explained giving you the envelop as well. he took off just as fast as he got what he wanted, leaving you with it.

“what is it?” emily inquired and you shrugged, leaving it on a table of the office.

“no idea.” you answer while cutting the tape open. your heart falls to your stomach when you uncover what hid behind the cardboard. “oh god…” dead well known eyes stare right into your soul, a note written in blood calls your name. “it’s matt…” you feel like getting sick.

you step away and the team takes a look. “well, now we know where the head is…” morgan said, and jj gives him that look.

“yeah, seems like we have and admirer too…” gideon pointed out as spencer put on a pair of gloves and took the note. he recognized the victim as the boy you’d met at the hotel.

“‘loosing my head for you.’” he read out loud. “seems like it was written in blood too.”

“there’s also a cassette, guys.” emily points out, taking it out of the box, careful to not go near the bloody head. there’s a sticker on it, black ink that begs a ‘play me’. hotch takes it off the hand of the brunette and pulses the play button.

a distorted voice fills your ears. “i know… i know… you might don’t like this side about me, y/n. but i couldn’t stand still while that creep took glances at what belongs to me! you’ve gotta understand! i love you. i just want the best for you. to protect you…” his voice although unrecognizable seemed soft, as if a lover tried to make his other half understand the why behind this actions. “if you don’t believe me, take a look inside the letter that came with the box. see you soon, love.”

your eyes fell on the letter, your hands following suit, ripping it open, pictures falling from its inside and spreading themselves on top of the desk. it were pictures of you, in your bikini, in your room, changing clothes… you took them in between your fingers.

“he was stalking you?” emily inquired.

“seems like it.” morgan chirped in. “wait. is that spencer?” he stopped you, and you frowned, taking the picture. it was a photo of the two of you, him carrying you on his shoulder across the pool court and towards your room.

“there’s something written on the back…” you mutter, turning it around, ink scattered along the white. ‘WHO’S HE?’

“seems like the holidays are over.” hotch said, and you sighed.

definitely over.

-

[seireitonin]

Dating Toby?? Like is he clingy, jealous or protective of his partner??

(I don't know....this is my first time doing these things.....)

Toby brain rot :3 this is how I see Toby mixed with some canon information! (I’m gonna try to keep it realistic)

What would it be like dating Toby?

Toby’s life is filled with tragedy

Abuse, death, murder, mental illnesses, being a slave to Slenderman

It’s all bad

So when he finds you, someone that accepts him and loves him despite all that, he’s not letting you go

He’ll do anything for you

I mean to the point it’s unhealthy

Because hes obsessed with you

Like really obsessed with you

He’s super touchy, not only because he likes to feel close to you, but it keeps him grounded

That’s important to him because his disorders/ mental illnesses cause him to hallucinate or space out

He’s not gloomy he’s actually upbeat but when he remembers something from his past or the current state of his life he goes through episodes of depression and mood swings

They can get really intense and as you’re with him you’ll learn how to support him through it

Just laying with him, making sure he has water and reminding him you’re here for him will help lots and lots of physical affection

If his mood swings get violent he’ll isolate himself from you but it’s heartbreaking to hear his suffering

His swings can go from extreme anger to intense sadness to reckless happiness

Since he hasn’t had much kindness or interaction in his life he doesn’t have the best social skills

He’ll say whatever is on his mind with no filter and that includes you too

So he’ll say mean things unintentionally a lot because he doesn’t understand how what he says can be hurtful

And he might try to call you sensitive for it too

“Ugh you’re overreacting I didn’t even say anything that hurtful. It’s just what’s on my mind”

He literally doesn’t understand how it can make you feel because he’s a bit detached with emotions

It’s gonna take a while for him to understand but he loves you so he’ll try to understand for your sake and will work on apologizing

He can also just be rude or a jerk sometimes in general

Toby likes just spending time with you to the point where you’re connected at the hip

He won’t say he loves you with words but he says it with his actions

He brings you gifts, holds your hand, goes on walks with you, holds you and try’s to be better for you (even though it’s really hard because he’s set in his ways)

He talks a lot so sometimes you’ll just listen and smile

Since he can’t feel pain, when he gets back from missions you’ll have to help him check for injuries to make sure he’s okay

He doesn’t say it but he appreciates it

Sometimes he’ll just stare at you because he loves you so much, taking in your every detail

He notices everything about you, from your body language, how you tan in the summer and lighten in the winter, he even knows how many times you breathe in a minute

Toby eats a lot of instant ramen so be prepared to eat a lot of that at first but you start to cook for him because he needs to eat better

Toby never expected to have a girlfriend since he’s a lot to handle but he liked the way you handle him

He’s full of himself literally thinks he’s gods gift to earth so sometimes he puts himself before your relationship but he’s trying to change that

He’s really funny especially if you like dark humor

He’s a jealous man. You’re his no one else’s

If someone even looks at you romantically he’ll go crazy on them

Remember, Toby is still a murderer and enjoys murdering

Chasing them down and threatening them and if it escalated kill them with a smile

He does it all for you. Everything is for you.

“You know I love you, right?”

He looks at you covered in blood

Toby likes it when you wear his sweaters

He wants a family one day and hopes you can give that to him

He’s possessive over you but does it out of intense love and obsession

He wants to keep you safe by any means necessary because he’s so used to losing the people he loves and he really doesn’t wanna lose you

Toby drives a pickup truck and likes to drive you around in it

He likes to sit in the back of it with you and look at the stars in an open field

Since Toby’s older his tics have calmed down but they’re still there and he still has the occasional tic attack

You’ll have to help him through those because sometimes he can’t even talk when he’s having one

Stuff he can squeeze, ice pack on his forehead and making sure he doesn’t hurt himself

He’s happy you don’t see him as a burden like everyone else did

He’s never letting you go

He didn’t know he could feel love this intense

[autismserenity]

A Chabad synagogue in Pomona, New York, burned to the ground on April 17th, along with its three Torah scrolls.

Torah scrolls are hand-written, hand-made, and kept in elaborately decorated cases or wrappings.

Many of them have long histories; my synagogue has two, I think, that were smuggled out of villages being destroyed in pogroms or in Nazi attacks. One of them is the only remaining piece of that village on earth.

Sometimes, the Torah scroll doesn't even belong to the synagogue, but is on loan from a place like the Memorial Scrolls Trust:

There's an entire Jewish holiday just for taking them out and dancing with them: Simchat Torah, "The Joy of Torah."

In fact, that was the holiday on which Hamas's invasion took place.

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So it's a particular tragedy when a Torah is destroyed.

Chabad itself has a page about what goes into making just one Torah scroll:

"An authentic Torah scroll is a mind-boggling masterpiece of labor and skill. Comprising between 62 and 84 sheets of parchment -- cured, tanned, scraped and prepared according to exacting Torah law specifications -- and containing exactly 304,805 letters, the resulting handwritten scroll takes many months to complete.

"An expert pious scribe carefully inks each letter with a feather quill, under the intricate calligraphic guidelines of Ktav Ashurit (Ashurite Script). The sheets of parchment are then sewn together with sinews to form one long scroll. While most Torah scrolls stand around two feet in height and weigh 20-25 pounds, some are huge and quite heavy, while others are doll-sized and lightweight."

I learned all of this on Tumblr.

Once upon time, in people's "punch Nazis" days, I would've been able to find some mention on Tumblr of this synagogue burning.

There is none, so I'm posting about it.

And I'm going to quote Daniel Weiner, Rabbi of Temple de Hirsch Sinai in Bellevue, Washington, when his own synagogue was vandalized last November:

"It’s horrific and heartbreaking.... [Taking out your feelings about] what's going on in the Middle East by defacing a sacred space of a synagogue -- that’s the very definition of antisemitism."

I'm also posting about the Kehillat Shaarei Torah Synagogue in Toronto, whose windows were broken on Friday, April 19th, by someone who also tried to break the front door down.

And the April 15 graffiti outside a Bangor, Maine synagogue that said, "Nazi Israel 30K murdered," next to a crossed-out Star of David. The same synagogue faced pro-Hamas flyers plastered around it in November.

I was going to include all the synagogues vandalized over the past six months. But there are way too many. Several every week. Lots are swastikas.

I'll go back to just doing attacks on and near synagogues.

Someone has to talk about the 1-year-old who was stabbed outside Temple Beth Zion-Beth Israel (BZBI) synagogue, in Philadelphia, on April 13th.

The foiled terrorist attack on a Moscow synagogue on April 11th.

The man who, on April 9th, screamed at the rabbi at Moldova's Great Synagogue, "What are you doing here? How come no one has finished you off for everything you are doing to the Palestinians?" Just one week after people had vandalized a Holocaust memorial in nearby Soroka, and sprayed "Free Palestine" on it.

The Oldenburg, Germany synagogue that was firebombed on April 5th.

The Florida Las Olas Chabad Jewish Center, which on March 16 burned, but not to the ground. The Torah scrolls were safe, and no one was hurt, but the back of the building was severely damaged.

The planned-but-thwarted-on-March-7th ISIS massacre in a Moscow synagogue.

The stabbing of an Orthodox Jew in Switzerland on March 5th. (He was badly injured, but expected to survive.)

A man leaving a synagogue in Paris was beaten on March 3rd.

People set the courtyard of a synagogue in Sfax, Tunisia on fire on February 27th. Firefighters managed to put the fire out before it consumed the inside of the building.

The synagogue is no longer used; there are no Jews left in its area, and fewer than 1,000 Jews left in Tunisia overall.

(Thousands of Tunisian Jews were sent to work camps during the Holocaust. Antisemitism across the Middle East continued to increase rapidly for decades. By the 1970s, 90% of Tunisian Jews had fled to France or Israel.)

On February 18, an Orthodox Jew leaving Synagogue of Inverrary-Chabad in Lauderhill, Florida, was beaten by an attacker yelling racial slurs.

Someone deliberately chose International Holocaust Remembrance Day, January 27, to smash all the windows in the front of Sgoolai Israel Synagogue in downtown Fredericton, New Brunswick.

On December 29, Turkey arrested 32 people linked to ISIS who were planning attacks on synagogues and churches.

On December 17, a man drove a U-Haul truck up onto the sidewalk between a barrier and the front door of the Kesher Israel Congregation in Washington D.C., got out, and started yelling "Gas the Jews." He also sprayed a foul-smelling substance on two people leaving the synagogue.

December 17 also saw 400 synagogues across the United States receive bomb threats.

On December 11, a man attacked an elderly couple on their way into a synagogue in Los Angeles, screaming, "Give me your earrings, Jew!!" and beating one of them bloody with a belt. (Happily, he chased the guy down the street, and caught him when his pants fell down.)

On December 10, a 16-year-old was arrested in Vienna for planning an attack on a synagogue.

On December 8, on the first night of Hanukkah, 15 synagogues in New York State received bomb threats. And someone screamed, "Free Palestine," and fired shots outside of Temple Israel in Albany, NY. Which has a preschool that was in session.

Meanwhile, the five Jews left in Egypt were canceling public Hanukkah candle-lighting at their synagogue out of fear of reprisals. Particularly after two Israelis in Alexandria had been gunned down by terrorists on October 8. (While Israel was still fighting Hamas in Israel.)

On November 15, a terrorist group set the only synagogue in Armenia on fire.

Armenian Secret Army for the Liberation of Armenia (ASALA) has a history of working with the Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine (PFLP).

(PFLP is part of Hamas's network of groups. Samidoun is their nonprofit arm - which is why Germany banned Samidoun last year, although it's still active in many other countries.

PFLP is also actively supported by the Palestinian Youth Movement (PYM), a diaspora nonprofit group, and Within Our Lifetime (WOL), an SJP spinoff in NYC.)

On November 11, halfway through Shabbat services, police asked Central Shul in Melbourne, Australia to evacuate "as a precaution" due to a "pro-Palestinian" protest that had chosen the neighboring park as its gathering place. Australia has seen some very outspoken antisemitism at protests, including the march shortly after October 7 that chanted "Gas the Jews."

Also on November 11, protesters targeted a synagogue along a march route. They sat in their cars, spraying green smoke and shouting at people leaving the synagogue. The march itself featured a record number of horrifying signs and chants.

On November 7th, Congregation Beth Tikvah in Montreal was firebombed, and the back door of the Jewish organization across the street (Federation CJA) was set on fire.

On November 4, protesters chanted "Bomb Israel," and burned an Israeli flag outside the only synagogue in Malmo, Sweden.

During October, there were 501 antisemitic acts under investigation in France in just three weeks, including groups gathering in front of synagogues shouting threats, and graffiti such as the words “killing Jews is a duty” sprayed outside a stadium.

On October 18, people firebombed a synagogue in Berlin after homes all over the neighborhood were graffitied with stars of David.

And also on October 18, hundreds of "pro-Palestine" rioters attacked the Or Zaruah Synagogue, in the Spanish enclave of Melilla in North Africa, while worshippers were inside.

Based on the video, they seem to have blocked the synagogue entrance completely, while screaming "Murderous Israel" and waving Palestinian flags. (Melilla is an autonomous zone belonging to Spain. It borders Morocco.)

On October 17, during pro-Palestinian protests, hundreds of rioters set fire to Al Hammah synagogue, an abandoned house of prayer in central Tunisia. They hammered down the building’s walls and raised a Palestinian flag on the building. Police did not intervene.

The Facebook page "Tunigate", which has around 88 thousand followers, published a video of the assault. So did "Radio Bousalem”, with 83 thousand users. The vast majority of comments on these videos welcome these acts. The building was severely damaged and almost completely razed to the ground.

On October 15, bomb threats were sent to many East Coast synagogues. Attleboro synagogue Congregation Agudas-Achim received one of the emails, which read, "The bombs will blow up in a few hours. A lot of people will die. You all deserve to die."

On October 8 -- again, while Hamas was still in Israel -- Madrid’s main synagogue was defaced with graffiti that read “Free Palestine” next to a crossed-out Star of David.

And on October 7, an assailant in Rockland, NY fired a BB gun at two women entering a synagogue. Later in the month, a banner at the Stephen Wise Free Synagogue in the area was vandalized with the words, “Fuckin kikes."

[dilatorywriting]

Monster Mayhem: Siren's Song [Part 2]

Gender Neutral Reader x Vil Schoenheit Word Count: 4.6k

Summary: Fish are friends (?). You are not food.

[PART 1] [PART 1.5] [PART 2] [PART 3]

The Siren wasn’t leaving.

Which a part of you had been expecting. Because surely if there had been a snowball’s chance in Hell of him making it out into the open ocean alive before you’d cut through the ropes, he would have taken it and left you stranded without a second thought. And his odds weren’t that much better now—his fins were still a mangled mess and the wounds all along his scales and dainty featherings were still raw and oozing. It only made sense that he’d take at least a few days to try and recover.

But… But still.

Did he have to make it so obvious that he was sticking around?

The glint of the light off his tail was a constant distraction—always bright and eye-catching even at the cloudiest points of the day. Always flashing just out of the corner of your eye as a perpetual reminder that there was something in the water that would very happily gobble you up if you bothered making a swim for safety.

He’d also taken to sunning himself. Like some kind of overgrown mer-cat. Stretched out languidly on a flat rock with the tips of his violet fins hanging over the edge—just enough for the gauzy edges to play along the surf and avoid drying out entirely. His pale hair splayed out in a halo around him as he snoozed softly in the heat of the afternoon.

Which! No fair! This wasn’t a vacation! This was a stranding! An SOS! A Rose Queen Procedural Rule Four-Hundred-and-Four! And him taking up the whole of the cove to, I don’t know, tan, felt like another intentional slap in the face. The sun rose over the bay, which meant this stretch of shore was facing East. Which was the direction your vessel had been coming from. Which meant that this was the place on the little islet where you needed to be. Subsection Three of Procedural Four-O’-Four. ‘In the case of Crew Overboard, we will always travel the same route as planned. In order to give the Strandee a chance to map out a reconnection point.’ Riddle always had been so smart about these kinds of things.

‘It’s just until he’s better,’ you reassured yourself for the umpteenth time that morning. ‘Then he’ll leave and I can get rescued or die here alone and in peace.’

A fin flicked up from the shallows to spray you with saltwater splatters and you spluttered indignantly when it ran down into your eyes. You glared at the Siren’s retreating back, musing bitterly about how you’d never thought it was possible for someone to make the tuck of their shoulders look smug.

‘Alone and in peace,’ you repeated hopefully. And it sounded like such far off dream.

.

.

On the second day post-rope-removal, the Siren waved you down with a sharp flick of his wrist.

You approached the waterline hesitantly, still mostly waiting for him to turn on you and make toothpicks out of your bones. But instead of murdering you and getting crafty with your corpse, he just pointed to some scribbles in the sand. You squinted at the loop-de-loops suspiciously. It almost looked like an illustration of dancing bubbles—the lot of them curling and popping along the ground in a line like a limerick. 

“Uhm, very nice,” you tried, and the fins flattened pissilly all along the side of his head.

He jabbed his claw towards the mess again. Then firmly at your eyes (hopefully not as a threat that he’d be happy to take them right out of your head if you continued to be obtuse). And then back again. He made a point to move the tip of his sharp nail from one swirl to the next in a little hop-hop-hop. It reminded you a bit deliriously of Riddle trying to teach some of the more socially bereft members of the crew their letters, and—

“You want me to read that?” you gaped, staring at the elegant curls of nonsense in the sand.

The Siren crossed his arms across his lean chest with a scoff that puffed past his lips hard enough to fluff out some of the paler, purple-tipped, hair hanging by his chin. He rolled his eyes at you and muttered something thin and spicy under his breath that you just knew had to be some sort of insult.

“I can read!” you defended, because it felt like it needed defending.

He leveled you with an entirely unimpressed ‘Oh, I’m sure you can’ sneer and you dropped to your knees, incensed. You dug your fingers into the sand and started sculpting out your own very cheery message into the muck.

When you were done, you waved a hand towards your proclamation and watched his brows pull together at the center into a teeny, pinched sort of expression. He let himself roll forward with the seafoam to lay more fully on the shore, and stared down at the mess you’d made like it was some strange code. Even reaching out to poke softly at the straight edge of a ‘T’ with one of his knife-sharp talons.

After a long moment of contemplation, he looked back up at you with an arched brow that was so unintentionally poised and not full of spite that it almost took your breath away. Who knew how pretty an already stunning face could become when it wasn’t twisted up in absolute vitriol? You shook away that absolutely damning thought in horror. That’s exactly what he’d want you to think. Siren, and all. Using his hotness to lure people onto his dinner table. Not you, baby. Because you were smart. And so gross from being stranded under island sunshine for a week that surely you’d taste like some absolutely rancid jerky at this point.

“Oh no,” you droned, and immediately that subtle curiosity of his ticked right back into irritation. “Two creatures from entirely different species and ecosystems have somehow managed to develop unique alphabets. What a completely unpredictable complication.”

The Siren puffed up like an angry lionfish and turned with a snarl to dive back into the shallows—making sure to whip his tail in your face and slam into the water with a huge splash as he went. The salt spray pelted down like rain and you snickered as it sloughed off your cheeks in rivulets, content to sit merrily in the wet sand beside your hastily scribbled: ‘Mermen Are Vicious Bitches. Hit Me if You Agree :)’

.

.

The next morning, there were more fish on the shoreline. Though these ones looked a bit less like they’d been dragged up by their souls and left to writhe in the wake of Siren-Screaming-Agony and more just like the unfortunate victims of a pair of too sharp claws.

You frowned down at a brown, sad-looking flounder that had clearly found itself at the very wrong end of a certain merman still swanning about in the bay not fifty feet away. It was mostly intact, and pleasantly plump for a flat, pancake-looking blob of muck. Your stomach gurgled and the thought of a nice, coal-charred, fillet really seemed quite nice. You chanced another peek at your resident Asshole, debating if it was worth swiping his snack. Another ominous rumble from your abdomen and you reached down to steal your prize and scuttle off deeper inland like a troll returning to its layer.

It didn’t take very long to get a small fire going, and within the hour you’d been fed and were more than ready for a cozy, full-bellied nap in the soft sand.

By the time you began to make your way back to the cove, the sun was high in the sky and you were already dreading sitting beneath its weighted rays for another afternoon. So you slowed your pace to a near snail crawl, dragging your feet as you went.

The little octopus from earlier was still swaying contentedly around the tide pool you’d shoved it into. It probably needed to be carried back out to the bay at some point so that it could swim back into the depths of the ocean, but the poor thing was just so small and round. Surely it’d get devoured by the first sharp-toothed thing that caught sight of it. Especially with your merman apparently being out for the blood of whatever other scaly things were swimming about in his temporary home. So for now you slipped it some small bits of leftover fish instead. You sat, crouched at the pool’s edge, and watched raptly as it grabbed the shredded bits of pale meat with its chubby tentacles to shove towards an eager beak.

“You’re the only friend I have left in the whole world,” you told the octopus miserably, wiping the greasy remnants of your lunch off your chin with a sigh.

The traitor hurriedly moved to snatch up the treat you’d offered it and hide itself away between some rocky crevices. You sighed louder. Rejected. What a time to be alive. 

.

.

The next morning, the Siren was singing again.

That familiar prickle danced its way up your arms, leaving pinpricks of goosebumps in its wake. Some pirates told tales of storms leaving their mark in such a way—that seasoned sailors could feel the tickle of thunder against their skin long before they could spot dark clouds on the horizon. You’d have to amend that little legend whenever you found your way back to The Rose Queen. Siren Sense was a lot cooler, anyways. Any idiot with arthritis could tell you when rain was due.

But either way, Mister Merman was back to idly circling the bay and calling into the distance. At least it wasn’t as miserable as it had been the other day—more of a leisurely pacing than the frantic, near-feral caterwauling that had soured your gut so terribly.

There was another fat fish on the shore. A bright, red snapper so brilliantly crimson that it was almost impossible to make out the garish wounds in its side. Almost. And even if it hadn’t been, the drooping, rust colored, rivulets dug into the sand would have been enough of a clue.

Why the Siren was bothering to leave his clawed-up kills at your feet like some overgrown cat dragging in mice, you had no idea. Maybe he was poisoning them, and subsequently you. Maybe he was bored and it was some sort of fishy enrichment. Maybe he just didn’t want to bother leaving dead things around to contaminate his favorite sunning spots, and tossing his leftovers in your vicinity was as close to a reliable dumpster as he could find on a remote island. Who’s to say.

Either way, you dutifully ignored the magical tingles racing up your shoulders and brought the newest fish back to your makeshift firepit. You grilled the snapper in silence, debating. Then you fed your octopus friend and returned to the beach, cooked fillets in tow.

You waited in awkward silence for a few moments, fish burning your palms, before raising your fingers to your lips and whistling loud enough to make your teeth ache. The mystical static faded from the air and you watched in pleasant (?) surprise as the Siren made his way back to where you’d set up camp. He rolled in with the tide, cresting on a gentle bit of surf and coming to rest neatly in the shallows—fins splayed out beneath him like a lord lying amidst his many silken robes. He propped himself up on his elbows and looked at you with an arched brow and slanted frown.

You awkwardly extended a hand—roasted snapper still resting in your open palm and burning the absolute fuck out of your fingers.

“Uhm,” you said, feeling a bit too much like the local idiot trying to feed one of the rabid, wandering, strays around town. “Food?”

He scoffed and rolled his eyes at you.

“Do you want food?” you tried.

The other brow joined the first, nearly rising all the way into his hairline. It wasn’t a pleasant sort of surprise.

“It’s better cooked?” you coaxed in the face of his outright constipated scowl. Be fed and full, you thought hopefully. Maybe then you won’t fucking look at me like I’m a boxed lunch.

He jabbed a sharpened, black talon in your direction, and then pointedly again angled up towards your mouth. Then back to the fish still roasting your poor cuticles straight off your fingers.

You blinked, a bit thrown.

“What? It’s supposed to be for me?”

He nodded, throwing in another one of those bombastically snarky eyerolls for good measure. ‘Obviously,’ that sneer said.

“Well,” you huffed, plopping down to sit cross-legged in the sand and offering up one of the fillets. “There’s plenty for both of us.” When he stared at you like you were attempting to serve him up a choice pile of literal dog shit, you wiggled your hand and entreated, “Please just take it before my skin melts off.”

The Siren huffed and reached out, plucking up the fish with the tips of his claws. He observed your meager meal as one might a particularly unappealing cockroach, and after a long moment, his nose scrunched (cute, you thought absently before immediately suffocating every wayward braincell that would dare call your murderous shore-neighbor anything of the sort) and he leaned forward to nip at a crisped, pink corner with the barest edge of one canine.

When your culinary creation didn’t immediately strike him dead on the spot, he took another, equally dainty bite. And then another. The tight pucker of his mouth eased as he chewed, and you watched as the harsh cut of his purple irises warmed with that same intrigue as they had when you’d first scribbled your foreign letters into the sand.

He readjusted his grip on the fish between his claws to get a better angle and took a proper bite, chewing thoughtfully. Before you knew it, you were watching him nip at the pads of his fingers, his gaze going a bit round and shocked when he realized that he’d devoured the entirety of it.

“See?” you hummed, tucking into your own portion with gusto. “Not all things humans come up with are terrible.” He harumphed and turned to glare back out over the bay, slouching into the surf with an expression that was most certainly not a pout. “But maybe you’d know that if you bothered to do anything other than murder and devour us on sight,” you chirped.

To which you were immediately doused with an armful of water for your troubles. The Siren glowered petulantly from where he’d just wave-bombed you, and then dove back into the deeper waters of the sandbar. He immediately started up his stupid singing all over again—pointedly keeping his chin high above the surface and splashing brine into your face anytime he looped close enough to shore.

“I don’t know why I bother,” you huffed, and ate your sopping snapper in grumpy silence.

.

.

There was a ship wrecked off the coast.

Nothing overly cool, and definitely only a small chunk of what had probably at one point been a rather impressive vessel. But it was something. The first change in pace you’d had in days and oozing with possibilities.

The only problem was that the great, rotting, hull of the thing was dug up into a jagged skerry about a hundred yards off the shore—wedged into the pointed rocks with no chance of any wave or breeze sending it adrift. You could swim perfectly well. I mean, living your life on a ship surrounded by tumultuous, depthless, ocean would have been a hugely stupid career move otherwise. The issue, naturally, was the thing currently making its home in these waters. Sharks and barracudas, blablabla. They were just animals, no matter how many teeth they had. The Siren had a grudge. And just as many teeth.

Right now, said spiky pain in your ass was lounging in the shallows like the froth was an elegant daybed made just for him—shredded fins swaying in the soft tides and his hair floating about him that same, white-gold halo that made him look far too peaceful for anyone’s good sense. He wasn’t singing today, which was great for the local wildlife population but terrible for your Siren Sense. Once you waded into the waves, you’d have no real way to keep track of him. Hope, maybe, that he didn’t think fucking with you was worth messing up whatever tan-line he had going on. But nothing concrete that you’d be willing to bet the safety of your limbs on.

You wiggled your toes in the sand and stared longingly out at the stupid, wrecked ship that was so stupidly close. If you swam your fastest you could probably make it there in under two minutes—less than that, even. But that was still more than enough time for the Siren to rake those dark claws of his across your throat and drag you down into the depths to drown.

Riddle’s angry, red face swam through your thoughts, and you could practically see him shoving that beloved law tome of his under your nose for the umpteenth time.

‘Rule 32, never make dangerous bets that you’re certain you won’t win, particularly if you are betting against a Blue Nosed Beetle.’

‘Rule 15, do not needlessly sacrifice your life in the name of curiosity, excluding—of course—if you hail from Cheshire or are a Cat.’

‘It’s only a dumb shipwreck,’ you thought miserably, if rationally. ‘It’s probably not even that cool.’

Your captain would be so proud.

.

.

The next morning you were rolling up the cuffs on your pants and wading into the cool shallows, silently lighting a candle in your heart for your beloved, steam-faced leader and promising that you would at the very least cover the costs of your own funeral so as not to inconvenience him further.

The waves lapped against your ankles and the waters themselves were shockingly clear and blue. You could practically see each grain of sand beneath your heels—make out each pointy rock and the little, red crabs that scuttled away from your tromping like civilians fleeing from the shadow of a leviathan. The Siren was back to singing today. Perhaps his poor, overworked throat simply needed a break every now and again. But either way, your Merman Magic Missive was working in full force. The hairs on your arms stood at full attention and you liked to imagine you could see them twitching in circles to follow his long, looping arcs through the bay.  

You made it up to your knees and waited, eyes scanning the open water and nose twitching like maybe you could smell the fucker. There was nothing but a familiar prickle along your shoulders and that deep sense of ‘tug tug tug’ with no answer, so you took a deep breath and pushed further, the water sloshing up to your hips, your chest, and finally you were floating—paddling slow and cautious towards the wreckage.

It really was insanely close. Even moving at your most cautious, sneakiest crawl, you’d made it nearly three-quarters of the way there within perhaps five minutes. And no signs of a vengeful, hungry Siren circling the waters beneath you either. More rules that perhaps that you’d have to tell Riddle might need some amending  once you finally made it back home to your crew. ‘Dangerous bets,’ who? ‘Needless sacrifice,’ what? You might as well have outsmarted the whole ocean.

As you moved closer, you could make out a strange coat of arms on the side of the hull that you didn’t recognize. Twining, silver songbirds soaring against the sparkly backdrop of an otherwise plain faced crest, which honestly looked far too delicate to be heading the broken remains of what was no doubt at one point an absolute monster of a vessel. You reached out to brush your fingers against the shining plaque and then you were underwater.

You fought the immediate impulse to gasp in surprise, because expediting the process of your inevitable drowning just seemed stupid even by your standards. There was a clawed hand wrapped around your calf yanking you down, and you squinted through a stream of panicked bubbles to see your terrible, horrible, completely thankless co-strandee snarling up at you with sharp teeth and a sharper flail of his delicate gills. Thankfully the water wasn’t all that deep, so by the time you’d been dragged to the bottom you were maybe only ten feet under. But still. It was the goddamn principle! And besides, you’d heard about enough drunks drowning in puddles to know that this was more than enough Liquid Death to put you in an early grave.

The Siren looped around you in tight circles, and you could feel the brush of his tattered fins against your skin like the ghostly fingers of a reaper trailing down your spine. You’d known he was big—giant, even. Long, and impressive, and built to rule the very depths he’d dragged you into. Large enough to wrestle with sharks and capsize lifeboats. Big enough, no doubt, to eat you whole and still be hungry enough for seconds.

The salt stung your eyes and you blinked hard to keep his vibrant, amethyst tail in focus. Would he strike from the back, where you couldn’t see? Or would he go right for your throat—a direct, full frontal, ‘fuck you, human’ if there ever was one. And honestly, what were you expecting? That a good deed and a few pieces of cooked fish would sway him from devouring you whole? Maybe the island sun had fried whatever remained of your rattled brain.  

He stopped in front of you and hissed—a stream of tight, tiny, bubbles jetting past his canines. You glared in petulant confusion, absolutely refusing to give your would-be murderer whatever reaction he was hoping for. His brow pinched into a tight, angry, v and he snarled again. You snarled back, and with that, the last breath in your lungs swooped out of you in a tight squeak. You choked, and struggled, and kicked at the claws holding you down. The Siren reared back, eyes widening in something that looked insultingly like genuine surprise, and you used his moment of hesitation to propel yourself off the sandbar and back to the choppy surface.

You gasped in a hasty breath, expecting to immediately be dragged back under. But when you weren’t pulled back down to your watery grave, you took in another and another. Gasping, and hacking, and spitting up seafoam. The Siren’s head crested the surface beside you and you flailed away, nearly pushing yourself under all over again. You paddled frantically, trying to keep your nose above the tide, and then suddenly there was something under you. You squawked and kicked it on instinct. The Siren snapped his pointy teeth in your face and you realized with a start that oh. That was him, wasn’t it? The long, winding, scaled muscles of his tail curled beneath your toes in what almost seemed like an attempt to keep you upright.

He stared at you with those unnervingly bright eyes of his—blonde hair curling softly at the edges where it plastered elegantly along his finned ears, and those too-long lashes dripping with small, sparkly, drops of salt water.

“What the hell is this bullshit?” you choked, coughing up more bubbly froth. “You don’t get to look so—so put together after trying to murder me!”  

The Siren huffed out something that the delusional, still half-drowned, part of you wanted to classify as a laugh. And then he organized that bemused expression back into its usual, haughty, iciness and began to carefully make his way back towards the shore—towing you along like a poor, little, lost buoy with nowhere else to go.

You let him drag you up into the sand and only flopped around a little. He flicked his tail at you and your dramatics and you turned on him with a fierce, waterlogged scowl—a bit more confident now that he didn’t have the home field advantage.

“What was that for! I just wanted to look at the ship! I wasn’t even doing anything to you!” you wailed. “I haven’t done anything to you at all! Ever! Why do you keep—" you collapsed back into the sand with a miserable whine that rattled all the teeth in your head, and ground the heels of your palms into your eyes until you saw stars.

After a long moment of nothing, you felt a gentle tap at your shoulder.

You looked back up with a start to see Mister Merman looking nearly sheepish.Or as much of an equivalent that his aloof mask of a face was capable of pulling off. The clawed finger resting at your collarbone dropped to the sand by your hip, and he carefully began to draw more of those squiggles. No, scratch that. Not the dancing, popping, ones from the other day. These actually looked sort of like the silver songbirds from that shipwreck. More jagged, certainly. But similar enough that you felt something a bit too coldly cautious to be confusion seep through your guts.

Once he was finished, he looked up and met your gaze—sharp, pointed. And then he reached back out and smeared the birds into nothing and shook his head, firm. His red lips moved slowly, exaggerated, again and again. And you could make out the vague shape of words you’d had shouted at you a hundred times over.

‘Not safe.’

That same, shivery, nervous feeling bit at your limbs.

“…okay,” you said after a moment. And then leaned forward to dig your own fingers into the sand, dutifully ignoring how your elbows knocked against his own.

‘Not safe,’ you wrote, and watched his eyes trace each letter like a treasure map.

There was another tap at your shoulder. And then he pointed to the words in the muck, then to himself.

You rolled your eyes. “Yes, yes. You’re not safe either.”

He sighed dramatically enough to ruffle the ends of your still soaked hair. And then pointed to the words again, tapping at the ‘N’ with the curved tip of a claw.

“Nnnn?” you mouthed, confused.

He moved to the ‘o’ next and it clicked.

“You want me to teach you how to read my letters?” you asked, flabbergasted. Another sigh, like you’d dropped the weight of all the world on his pale shoulders. Or perhaps that your idiocy was enough to put that hearty mass to shame. You decided that you were still feeling a bit too much like you’d only just barely escaped a brush with death, dismemberment, and dinner plans to push your luck with sassing him back too harshly, and just blinked owlishly in dazed surprise. “But why?”

His purple eyes trailed in the direction of the shipwreck and something cutting and poisonous clouded his expression. He pointed to the words again.

‘Not safe.’

“Alright,” you said, looking out over the water with a strange sort of sinking feeling in your gut. You leaned forward and began to draw the alphabet at your feet. His tail twitched by your fingers and you ignored the soft brush of his still-healing fins. “This one’s an ‘A’, like in ‘Asshole’—"

Whomp went the tail as he cracked it across your knuckles like a school matron with a ruler. And you couldn’t help the startled burst of genuine, tinkling laughter that bubbled past your lips for the first time since you’d been dragged overboard.

.

.

[TAG LIST - CLOSED]

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[wrongplacerighttime]

agent!harry x agent!fmc

the one where grace and harry are agents on a case, and they have to go undercover to get closer to their suspect. however, tensions come to light when they’re undercover in a sex club, and harry just can’t take it anymore.

little bit of plot, mostly smut slcksxkskc but i LOVE IT ANYWAY. don’t come for me. 😤

wc: ~5k.

tw: MDNI 18+!!!, talks of murder, drinking, sex club, dom!harry, stubborn!oc

part two here // little bunny masterlist

little bunny

The club Grace stood in front of was designed to be discreet to any unassuming passerby. Her coat was pulled tightly around her, hiding the expensive lingerie set she had bought specifically for the occasion. She had never been somewhere like this, and she felt out of place. The building sat flush with the rest on the block, the architecture of history’s past was accentuated with up to date brick and mortar, black metal accents adorning the doors and tinted windows. She was nervous, and walking into a somewhat dangerous situation. She stepped into the darkened club after showing her ID to the security guard in the foyer. She almost refuses to take away her only barrier between her dignity and indecency, reluctantly handing her coat over to the man standing by the coat closet, but she does, acknowledging to herself that she needed to play the part of a cheating wife here to find a man to satisfy her in a way her husband can’t.

She moves on light footsteps further into the building, the stench of sex diluted by cigarette smoke filtered into her lungs. She puts on a face of false confidence, taking all her strength to not hug her arms tightly around her body to hide her figure from the prying eyes in the room. There are men surrounding the bar, some of them sporting tan lines where wedding rings are missing, a detail often overlooked by most. They’re only here to get an easy, quick fuck while their wives are home not suspecting a thing. She wrinkles her nose before correcting her expression and runs a hand through her hair, looking around the area as she inhales and tries to shake the nerves away while pulling on the dreaded collar that her female coworker insisted she should wear to “help get into character”. “It’s just part of the costume,” she reminds herself while making her way to a bar stool.

“Weston, are you alright so far? We’re about to send Styles in.” She hears Aaron, her boss, in her earpiece, static interfering with their signal. She discreetly adjusts the position of it in her ear before answering.

“Yep. Just peachy.” She sarcastically answered under her breath, silently wishing she were anywhere else. She feels exposed and the fake wedding band is uncomfortable and feels tight, like it's holding her finger in a vice. She moves further into the club, making sure the ring is visible to any patrons that may be watching her.

She didn’t want to be here, but realistically, she knew she was the only chance they had to catch the suspect they’d been hunting for just over a week now. They have concluded that the suspect is a recently divorced man who is using surrogates for his murders, dumping them on the streets of Seattle and somehow hasn’t been caught yet. All of the victims were last seen at this club. They haven’t had any reason to arrest him yet, because otherwise he’s a perfect law abiding citizen, and unless they have proof beyond a reasonable doubt, they can’t get a search warrant issued. The only thing they’re going on is that the women he’s kidnapped from this club look eerily similar to his ex wife, and he takes a souvenir from them every time. Their wedding rings.

Grace lifts her gaze from her glass to look around the room, and her eyes briefly catch as the man beside her looks her up and down before turning back to his drink. She feels her cheeks redden slightly, thankful that she was wearing a decent amount of makeup to hide the stain of embarrassment. She would never be seen in something like this, even with her sexual partners. And she never wanted to admit but her sex life was pretty vanilla compared to this. She was dreading that Harry, of all people, was going to be seeing her like this. She only saw one of her coworkers before she had to go inside, and if she had a choice she wouldn’t have seen any of them. There was a knock on her hotel door that interrupted her just as she was putting on her coat to cover up. When she answered the door she expected it to be one of the other women she worked with checking on her, so she didn’t button up. To her dismay it was Sean, their tech guy. She needed to be hooked to an earpiece so she had to suffer through the breath catching in his throat and his endless stutters as he helped her hook with the new technology she was unfamiliar with. And of course, because it was Sean, it was more awkward than it needed to be.

“I’m inside.” She hears Harry’s voice through the speaker hidden in her ear behind her hair as she swallows down the martini she ordered, thankful that they were making an exception to the no alcohol on the job rule. She had a feeling she’d need a little bit of a buzz to deal with Harry tonight, and there was no telling how much time would pass before they got what they needed. Her boss told her to only accept drinks that she had watched be made, as if she didn’t already possess the common knowledge and she wasn’t a federal agent. Her eyes flitted around the room and she caught sight of Harry as he passed the bar and made his way to a location that wasn’t in her line of sight from where she was sitting.

The plan that she and Harry would be the ones undercover wasn’t her own. Harry had suggested it, and because it was his idea, it was the best one and it needed to be executed. Grace would be playing the part of the married woman here to cheat on her husband while he was at home not suspecting a thing. Harry just had to be the one she seduced and left with. They had no way of knowing for sure if the suspect would be there tonight, they were just betting on his timeline being the same as it has been for the past three murders. If he was there, there was no way to know if he would actually set his sights on her. As fucked up as it sounds, Grace hoped he would so she didn’t have to do this again, and she really wanted to be the one to cuff this scumbag. She glanced around the bar, hoping to see his face in the sea of sleazy men. She studies every single patron sitting within her line of sight, and finally, her eyes land on him. Jesse Baker. His dirty blonde hair was greasy on top of his head, and he was sipping on a glass of beer. She stares at him for a moment, willing him to look her way as if he could read her thoughts. After a beat, his eyes meet hers and she feels a shiver up her spine. She doesn’t react, she just makes sure her left hand is in view so he sees the gold ring adorning her finger. She knows he’s seen it when he scowls at her, and if looks could kill she’d already be dead.

“He’s spotted me.” Grace says quietly under her breath, looking away so he doesn’t see her mouth moving. “I’m on the move.”

“Did he see the wedding ring?” Aaron asks. Grace stands taking her glass with her and walking away from the bar.

“Yeah. He saw. Where are you, Styles?”

“Back corner.” His voice is low in her ear and she shivers again, this time for a different reason. There's always been some kind of tension between them, and Grace is no stranger to the way he looks at her when he thinks she doesn’t notice. But he’s never approached her that way, and all they do is bicker back and forth about the correct plan of action on every single case they work together. To him she’s always wrong and he’s always right, and when she is right he doesn’t even acknowledge it, just grumbles something about a ‘lucky guess’ and walks away. She saunters around the bar walking right past their suspect, spotting Harry in the far back of the club. A woman seems to be eyeing him from her table so Grace quickly makes her way to him before he’s stuck in a situation that would be counterintuitive to the reason they were here in the first place.

His eyes meet hers before trailing down to the black lace that covers her from her chest to the tops of her thighs, leaving little to imagination. And he has imagined it. Every time she juts her lip out in concentration, or everytime she gives him her endless attitude he so desperately wanted to put in its place. He shifts in his seat, biting the inside of his cheek before leaning forward and setting his glass down on the small table in front of him. She smiles nervously at him as she moves closer and when she’s within arms reach, he grabs her wrist and pulls her onto his lap.

“H-hey.” Grace stutters and catches herself on the back of the booth, caging his head between her arms. She tilts her head slightly and she wraps one arm around the back of his shoulders after she steadies herself. He lightly drags the tip of his nose up her neck before bumping it against her ear and she swallows a breath that she didn’t realize she was holding.

“Just playing the part, don’t want him to get suspicious.” He mutters and she nods, making herself comfortable, and while he was the one to pull her into his lap, he doesn’t touch her any further than that. Movement catches the corner of her eye and she notices Jesse moving closer to them. She watches him from her peripheral as he takes a seat at the booth behind them, facing them with his legs spread out and resting his drink on his knee while he holds the glass by the rim. She buries her nose in Harry’s hair, breathing in the delicious scent of whatever product he had in it and placing a kiss against his temple, her lips barely brushing over his skin.

“He’s behind us.” She mumbles, moving to straddle over his hips without thinking, just wanting to be able to keep her eye on Jesse. She hears him clear his throat, keeping his hands beside him on the seat and she’s sure they’re about to give away their guise because Harry is way too tense for someone who would’ve been expecting this. She brings her lips to his neck, taking his skin between her teeth before kissing over the spot. She hears him curse under his breath, clenching his hands into fists on the booth. “Do something with your hands, you need to make yourself a little more convincing.” She breathes against his ear and he nods once before placing his hands on her hips and squeezing lightly. Just as she was about to say something else, they’re interrupted by a woman dressed all too similarly to Grace. She’s tall, at least 6’ in her heels and she has long fiery-red hair cascading down her back, her neck adorned with a black leather collar.

“Look at you two getting all cozy.” Her eyes flick between Grace and Harry before narrowing. “There’s private rooms down that hallway over there,” she gestures with her hand, Harry’s gaze follows and he nods at her, flashing a wide smile her way.

“Thank you.” He croons and snakes his hand down from Grace’s hip to the swell of her ass, palming and gripping onto her as the woman’s eyes follow his touch.

“I’m not sure if we’ll need one tonight, I’m trying to teach her how to control and behave herself, she’s a bratty little bunny, aren’t you?” He turns his head and mutters the last few words against the skin between her breasts, his hot breath billowing outwards as he licks a stripe upwards to her collarbone. She whimpers and grinds against him purely out of habit from the pleasure building, and when she does she’s surprised to feel him hard under her. She nods shyly and his finger hooks under her collar, pulling lightly and tilting his head.

“Words, baby. Be polite.” He purrs at her, and it takes all of her mental strength to not widen her eyes at him.

“Y-yes sir.” Is all she can answer, her cheeks reddening slightly and she buries her face in his neck. He brings a hand up, trailing it down her spine with featherlight fingertips. He pushes her to stand, spinning her around before pulling her back down onto his lap, except she’s facing away from him now and he brings his hands over the expanse of her thighs before squeezing there, dimpling the skin. The nameless woman still standing and watching the interaction, clicks her tongue once and her eyes look back to where Jesse still sits. Grace watches her, noticing the way her eyes are narrowing at him and the way she shakes her head, like they’re communicating with each other telepathically. She turns her head back to Harry and Grace, plastering a fake smile on her face.

“Well. If you need anything, just let me know.” She eyes Grace up and down before turning and walking away. Grace waits until she’s out of hearing range before craning her neck to look at Harry over her shoulder. His eyes meet hers briefly before he looks away.

“Little warning would have been nice.” She grumbles as he scoffs.

“Yeah, how exactly did you expect me to do that?” He whispers with annoyance lacing his tone, bringing his mouth to her shoulder blade and kissing lightly. A burst of pleasure runs down her spine and she grinds against him, causing a hiss to fall from between his gritted teeth and he grips her hips tightly, moving her so the pressure isn’t against his cock straining in his pants. She chooses to ignore it for the time being.

“Did you notice her looking at him?” She mutters and he nods, keeping his hands tight on her hips. She doesn’t know how much longer she can do this, and she hates to admit that Harry looks extremely delectable tonight, his hair styled to perfection on top of his head, dressed in black dress pants with a white button up loosely fitting his torso…unbuttoned enough to give her just a hint of the butterfly tattooed on his abs. She catches herself thinking about how it would feel to trail her tongue over it before she forces the image away from her mind and focuses on the task at hand.

-

About a half an hour passes of them bantering back and forth, Jesse watching them the entire time while they exchange just enough physical contact to make it believable. Grace has been drinking and it’s coming to a head, feeling tipsy now and a little more brave. She tangles her hands in Harry’s hair, the fake ring is visible to their suspect as she does so, watching as he narrows his eyes at her and Harry. She feels her arousal pooling on the material of the lingerie as she pushes her center against him and he leans his head back and lets out a soft groan. She watches his eyes flutter closed as he moves her hips over his erection. When he opens them back up to see her smirking down at him, she notices something primal in his expression. He stands abruptly, pushing her off of him in the process and grabbing her hand, leading her down the hallway of private rooms.

“Harry, what are you doing?” She whisper-yells at him, her words running together from slight intoxication but he doesn’t answer. He finds a door cracked open, poking his head inside and making sure it's unoccupied. He pulls her inside, closing the door and locking it behind them before he spins her around and pushes her against it. Grace jumps when a voice speaks in her ear.

“What's going on?” Aaron asks both of them and Harry curses under his breath and drops his head to her shoulder, both of them forgetting about the earpieces up until that moment.

“Give us a minute, new information. Need to come up with a plan.” He lies as he stares directly into Grace’s eyes with dark, blown out pupils, licking his lower lip before pulling it between his teeth

“Styles, we need to know your location in the club at all times.” Aaron scolds him and he shakes his head.

“Do you trust us?” He asks and Aaron responds with a hesitant yes. “Okay. Then give us a minute.” He says before ripping out his earpiece. He does the same with Grace’s, and then his lips crash to hers. She moans into the kiss, opening her mouth and giving him access to her. His tongue darts in and he’s running his hands up to the hair at the nape of her neck, pulling hard enough for her to yelp and he attaches his lips to her pulse point.

“You play dirty.” He mutters against her skin before pulling back and she gives him a devilish grin.

“Didn’t know I needed to play fair.” She remarks, feigning innocence and he pulls her hair again as she hisses through her teeth.

“Think I don’t know what you’re doing?” He seethes and she smiles again. “Think you can just prance over to me in this slutty little outfit and not expect me to want to shove my cock inside you?” He asks, tilting his head slightly and her eyes flutter closed at his words, a switch inside him flipping almost instantaneously. He thinks he has her right where he wants her, but she’s not going to give him what he wants that easily.

While still fisting her hair, he pulls her away from the door and shoves her down onto the sofa in the middle of the room. He flips her over, wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her ass up in the air. She squirms underneath him, and he runs his hand softly up the back of her exposed thigh. She shivers, goosebumps forming at his gentle touch. He gives no warning before he pushes the material keeping her wet center covered to the side. He drags a finger through her arousal before shoving it into her and she cries out. He hums with satisfaction, feeling the way she clenches on his fingers at the intrusion.

“You’re dripping. All for me, sweet girl?” He coos at her but she doesn’t answer, instead her jaw falling slack as he pumps his finger in and out of her. His eyes flare with lust, but he stops all together causing her to whimper. “Need you to use your words or I’ll stop.” He demands, the change in his tone giving her whiplash.

“Y-you wish.” She stutters, trying to sound confident, and he knows she’s trying to put up a front, and he doesn’t like her answer. He smacks her ass, hard. He clicks his tongue, gently rubbing the area quickly turning red with his handprint.

“Want to rethink that?” His voice is low. She tries to push her hips back against him, searching for any friction but he doesn’t let her.

“Look at you, such a needy little bunny. You knew what you were doing getting me all riled up.” He croons, bending over her body and nipping at her ear. The pet name he used earlier brings a heat swirling into her belly, a feeling that she craved.

“Wasn’t doing anything. Just playing the part like you told me to.” She lies through her teeth in a breathy tone.

“Hmm. S’that why you’re all wet, then?” He pushes two fingers into her and her eyes flutter closed as she bites her bottom lip. He pumps and curls, stretching her so deliciously it makes her toes curl. He goes deeper, all the way too the knuckle and she feels the tightening of the coil inside her belly. She’s close, so close. He pulls his fingers away from her and her chest heaves at the empty feeling, tearing her away from the edge just as she was about to tumble over. He sits on the couch beside her, pulling her onto his lap and she straddles his hips. He pulls the top of her outfit down, exposing her breasts to him. In the same second, he attaches his mouth to one of her nipples while pinching the other between his thumb and finger. She throws her head back and grinds her hips down over his cock still confined behind the zipper.

“I hate you.” She moans as he lightly bites and sucks on her nipple. She’s breathless as she says it, and he bucks his hips to meet hers.

“You have a funny way of showing it.” He mumbles against her skin, reaching a hand between their bodies and rubbing over her clit. She falls forward, her head falling against his shoulder as he rubs circles at a slow, torturous pace.

“You think you’re so great? You think every woman who looks your way wants you? Like you’re God’s gift to them?” She huffs, not realizing the irony of her words and the position she’s in due to the insatiable want clouding her mind.

“And yet here you are.” He mutters, the corner of his mouth pulling into a half smile and she rolls her eyes. He grabs her face, forcing her to look at him. His pupils are blown out and he tilts his head, studying her like he’s a predator hunting his prey, knowing she’s about to say something smart again and nipping it in the bud before it has the chance to escape her lips.

“Attitude.” He says pointedly, squeezing her cheeks and she can’t help the whine that builds in her throat and betrays her. “Be a good little bunny or I won’t let you cum.” He threatens and she swallows her words down without so much as a sigh.

Her hands fall from his chest and to his pants, fumbling with the button and unzipping them. He lifts his hips and pulls them down just enough and his cock springs free from where it was confined behind his zipper. Her eyes widen and her mouth waters, wanting nothing more than to drop to her knees and take him down her throat at the sight of him. He watches her for a beat before pulling her face back to him and kissing her, shoving his tongue into her mouth aggressively.

In an instant, he’s gripping the backs of her thighs and lifting her as he stands from the sofa without detaching his mouth from hers. Her hands grip his hair, pulling at the root and he groans into the kiss, her back meeting the cool surface of the wall across the room. She feels the head of his cock at her entrance, and she wiggles her hips against him in an attempt to push him into her, begging for more contact. He holds her steady, and she’s unsuccessful in her efforts as she whimpers into his mouth. He pulls away far enough to meet her eyes, her chest heaving and her eyes pleading for him.

“Beg me for it.” He demands, breathless. The look in her eyes shifts, and she narrows them at him.

“Fuck you.” She seethes, her usual personality fighting to stay dominant over the one she wants to slip into. He holds her up with one hand, bringing the other up to grab the collar still strapped around her throat. He pulls, bringing her forehead to his, the tips of their noses touching and she feels her air supply dwindling.

“Beg. Or I’ll leave you in here, your pretty little pussy all weepy and empty.” He grits through his teeth and she can’t deny she wants him like this always. He lets go and she sucks in a breath that she desperately needed. She’s stunned for a moment, this side of him still new to her. She’s itching to provoke him further, just to see how far he’ll go. But she also just really wants him to fuck her,

“Please.” She whispers and he laughs, shaking his head slightly

“You can do better than that, bunny.” His voice is low and gravely, and she can tell he’s holding himself back. She sighs, throwing her head back against the wall. He waits, and when she lifts her head to look at him again, she gives him a look that reads mischief.

“Please, oh please, give me your cock, sir, I need it, need it so bad. Plea—” Her fake, whiny voice is cut off by him slamming his cock into her and she feels the breath whoosh from her lungs. Tears prick the corner of her eyes at the sting of him stretching her, and it’s all she knows. All she feels. Her head falls forward against his shoulder and she cries out from pleasure sparking down her spine.

“God, you look so much better when you just shut up.” He grits with annoyance, breath heavy in his lungs as she squeezes him perfectly. He tosses his head back as he sets a slow, torturous pace. Her hands find his hair again, holding the back of his head and fisting his hair for something to grip as he pulls out to the tip before driving back into her. She’s a mess of moans and whines and she lifts her head from his shoulder and arches her back against the wall. His mouth finds her throat, lapping and sucking on her skin. She knows she won’t last, and he can sense it too, the way she’s clenching him and bucking into him. He brings one hand up between her thighs, pressing lightly on her clit with his thumb, rubbing small circles with light pressure and his name falls from her lips in breathy moans.

“That’s it…cum for me. Know you want to.” He encourages her, and the sparks dancing down her spine travel right to her center and turn to flames of pleasure…desire. He presses her clit once, and that’s it, all she needs. She comes completely undone, tipping over the edge and dropping her head to his shoulder once more, her pussy squeezing him and willing him to come inside her. He groans, a single bead of sweat dripping down his temple as he slams into her.

“Feel so fucking good cumming all over my cock, bunny. So good. Like you were made for me.” He’s breathless, his hips meeting hers one final time before he’s spilling into her, bringing his lips to hers in a sloppy kiss as he rides through it, moaning into her mouth, filling her until he slides out and he drips down her thighs.

Gently, he lowers her until her feet meet the floor. She stumbles, humming as he brings his hands to her face and wipes the mascara running down her cheeks with the back of his fingers. His eyebrows pull together as her eyes meet his. He makes sure she’s steady, pulling her lingerie back into place and tucking himself back into his pants and zipping them before walking away and finding their earpieces that he threw across the room.

“Now, you’re gonna leave this room with my cum dripping from that pretty little pussy. Let it run down your thighs. Gonna be a good little bunny and let them all see who you belong to, right?” Her head is fuzzy, and she nods without thinking. She can’t think straight, forgetting for a moment why they were even here in the first place. He checks his watch, and all of twenty minutes have passed feeling like hours. He situates the technology in her ear, then moves to his, clearing his throat before he speaks.

“Aaron. We have reason to believe he’s working with a partner. There’s a woman in here that he’s been communicating with, and I think she plays a part in luring the women to him.” He speaks clearly, as if he didn’t just have his cock buried inside Grace, wishing he had a little more time, and he realized he was going to be insatiable for her, already thinking about when he could have her next.

“We didn’t profile a partner?” Aaron sounds confused, and Harry’s eyes travel to Grace still leaning against the wall, trying to catch her breath without making it obvious to anyone listening.

“Grace and I went to a private room, Baker is going to assume he knows what we did in this room. He’s going to make a move, or his partner will. Need another body inside. Need more eyes on him.” Harry says, calm and collected. “It’s going to have to be a man, because I’m sure there’s no other women on our team dressed like Grace.” He mutters.

“Weston, are you there?” Aaron asks and his voice speaking directly to her snaps her back to reality quickly.

“Uh, yeah. Here. I’m here.” She makes her presence known.

“Alright. I’m coming in.” He says, and they both look at each other once before nodding. Grace feels the ache in her thighs as she walks towards the door, Harry behind her. He leans into her just as her hand reaches for the handle.

“Still hate me?” He whispers in her ear

“Always.” She mutters.

“Good. It’d be boring if you didn’t.” He smirks, his hand on her back as they exit the room. She knew she was ruined, already wanting more of him, more time with him.

But it’ll have to wait.

[darling-zain]

✮ ↳ All Eyes On Me ↰

♡ yandere! actor x gn reader pt 2♡

tw/cw: obsessive love, murder, mentions of blood, slight emotional manipulation

authors notes: this took me forever i'm sorryyyy editing is a bitch :( but I'm really proud of this one!! hope you'll like it too <3

"Why weren't you watching?" His voice is cold and filled with contempt as he glares at you, his nails digging into the skin of his palm.

"I-I was! Why wouldn't I watch, I've been backstage this whole ti-" Your voice is soft, trying to quell the fury in his gaze.

"Liar!" He steps closer to you, causing you to back away. He takes a deep breath before speaking again. "You weren't watching. When I was offstage, I looked for you behind the curtains. But you were never there." He's now right in front of you, grabbing the door handle and slamming it shut. "All those training sessions, all those late nights memorizing my lines till it felt like my head was going to burst, all the blood, sweat and tears- It was all for you!" His breathing is heavy and his voice is a low growl, his light tan skin flushed with anger.

"Aurelius, I...I had no idea..." Your voice trails off, eyes gazing into his with regret. "But, I did watch! It's just that near the end I got a phone call, so I had to leave the theatre to pick it up and I got distracted!"

"I don't need your excuses." He spat, glaring down at you. "I understand. I get that I'm just another actor you have to work with; you're just here for the paycheck. And that's fine!" He backs up, a deranged smile on his face. "But could you at least pretend that you care? Just a bit?"

"I do care! why wouldn't I care, I've been working with you on this for months! Please, no need to get so upset." Your words cut through him like a knife, and his eyes widen with disbelief.

"'No need to get so upset'?! How can you even say that right now?! I've put so many hours into this, spent so much time on this all for your approval, and when the day finally comes you don't even stay to watch?! I'm not just upset, I'm-" he takes a deep breath, shaking slightly. "Heartbroken."

"Aurelius, please, listen to me. The reason why I couldn't stay is because I got a call from my best friend, and they sounded really upset, so I needed to go help them... I'm sorry."

He turns towards you, a look of cold, pure, disbelief on his face. His eyes widen as he mutters something under his breath. The room is so quiet that even though he whispered, you could hear every word clearly.

"You missed my show...for someone else?" He takes a step back. "You missed my show...because someone told you to?" The silence is thick between the two of you, the same deranged smile appearing on his face. He chuckles, his laughter becoming louder and more insane. "Are you serious?! After all that time we spent working, you left me for your friend?!" Tears roll down his face, smearing his makeup. He stumbles back into the sound table and clutches onto it while trying to regain his composure.

"Auri, you have to understand! It was an emergency, I had no other choice!" The desperation in your voice is evident, you need him to realize the severity of the situation. You walk up to him and hesitantly place a hand on his shoulder. Your breath hitches in your throat when he smacks your hand away, looking up at you through the gaps in his fingers over his eyes.

"Don't," His voice is shaky, yet still cold and unforgiving. "Don't touch me. You don't deserve to after what you've done. I know how much I mean to you now, I don't need your lame explanations." He straightens up before walking out the door, standing in the frame for a second. "Bandaids don't fix bullet holes." He departs with a swish of his hair, leaving you standing alone in the now deathly quiet sound booth.

He grabs his stuff, slipping a small object into his bag as he hurriedly exits the theatre, wiping off his smudged makeup. He doesn't even take the time to change out of his costume, his brain is too panicked to even think about anything except what you said.

"Excuse me, you work with y/n right?" A person with a panicked expression walks up to him, biting their nails worriedly. His angry expression immediately changes to one of calmness.

"Yes, I do. why do you ask?" He puts on his signature winning smile as he bends down to their height.

"Well, I was with them earlier when they said they had to leave, and they didn't even tell me where before they just left! I know they work here, so I was wondering if you've seen them?" Your friend seems really troubled at your sudden disappearance, but Aurelius had other things on his mind.

"Actually, I think I have an idea of where they might be. Follow me!" His charming disposition and comfortable aura would make anyone follow him without question, including your friend. They started to walk together, the silence between them tense because of the worry that accompanied it. He lead them up and down roads, into busy lanes and quiet walkways. Eventually, they landed in front of a large forest.

"Wait... this is their favourite forest! You're a genius, I don't know why I didn't think to come here sooner!" Aurelius looked at your friend with exquisitely veiled contempt, their eyes shining with hope disgusting him.

"Oh, really?" He feigns surprise, not wanting to give away his true intentions just yet. "I didn't know! I just remember seeing them come here one time after work, I didn't know it was their favourite." He was lying. He knew everything about you. Your coffee order, the route you took home after work every day, the position in which you slept, everything. "Shall we head in?" He asked politely, extending a hand toward them. They nodded, walking into the dimly lit forest.

"I don't think I got your name, sorry."

He scoffs inwardly, berating them in his mind. "How do you not know my name? Me, the Aurelius Yavuz? You should be able to tell from one glance alone!" He thought, but he responded kindly regardless. "It's Aurelius. Aurelius Yavuz. And you?"

"Carmen! It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Yavus!" The way your friend sounds so cheerful disgusts him.

"Likewise," he mumbles, his voice sounding slightly pompous from their ignorance of his status. He brings their attention elsewhere, just wanting to get this whole ordeal over and done with as soon as possible. "I think I heard a noise over that way, would you like to check it out?" He points towards a dark corner of the forest with a small clearing in the middle.

"That looks like their hiding spot...yes, I think they might be there! quick!" Carmen starts to run into the thicket of trees, leaving Aurelius behind. In the dim light of the evening sun peeking through the trees, his eyes glow with a menacing aura. A confident smirk makes its way onto his face as he follows behind them. He pulls a small knife out of his bag, the shining metal glinting in the light.

"Aurelius...they're...not here..." Carmen's disappointed voice emanates through the forest. He slowly walks toward them, the satisfied look on his face making him seem even more insane than before.

"Aww, now isn't that a shame~?" He steps even closer, now almost nose-to-nose with them. "Don't worry," He brings his arm behind their shoulder, placing his hand right behind their neck. "You won't have to even think about them anymore." In a flash, Carmen collapses to the ground, the once pristine silver knife now tainted with potent red sin.

He dusts off his hand, wiping the blood on the knife onto the backside of his costume. He scoffs as he looks down onto the now still body of your beloved friend, kicking their body into the bushes beside him. He walks away and out of the forest, taking the same path you always take to your residence. He stops in front of your house, knocking on the door. He takes a deep breath and forcefully makes his eyes look teary, needing every tactic he knows to make you believe him. You open the door, stepping back when you see him.

"Aurelius, why are you-"

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to lash out at you like that. I just...was so upset, I thought this show meant something to you! But, I understand that you have your priorities, so I'm not mad anymore. Forgive me?" He gazes into your eyes, false tears now pooling at the corners of his eyes.

"Oh, Auri..." You embrace him tightly, crying into his chest. "I'm so sorry! I should've stayed, I should've watched, I didn't mean to hurt you that bad, I'm sorry!" You can't see his face as you're sobbing into his shirt, not able to see the knowing smirk on his lips. He pats your head kindly, cooing at you to help you calm down.

"Hey, hey, don't cry... it's okay now. Everything's been taken care of, now it's just you," he kisses the top of your head, rubbing soothing circles into his back as a sharp glint flashes through his eyes.

"and me."

taglist!! @lasagna-goob @izizzl @skylark144 @cyphertryagain

[kaisacobra]

Let You Go - Tara Carpenter

Summary: It's been a while since Tara has seen you. She misses you, but maybe she's broken your relationship to a point beyond repair.

Warnings: Violence, blood, mentions of death, angst

Word Count: 7.9k

a/n: thank you so much for the ride guys! Here we have part 3 of second best, which (kind of) ends this trilogy. Of course, I'm still writing the alternate ending so stay tuned if you're interested!

third part of Second Best

It was two in the afternoon when Tara began rummaging through that box she kept at the back of her closet, sorting the contents into "burn" and "don't burn," all in line with what her therapist had advised. She needed to overcome the past, even if in small steps, and what better way to start than by burning traces of when everything started going wrong?

She looked into the box, examining the contents that would survive the purge. To no one's surprise, most of the photos contained you.

Tara reached for a specific photo among the others. A polaroid depicting a hug between the two of you, both with radiant smiles and faces so close that your cheeks touched. Mindy had taken this photo just before you both visited an amusement park that had been in town for a while. Tara's heart throbbed painfully. She missed you. A lot.

The girl sat on the bed with slumped shoulders, clutching the polaroid as if it were a precious possession. She couldn't take her eyes off the image of the two of you, with a happiness and innocence that would soon be ruined by her own actions. With a tired sigh, Tara closed her eyes, remembering her therapist's words.

The initial sessions were slow and unproductive, mainly because Tara kept her guard up and refused to talk much about her life to a stranger. Over time, the man became a pleasant presence, and Tara began to see him as some sort of a grandfather figure trying to advise his granddaughter. That's when she started sharing her problems and actively sought solutions.

"Do you think she'll forgive me?" she remembered asking, looking at her hands with shame. The bright white light in the room made the sweat on her palms stand out on her tan skin.

"Tara..." The man sighed, taking off his glasses as if he was preparing for a battle. "Don't you think you should worry about forgiving yourself first?"

The girl frowned and looked at him as if he were crazy. If anything, she was guilty of not only ruining her own life but also becoming a problem in everyone else's. She had no right to see herself as a victim. "What do you mean?"

"From what you've told me, I've realized you harbor a lot of resentment towards yourself on the inside." He pointed to Tara's chest, and she noticed no hint of judgment in his expression. Still, she felt strangely exposed. "Have you ever really reflected on this internal conflict you feel? About feeling guilty for things beyond your control?"

Tara scoffed and leaned back until her shoulders rested against the chair again, crossing her arms and staring at the walls like a stubborn child avoiding conflicts. "Beyond my control? I was awful to the best person in my life! I let a murderer into our life for-"

"See? You're doing it again." He smiled with a patience that bordered on irritating for the girl, crossing his hands on the glass table that separated them. "I'm not saying you're not at fault for being rude to your friend, but I'd like to focus on your past. That girl's attacks, parental abandonment... You're not to blame for that, Tara, but it doesn't stop you from carrying the pain anyways. Don't you think it affects you?"

She remained silent, but now her head was bowed in embarrassment. Her arms, once crossed, now enveloped her elbows in a half-hug, as if that would protect her from something. Without more exchanging words, the therapist followed the cue and continued speaking in a gentle tone, as if trying to educate a wounded animal.

"Tara, have you ever talked about your concerns with anyone, or have you just kept all these grievances inside until they exploded? Have you ever had any healthy coping mechanism?"

I don't deserve one. That's what she wanted to say, but didn't, because she knew it would make the situation even worse.

"Do you think I don't recognize the signs? Troubled young adult refuses help out of fear of abandonment and ends up driving everyone away, taking the opportunity to take out your emotional wounds on others? You won't be the first or the last person I've seen with this pattern." He spoke as if he could read her thoughts, leaving the girl a little scared.

Sitting up straighter in the chair, Tara turned her gaze back to the therapist, momentarily becoming interested in the conversation again. "Okay, what do I do to end this? What do I do to not be like this anymore?"

Broken, she wanted to say.

The man smiled gently and pulled open a drawer in the wooden cabinet to his left. Tara watched impatiently as he took out a black notebook and placed it on the table between them, looking between her and the object with a certain expectation. "I thought you could start documenting your feelings on paper, instead of keeping them locked within you. I think it can help you in the long run."

"Do you think writing in a journal will make me less of an ass and make y/n forgive me?" Tara replied with a sarcastic tone.

"I think it can influence a change in behavior, yes." The therapist reaffirmed, deliberately ignoring the girl's foul language. "And this exercise is not about y/n; it's about you. How do you expect her to forgive you if you can't do it for yourself?"

As stubborn as Tara was, the words had truly left an impression on her. That's why, on top of her messy desk, was the damn black notebook. The calluses on her hand throbbed with the memory of the force with which she wrote each new entry, trying to release her negative feelings onto paper.

She knew that your name was probably the most repeated word on all the pages, like a sacred mantra that she had to honor. Tara couldn't escape the fact that many of her emotions were so directly intertwined with the idea of you, and honestly, she accepted having to carry that burden as her own Sisyphean stone. She deserved it, after all.

Looking again at the polaroid, she sighed and slowly ran her thumb over the smiling image of your face, almost wishing she could offer you the same affection in person.

She was going to change. She had to change. For you.

_

"That was pretty good!"

The floodlights on the university’s sports field lit up as it began to get dark, allowing the young athletes to continue their training even at night. There weren't many people around, but you could see that the track team seemed to be gearing up to practice for the 100 meters a little to your left.

"Kate, I hit the white part." You grumbled in response to your friend's encouraging words. Kate Bishop had convinced you to attend one of her archery practices to "see her talents firsthand," and at some point, she thought just watching wouldn't be enough, and that you had to experience the sport for yourself.

That's why you were now on the archery training field with her, holding a semi-professional bow that was much heavier than you expected, proving over and over again that you were definitely not a natural at this.

It didn't seem to discourage Kate, however, as the girl still smiled with enthusiasm while looking at your target with a single arrow stuck in it. "At least you hit the target! You're improving; it could be worse."

"True! You could have hit someone's foot, like Miss Bishop did once." One of Kate's teammates, Yelena, commented with a laugh. The two, along with Maya Lopez, made up the Blackmore University women's archery team and were surprisingly good at it, having won all the recent competitions.

You laughed along with the other two while Kate gradually turned redder and assumed a betrayed expression. "Hey!" She protested.

It was amazing how people you had known for such a short time could make you feel so good. You couldn't even remember the last time you had laughed so freely since the incident with Tara happened, and that was already a significant victory for you. It's not like being with Mindy, Chad, Anika, and the others didn't make you happy, but it was hard to enjoy the moments with them when you remembered that, in any other situation, Tara would be there with you too.

Your phone vibrated in your pocket, and you leaned the tip of the bow on your foot, letting its weight rest on your shoulder so you could reach the device with your hands. Through the lockscreen, you could see a message notification from Mindy, as if she had read your thoughts.

Best Twin: Movie night at the Carpenters' house, are you coming?

Best Twin: Sam misses you

Best Twin: We all do

You sighed deeply and looked at the notification with a grimace, not sure exactly what to do. Of course, you would love to spend time with your friends, and you definitely felt guilty for avoiding Sam by extension, even though she understood the reason. But your palms started to sweat just at the thought of sharing a small space with Tara again.

Mindy had already told you that Tara had started therapy after the encounter you had in some of the university’s corridors some time ago, but she had also said that it was entirely valid if you still didn't feel ready to see Tara after everything.

It was a strange feeling, as if two forces were fighting for dominance within you when it came to Tara. On one hand, just thinking about her made your chest ache. A wave of anger, sadness, and pure humiliation invaded you, and your eyes threatened to well up. What she did to you, what she said to you, marked you like a painful burn that might never stop pulsating.

But on the other hand, you wondered if there were still traces of that other Tara who loved and treated you well. The Tara who made you soup when you were sick and promised never to leave you. Maybe it was your foolishness, but you didn't want to believe that that part of her had simply gone away forever.

"Are you okay?" A soft voice reached your ears and quickly snapped you out of your thoughts, causing you to loosen the tight grip with which you had involuntarily held the phone. Looking up, you came face to face with Kate's kind blue eyes, patiently waiting for your response.

Kate Bishop had been an angel in your life, fitting in perfectly at the moment you needed her most. You had met her in the waiting room of the counseling center after spending a week living like a zombie following everything that happened with Tara, and you could barely comprehend that you were sharing the same space with someone like her.

At first glance, Kate Bishop didn't seem like someone who needed to be in a counseling center. She carried herself with confidence, always with impeccable posture and a calm expression on a model-like face. Always dressed in neat clothes that you were sure were designer and carrying a sports bag indicating her athletic background.

But when she approached you and started a conversation, saying she needed to talk to someone or she'd explode with anxiety before her first appointment, you began to realize that Kate might not be what you expected. She was, in fact, much kinder and more attentive than you could have predicted.

You talked a lot that day, and the next day, and the day after, until there came a point where you got along well enough to consider her a friend. Kate listened to everything about your issues with Tara and provided advice and emotional support. In return, you listened to her vent about her problems with a father who died in childhood, a mother imprisoned for fraud, and an inherited company she didn't want to have to run at that age.

They were quite different dilemmas, just as you were quite different people, but still, you felt at ease in her presence, and it was good to have someone who truly noticed you for once in your life.

"Hm? Okay. It's fine, yes, I just..." You searched for words but gave up, opting to speak the truth about what was bothering you. "Mindy invited me to watch movies with the others, and it's at Tara's house, and I didn't want to have to refuse, but I don't know if I'm ready for-"

Kate widened her eyes and raised her hands as if asking for a pause, interrupting your rapid and anxious flow of words. "Woah, hold on, champ. You don't have to go if you don't feel okay. They'll understand."

"Yeah, I know, it's just that..." You sighed, looking down at your feet planted in the field's grass. "I miss them, but... I can't."

As much as it hurt and was embarrassing to admit, you knew it still wasn't the right time. Not when you sometimes still woke up crying in the middle of the night with nightmares involving her.

"Then how about this?" Kate began to suggest, getting closer to you and gently shaking your shoulders. Physical touches had always been her way of offering comfort. "There's a party at my place tonight with some of my childhood friends, and I'm officially inviting you. You can tell your friend that you'll be busy spending time with a very beautiful, charming, and talented company."

You smiled as you let yourself be shaken by the cheerful girl in front of you. "A very humble company, apparently." You teased, poking her ribs playfully. "I don't want to disturb you, but thanks for the invite."

"Disturb? I'd be the one disturbing your illustrious evening by forcing you to hang out with my friends! Believe me, it's torture listening to Peter for 2 hours when he gets excited about his nerd stuff." Kate tried again, and by the way she looked at you with the expression of a begging puppy, you knew there would be no escape. "Please? It'll be nice to have you there."

There were two available possibilities. In the first, you could go back to your dorm, watch a bad movie alone, and spend the rest of the night thinking about how your friends would be having fun, specifically wondering if she would be having fun. In the second, you could take another step in getting rid of your codependent friendship (if it still existed) and enjoy the night with new people and a person who was becoming more and more important to you every day.

If Tara didn't want to be stuck in the past, you also had the right to do that. You deserved it too.

So, you accepted and only remembered to inform Mindy when you were already in the passenger seat of Kate's black Audi RS7.

_

Tara was distraught. Actually, saying that she was distraught was an understatement.

Last night had already started off as garbage from the moment Mindy announced that you wouldn't be coming to see them at the apartment. Sure, she should have expected it, but that didn't mean she didn't have any hope. She couldn't stop thinking about what you might be doing, the reasons why you hadn't come, how everything would have been better if you had.

But mostly, she felt relieved that you hadn't been there, because that meant she hadn't put you in danger again with another ghostface attack. It was a selfish thought. Quinn, her roommate, had died in front of her, Anika had her belly almost cut from end to end and was now in surgery, and all Tara could think about was finding you to see with her own eyes that you were okay.

She urgently searched for your face in the midst of the crowd of students walking through the Blackmore University campus, seeking the slightest fragment of your presence anywhere. She cursed herself again for not being able to just call you like she would if she hadn't messed up and made you block her in practically every possible place.

Finding you and making sure you were okay, in addition to delivering the terrible news, was her obligation. Mindy and Sam were with Anika at the hospital, and Chad had gone to check Ethan's alibi in the damn economics class. She needed to find you.

Fortunately, her prayers seemed to be answered by whatever entity it was. She saw you in the distance, radiant as she hadn't seen you in a long time. Tara's heart skipped a beat, and she opened her own smile after yours. It was bittersweet, the feeling of seeing you so happy but knowing that this happiness would be ruined the moment you laid eyes on her.

In a moment of distraction, a new wave of people passed in front of her, blocking her view of you. Fucking height. She thought with some annoyance as she tried to make her way through the students, trying to get closer to where you were.

When Tara finally managed to locate you again, the scene was quite different from before. Instead of laughing, looking forward, you had your back turned, seemingly struggling while a girl wrapped her arms around your neck. Tara felt a wave of anger rise through her veins and marched in your direction, ready to free you from whoever that crazy bitch was.

The younger Carpenter approached you with a speed she couldn't quite explain, and her motivation only seemed to grow when she noticed that the mysterious girl looked a lot like that senior she had seen with you in the hallway some time ago. Choosing to embrace her negative feelings, she used her strength in a way that would make her sister proud and aggressively pushed the girl away. "What do you think you're doing?!"

"Tara?!" You exclaimed in shock, your voice carrying surprise, and your expression wavering between anger, astonishment, and anguish. "What do you think you're doing, are you crazy?!"

Tara saw you getting closer to the girl (Karen, Kendra, she couldn't remember.) and gently placing your hand on her shoulder, as if checking her condition. That small gesture made more anger bubble in her stomach. She wanted to scream, throw a fit, damn, she wanted to destroy something just to get rid of that rotten feeling corroding her from the inside.

But she looked into your eyes and could see a glimpse of the sadness she had caused in the past by this same line of thinking. She couldn't do this to you again, especially because that wasn't even why she had come looking for you. Tara swallowed hard and clenched her fists, deciding to save her frustration to take it out on calluses on her own fingers later.

"She was attacking you," Tara mumbled reluctantly, knowing that the explanation sounded stupid but that she also owed some reasoning for her actions.

You clearly didn't seem satisfied with her motivation, as you only stared at her with a frown and crossed arms. "Kate is a martial arts expert, Tara. She was just showing me how to escape from an arm lock."

Well, how was I supposed to know that? Tara thought, but she decided it was better not to worsen the situation. Before you could ask why she had been clearly looking at you for some time, she decided to explain.

"Look, I'm sorry. There was a ghostface attack in the apartment yesterday, and I just needed to know if you were safe."

"What?! An attack?! How- Are you guys okay?!" You asked exasperated, and Tara saw it. She saw the exact moment when you had to restrain your arms by your sides before doing something you would regret.

Tara remembered that being the first thing you did when you could see her after the surgeries last year. You ran to her on the gurney and held her face with both hands, as if she were fragile. You ran your thumbs over her cheeks, right above the freckles, wanting to make sure nothing was injured. She remembered feeling well cared for and loved.

But that was before she messed everything up. Now, all that was left was that. You restraining yourself from offering your heart to Tara, and she wanting to die realizing the damage she had done between you two.

"Sort of. Anika is in critical condition in the hospital, and... Quinn died." Tara delivered the news with a solemn voice, trying to control her own tears as she remembered what happened. She saw when Kate raised her arm to offer a comforting stroke on your back, and, for the first time, all Tara felt was emptiness knowing she couldn't comfort you in that way.

You let out a few sobs before trying to compose yourself. It was clear that you had been affected by the events, and Tara knew you well enough to know that you would want to go after the others to comfort them. "Which hospital is Anika in? And where are Sam, Mindy, and Chad, I... I need to talk to them."

Tara felt a bit of pride in realizing that she still knew your way of dealing with things, even though she was worried that your priority was always to take care of others' pains. Of course, much of that was her fault, and a knot closed in her throat every time she remembered that fact. "Sam and Mindy are at the hospital waiting for Anika to be discharged. Chad went with Ethan to handle something about an alibi."

"I can take you if you want," Kate offered you  in a chivalry that almost made Tara vomit. "It will be faster if we go by car."

"Or maybe it would be faster for her to take the subway with someone who knows the address, like me." Tara retorted sarcastically, crossing her arms to try to cause, at least, the minimal intimidation to her rival. It didn't seem to be working, which made her even more irritated. "Speaking of addresses, where were you last night, Kate?"

Feeling that the conversation would only escalate, you quickly shook your head. "Stop it, Tara. There's no way Kate could be the ghostface."

"And why not?" The girl asked defensively, with an offended tone almost similar to one she would have if you had accused her. It was frustrating for Tara that you seemed willing to vouch for a person you had barely known. "She suddenly appeared in your life, got so close to you in such a short time, don't you find that a bit suspicious?"

"This might sound a bit surprising to you, Tara, but some people actually like having me around." You retorted with irritation, throwing daggers at the girl with a look so intense that she almost stumbled backward. "Kate can't be ghostface because I spent the whole night with her, okay?"

Suddenly, Tara felt dizzy, with a buzzing in her ears. Apparently, you hadn't had the best problem in overcoming your feelings for her. She felt weird inside, as if something were stuck in her throat. "Oh, I didn't know you guys..."

"No! Not like that, I just..." You widened your eyes and hurried to correct the double meaning of the sentence, waving your hands frantically in a way that made Kate open a smile in amusement beside you. "...I slept at her apartment, but not with her. Not that I owe you an explanation anyway."

Your phone vibrated with a notification, and all three pairs of eyes turned to the device. You quickly checked the message and let out a sigh of relief. "It's Sam. She sent me the address of the hospital; I'm going there now. Without any of you, please."

"Okay. Just be careful, alright? And call me if you need anything." Tara watched reluctantly as Kate pulled you closer by the shoulders and planted a small kiss on your forehead. She swallowed the envy and looked away, trying to think of the last time she had offered you any kind of affection.

You said goodbye to Kate with a warm smile and a hug. For Tara, your lips pressed into a line, and you nodded briefly, almost as if you were greeting a stranger.

She wondered if that's what you two were now.

The Carpenter girl prepared to leave, maybe to find Chad and help him or just take a walk to ease the tornado swirling in her chest. However, she was interrupted by a hand on her arm. Kate Bishop tried to get her attention, wearing a conflicted expression on her face.

"What is it?" Tara grumbled, shaking her arm to free herself from the other girl's touch. She was used to being shorter than most people, but with Kate, it became even more annoying, especially when she had to look down at her.

"Look, I know you don't like me, and, to be honest, I don't like you one bit, but I need you to do something for me," Kate said seriously, putting a hand in her pocket and retrieving an object that Tara could only identify as a car key.

The shorter one scoffed. "Listen, I know Y/N and I are on bad terms, but I don't need you to ask me to take care of her. I'm going to do that anyway because I care about her, believe it or not."

Kate rolled her eyes impatiently. "I know. I can see that in you the same way you can see it in me."

It was true, as much as it bothered Tara to admit. She wasn't blind, and she had enough experience in reading people to know that the way Kate looked at you was sincere, and the girl genuinely cared about you. Putting aside her own jealousy and envy, Tara was relieved to know that there was someone good enough to show these feelings for you. You deserved it, after all.

The girl continued, "This device here is a prototype from my mom’s—my company. It's for security." She raised the object and placed it in Tara's hand, who could now see the details of what she had previously thought was a car key. It was a black oval keychain with a single button in the middle, also black. "I pulled some strings and turned it into an emergency button. As soon as you press it, a signal will be sent to police cars and ambulances, and it will be their priority to get to you. That's one of the advantages of being rich and having contacts, I guess."

Tara turned the button in her hands, feeling the object weigh more now that she knew its function. "And why are you giving this to me and not Y/N?"

"Because I know she would use it on anyone but herself." Kate sighed in frustration. Tara knew it was implied in the sentence that you would use the button for her. "I'm giving it to you because... despite the fighting and you being a jerk..."

"Wow. Thanks for the honesty."

"... I can still see that you care." The taller one finished her sentence without caring about the interruption. She looked between Tara and the button with a bit of uncertainty. "When you press it, a signal will also be sent to my phone, and I'll come running wherever it is."

There were more implicit intentions in that sentence that Tara could pick up. I'll come running to help Y/N. I'll take her away from you. I can protect her better than you can.

Tara just offered a short nod and turned to leave, with the emergency button weighing as much in her pocket as her heart weighed in her chest. Thousands of thoughts filled her head, and all of them were about you and your safety. It was Tara's duty to keep you safe, first because it was her fault that you were even in that situation, and second because she had already hurt you enough.

It was her mission to protect you. To prove to herself that she could still be good for you. To prove to you how much she still cared.

And if she couldn't, if she had to press that button... well...

Maybe it would be the sign she needed to understand that Kate Bishop deserved more of a place in your life than she did.

_

The lobby of the abandoned cinema ironically looked like something straight out of a horror movie that Tara would hate. Dust had piled up in heaps on all surfaces, and the orange lights were so dim that they threatened to go out at any moment.

The others were in the center of the other room, where Richie Kirsch, being the maniac he was, left his extensive collection of items from stab movies and real life ghostfaces. Tara, however, thought it would be a better idea to follow you wherever your feet and lost expression took you, just so she wouldn't have to leave you alone, of course.

You had your back turned to her while leaning on the filthy counter with your elbows. Tara couldn't tell what you were thinking, but obviously, you were not okay, just like everyone else in that situation.

From the corner of her eye, she saw a box of Milk Duds on the other side of the counter that seemed untouched, just a few inches to your left. She approached with light steps, not wanting to make any sudden movements as if that would scare you away, and reached out to bring the box closer. "You like these, right? You can have them if you want."

You didn't respond to the joke, and you didn't even turn around to look at Tara. She felt your indifference like a stab to the chest, but she continued nonetheless. "Or not. This must be like a thousand years old anywa-"

"Tara, shut up." You finally responded sharply, making the younger girl look down in shame. She really needed to get used to your new treatment of her. You ran your hands over your face, covering it as if you were tired.

"Sorry." Tara whispered back weakly. She deserved it, but more than anything, she wanted to be able to offer you some kind of support in that difficult moment, just as you had given her all the support she needed in the past.

You scoffed, in a gesture so hostile that the younger Carpenter almost couldn't believe it came from you. You were still facing away from her, but now slowly taking steps away with tense shoulders. "Did you learn a new word? Didn't know it was in your vocabulary."

Tara felt the anger in your voice, and it made her hands begin to tremble with anxiety. You were right, and it was long overdue for you to know that. "I’m sorry, Y/N. I know it's too late for this, but I'm sorry for everything I did."

"Do you even care? Seriously, Tara, do you really feel sorry, or do you just miss having some idiot around who would do anything for you?" You retorted, your voice rising even as your vocal cords trembled. A dam had just burst open between you two, and now it was time to deal with the flood.

"Of course, I care, I love you!"

"SHUT UP!" You shouted in response. Tara recoiled from you with a start, startled as she had never seen you raise your voice at anyone. You were still facing away, but Tara could see that, even though you had wrapped yourself in a hug to control your reactions, it wasn't working. Your entire body was tense, as if your brain was struggling to choose between fight or flight, and the result was the tremors that seemed to spread through your system. "You have no right to do this to me! To play with me like this!"

"I'm not lying!" The shorter one retorted, and in an impulsive move, she grabbed you by the shoulder and forced you to turn until your gazes met. Tears were already streaming down your eyes like waterfalls, and your entire face seemed contorted in excruciating pain. Tara wished she could absorb all your hurt for herself. "I know I messed up, but I really love you!"

"You're toxic, Tara! That's what you are!" You shouted back with strength, holding the girl's gaze as if it were a challenge you needed to win. "You hurt me! And I was getting better, damn it, I was getting better away from you!"

"I know you were! I know! That's why I'm apologizing, okay? Because you're the best person I've ever met, and I ruined you like I ruin everyone! Because the best moments I've ever had were with you, and I feel like tearing my eyes out when I remember that I hurt you by being this way!"

"Tara..."

"No! Please let me finish." She rejected your interruption, taking the opportunity to relieve all the pain and guilt she felt inside her. "I'm getting treatment, okay? And I know you're not obligated to forgive me for anything, but I want you to know that I'm trying to be better for you! I'm trying to fix my shit to be someone you and Sam and the others can be proud of!"

"Tara..."

"And I know I hurt you a lot, but please don't doubt the love I feel for you because it's the only good thing left in me. I won't blame you if you never want to see me again, but..."

"TARA, GET DOWN!" You shouted, and before Tara could react, you were already pushing her toward the dusty wooden floor.

Everything was happening too fast for the Carpenter's mind to process. She hit the ground with a grunt of pain and a potential bruise on her arm, but she could see the exact moment when an arm covered in a black cloak descended toward your leg, making a deep cut in your thigh.

You screamed in pain, and Tara screamed next, watching your blood soak through the fabric of your pants and start dripping onto the floor. In a surge of adrenaline, the small girl ran to your side and almost reached for your arm when she was suddenly engulfed in a tight grip, with her two arms pinned to her back and a hand holding a knife to her neck.

She struggled against the masked person holding her, futilely trying to break free to get to you. Tears streamed so quickly down her face that she could taste the saltiness invading her senses. "Let me go! Y/N, run! Please, run!"

A sinister laugh reached her ears like the hiss of a snake. "Oh, Tara. Did you think it would be that easy?"

She recognized that distorted voice with effects all too well. She still heard it in her nightmares, calling her name in the dark. Ghostface was back. "I'm going to kill you, you motherfucker!"

"Oh, but I don't think so." The voice spoke in an amused tone as another killer, wearing the same mask and black cloak, approached your figure on the ground. Tara wailed like a banshee when the other pulled your hair forcefully, forcing you to stand up as he placed a knife on your neck.

She struggled a little more. "Leave her alone!"

"And where's the fun in that?" The ghostface holding her responded, almost as if they were laughing. "Come on, Tara. Weren't you the one who liked to release your anger by hurting Y/N? Why should only you have that privilege? Let's see, where was it that you got stabbed again?"

At the same time, as if reacting to a code, the ghostface holding you advanced in quick and precise movements, gripping you by the waist with one arm while thrusting the knife into you with the other, just above your kidney.

You let out another gasping scream as the blade pierced your skin, and Tara felt your body sagging as if you were about to collapse. She herself wanted to fall to her knees and plead for you to be released, but she couldn't. Whoever was holding her had great strength.

"Don’t you want her to feel the same pain you felt, huh, Tara? Don't want her to suffer what you suffered?" The voice continued to growl in her ear, sounding increasingly excited by the escalating violence. The knife on Tara's neck kept her head in place, so she couldn't look at anything other than your agony.

"No, I don't. Please, PLEASE." Tara pleaded with a tearful voice as another stab was delivered to you, this time in the center of your abdomen. Your shirt gradually turned into a pool of blood, and Tara feared you would faint at any moment.

"Tara..." You could barely pronounce her name, your voice choked and your own blood streaming down your lips. Tara's gaze met yours, and she shivered when you shook your head. She knew what that meant.

You looked feverish. Sweat and blood mingled on your skin, creating the most disturbing of the paintings. Your eyes were vacant, and Tara was so afraid they would close at any moment, never to open again.

And yet, with that nod of your head, Tara understood that your top priority at the moment was to make her understand that it wasn't her fault.

The girl's knees threatened to give up as the knife entered you one, two, three times. She shook her head but couldn't close her eyes because she needed to see you, needed to see that your eyes were still open, that you were still alive.

You couldn't die. You promised not to leave, even if everyone else did. You couldn't die. You couldn't die. You. Couldn't. Die.

"I love you. I'm sorry for loving you, I'm sorry," Tara whispered because she had no strength to speak louder. She felt on the verge of giving up and letting those maniacs do whatever they wanted with her. Nothing mattered anymore if you weren't here, and it was all her fault.

The ghostface holding her laughed with a deep voice. "You know, I could turn this into a Romeo and Juliet scene, but I think it would be more fun to kill you while Sam is watching."

With that, Tara felt her body being thrown backward, and she hit the dirty wooden floor again, this time landing with her head in a wound that would undoubtedly become a concussion.

She got up in a frenzied pace, in an adrenaline rush, thinking she could try to save you now that she was free. But, looking ahead, she realized she was outside the lobby’s door, and the maniac murderer already held the handles. Despite Tara's attempt to advance, the ghostface had already sarcastically waved and locked the doors, creating a deadly separation between you and herself.

Tara pounded on the hard wooden door, ignoring the pain in her knuckles. She hit and hit and hit, feeling cuts open on her skin and burn from the repetitive contact. She was crying, screaming, punching, cursing, doing things she couldn't even rationalize because it didn't matter anymore.

Nothing mattered anymore. Not without you.

She collapsed on the floor, tired, injured, and desperate for you. Her sobs echoed in the seemingly empty hallway, and she was too afraid to put her ear to the door and hear screams of pain like your last breath. Tara felt lost until she remembered that she was no longer trapped.

Rushing to reach the device in her pocket, she sighed in relief to find it unbroken. She pressed the button multiple times without a second thought. If she had a chance to maybe save your life, she would grab it without a doubt.

Tara remembered what she had thought before, how pressing that button might symbolize that she shouldn't be in your life. She stood up and leaned against the wall, trying to rid herself of the wave of nausea, and left the button hidden near the door. If help came following the signal, the first place they would look would be where you were.

If help came and you made it out alive, that was a promise. Tara would finally leave you alone. That's what you deserved.

---

Tara was almost sure she had developed a hospital phobia since the events of last year.

There was no other explanation for why she felt uneasy in that environment, even after they had taken all precautions for her. She still hated the white walls and the smell of chemicals and couldn't wait to get out of there.

For now, she decided to ignore this feeling and continued following Sam through the corridors of fluorescent lighting. It was important for her to stay inside until they finally found the doctor who could tell them what they wanted to know.

She checked her hands again, finding the tanned skin covered in some bandages but free from the mixture of her blood and Ethan's after she... lost control.

After she was separated from you, everything happened so fast that Tara could almost think it was all a delusion. All the revelations, the attacks, her adding another victim to her count, the police arriving... All of that had taken a back seat because nothing was more important than you.

It was as if her life had turned into a black and white movie in the moments she was without you. Everything felt colorless, purposeless. Fortunately, she was pulled out of her own spiral of melancholy when she saw you being taken out of the old movie theater on a stretcher by paramedics. She tried to get closer, but it was needed to give you space so that nothing touched your wounds and caused an infection.

Tara tried to go in the ambulance with you, but she and Sam were pulled for another checkup, and you needed to be rushed to a surgery room urgently if you wanted to have the slightest chance of survival. So, Tara let you go, but there was not a moment when you weren't on her mind.

That's why now, she desperately searched for your surgeon with Sam. No one seemed to know about your condition, and she already felt like tearing her hair out from anxiety. Tara just needed to know if you were at least breathing.

"Dr. Isley?" Sam called the attention of a red-haired doctor who was passing by them in a hurry. Tara sighed in relief that her sister was paying attention to her surroundings because her mind was in a completely different place. "We were informed that you performed emergency surgery on a family member. Her name is Y/n Y/L, admitted with multiple stab wounds."

"Oh, yes. Miss Y/L." The doctor replied in a professional tone, but there was impatiency all over her body language. "It was a difficult surgery, and she lost a lot of blood, but fortunately, no vital organs were hit. I won't lie, the recovery will be painful, but at least she survived the operation without any apparent severe collateral effects."

This was the best news Tara had heard in days. She opened a smile and didn't even try to hide her own happiness as she prolonged the conversation. "Is she in any room? Can we see her?"

"Miss Y/L is in room 604, but I'm afraid only one person is allowed in at a time to avoid any disturbance."

"No problem, we can take turns." Sam pointed between her and her sister. Despite seeming much calmer than the younger one, Tara knew Sam was just as relieved as she was to know that you were still alive.

"No, you didn't understand. There's already someone in Miss Y/L's room." Dr. Isley warned and, seemingly losing the rest of her patience, she began to walk away. "Sorry, but I have other patients to attend to."

The two Carpenter sisters looked at each other alarmed. Who could be in your room? Chad was still in his own surgery, Anika had gone to stay with Mindy while she received some stitches, and frankly, your parents had never been present enough to travel between states so quickly for your sake.

They walked down the corridor, moving as fast as possible without disturbing the other people being treated or working in the area. Tara's heart threatened to jump out of her mouth as she looked from door to door, searching for the numbering of your room. 601. 602. 603.

Tara stopped so abruptly at the door that she and Sam bumped into each other, their sneakers making noise against the shiny white floor. The simple door had a small window through which it was possible to see the inside of the room without necessarily entering. Tara looked inside, ready to break the handle and force her way in if necessary.

But it wasn't, because Tara Carpenter recognized exactly the girl sitting next to your bed, holding your hand gently and stroking your hair, even though you were sleeping. She remembered, with a tightness in her chest, that Kate Bishop would be notified the moment she pressed the button.

And, in her own words, she would come running to take care of you.

"Tara, who-"

"I have to go." Tara interrupted her sister's words, looking at the scene in front of her without blinking. She knew what she had to do; there was no reason to fight the facts.

"What? What do you mean? You just got here." Sam asked, partially annoyed and partially confused by the younger one's actions.

"You heard the doctor. Her recovery will be painful, and if I stay around, all I'll cause is more pain." Tara opened a small smile just to try to pretend that she wasn’t dying inside. She knew Sam could see the truth, that she could see her broken heart and internal conflict, but she also knew that was the only possible solution.

"Tara..."

"Sam, you know I'm right. You told me that yourself a few days ago, remember? I hurt her." The girl shook her head in surrender and took a few steps away from the door. Away from you. "She needs peace, Sam. And the only way she can get that now is if I'm not around."

Tara took one last look inside the room, seeing how peaceful you looked. Sleeping, without any worries, and with an incredible and caring person by your side, ready to help you in whatever you needed.

Someone much better than her.

Perhaps that was the first time Tara had made a selfless decision in a long time, but she didn't feel deserving of any credit for it. What she had to do now was get better. Maybe more entries in her journal and more visits to her therapist would eventually fill the void she felt within her.

For now, she just turned around and started walking away from room 604. Each step hurt, like a razor cutting her skin, but it was the right thing to do. Tara had hurt you for far too long, and now...

Now it was time to let you go.

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

How To Adapt To Fire (I)

AU MASTERLIST || PART II

PAIRING: Fireman!John 'Soap' MacTavish x F!Journalist!Reader

WORDCOUNT: 4.4k

WARNINGS: Fire(s), intended harm, mentions of death, murder, crime, corruption, arsonist mystery plot, pining, protective!Johnny, flirting, intense banter, etc.

A/N: This is based off of US Firemen just because that's what I'm most familiar with!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

There was an arsonist in the city, and you were going to catch them.

Getting out of your car, you slap the door closed behind you and rush out, heels clicking over the concrete as the roaring flames continue violently—orange and red going high into the air, all centered around an abandoned warehouse building. Through the darkness of night, everything was lit up like hell.

Your satchel hits against your thigh one fast step at a time, arms pumping as your eyes find the flashing lights beyond the glare, squinting. 

“MacTavish!” You shout, jogging to the line of yellow tape and slipping under it through a small crowd of locals who call to you sharply. Voices going in one ear and out the other, you only search for that familiar helmeted head and the Scottish accent that accompanies it.

“What is she doing?”

“How come she gets to go closer!?”

“Stop that woman!” 

Your white blouse does little to push back the gusts of molten heat on the roaring airwaves, and neither do your dress pants. You push on with stubborn righteousness, even as the mulling firefighters groan under their breaths when they catch sight of you, all pausing in their various duties and panic of grabbing the hoses and getting the water going. 

The iconic red trucks sit stationary, but the man beside one of the three vehicles has his head nearly snapped off when he darts it over to you in a fast instant. 

“MacTavish!” You call out again, locking onto wide blue eyes that blink rapidly at your appearance. 

An under-the-breath curse is leveled out, heard in between shouts and the spray of water, droplets hitting your hard face.

“Steamin’ bloody Jesus. Not again.” Heavy boots jog over, tan and yellow uniform loose beside the places where the straps of his gear attach various items and tools to his body. “What in the hell are you doin’ here, Pencils?” 

“My job,” you call stiffly, your finger going out to tap at the small plastic card attached to your blouse. 

‘PRESS PASS’

“So be a good informant and tell me how much damage this is going to cause,” your hand is already inside of your satchel, flicking on a hand-held recorder, as your eyes scan about. “The fire was bigger here,” you begin without wasting any time, and the firefighter in front of you sighs in exasperation, clenching his jaw. “Was it because this place was abandoned unlike the last four scenes, or because there was a different accelerant used.” 

“I’ve told you, Hen,” MacTavish’s hand moves out in appeasement gestures, glancing at the fire and the rest of the teams that rush to get the rest of the hoses going. “Ya can’t be here when the fucking fire is still ongoing. Do you want to get burnt to a damn crisp?”

“I need answers,” you level, gaze darting back to stare into cerulean blues.

John MacTavish, who everyone just calls Johnny or Soap, for some reason, had been a familiar face to you for upwards of two months. In that time, there had been an alarming amount of suspected arson cases—twelve, counting this one. There was an unprecedented spark-up, most taking place in older neighborhoods and abandoned buildings barring the previous four, of which two people had been seriously injured, and three had died. 

But now, it was back to out-of-the-way properties, and you wanted to know why. You needed to. 

Such an escalation just to suddenly drop back down to no casualties? It didn’t make sense. If it wasn’t for your career as a journalist, then it was for your morbid curiosity of which Johnny was intently familiar with.

 The Scot clenches his jaw, dark eyebrows under his helmet stuck into a line. Around him, the others were getting the blaze under control the best they could—there was no need to go inside to search for anyone and all that had to be done was keep the fire from spreading. So, he had no trouble trying to get you to see sense yet again.

“Do you ever give it a rest,” he asks gruffly, accent thick. “Christ, I’ll be gray before you learn to stop sticking your hands where they don’t belong.” 

“You’re not my mother, MacTavish,” you speak, lowering the recorder. “Do you have anything for me?”

Johnny moves up a hand and runs it over his face, groaning. A smirk flickers to your lips. 

“You’re worse than a fly,” he breathes, unimpressed eyes opening to stick to you. “I can’t say much right now, most of it is left for forensics. Just from the blaze alone,” he glances over, taking it in. “I’d make a guess that an accelerant was used. Especially with how fast it popped up and the intensity of it. I’d have to get the dogs down here for a sniff, but it’s likely.”

“Do you think it’s—”

“Connected?” Johnny interrupts, lips twitching at the annotated gimmer in your eye. “Aye. This was man-made. There was nothing here that could start a blaze like this.” 

You click the recorder’s button and move back with a sigh. 

“Lovely.” 

The Scot raises a slow brow, looking you up and down, confused. “That’s it?”

“It’s all you can give me right now,” you mutter, sliding a look at him as your eyes squint at the rabid flames. Pieces of screeching metal fall into a heap, a loud boom of spreading smoke and lifeless coughing of material in the air. 

“Fucking hell,” you murmur to yourself. “This had to be one of the biggest ones so far.”

It was getting held back from the surrounding buildings—slowly but surely in the morning, the entire place would be a smoldering pile of ash and metal, only more questions left behind. 

Johnny sets his hands on the collar of his gear, sighing. “Won’t be the deadliest, though, will it? I’m just glad there won’t be bodies to drag out.”

You send a side-eye his way, feet shuffling. “That, I can agree with. But the pattern doesn’t make any sense to me.”

“Well, sorry, Hen, but you’ll catch me a bit more concerned about the potential next targets than the pattern.” He grunts, rolling his shoulders. “We need to catch this prick. Soon. Resources are stretched thin.”

“It’s like the guy completely switched his M.O.,” you ignore him, eyes narrowing. “Abandoned buildings, then to taking people's lives, then right back to where he started? That doesn’t happen overnight.”

Johnny grunts. “‘Cept here.”  

You sigh, tapping your fingers against your bag. The man at your side looks over, shrugging as he takes in the firmness of your expression—the same that he usually wears to any scene he gets called to. Determination. 

“I’ll get the report to you soon as I get it,” Johnny breathes, tilting his head. “Figured with all of your connections, you’ll have a better chance at piecing it all together.” 

“Thank you,” you nod. The man hums. 

“Now, get the hell out of here, yeah? Makin’ me nervous. Tape’s there for a reason Dearie.”

Scoffing, you toss up a hand and shake your head. “I live to make people nervous, MacTavish. You don’t help bust criminals and not make people nervous.” 

You begin backing back up, studying the land one more time. Johnny’s lips are thin, and he shifts his legs to stare after you. 

“Just be careful,” he calls, fingers tightening at his collar, strong jaw moving as he fixes it. His heart stutters in its course. “Don’t stick your neck where it doesn’t belong, Hen.”

You wave a hand, and then you’re off again, disappearing into the crowd with flames rising high behind you. 

The fireman watches tightly, licking his lips before shouting, “I’m serious!”

—

Your list of enemies was seemingly endless. 

Drug busts, criminal enterprises, hitmen—there was no shortage of stories you’d broken and your name being printed into the papers; you weren’t at all unknown to the city or the various police or fire stations. Many described you as a public nuisance, but…you were viewed with a modicum of respect as well—even if it was kept under breath. 

Yet, where there was respect, there was also the less savory emotion of contempt from the related individuals of those whom you’d landed into the eyes of the law and behind bars.

Perhaps you’d taken this arsonist for a disorganized fool…but you were about to get a very violent reality shift. 

“This is the report?” You ask, Johnny sipping from his coffee cup as you both sit in the park three days later, the bench stiff as your fingers play over the manila folder you’d been passed. 

“The public one.” Soap huffs when you slide him a look, his finger pointing at you as he holds his drink. “What? Pencils, I don’t care who you think you are, I’m not about to risk my career for something I can just tell you first-hand.”

You sigh, muttering before your hand pushes open the papers. “Go on, then.” 

Johnny smugly smirks, chuckling as his free hand goes up to fix the backward ballcap on his head. Under the tight hold of his athletic shirt, gray sweatpants sharply contract your put-together and professional appearance—like night and day. He still smells of smoke and metal. 

“You’re bein’ more snappy than usual. Publisher still on your arse, Bonnie?”

“Telling me I need to drop this goose chase,” you grumble, scoffing, eyes skimming down the printed words ahead of you. “As if.”

“Ah, he’ll come round,” Johnny’s lips flicker, flesh crinkling under that stubble of his. An overgrown mohawk leaks from the sides of his hat. “C’mon, tell me what ya need. I’ve got it all up here,” he goes to tap his head, taking another gulp of his coffee. 

The morning air is cold all around you, and people pass pushing strollers or jogging—Saturday just beginning to spread over minds and wake those who’ve slept in. Johnny and you weren’t quite like that. 

“Our theory about the accelerant?”

“My theory,” Soap grumbles but nods. “Gasoline. Dogs found traces all over—there was a damn lot.” 

You tilt your head, glancing at him. “Fits the profile from the other cases except the ones involving casualties.” Your lips pull into a frown, Johnny’s face going more serious. “Weren’t those all started with matches to the curtains in the living rooms?”

“Aye,” Johnny tips his chin to you. “Couldn’t figure that out until—”

“Until you found the matchbox out in the lawn at one of the crime scenes, plus the busted locks on the front doors. All exactly the same.”

The fireman grunts, lips flickering as his face goes a bit red. “Know my job better than I do.” 

You pause, a small heat coming to your cheeks, eyes pausing in their search for new information. “I’m not the one who willingly goes into burning buildings, give yourself more credit.”

Johnny leans closer, chuckling. “Was that a compliment, Pencils?”

“No,” you slide out. 

He hums a sound of amusement, moving back as his form slouches into the bench. A bird darts past overhead, chirping. “Goin’ soft on me. ‘Bout time—I've been waiting.” 

You roll your eyes heavily, closing the manila folder and shifting it into your satchel. 

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” You face Soap head-on, taking in the deep blue of his eyes and the tease hidden in them. “The station? Home?” Your brow raises. “Animal shelter—I heard they take in strays.”

“Ah,” Johnny flinches, hand raising to his chest as he feigns hurt. “This how you thank your favorite public servant?” 

“You’ll live,” you grumble, standing and flattening out your long black coat. “Come on. Seeing as you’re not entirely lost to me, I’m getting breakfast today.”

Johnny’s beaming grin makes your lips pull in a low smile.

“And just like that,” he chuckles, standing up so that his boots hit the ground and his hand falls into his pocket. The empty cup in his hand is tossed into the trash. “I’m a picture-perfect specimen. Not that I wasn’t already, eh?”

“Oh, fuck off,” you breathe, voice exasperated even as your smile breeds along the lines of your face. 

The both of you take off side by side, legs mirroring the others’ pace one slow movement at a time. Throughout your meetings for information, Johnny and yourself have grown close to one another—Violet’s Dinner one of the many places that was the unfortunate hub for your intel swapping. However, it was only unfortunate for the patrons, not you.

Soap gave what he knows about the fires and the ways they were started, and you gave over potential next targets based on whatever you can piece together from your police informants as well as others. 

You hum as you both walk the trail, slowly weaving away from the bench and down to the gated entrance of the park, slipping past the black iron as John holds it open for you. 

“Besides the ol’ fire-freak, then,” Johnny begins, smiling over at you as he itches at his neck, large arm reaching up and flexing. “Any other big breaks?”

Head turning his way, you speak easily. “In which article—the multi-generational money laundering bust at Warren’s Electrical or the murders near Fifth Ave? Or even the drug smuggling near the docks?” 

Blue eyes blink. “...Eh…any of ‘em?”

You snort, turning back to the sidewalk and shrugging. 

“You asked.” You slyly begin, before getting into the mental paper that you still had to type and send into editing. “Roy Laurence committed the murders near Fifth Avenue—my informant with the SWAT team says he was arrested and booked within an hour of the green light. DNA and fingerprints found at the scene of the last victim.” You raise a hand. “Now, I just have to try and get a spot in the courtroom when a trial date is released.”

“Well,” Johnny breathes, sending you a veiled look after a moment. “Don’t mean to brag, Pencils, but I got to help an old lady cross the street yesterday.”

You laugh, covering your mouth with the back of your hand as Soap chuckles. The sidewalk continues, men and women passing at their slow paces as cars zip past; the fireman taking the chivalrous stance of the person beside the street unconsciously.

“And I’m sure she was very pleased, MacTavish,” you push out, shifting closer to him as an individual passes by, bumping your arm into his. 

“Aye, she was,” the man huffs proudly, puffing his chest. “Called me a handsome bloke and kissed my cheek. Blushed a bit.”

“Playboy,” you tease, eyes narrowed over at him. “Cheating on the mutts back at the station?”

Johnny gasps, putting on a serious face. “Don’t you call Mr. Spots a mutt, Dearie—that’s too far.”

“Christ,” you breathe, and an arm settles over your shoulders, shaking you a bit and squeezing your flesh before chuckles follow. 

Trying not to sink into the feeling of heat and the promise of fire, you live in this moment of nearly something. There was the close sensation of borderline affection—just brushing the sense of care and…pining. 

You knew the Scot was interested in you, or, at the very least, knew he had some modicum of attraction to you. Hell, the way he’d flirted with you when you’d propositioned him to be your link to the fire department was nearly laughable even today. All smirks and glinting eyes.

John was funny, no one was denying it. 

There was that firm push and pull between the two of you, a string attached to your wrists that wouldn’t snap—that had seemingly only grown stronger over the months of mystery. But the arsonist took precedence. 

Play can only come after work, and you were the picture of professionalism. Or maybe just stubbornness.

“The regular?” Johnny asks, letting you go as he pushes open the front door of Violet’s with his shoulder, keeping it there as you move inside and nod. 

“Sure. Same seats?” 

The fireman smirks. “Always.” 

You smile, walking off to the corner booth as John goes up to the front, waving down the familiar face of the waitress to let her know that the both of you are here. The two exchange pleasantries as you sigh and lean back into the red-cushioned seats, letting your satchel drop near your feet. Sending a text to your editor, you tell him that you’ll have an article written up about one of your ongoing fixations by Monday.

Johnny’s broad shadow soon graces you once more, carrying a plate of fresh bread with butter on it. 

“Lady’s a fuckin’ lifesaver,” he breathes. “Gave us free bread today.”

Your eyes dart over to Tammy, the waitress, who winks at you before disappearing to help another customer. Hiding the twitch of your lips, you raise a brow at John. 

“Don’t you usually get pancakes, too? Your stomach will explode,” you huff. 

“Ah,” his face scrunches in dismissal. “There’s always room for fresh bread.”

His large fingers are already around the body of a knife, slathering gooey butter on a steaming piece of the carb, chomping down and swallowing before he speaks—reaching for another.

 “So, spill it on me.”

Your fingers reach out, grasping some bread and bringing it to your lips. You chew, swallow, and ease out, “I think there are two arsonists.” 

Johnny pauses, wide eyes stuck on you as he stops his hand from bringing up the next piece of food. He blinks, his face tightens as he wonders over the information that you have, and then the groans out a long, “Fucking hell… one who’s doing it for kicks, the other who’s settling scores.”

“Precisely,” you shrug. “It explains the complete break in character, and we have enough fires to show that not only is the way the flames started different, but for different reasons as well. One wants to kill, the other can’t control it. Impulse.” 

“Makes sense,” Johnny grumbles, amused mood for the moment dropping to one of flashing anger. He taps his knuckles slowly on the table, thinking. “You tell the police this theory?”

“Nah,” you shake your head as your legs shift along the seat. “You know how the chief gets about me—I need to do some of my own leg-work. Get more evidence.”

The Fireman is already shaking his head with a chuckle that has no ounce of tease or jest in it. “Nah ah, no fuckin’ way am I letting you get involved with two arsonists—certainly not one that kills people, Hen.”

“Well, it’s a good thing I’m not asking permission,” you smirk as your breakfast plates are brought over. Johnny’s is full of eggs, bacon, and pancakes, and you, your regular. You thank Tammy with a nod and take a sip of your small drink. “There has to be a connection between the victims. I’ve written about them before, my notes have the answers, I’m sure. I need to focus on one at a time—”

“Bonnie—”

“A possible Revenge-Motivated Arsonist is a far bigger threat than one that only has an impulse to light fires and not harm others. I’ll leave the ladder to you—”

A hand grabs at your own, grasping it firmly. Head snapping up to the square jaw ahead of you, which is tight, the stubble moving the scar along his chin one frown line at a time, you pause your quick rant. Face steadily heating as callouses run along your flesh like un-cut granite, your heart stutters.

“You’ll do nothing without me.” Johnny’s expression leaves no room for discussion. 

Mouth slightly parted, your eyelids blink before a squeeze is leveled out on your hand, and the Fireman shifts back. Your eyes follow, stuck on how his shirt hugs his large biceps and the gentleness of how he held you—how he always held you. 

Focus.

“You’re not getting dragged into this,” you chuckle, tilting your head seriously. “It could cost you your job.”

Johnny shrugs. “Only if I’m caught. If you're half as stubborn, as I already know you to be, Pencils,” he sighs, low smile coming to his lips. “Then I know you’ll be needing my level head.” Cobalt eyes twinkle.

You stare at him, blinking. Ignoring that skip in your pulse. As hard as you would like to try, you can’t say no to that face of his—that open expectation and firm choice.

“As level as a steep decline,” your grumble meets Soap’s ears, and the man’s face twists with an ingrained amusement that breeds the closer you are to him. It was easy to bounce jokes with you—like a pair of birds, squawking and puffing feathers, only stopping at strange intervals to preen one another before the loud chatter started anew. 

“And stop it with the dumb nickname already,” you glare. “It happened once.”

John drags his plate closer, picking up a piece of bacon and taking a bite out of it. “It isn’t every day you see a bonnie Hen with seven pencils in her breast pocket, is it? Hell of a first meeting with that serious face of yours and the sight of fabric practically ripping open.”

“I was in a rush,” your face burns, jaw rotating. “At least I was prepared, MacTavish.”

“Well, who’s sayin’ I wasn’t prepared?”

“Me!” Your fingers grab at your fork, pointing it at him. “You were practically covered head-to-toe in ashes!”

Red cheeks on his part, but always that adorning sheen to his expression.

“I was just in from a damn fire!”

Breakfast went as it usually did—good food and better company—but there was a deeper level to it now; a sharp edge of purpose. By the time the both of you were done, you’d already made up your mind to make it back to your apartment and gather the intel that you had. Find a starting point.

But, as mysteries like these always go, the good times came to a rapid cliff-drop. Johnny was muttering about his work schedule back on the sidewalk when he got the call. 

Phone to ear, you’d seen his face tighten—feet going completely still as you have to halt and look back at him, confused. A breeze goes by on the air, and your nose twitches to a sharp tang that leaves your fingers twitching.

“What do you mean, ‘fire on third street?’” Your body locks up, and Johnny’s face becomes devoid of pigment, watching yours closely. It was a strange emotion on his face; a hard and hesitant thing all at once. He was staring, brows pulled in as your lungs seemingly went to concrete inside of your ribs.

Third street? Fire? 

Soap’s voice goes even lower. Spine even more straight. “...Stillview apartments?” 

You’re already running before you can understand the severity of the revelation—dashing as Johnny yells after you to stop. 

That was your apartment building.

“Dearie!” The fireman shouts, his boots pounding after, but you had a head start, shoving through the crowds, dodging strollers and trash cans—bags and thrown curses. “Fucking hell, stop!”

Your form darts fast, heart hammering. Already your mind is running through every possibility and explanation. How could this be happening? Why? Has one of the arsonists found you out? But even then, it could only be the one intent on murder—countless others lived in your building; this was more than intent…it was a massacre.

Fires don’t just spark at a time like this to not be called connected.

Even over the air, you could hear sirens above Johnny’s loud pleas to slow down, moving as well as he could through the rush of people. 

He’s still on the phone, barking questions and the will of his legs to take him in the direction of the department building. But you. The back of your head in his black-sided vision. 

The man knows that if he doesn’t catch you, you’ll run straight into that blaze not only for the principal but your evidence. Your cork boards and their red strings—your pictures and printed articles. Johnny knew you had them, he wasn’t an idiot. 

You were too smart for your own good.

He was nearly there—just a few more steps and he could grab the back of your jacket like some stray cat, pull you back until you were in his arms. A fireman, yes, but he’d never get used to the inferno that was you; you consumed him utterly. It was an instant feeling for him, and even with the initial flirting, the immediate latching of his attention held fast. A bird to a wire. Hopeless, he was. Johnny was afraid at how much you trapped him in your ways—your looks and your…you-ness.

And you were only making him more afraid at this very instant. 

Soap was the only person ever supposed to be walking into fire.

“Hen!” The fireman barks, sharp and visceral. But you only take the next corner faster, satchel slapping against your thigh. 

“No,” you pant, legs dashing. “No, no, no. I left everything I need for this case in my filing cabinet!” 

This is what you get for trying to be organized for once.

You smell the smoke before you see it, and feel the heavy hand on your coat collar not a moment after you lock on it.

“MacTavish!” Your angered voice moves out, but it’s all strangled away in a fast moment of the screaming of sirens and the visible fire from your tall apartment building strikes you. Watching blankly, your face falls as strong arms reel you back into a chest. 

“Fuck,” Johnny growls, eyes wide as he looks on, phone clenched tightly in one hand. His jaw writhes with tension, vision darting from one fire truck to another and the men available to help. People were doing a myriad of things—screaming, running, watching—but through it all, there was the presence of fear coupled with a static anticipation. 

Panting heavily, you watch your life’s work go up in flames, and feel the tight arms of your informant keep you close.

You learn that if you don’t adapt to this fire sooner or later, it’s going to consume you. And still, you can’t understand if you’re talking about Johnny, who murmurs quick words of comfort into your ear, or the case that just locked you in with chains of commitment and rage.

The real work had just begun as ashes fell like snow to the street; the spray of the firetruck’s water flew with sure aim. Your face hardens, and you feel that worried grip tighten, bringing you into a ramshackle hug.

You have an arsonist to catch, and not a single person would stop you now.

TAGS:

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[pretty-little-mind33]

Tangerine x fem!reader

Summary: Your best friends promised never to tell you about their dangerous job. However, all goes to shit when you find out another way.

Genre: Angsty fluff (happy ending)

Warnings: protective!Tangerine, home invasion, mentions of blood and injuries, swearing, sexual innuendo/implying sexual harassment (really not as bad as that sounds lol i would just rather put a warning)? murder, violence

Tangerine always knew you were too kind for the life he had chosen.

He wonders if he hadn't known you so long or if you weren't as much Lemon's best friend as his, then perhaps it would have been an easy decision to cut you out of their lives.

Only, the decision wasn't easy. It was selfish and it eats him up inside, but both him and Lemon had agreed they couldn't lose you. So, they'd made a deal that they wouldn't tell you the true nature of their job. That way, you would be safe. 

You, on the other hand, aren't as innocent as they think. You've known them long enough to know their expressions and whenever you mention their profession, they become eerily silent and tense. You've seen the blood under Lemon's fingernails and the bruises on Tangerine's knuckles when they visit you after one of their so-called "work trips".

However, after countless evasions on their part, you've stopped asking questions. Now, you stay content without knowing because you don't want to lose them either. 

One evening, you hear a knock on your apartment door and your smile widens. He's early. He's usually never early. You stand up from the couch, pulling up your fuzzy sock as you rush over the wooden floorboards to open the door for him. "Hi," you start but your throat locks when you're met with three burly men in black, threatening, masks. 

You don't have time to scream out as one of them presses his hand against your mouth and forces himself inside. The other two follow quickly and you stumble backwards. The man holding you presses his gun into your side and you whimper, tears falling down your cheeks as your mind races. 

Another man hands you what looks like a burner phone from his pocket and says, "Call him."

Your vision is blurred by your tears and when the man's hand leaves your mouth, you ask. "Who?"

"You know who, girl," the last man laughs and your chest tightens. Your hands are shaky when you type out Tangerine's number. You have an icky in your stomach telling you he hadn't been the one to ask you to hang out this evening.

Hesitantly, you hold the phone to your ear and whimper when the man with the gun pushes you over to your couch. He sits closer than necessary and teasingly moves the barrel against your cheeks and up into your hair.

"Hello?" Tangerine answers, his voice hoarse. Your heart leaps hearing him. It doesn't matter how mad he sounds because it's his voice. He'll make sure no one hurts you.

You turn to the men, as if asking them what you should say. All three of them smirk and the one holding you just shrugs.

"T-tan," you whisper, your hold tightening on the phone. Your voice comes out as shaky as your hands. You want to scream but as the seriousness of the situation sinks in, you can't make your mouth work properly. 

"Y/n? Is that you, love?" Tangerine sounds much more awake now, the annoyance in his tone completely gone. 

You're the only person who calls him Tan. 

"I-I don't know who — and I don't know what they want from me, but t-they have a gun," your word vomit tears a whimper from your throat and you hear curses and movement from the other side of the line. "And I'm so scared. Please, h-help me. I need you."

Suddenly, the phone is ripped from your hands and you let out a shriek of surprise and then another whimper when the gun is pressed to your temple to shut you up. The man chuckles darkly and his arm slides around you so you don't dare make another sound.

"Yes, yeah, we know—mmhmm, yes, we will be waiting with your little friend here," the man holding the phone grins at you, "She's a pretty one, ain't she? Such gorgeous eyes when they're all glossy with tears—" he chuckles, "well shove one up yours too. Don't fucking make us hurt her. You know what we want, bring us the money and she'll survive. Yeah, yeah." 

He grunts and throws the phone across the room, causing you to jump as the other man holding you presses the gun harder into your temple.

The man who was just on the phone pinches his nose and mutters, "Bloody fuck," he turns to you and points his index finger accusingly, "You're a lucky girl, you know. Because, if we didn't really need that money, you would have a bullet stuck in that fucking pretty head of yours for the way your boyfriend speaks to me."

You shiver, wincing. You can tell the man means it. "He's not my boyfriend," you whisper. 

"Whatever, darling," he rolls his eyes and leans forward to take your arm, "Just be a good girl for us and shut up."

* * *

Tangerine feels like he's living his worst nightmare. As soon as he heard your voice on the line, from a masked number, he couldn't think straight anymore. He's currently trying to unlock the drawer where he keeps his gun, fumbling as furious tears prickle in his eyes. 

He can't shake the sound of you crying out his name. He sees you, your skin bruised and bloody as tears stream down your cheeks and he wants to punch his fist through the drawer.

He should have protected you from this. He should have known. 

Lemon walks into his room, frowning when he sees how distressed his brother is. "Woah, mate, what's wrong?"

Tangerine finally thrusts the drawer open and shoves his gun in the back of his pants. He stands and runs a hand through his hair, rushing towards the door. His voice is strained when he says, "Someone has Y/n. They're hurting her." 

Lemon's entire face drops. "W-what? H-how?"

"I don't fuckin' know," Tangerine snaps, "Now, are you fuckin' coming or not?"

* * *

You shift your hand, the ropes burning against your wrists, as you sit on the ground of your bathroom. Blood trickles down your eyebrows from when one of the men hit you and slammed your head into the sink.

The gag they had used cuts painfully into the sides of your mouth. The men had used a pair of your panties they'd found in your dresser and bound the lace around your head, finding it hilarious. You didn't find it funny, the embarrassment still lingering as you sit in the darkness of the bathroom.

Suddenly, the faint laughter from the men in your living room stops and, after a moment, you hear loud crashes. You jump, squeezing your eyes shut as you listen intensely. You hear the slamming of doors until the bathroom door opens and you hear a familiar, "Fuck."

Your eyes snap open and Tangerine kneels in front of you. He quickly unties your panties from around your mouth, his eyes dark with anger and his eyebrows scrunch with worry. You whimper, embarrassed by him seeing you like this. He tosses your panties to the side, not commenting on them but fuming inside as he cups your cheeks gently and inspects your injuries. 

"Shit, does it hurt, love?" he asks, looking at the cut on your forehead and the bruises littered across your skin.

You train your eyes on his appearance. Sweat beads at his hair and splatters of fresh blood adorn his cheeks. It doesn't look like it's his considering he looks unharmed. Tangerine looks you over quickly. "I- did they touch you?" he asks hesitantly, insinuating something from the panties in your mouth and he is clearly a little nervous to know the answer. 

You shake your head and his eyes soften. "Oh, thank fuckin' god. I'm so sorry," he says and unties your hands, wasting no time scooping you up into his arms. You lean your head on his chest, still too shocked to form any words. Tangerine places his hand over your eyes as he walks into the living room and you hear shuffling and curses from what sounds like Lemon.

You turn to look but Tangerine keeps your head still and soothes you, "Shhh, you're okay, c'mon," 

Cold air hits you and you hear Tangerine open the door to his car. He places you inside and kisses your forehead. He kneels next to the car and his thumb touches near your cut, his eyes still dark with anger. "I have to check something with Lemon," he says again and his heart breaks when you grab his arm, 

"Please, don't l-leave me," you manage to ask, your voice hoarse.

Tangerine rests his hand on yours and tries to explain, "I won't be long, darlin'. I can't leave Lemon in there alone but we'll be quick. Trust me."

On any other day you would wait for a better time to bring this up, but your mind is still all fuzzy so you whisper, "Trust you? H-how can I trust you after what happened?" you see the hurt and guilt written on his face as the truth in your words sink in. 

Tangerine has never been good with strong emotions. He doesn't like them. They make him feel weak. You watch as his expression hardens and he looks into your eyes. "I'm sorry, Y/n," he says but mechanically closes the car door on you. You hear a lock and Tangerine disappears into your building again. All you can do is bury your face in your hands and cry.

Later, Tangerine is pacing his room. He hasn't changed out of his bloody clothes and he hasn't calmed down since they'd showed you to the guest room.

You'd asked to be alone and while that was understandable, he's worried sick. Lemon is sitting on his bed, which would usually annoy him because he'd made it that morning, but Tangerine couldn't care less about that right now.

"I basically slammed the door in her face! How could I have done that?" he's obviously panicking. 

"You had to come help me clean the scene. You did the only thing you could think of," Lemon tries to reasons, something he's been doing for the last twenty minutes.

"I- I shut her out. She probably hates me."

"Y/n could never hate you. She loves you."

Tangerine lets out a groan of frustration and turns to look at Lemon, his eyes round. "Don't you understand that's the fuckin' problem? I love her. I fuckin' love her and I've been lying to her all these years and now she's hurt because of it. It's all fucked, fuck, fuck, fuck."

Lemon stares at his brother with a deadpan look on his face. "I cannot believe you just admitted you love her."

"Pardon?"

"You're in love with her. It's been eating at you for years now. It's fucking obvious, I just didn't think you were this self-aware," Lemon rolls his eyes and stands up.

He walks over to Tangerine and crosses his arms. "Shit, mate, what are you even doing in here? Y/n was just attacked in her home and she doesn't understand why. She's probably scared shitless and tending to her wounds all alone —

After you disappeared in here like a baby I asked if she needed help and she said no, but you aren't the only one who is her best friend. I know her. She doesn't want to be alone, you idiot, she just didn't want me. She wants you." 

Tangerine feels like his heart has been beaten up to a pulp and he can barely breathe. He doesn't speak and he leaves his bedroom in a hurry.

As he walks to the guest room, he feels like he's in a daze. He knows he should but he doesn't knock on the door when he rushes in. He finds you sitting on the ground, dressed in one of his shirts he must have left in the guest room by accident, applying some alcohol to the wound on your head.

Your tears have dried but when you look at him, he sees how bloodshot your eyes are and he wants to kill those men all over again.

He doesn't speak as he crouches down and pulls you into a hug. He wraps his arms around your body and holds you tightly. He hears your small sigh as you wrap your arms around his torso. Tangerine doesn't care when you unconsciously climb into his lap and hug him closer. He nuzzles his head in your neck and kisses your exposed shoulder. He's never given you this type of intimacy and while his head is screaming at him to run from you, his heart won't let him. 

"It was so scary," you whimper against him. 

He cups your head with his hand as he soothes you, "I know, darlin', I know it was. I promise you're safe now. I'm here. 'm not leaving you, doll. I'm so sorry this happened," he pulls away and caresses his large hands down your face, brushing some hair from your eyes. 

"Why'd you open the door, darlin'? You'know you can't open the door to strangers, mm?"

He isn't blaming you, he just wants to know. 

You avoid his eyes. "I thought it was you."

Tangerine frowns.

"I think they somehow sent me a text from your phone and it said you wanted to come over and I-I said yes," you feel your cheeks burn and Tangerine anger bubbles. They'd used him to hurt you. He leans his forehead on yours as you continue. "I did think it was a little weird, but I—"

Tangerine wipes at your new tears with his thumb, interrupting you, "It's okay. You couldn't have known. I'm so sorry."

"I should have known," you whisper.

"No," he shakes his head, pressing his lips to your forehead. "I should have prepared you for something like this. Lemon and I should have warned you."

You lean your head on his chest again, your breathing harsh. "I knew your job was dangerous, but I didn't think you were killing people," you whisper and you feel Tangerine tense. He rubs his hand up and down your back. 

"I-" he doesn't know what he can say to you. 

You pull away and look into his eyes, "I don't want to know," you say, "not today. Not now. You can tell me later but now I want you to hold me and tell me it'll be okay." Tangerine nods, you sound a little in shock, but your voice is serious. 

"And I want you to kiss me."

Your words almost knock Tangerine out.

"Fucking pardon?" he says, instantly regretting cursing.

You move to hold his cheeks in your hands, leaning in closer. You wait for him to make the first move, your heart beating as quickly as his is.

You don't care about his job, or that he'd lied to you, and you know he's probably not an honorable man like you'd wished him to be, but none of that matters because you need to feel his lips on yours.

You need to know he's here.

Tangerine closes his eyes and kisses you. His entire body feels like it's on fire and if he thinks too hard, he might combust into ashes. His hands find your waist and his head tilts so he can kiss you better.

Fuck this. He's so in love with you.

You kiss him back with more passion and he almost loses his mind. If he had lost you today he would have burned the entire world to make those men pay. Killing them would have never been enough.

You pull away, tears streaming down your cheeks. You look into Tangerine's blue eyes. You want to tell him you love him. You're in love with him. However, no words can leave your lips.

Tangerine sees your expression and wipes his thumb under your eye. He stands and pulls you up with him as he whispers, "Shh, you don't need to talk. You need sleep."

He looks at your wound again, making sure it's clean and then cups your cheeks and tilts them upwards so he has your attention. "Lemon and I are just around the hall, okay? I- I lo-," his sentence dies and he starts a new one, "I lo-oked over your injury and it shouldn't hurt that much anymore but if it does, you know where my room is."

Tangerine leans down and presses one last kiss to your lips. He pulls away and says, "You're safe now, my darlin'. Okay? Nothing will ever happen to you again. I promise."

He says it with such security, you nod again. Your lips tingle from his and you savor the moment, wrapping your arms around him. Tangerine is surprised but he kisses your head and whispers just quietly enough for you to miss it, 

"I love you," 

And for the first time in his life, those three words don't stay clogged in his throat. Tangerine's shoulders relax and he sighs. One day soon he'll be able to say them loud enough that you hear him. And, hopefully, you'll say them back.

[itmeblog]

It's Black History Month

(Over here in the US of A) So here are some podcasts to check out.

Absolutely no Adventures - a fantasy (un)adventure story that follows Sig, the owner of Signature Eats bakery, as he aggressively avoids becoming embroiled in any daring quests or chosen one shenanigans even though the universe really seems to want him to do just that. This is a story about cutting Joseph Campbell’s Hero’s Journey off at the knees to chill with friends and staying far, far away from the slightest whiff of adventure. And also baking. This is also a story about baking.

Afflicted - Lovecraft Country meets True Blood in this new series from award-winning producers Tonia Ransom and Jen Zink. In season one, a small East Texas town suffers supernatural disasters caused by a demonic book bound in human flesh…and only hoodoo can save the town from its affliction.

Apollyon - In the early 22nd century, the Apollyon virus wiped out 75% of the world’s population, and now most of the world is governed by the International Conglomerate of Research Scientists. Dr. Theo Ramsey is an ICRS research scientist who may have just discovered an effective vaccine for Apollyon, but the stakes to get the vaccine to the public are higher than she ever imagined.

Between Heartbeats - Tan immersive Urban Fantasy about the hurt, the powerful, and their growth within a broken world. We follow Sundiata, a guilt-ridden time manipulator with a knack for unemployment, and Nadia, a moralistic telepath determined not to lose control, as they balance frayed mental health against an unsympathetic police state. But when a malevolent presence rears is head, their neuroses become the least of their problems. Can our heroes make the most of their abilities before the option is taken from them?

Fan Wars: The Empire Claps Back - Two passionate Star Wars fans on opposite sides of the Last Jedi debate argue via Skype after their favorite forum closes down. If you love Star Wars (or call yourself a proud member of any fandom), you’ll love this romantic comedy told via

Harlem Queen - a Black historical fiction audio drama based on the life and times of Black, woman, "gangster" Madame Stephanie St. Clair during the Harlem Renaissance.

His Royal Fakin' Highness - What if Ophelia helped Hamlet get his throne back? This modern day, romantic comedy re-imagining of Shakespeare's Hamlet asks just that. As they stage an engagement in the wake of the king's death, these childhood frenemies must decide between duty and love.

InCo (This one's mine :D) - A Sci-Fi story about a disgruntled information seller, a mysterious space boy, and an android doing her best.

Janus Descending - a limited series, science fiction/horror audio drama podcast, follows the arrival of two xenoarcheologists on a small world orbiting a binary star. But what starts off as an expedition to survey the planet and the remains of a lost alien civilization, turns into a monstrous game of cat and mouse, as the two scientists are left to face the creatures that killed the planet in the first place.

Lady Lucy - Lady Lucy is an audio drama inspired by Shakespeare's "Dark Lady" Sonnets, 127-154. Between running her brothel, fighting the Church, murdering her friends' abusive husbands, and pretending to be a poet, the last thing Lucy needed back in 1586 was a surprise visit from her former flame... Will Shakespeare.

Liars and Leeches - Tonya Wright felt it all after the tragic murders of her sister and brother-in-law in a random act of gun violence. Struggling to travel outside of her home, she now lives constantly on edge about perceived threats that seem to surround her.

Nightlight - Multi-award winning horror podcast featuring creepy stories with full audio production written by Black writers and performed by Black actors. So scary it’ll make you want to leave your night light on.

Null /Void - a science fiction audio drama about a young woman, Piper Lee, whose life is saved by a mysterious voice named Adelaide. Piper soon uncovers a malicious plot by a monopoly of a tech company and must work with her friends and an unusual ally to help foil their deadly plot.

Out of Ashes - (currently remastering season 1) Follow a group of survivors as they navigate the ruins of modern civilization and battle against demons, ghosts, monsters and the looming threat of extinction from an ancient power.

Small Victories - A recently recovered drug addict tries to start her new lease on life, too bad life has it out for her.  This dramatic comedy follows Marisol through the ups and downs of her life.

The Courtship of Mona Mae - In the 1870s, pioneers Mona Mae Christophe and Zekial Montgomery search the American West for Mona Mae's mother, Clara. Mona must recall a past, long forgotten in order to survive, so that she can find her mother, love and create a way of life for herself.

Vega a Sci-Fi Adventure Podcast - In a fantasy futuristic world, Vega Rex is employed by her government to kill off the world's worst criminals. She's never met a criminal she couldn't catch…until now. Join Vega as she journeys through a world of bumbling apprentices, powerful technogods, and her biggest challenge yet. Hosted by Ivuoma Hall.

Witchever Path - is an anthology series where your decisions effect the story. Our stories are based in America’s NorthEast, featuring characters finding themselves in the thick of the unknown while tackling issues like queer identity, gender, race, and spirituality. Stories often focus on the communities not typically seen in stories taking place in New England, and giving voice to the perspectives of those communities while uniting under some universal themes. And the supernatural happens. A lot.

(All descriptions were taken from websites)

If you want to find more and there are way more there's a directory :D

[strangerxperv]

hiiii id like to request a robin buckley x reader smut, maybe one where robin’s this desperate loser lesbian archetype and she has a huge crush on reader, reader ends up letting robin fuck her however she wants. sorry if this isn’t how you’re supposed to request, i couldn’t find a request button!! thank you!! :)

A request I've been sitting on

Robin Buckley x popular Reader

Minors fuck off

NSFW

word count: 1K

You're popular, like truly popular and friendly with literally everyone. Friends with jocks, nerds, druggies, outcasts, and other popular people (just as a few examples). Being a class clown with charisma sprouting like flowers in spring has its perks.

It's the reason Robin has such a crush on you and can't help but follow after you. You're both besties! The kind where one jokes about fucking the other and that friend desperately wants it to be a reality. She wants to see how pretty your clit is and how good you taste.

Robin's seen you naked thanks to gym class and the occasional slumber parties. She knows what color your nipples are and how much hair is on your pelvis. The way your ass jiggles when you pull up your panties.

Robin knows what your favorite panties and bras are, it's memorized, she even knows your sizes. Hell! You've even posed while wearing lingerie to get Robin's friendly opinion.

What she doesn't know is that you've figured her out, her little secret. You still remember the first time Robin saw you completely nude. You thought she broke her jaw from how hard her jaw hit the floor.

The way she looked you up and down. Blue eyes lingering on your tits and sliding down to your pussy, seemingly stuck. Robin's eyes widen when she sees that you're wet, slick shining.

You pieced it all together after that and loved to make her squirm. Flirting with the brunette was your favorite pass time and left you more than wet. You wanted to see how long it would take her to notice that you knew. You wondered how long it would take for her to snap, what will she do?

Which leads you to now, with your legs spread wide and cunt glistening in front of your best friend, "Is my ex right? Does it look gross?"

Her blue eyes are eclipsed with black that snap up to your face before taking in your entirety. "He's an idiot. If I were a guy I'd be hard as hell."

"You aren't hard? Clits get hard but you said you aren't, so it's not pretty?"

Robin's face reddens and she licks her lips before speaking, "No, I'm definitely hard. It's so fucking hot. Like, seriously hot." Her trembling words encourage your hand to slide down. Gently you spread your cunt open to show your twitching clit and sopping hole. "Whoa."

Her whisper buffs onto your slit and lads on your pearl forcing more slick onto the bed. "Well, I don't know that for sure." You pause, "Can I see?" Her head snaps up at you so fast you worry for her neck and if it might hurt later.

"Y-you want to see, you want to see my...down there?" Robin's face couldn't possibly get any more red and she holds her breath.

"Well...we are both girls so it's not a big deal plus we're both besties! And, to be fair, you've seen me." Still your legs are spread while you keep your lips open. "Would it help if I took everything off?"

With that you remove your hand and whip the shirt over your head. Making fast work of your bra to toss onto the floor. Your tits bounce with the movement leaving you completely nude. "Does this help? Can I see if you're hard?"

At this point you could ask Robin to murder someone and she'd agree. How could she refuse her crush? Especially when she's completely naked on her bed with spread legs.

Robin stands silently and fumbles with the button on her jeans then struggles to pull the zipper down. Shucking them down quickly to kick it aside before yanking her panties off and kicking them aside too. Robin climbs onto the bed and spreads her own tan legs.

You close your thighs and sit up onto your knees crawling to her. In a few short moments you're between her legs. Your hand slides up the bed to below Robin and up the inside of her thigh, it's slick. "I can't see." Comes your breathy explanation as you gently spread her open.

Her clit is a pretty pink color and standing at attention, stiff, and it calls to you. Blowing purposefully onto the shiny pearl makes it twitch desperately. Robin let's out a surprised gaspy moan with her head thrown back.

"You really are hard for me. Does that mean you wanna fuck me? When boys are hard that means they do." You want her to say it. Say that she needs you as much as she needs you.

"Mmm..." Her blue eyes lock with your own pretty eyes, "I want to...I-I do." It's not that Robin is unsure of her feelings but she is afraid.

"Why? Do you like me like a boy does?"

"Please, please don't be mad." There's tears in her blue eyes as she begins to close her legs.

But before she can you're between them pressed against her. Your lips are on her own in a gentle embrace that makes her gasp. Your slick tongue flicks her lower lip announcing it's presence. Slithering into Robin's mouth the wet appendage tangles with her own.

"I could never hate you Robin. Not for this. I know how you feel and I obviously feel the same. Never, never question this." You lay one more quick kiss onto her plump lips, "Since you've liked me longer I think you should fuck me first, however you want me."

Those words seem to spur her forward as she flips you onto your back, "You've known the entire time. You little fucking tease! Do you know how many panties you've ruined and how many nights I had to feel guilty? Cumming to you was the best and worst thing up to this point." She bites your neck until you're crying out her name, "Tonight you're gonna make it all better cause I'm gonna punish you till I feel better."

[abbyromanoff]

EXPLICIT

PAIRINGS: serial killer!Nat x reader

WORD COUNT: 1,598

WARNINGS: smut, gun kink, switch!R, switch!Nat, serial killer!Nat, mentions of murder, death, violence, teasing, degrading, praising, cunnilingus, masturbation, daddy (N), begging, think that’s all :)

NO ONE IS PERMITTED TO STEAL, COPY, OR REBLOG MY WORK AS THEIR OWN!!

“You’re so cute, I almost don’t want to kill ya’.” The woman chuckled, bringing a new tear to your sore cheek. You were growing red as sobs forced themself out of you. Fear was implanted into your brain, that was obvious to Nat and anyone else who’d have the misfortune of seeing you like this.

“Please, I’m not ready to die!” You begged, eyeing the gun tossing in her hand. She failed to show a sense of remorse, instead fanning a faux frown.

“Don’t you look sweet on your knees, it’s like you were meant to be a trashy fucking whore.” You gulped down the words that were trying to make way, knowing these could be your final moments if so. Although, even if you kept quiet and agreed to her terms, you had a feeling it would end with the same results.

“Why are you doing this? I don’t know what I did but- but, I- I promise I’ll make it up to you somehow! Whatever I did, please- just let me go, I won’t tell anyone!” You clawed at her sweatpants that were hiding the soft, tan skin. Her outfit choice was laid back, making it look like she had done this regularly. You imagined all the victims who must’ve looked like you, a pathetic mess begging for their life, then they were dead. And you were next, you knew there was no hope she’d let you live.

“Oh, I know you will.” She didn’t say another word as the gun came to your mouth. You squeezed your eyes shut, remembering every blessed moment of your life while you could before it was stripped away from you. The moments where you finally held peace with your family. The moments where your friends finally showed their support. The moments you came home with a smile on your face from an outstanding test result. But there weren’t many, your life had gone slow, your every move being thought out and planned to a max. But these plans never succeeded, which led you to hope your later years would be all that you dreamed of late at night when you wallowed in self-pity. But they were being stopped short, all because you fell into her trap like a mouse being bribed by cheese.

“Open- yeah, good girl.” You slowly followed her request, goosebumps spreading around your skin as the cold metal pressed the back of your heated throat. A small gag came from you, resulting in a low groan from the woman standing over you. You didn’t know her name, you guessed you never would.

“Now suck it, baby. Suck it like the dirty slut you are.” You hesitated to rest your hands on her backside, fearing one wrong move would bring this to a short, unfulfilling end. But she didn’t complain, only thrusting the weapon in and out of you at a slow pace. Small strings of saliva would connect you with the horrid act, being the small reminder of what sinful acts you were committing. You were getting face-fucked from something that brought death to many, you were disgusting.

“Oh my, look at you rubbing that sweet, little clit of yours. You’re so wet, I bet you’d take Daddy’s fingers like it was nothin’!” She bit her lip as her ears closed in on the squelching sounds you hadn’t noticed you were creating. You instantly drew back your fingers, trying to return them to their previous destination but the act was refuted.

“You’re not taking that back now, darlin’. C’mon, make Daddy happy, she is the one deciding if you’ll see another day, after all.” She retreated her gun from your mouth, letting you release multiple hurried breaths as you coughed on nothing.

“You’ve made me so fucking wet, look at the mess you made.” You held little recollection of when she dipped her hands beneath the layer of clothing, being too focused on watching her facial expressions to ensure she was satisfied.

Fingers were displayed in front of your face, two of them separating as a line of arousal followed. The string broke, and your tongue met with your lips, leaving a glow from the lamp in the corner of the room.

“Please,” Came your small, pleading tone. The woman raised a brow, a silent signal for you to continue. You looked down, shame and guilt spreading throughout your body and boiling deep inside of you along with the tightening in your lower stomach. You were feeling so many different emotions and all of them were due to her, how she could hold so much power, you didn’t know.

“Please what?” She asked when knowing you wouldn’t follow the small command. You sniffled, bringing a grin to Nat’s face. Her lips soon twisted into a smirk that only frightened you further.

“Please let me taste you, Daddy.” She cooed, wiping the dribbles of drool mixed with tears from your chin with her thumb before taking it between the barrier beneath her lips, humming at the taste that greeted her.

“Why are you doing this to me?” You repeated from earlier, the lack of mercy showing across her face only making you regret coming home that night. You should’ve stayed at a friend's, you never should’ve gone out in the first place.

“No, you did this to yourself.” Her pants lowered along with the lace panties she adored before she stepped forward, tugging your head closer by your hair and creating a tight ponytail. She drew you in when you denied, relishing in the motions you gifted her. Your tongue drew circles on her clit before you sucked graciously, moaning at the sweet nectar you received. You wondered if this is how most of her victims spent their last moments and nearly wept in misery as the acceptance came into play, this is how you’d spend your last moments, you were now considered a victim. You never got to say goodbye to your family, instead being forced into accepting her wetness. But, when you tried to wallow in sadness, you couldn’t find such. No, you only felt a smile threatening to take the way of your lips. You got to admire the beauty of Natasha Romanoff, the most famous and feared serial killer in the city, only no one knew it was her. They gave her a name, a feared title, but no one lived to tell the tale of how her red hair splayed across her neck, a few strands sticking up in the heat. No one got to see the stare she was giving you, the signs of pleasure that were seeping into your awaiting mouth.

“Fuck, you’re gonna make me cum, little girl.” You sucked harder, occasionally parting to tease her hole before you felt liquid easing out of her, the result bringing a sense of pride. But you didn’t stop there. Even when her head was thrown back, her veins along the skin nearly popping while her sculptured jawline shined beneath the light, you didn’t stop. She looked as though the gods from above had sent her down, but she instead came from hell. She was a devil in disguise of an angel, and you were slowly turning the more her grasp lingered.

“Wha- what are you doing, baby?” Her hips thrusting disagreed with her mind telling her she had to leave, she couldn’t risk the danger of getting caught for a human she barely knew the name of. You held no importance to her, and the more you brought yourself to accept her actions, the more she reconsidered ever choosing you. She noticed you on the way home from a bar and thought you were the perfect person; you were sweet, making sure you tipped the bartender more than most before waving your coworker goodbye. Nobody would notice if you were gone, she’d be able to flee in no time. But you weren’t making that easy for her, you were a challenge she never faced. She knew this would bring her deeper into the hole she dug for herself, but she couldn’t stop moaning.

“Oh- God! Mhm, right there, that’s the spot!” You replaced your tongue with your fingers, letting your digits rub her clit softly while you dipped in and out of her tight hole.

“Fuck,” She dragged out, her eyes rolling to the back of her head while a gasp left her. You pinched her bundle of nerves in hopes of getting a reaction out of her, which you instantly did.

“Can’t…I can’t take it.” She admitted, causing you to pull away. The action brought a whine from her that enlightened you, sending a rush through your body.

“Hm, it doesn’t sound like you want me to stop.” She shook her head, dragging you in and expecting you to continue, bringing out an impatient groan when you refused.

“Oh, now you want it? C’mon, I want to hear how bad Daddy needs me to suck that pretty little clit.” She clenched around nothing at your words, the embarrassment seeming to send heat waves to her tightening coil ready to burst once more.

“I need it, baby girl. F-fuck, I need it so fucking bad! I’ll do anything, just please let me cum for you.” You chuckled, taking the weapon that had dropped to the floor in a rush from her previous endeavors. You pressed it against her hole, smirking as she seemed to take it with ease. You slowly started dragging it in and out, your previous load of saliva keeping the gun wet.

“Mm, look who’s the one begging now.”

[strawhbrrries]

Cowgirl

pairing: dbf!southern!frank castle x afab!reader

summary: a trip to the store with your dad’s best friend ends in a lack of a swimsuit and the feeling of his beard scratching you forever engraved in your mind.

warnings: age gap (reader is 22, frank is 52), use of pet names, dirty dirty thoughts!!!, mention of a divorced dad?, fingering, no real sex, bearded frank <3, no mentions of y/n, no descriptions of reader, not proofread

word count: 2711 words

author’s note: the line “ride cowgirl” in pyramid by frank ocean inspired this whole fic, which i kinda wanna make into multiple fics?? a story if you will?? anyway, i think this is a huge step up from my last writing piece so please enjoy :)

read the sequel ride, cowgirl !

“I'm telling you to loosen up my buttons, babe.” You sang along to the song blaring from your dad’s speaker, you hijacked it when he went inside to get more beer for him and his friends, swinging your hips and slowly spinning in a circle. Your music was way better than his divorced dad rock music, which you secretly enjoyed, and if you were going to enjoy the get together he was throwing you were absolutely going to play your own music. 

“But you keep fronting.” Tiffany, your long time best friend, sang back into the imaginary microphone in her hand as she pranced around you in a circle. The two of you putting on a performance to the imaginary crowd in your backyard, or so you thought. Twenty feet away, sitting in perfect position across the fire to watch you swing your hips around, was your dad’s best friend Frank.

Frank was only half listening to the conversation between the men around him, he was more focused on the way you danced and how it was making him rethink every decision he ever made and was about to make, his knuckles going white from the grip he had on the bottle in his hand. Sure, he’d always known you were a gorgeous girl but something about tonight was different. The fire barely illuminating your skin softly had him wanting to slide behind you as your hips moved in time with the song, his lips dragging across the skin of your neck before moving to your ear where he whispered promises of what he’d do to you later. He took a sip of the lukewarm beer, watching you for a second more before turning back to whatever bullshit conversation that was going on. It paled in comparison to you. Currently, everything did. 

The summers in Texas were your favorite, the air was never too humid and warmed you up when the wind came through at night, the lightning bugs never failed to show up every night and lit up the trees if you paid enough attention. Truthfully you were biased, but the thing that made them truly the best was having no true responsibilities again and you would always enjoy that, especially when your beloved dad bought your alcohol for three months. One of your favorite perks was the swimming pool, you were either swimming with a few of your friends or tanning on the side but you were almost always found by it. The swimsuits you typically donned weren’t the slightest bit modest, and now wasn’t any different. You were barely covered in a green bikini, the top consisting of two triangles and a string, and the bottoms high cut and covered with a mesh skirt. 

“Castle, how’s work been man? Ain’t heard much bout it ‘n normally ya don’t shut up bout it.” Goddamnit is all Frank thought as your dad dragged him back into the conversation, ruining the imagery in his head. If looks could kill, the one he shot your dad would’ve murdered him beyond recognition. “‘s alright, busy. Always picks up in the summertime. Ready to have some more downtime, spend it with family.” More like with your daughter. 

“I hear ya. Promise ol’ girl over there we’d do some family shit this summer, if business keeps the way it is I ain’t too sure how well I can keep that promise.” Your dad responded, pointing you out to the guys as if Frank hadn’t been oogling you all night. You and Tiff had stopped dancing to the music and instead opted to sitting with your legs in the pool, gossiping about town drama and Tiff’s newest boy of the week. 

“Understandable, if ya’ll need anything just holler at me.” Frank responded, ready for the conversation to be done, ready to continue watching you like a creep from afar. He’d be a creep if it meant staring at you all night, he’d be a creep if it meant a chance to feel your hair wrapped around his hand while he-

“Dad, Tiff and I are going to get snacks from the gas station!” You called out happily, ripping Frank out of his delusion with the angelic smile of yours, walking over to the group of men surrounding the fire. 

“C’mere, I’ll give you my card so you can get some more drinks.” You happily grabbed the card from your dad, bending over to give him a small hug. Frank was no better than the next man, he scratched at his scruff as he admired the way the green of your bikini complimented the tan skin threatening to spill from the lack of support. 

“Frank, can you drive us? It’s dark and neither of us wanna drive.” It was like the perfect opportunity fell right into his lap and he’d be damned if he wasn’t taking it. The smile you were flashing him made him want to get down on his knees and beg, a god he wasn’t sure existed for, forgiveness for what he was about to do. 

“Course darlin’, let me get my wallet.” He looked at your dad who seemed to have no qualms about the situation before getting out of the chair, placing his mostly empty bottle of now warm beer on the ground and following you into the house. 

“I’m gonna go put a shirt on, give me a second.” Up until tonight, much like Frank with you, you hadn’t noticed how attractive he was. Older men had always excited you but this was different. Frank was big, strong, rough around the edges but had that southern hospitality you loved. You couldn’t help but think about how his scruff would feel rubbing against your skin, would it leave redness in its wake? would it help spur your orgasm as he fucked you with his fingers? 

You picked up some oversized t shirt that probably once belonged to your dad and put it on, shaking your head as if it would get rid of the thoughts. 

“Hey, I’m gonna head out. Horrible timing I know! But y’know, boy of the week is calling.” Tiff spoke, her expression clearly apologetic, giving you a hug and promising to make plans for later this week before grabbing her things and leaving.

“So for taking so long, got caught up in my thoughts.” Of you. You smiled softly, suddenly aware of how the sun had brought out freckles you didn’t know he had and how muscular he truly was.

“‘S alright, lets get goin’ ‘for your dad starts wonderin’.” He matched your smile, placing his hand on the small of your back as the two of you walked out of the house and to his truck. You were painfully aware of how big his hands felt, triggering your mind to think about his fingers. You rubbed your thighs together to relieve some of the tension aching at your core, it felt so taboo to lust after a man your dad’s age. Not just his age! His own best friend! 

The trip to the gas station was uneventful, unfortunately, the two of you exchanged conversation like the tension wasn’t thick enough to cut. Like Frank’s jeans were getting uncomfortably tight and your bikini bottoms uncomfortably wet. Like neither of you wanted to jump the bones of the other person.

“Hey, Frank?” You asked softly, trying to gain the courage to ask the question you wanted the answer to.

“Darlin’?” He put the car in park, looking over at you expecting you to call him every disgusting name under the sun for his thoughts about you tonight.

“Do you, uhm…”

“I’m not a mind reader, baby.” At first you thought you imagined the word, that he didn’t actually say it but it was your imagination fueling the growing fire you had for Frank Castle. But he did say it, and he did it on purpose. Testing the waters, seeing how far he could go without making you uncomfortable. 

“Have you ever been with someone younger?” Not the fucking question, idiot. You scolded yourself, you didn’t want to know the answer to this. What if his answer was yes and you were imagining his interest in you, that you weren’t special. 

“No, I uh haven’t. Not yet, anyway.” There he went again, saying things that made you think you were imagining it. Maybe you’d wake up any minute and none of it was real. He could see the wheels turning in your head, you were a smart girl and he knew that. 

You, timidly, leaned over the console of his truck and experimentally ran your fingers through his scruff. You’d never been with a man, much less a man with a beard, you’d only been with what your father classified as boys. Frank leaned into your touch, placing his hand on top of yours and dragging it to his lips. Placing kisses on your palm, keeping eye contact with you. You were having trouble breathing, he was going to kill you. The beautiful hunk of a man was going to be the cause of your death, you’d make sure Tiff had it written on your tombstone. “Death by Frank Castle.”

Frank let your hand drop into your lap, threading his own hand through your hair to grab the back of your head and pull you closer to him. He leaned forward to meet you halfway, eyes scanning your face just taking in your beauty. His lips were made to fit yours, you were convinced, moving in motion with yours. His beard scratching your skin deliciously, his fingers wrapping themselves in your hair, his scent. He was everywhere, he consumed you. 

“Need you, Frank please.” You breathed, pleading with him. “Need you so bad, need to feel you, your fingers.” You carried on, your voice sounding like you were on the verge of tears. 

“Baby, not here.” He spoke softly, committing the way you sounded to memory for him to reference later when he was alone, “I’ll get you off though. Make you cum, all over my seat.” 

His words eliciting a whimper, you’d take anything he was willing to give you. It didn’t matter that anyone could see into his truck at any moment, made the situation so much more intense. He tapped your thigh, signaling he wanted you to open your legs. 

Frank let his fingers dance over the exposed skin your lack of pants left, dragging them up your thighs slowly. Painfully slow. He left open mouth kisses down your neck, occasionally biting and soothing the bite with his tongue. What felt like a decade later his middle finger traced your clothed folds, chuckling into your neck at how wet you were. You bucked your hips at the stimulation, earning another chuckle from the man in the driver’s seat, you were dying to receive some more stimulation from him. At this point, you’d sell a kidney and probably your soul to just have a singular finger inside you. You’d probably sell his soul too.

He dipped a finger underneath your swimsuit, groaning at how wet you truly were and that he was the cause of it all. His dreams were, partially, coming true and he needed to thank the heavens and the stars. Your moans and whimpers were music to Frank’s ears and he’d do anything and everything to keep them coming, to keep those angelic noises from leaving your pretty mouth. The truck was silent except for your noises and the squelch of Frank playing with your pussy.

“‘S wet, pretty girl. All for me? Did I do this to you, baby?” He taunted you, sliding his finger through your folds and swirling your clit as he waited for an answer.

“All for you, promise.” You whined, leaning your head against him, sweat beading on your skin as the car started to heat up from the summer air and the actions being performed. 

Your pleas were answered when he finally plunged a finger inside of you, pulling it all the way out and admiring how it glistened in the light provided by the street light in the corner of a parking lot. He did this a few times, thrusting his finger in and pulling it all the way back out before plunging it back inside of you. His lips found your neck again, moving your head back to the original position it was in, kissing every spot of open skin he could reach. As if he read your mind, he inserted another finger alongside the one already inside. The stretch burned in a way that made you feel alive, made you feel on top of the world. All because Frank’s fingers were inside you. God, his fingers were big. So big it made you think about how right your dad had been to call everyone else a boy and not a man. So big all you could do was think about how big his cock must be, if his jeans were any indication you were in for a real treat. Not here though, stupid stupid gas station stupid truck. Your thoughts soon turned to mush.

His fingers curled right against the spongy spot inside of you, hitting it over and over again, he readjusted his hand to put his thumb on your clit.

“C’mon pretty girl, let go for me.” He spoke low, trailing kisses back up your neck and nipping at your earlobe. 

You could feel the warmth growing in your stomach, the knots forming into bigger knots and then even bigger knots. Could feel the heat spreading throughout your body, your orgasm so close you could taste it. It was right there, his fingers hitting all the right spots and his thumb working wonders on your clit, his scruff scratching your skin and his mouth kissing everywhere. He was suffocating you in all the best ways possible. All you could see, hear, smell and taste was Frank fucking Castle.

Stars. Your vision turned to stars as your orgasm washed over you, your body shaking in the passenger seat as he fucked you with his fingers. Those damn fingers. You couldn’t see anything but stars, for all you knew you had gone to heaven and it was thanks to the magical orgasm given to you at the hands of your new god. 

When you came down from your high, Frank was whispering how well you had done and how pretty you were. He was caressing your thigh and placing kisses to your head. 

“Did so good, gonna get me addicted.” He reached behind your seat and handed you a water bottle, opening it and holding the lid so you could drink it.

“Thank you.” You smiled up at him, that killer smile that got him here in the first place. He truly was going to get addicted to you and he had no complaints about it, could die a happy man tonight if fingering you in his passenger seat is all he gets to do to you. His phone ringing in his pocket brought him back to the situation at hand.

Shit. Both of you thought, remembering what you were supposed to be doing and how it was now an entire forty-five minutes later.

“Hey, ah yeah we’re good. Small fender bender, yeah….to make it all worse the gas station was closed when we got here.” Frank spoke to your dad on the phone, coming up with a lie like his life depended on it and he hadn’t just fingered you to the edge of your life. “Should be back soon, don’t worry man. I’m keepin’ her safe, precious cargo.”

You chuckled softly at his sentence, relaxing completely in the seat and taking a few sips of water, thinking about the future of your relationship with him. Or whatever it was, you made out and he had his fingers inside you but that didn’t mean shit. What if he regretted it and now didn’t want anything to do with you, what if he was too worried about his friendship with your dad?

“Quit thinkin’ too much. We’ll figure out whatever this is, all I know for sure is I need to see you again. And you to ride me, like a fuckin’ cowgirl. Ya hear?”