#trunks needed to catch a fucking break!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[meowdei]

female reader ; non curse au ; established relationship ; reader lays on sukuna ; written bc i’m moving and can’t help but imagine sharing an apartment with him (i want someone to help me carry heavy boxes with flexing muscles as i take in the view)

“I can’t find the box with my bras,” you whine. It’s miserable, the look on your face. It fills Sukuna with unbridled joy as he cracks a thickly amused grin.

“Good,” he grunts in approval, “you don’t need them, anyway.”

“I do,” you glare. It takes all of three seconds before the reality dawns on you—and then he’s snickering as your glare becomes harsher. “You put it somewhere, didn’t you?” You accuse him through narrowed eyes.

“Me? I’d never.”

“I should’ve known moving in with you was a mistake,” you snap, “I’m moving back.”

“Too late. We paid for the moving truck.”

“Well, technically you paid for the moving truck,” you correct him, letting your lips stretch into a smug grin.

He scowls, rolling his eyes before slumping onto the bed with a groan. You follow him, curling up beside him as your head finds his chest and his arm tucks under your body to cocoon you closer. You inhale, he exhales, and even if your paces don’t match, your uneven breaths form a pretty solid rhythm.

“I’m gonna need my bras,” you insist.

“Fine,” he grumbles, “I’ll get the box from my trunk later. I’m tired, woman.”

“We still have to unpack—”

“There’s plenty of time for that,” he clicks his teeth in distaste. “I need rest—I did all the heavy lifting, since someone refused.”

“It’s what the man is for,” you hum cheekily.

“So then why didn’t you do it?” He raises a brow. You shoot him an unimpressed look at his smart comment, a tight lipped, sarcastic smile splaying on your lips as you let out a humorless chuckle.

“You’re right,” you nod seriously, “it’s my job to treat the lady right. Sorry you had to sprain your back with my boxes, princess,” you pat his cheek.

“The fuck are you on about?” The look of pure disgust on his face makes you break out into giggles, leaning up to kiss his jaw as he grumbles something incoherently under his breath. You hear bits and fragments of it. Something along the lines of such a handful and give me migraines that you don’t fully catch, but they manage to amuse you all the same.

“You’re pretty enough to play the part,” you hum, shifting your body to roll on top of his. You hover over him, and Sukuna lets out a dramatic grunt. You pretend—and it’s only out of the goodness of your heart—that his cheeks aren’t slightly rosy from the comment you made.

“You’re heavy,” he says (to which you gasp, offended) as he squeezes your ass (you gasp again and smack his chest this time) and shoots you a grin with no shame (you stare for just a strict second—and a strict second only—at his dimples).

“Don’t lie,” you huff, “that’s an insult to that gym regimen of yours.”

“You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?” He asks smugly, mouth curving in that ridiculously annoying, yet stupidly handsome way as he adds, “bet you’re eye-fuckin’ me through that mirror as I life weights all the time.”

“I’m too busy worrying about those shaky arms giving out and leaving you to die under the weight.”

“Very funny,” he scowls, “you could pay our rent with stand up comedy alone.”

“Being my princess isn’t enough? Now you need to be my sugar-baby, too?”

“Enough,” he hisses, one hand coming to your face to keep you away as you break into a fit of laughs and try to give him a cheeky peck to the lips. “Stay away from me.”

“No, we’re roomies now.”

“We are not roommates,” he says, irritated by the idea. “That sounds like we’re fuckin’ strangers.”

“You’re right,” you nod thoughtfully, “I guess we can call it two mutually benefiting individuals that have decided to split costs to save money on a living space in an unforgivingly harsh economy—”

“You talk too much,” he mutters. And mainly just to shut you up (but maybe, perhaps, possibly for one of the mutual benefits, too), his hand grabs the back of your neck to pull you into a rough kiss. You cut yourself off by letting out a muffled gasp as his tongue presses against yours—messy, heated, and surprisingly gentle.

“Well, that was rather passionate. You know what they say about roommates,” you wiggle your brows as you pull away. He purses his lips in an agitated expression as he glares at your stubborn word choice.

“Stop callin’ me your fuckin’ roommate,” he demands.

You laugh. It’s soft—a light, airy noise. The sound bounces off the walls that are his and yours and echoes along the space between your pressed-up bodies. Along the boxes littered across the floor and the suitcases lined up in the corner. Along the clothes you insisted you needed that he hasn’t seen you wear in months as they lay in a heap on his closet floor. Along the kitchen table where you’ll have breakfast, and the living room where you’ll watch movies, and the bathroom sink where you’ll fight over space to brush your teeth.

He’ll never tell you directly (because he has dignity, of course) but he could really get used to living somewhere that houses a sound like that. A sound that makes him realize the difference between the space he lives in, and the place he calls home.

Home, he thinks to himself for a moment. Home is where your laugh echoes, ringing obnoxiously in his ear. Sukuna doesn’t think any living space will ever be the same again without it.

“Since we live together now—” you murmur, breaking him from his thoughts as you lean in to peck his lips. He hums in a rare, soft, content little sound that you don’t get to hear too often. “—I can finally decorate your plain ass apartment.”

His brows scrunch in horror as he registers your words. “Absolutely not—”

“Muah,” you cut him off with another peck to his mouth, “I’m thinking earthy tones, what about you?”

——————————

I carried like 20 something heavy ass boxes to and from my car nonstop today and every time I felt my poor arms get sore, I thought: wouldn’t it be so nice to have someone like sukuna and his four arms to do all the work while I sit and look gorgeous? He doesn’t have four arms in this fic, but that’s honestly his problem not mine. Just carry the damn boxes I’m just a girl

[girlthingamie]

“Hey sis, wanna go for a walk?”

You don’t think much of it. This family reunion is getting boring and stressful so I’m asking if you want to go smoke in the woods before having to come back for dinner, not the first time. It’s chilly out so you tell me you’re going go to grab a hoodie, but I throw one of mine at you before you can take a step away. “Come on, don’t waste time,” I say as I roll my eyes. You pull the hoodie over your head slowly, breathing in deep as the scent of me floats off the fabric. Watching you huff my clothes makes me a little hard just as it makes you a little wet when you look up from it to see me smirking at you. Neither of us think much of it.

As we walk down the street you instinctively grab my hand and stick close to my side. An old habit from when we were little. Mom used to make us hold hands when we went out on our own so that you wouldn’t wander off. It was always my job to keep an eye on you. To keep you safe. Neither of us think much of it.

I light up my cigarette as we enter the woods, but when you reach to grab my pack out of my hands I pull it away. You look at me puzzled but when the words “Earn it,” come out of my mouth your look turns to a mix of excitement and fear. “Let’s play chase for it.” Your eyes widen. “1… 2… 3…” You break out running after spending the first few seconds frozen. You’ve made it pretty far when you hear me shout out “30.” The excitement fills both of our minds. The thought of me catching you... neither of us can think of much else.

You're a little out of shape, it's been years since we played like this. We stopped when you started getting bullied by the other girls your age for still playing with your big sis. I'll admit, I was pissed off at that. I always liked the feeling of chasing you through the woods. No matter how old we got. Regardless, you start to tire out quicker than you used to. Even though you can't hear me yet, you start to get the feeling that I'm getting closer. A sort of sixth sense I trained into you from the early age we started playing these sort of games. You never thought much of it.

You stop to catch your breath, leaning against a tree. You couldn't have anticipated me sneaking up on you. You couldn't have anticipated me hiding on just the other side of that tree trunk. You feel me exhale smoke on the nape of your neck as I come up behind you, but I grab you by the waist before you have a chance to react. Before you know it, you're pinned against the tree. The stench of both of our sweat is strong. For a second, it's all either of us can think of.

I look at you dead in the eye with the end of my cig between my teeth. "Looks like you lost. No smoke for you." I blow the last puff of smoke into your face. "In fact that was so pathetic of a loss..." I glance down and with one hand lift up the sweater I gave you revealing a bit of tummy. I squat down to be up close to the exposed skin and put the cig out on you with my mouth. You squirm from the pain, but you know better than to try to writhe away, another lesson from childhood. I let the cigarette butt fall to the dirt and place a gentle kiss on the burn mark. My lips, your tummy, both so soft. For a second, it's all either of us can think about.

I look up at you and lock into what feels like an hour of eye contact as we both realize how fucking hot that was, our minds racing through different thoughts and emotions. "We should uh.. probably head back. Don't want to miss dinner, right?" I say through heavy breaths as I stand up without breaking eye contact. I turn around and take a step but you grab my arm and pull me right up against you, sandwiching yourself between me and the tree. You kiss me. Eagerly. Desperately. You need it. I need it. I kiss you back. I run a hand under the sweater, my sweater, that stands between me and your soft skin. You moan a little into my mouth as you feel your big sister grope your chest. We stay out there for hours. We don't make it back for dinner, but neither of us think much of it.

[storieswithvenus]

Feeling Forgotten - Tyler Owens x Fem!Storm Chaser Reader

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ 𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘶𝘴 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘬𝘴

hey! this is the longest ever fic i have ever wrote so i hope it’s good lmao. if you have any suggestions on how to make it better please do comment or send me a message. this one will contain some nsfw content so

TWs: allusions to cheating, flashbacks to sex, use of Y/N, somewhat of an insecure reader but not massively i think, angst, cocky reader at some points

please comment if i have missed any warnings, anyways enjoy!! ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི

word count; 1843

.*･｡ﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

You watch as your boyfriend Tyler, walks over towards the young blonde woman who had suddenly turned up with Javi, another storm chaser from another group. You couldn’t help but glare over at the sight of your boyfriend smiling down at her, your fists clenching as you watched her smile up at him.

“You’re gonna break your knuckles if you keep clenching them that tight, love”, a voice from beside you speaks, looking to your left to see your best friend Lilly smiling at you sympathetically. “I just don’t understand why he was so drawn to her when we first pulled in, Lills, I really don’t get it,” your tone soft, a frown forming on your face as your shoulders slump down with a mix of confusion and insecurity.

“Do not be getting soft on me now girl, you are THE tornado wrangler's girlfriend, and from what he has told us all, his future wife! So why are you doubting that? Has he given you something to ever question his love for you?” Her voice was sharp, full of questions as she tried to pry the answers out of you, not because she was mad at you, but because she knew how much you truly love him and how much you want a life with him. Lilly had been the one to begrudgingly listen to all the plans you have for yourself and Tyler in the next 5 years.

Firstly; get engaged, then have a small ceremony in your shared hometown, buy a house then have kids.

You feel yourself smile slightly at her constant questions, turning your head back to look at the sight of your boyfriend patting this woman’s shoulder as he made his way over to you. “Can I share a room with you tonight, Lills?”, you ask her with puppy dog eyes. “Y/n, of course you ca-“, she didn’t have time to finish the rest of her sentence before you walked away from her and your boyfriend who was quickly closing in on you two with a bright smile on his face. Tyler catches up to the spot you just stood on, watching as your silhouette walks away to the back of the jeep.

“Is she okay? She hasn’t come to speak to me since we got here.” Tyler looks over towards Lilly, a slight frown on his face, before quickly watching as you grab your duffle bag out of the trunk of the car and set it on the floor. Lilly (again) didn’t have time to finish her sentence before your boyfriend was quickly over beside you, reaching down to grab your bag as he slings it over his shoulder.

You roll your eyes slightly as you roughly close the trunk of the red jeep before turning to him and grabbing the bag off his shoulder. Tyler is quick to stop you by grabbing onto the bag and pulling it back onto his shoulder once more, “Baby, what’s going on? You always let me carry your bags to the motel room? Have I done something?” His voice is slightly shaken and soft, trying to keep the volume as low as possible so that nobody can hear your conversation. You roughly grab the bag off his shoulder and hoist it onto your shoulder, “Why don’t you go see what that new girl wants, huh? Might need a strong man to bring her bag to her room.” Shoving past him, and walking toward Lilly who was waiting for you with her key, leaving your boyfriend behind you, confused as ever.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

“You are taking the fucking piss right, Boone?” your blood boiling as you find out that your boyfriend had driven hours away to see this new girl Kate who had apparently left in a hurry after an argument with Javi. Standing up from the edge of your bed you run your hands through your hair. “Y/n, listen he wanted me to tell you-“ he began. “Tell me what? He ran off to see this fucking girl he’s know, what? 3 days? Oh yeah, thanks for the heads up, really appreciate it.” Your eyes glared into him, letting out a groan as he sat there silently looking around at your other friends in the room. You walk into the bathroom and slam the door behind you, due to it being an older motel you were staying at - the slam of the door nearly took it off the hinges.

Turning on the cold tap and splashing your face with the water as you try and calm yourself. Splashing your face a few times before looking up to see yourself in the mirror. Quite frankly, you didn’t look your best. You had been so tired the last few nights due to the early starts with tornados touching down at 5am. Your eyes had black bags under them, your lips were severely chapped, and your hair had at least 3 days of grease still in it. Taking a deep sigh, you reach to the bottom of your shirt, taking it off, and throwing it on the floor. Unclasping your bra, undoing the zip on your jeans pulling down your underwear, and throwing it all onto your shirt, leaving a pile on the corner of the bathroom. Turning around to the shower, reaching over the side of the tub, and turning it on. Grabbing all the essentials you need from your wash bag you had left in the bathroom next to Lillys’.

The water was a nice heat when you got inside the tub, pulling the heist curtain to cover yourself in case someone was to walk in and see you. Putting your head under the shower head and letting the water drench your hair, moving it around slightly to make sure every area was covered. You reach for your shampoo as your mind runs wild at what your boyfriend could be doing with her right now.

Could he be touching her like how he touches you? Could he have his head between her legs and please her how he pleases you? Have his cock in her and watch her face as she enjoys it? You don’t even realize how aggressively you are rubbing the shampoo into your hair, nearly scratching your scalp. Rinsing the shampoo out of your hair as you sigh, trying to fight away the images in your head of him and her, could he really do that to you after 3 years of dating?

Reaching over for your conditioner as you open the bottle, squeezing some out into your hand and rubbing it onto the end of your hair. Leaving it to set in your hair, you reach over to your loofah and squeeze your vanilla-scented body wash all over it, as you start to rub the loofah all over your body - the image of your boyfriend and you in the shower together engulfs your head.

His head lay in the crook of your shoulder, one of his hands holding your waist and the other playing with your nipple between his index and middle fingers, sometimes squeezing it slightly. Your head flew back as you let out a soft moan into his ear, your hand reaching and grabbing onto his forearm as you tried to balance yourself. His low chuckle surrounds the room, letting go of your nipple and trailing down towards the spot you wanted him the most, and just as he was about to reach there-

3 loud bangs are heard on the bathroom door pulling you out of your state of imagination, “Y/n/n, are you okay? I’m sorry for not telling you where he was going, I really am. You’ve been in there for like half an hour, please come out” Boone shouts through the door, his hand continuously banging in the door. “YEAH! I'm okay, I’ll be out now”, you shout back as you rinse the condition out of your hair and the body washes off your body, ignoring the pulsing feeling between your legs.

Pulling the shower curtain out of the road and reaching for your towel, wrapping it around your body you walk towards the door and open it, Boone is standing waiting for you with a sorry look on his face. “Please don’t be mad at me”, he looks into your eyes, which are full of regret and pain. You smile at him slightly, “I’m not mad at you dude, I’m just upset that’s all.” You reason with him, holding onto his shoulder, “he will just have to answer a fuck ton of questions when he gets back.”

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

You had been sitting in your room all day trying to map out the best mother storms for you and the team to follow when Tyler gets back when there is a soft knock on your door. Getting up and opening the door, “Dexter, really, I am not hungry, I don’t want any lunch.” you look up expecting to see your loveable older friend standing there however, standing there was your boyfriend with a bunch of tulips in his hand and a box of chocolates.

“I’m sorry for leaving, pretty girl,” his voice was full of love, “It was a really stupid thing to do and I should’ve consulted you on the matter before I ran off after her”. Moving to the side to let him into the room, you shut the door behind him.

“Yeah you really should have consulted me about it”, your voice sharp and full of anger, not daring to walk over towards him. He sighs, placing your flowers and chocolates on the messy bed you were just sitting in, walking towards you slowly. “I already know how you’re feeling my love, Lilly got a lot of shouting in when I first got back, I’m sorry I made you feel that way”, his hands placed on your waist as he looks down at you, “I didn’t bring her back if that’s what you are wondering, I told her I had to get back to see my lady.” You lean into him and wrap your arms around his neck and you lay your head on his shoulder, he pulls you closer and runs his finger up and down your spine.

“I love you,” his voice whispered, “I know you’re mad at me, and you have the right to be, but it’s always gonna be you baby, forever and always you”. You pull back away from him to look into his light green eyes, a cocky tone in your voice, “You know, saying sorry won’t make me forgive you that easily, along with flowers and chocolates.” His eyebrow raises at your words, quickly replaced with a smirk and he quickly lifts you up bridal style walking towards Lilly’s bed. “You don’t think she will mind if we use her bed, right?” He asks you in a playful tone before laying you down on the bed.

“I guess we will have to see, won't we?” You reply back as you pull him on top of him attaching your lips to his.

[morganbritton132]

Adding onto Steve's crime spree from this (and this and this)

Eddie has determined that he's not asking the right questions in life.

Is he questioning the man? Yes. Every day.

Is he asking Wayne for help when his van shits the bed on Thursday? No. When his van is still unusable come Saturday, did he ask his friends if he could catch a ride to band practice? No.

Did he ask if he could get a ride home? Also no.

It's raining and Eddie regrets his life choices so hard, he doesn't notice the Porsche 928 until it blows through the crosswalk he was about to step onto. He's hit with a tidal wave of frigid early November street water because, of course, he is.

"Fuck's sake," Eddie swore, pushing his wet hair out of his face. In his perphery, the Porche slams on its breaks and rolls back into the crosswalk beside him, but he barely notices. Talking to the driver, the world, or god, Eddie does not know when he rants, "Thanks! Thanks for that, I really need pnumonia. Thanks for bestowing-"

"Sorry, man," Steve says, an apologetic wince sticking out of the open window of the Porche. "Wanna ride? I can take you where you're going."

Eddie looks at the car, then at Steve, and then back at the car and signs, "...Fine, but only because this car is beautiful and not to expunge your guilt."

"Dude, I don't think a sponge is going to help."

Eddie rolls his eyes but sticks his guitar in the trunk before sliding into the passenger seat. He has to physically stop himself from touching everything. He's never even seen a Porche before, wow.

Steve's in the driver's seat looking like he's dying for Eddie to ask about the car so he can talk about it. Honestly, Eddie wants to ask about the car. He probably should have asked about the car but instead, he shakes the water out of his hair like a dog as payback.

"C'mon, man," Steve complains, wiping the water off his face. "Watch the leather."

Eddie gives him directions and then bites the bullet. He asks the wrong question, "You trade in the Beamer?"

"No way. That's my baby," He says. "I'm just borrowing this lady."

The conversation is actually nice. None of Eddie's friends know anything about cars but Steve seems to know a lot. He can almost forgive the guy for being a jock and the psychological warfare he's bestowed onto Eddie's brain the past week and a half, but then-

“It sounds like - shit," Eddie says, echoing the same sentiment as Steve at the sight of flashing red and blue lights in the rear view. A question he should've been asking all along occurs to him, "Did you steal this car?"

Steve gives him an annoyed look and then rolls down his window, smiling that All-American smile, "Heya, Hop. Didn't think you were working today."

"This car was reported stolen."

Eddie swears, sinking into the leather with the hopes that it eats him. Steve doesn't even hesitate, "Let me guess, Mrs. Woolledge? Crazy she knows what all her neighbors are doing but not that her kid's on dope."

Hopper doesn't say anything and the silence is loud so Steve adds, "It's not stolen. It's my dad's car. I have permission."

"From your dad?" Hopper asks, getting an annoyed nod from Steve. "Same dad that's out of town?"

"Well, Hop. There's this thing called a phone."

"You get that MRI...right? Throw the keys out the window," Hopper says. Eddie's mentally preparing on how he's going to explain this to Wayne when he calls from jail. Steve protests. Hopper demands, "Throw. The keys. Out. The. Window. Now."

Steve seems to realize that he's pushing his luck because he does just that. He even gets out of the car when Hopper tells him to. Hopper tells him to get in his truck and Steve straight up lies, "Hop, I'm taking my friend home. We're working on a school project together. At his house.”

Eddie curses Steve's entire bloodline from start to finish when Hopper lookings directly at him still in the car, "That true?"

Say no. Say you don't know him. Say you know nothing. Say anything but, "Yes."

"What subject?'

"History," Steve says at the same time Eddie says 'Art' and then rolls his eyes, "Art history, yeah?"

Hopper nods like he thinks they're full of shit and then tells them both to get in his truck.

Steve protests but more about leaving the car on the street than anything else while Eddie briefly thinks about the psychic his mom used to know. He wonders if she could curse someone for real. Maybe he can call her from jail.

He's fully ready to see the police station that he fails to realize where Hopper's going until they’re in Forest Hills. He turns and looks at both of them and says, "I'd like to know what grade you get on this project."

"Aye, aye, Captain," Steve says with a salute, pulling Eddie out of the car. Once they're inside, Steve peaks out the blinds like, "Yeah, he'll sit there for a while. He thinks I'm lying. Wanna smoke?"

Eddie is baffled, "No."

"Okay," Steve shrugs and flops down on the couch. He pulls a set of keys out of his pocket and adds, "Spare key. We just gotta wait until he's gone and can circle back for your guitar."

The only thing Eddie can think is, “what the fuck” and he doesn’t even know which part he’s talking about.

[starkeymeow]

❛ we make each other alive . .

does it matter if it hurts? ❜

I’M COMING, WAIT FOR ME.

PLOT you enter the hunger games a proud weapon of your district, only to find your sharpest blade is the boy beside you, and you’re not sure which one of you the capitol wants to break first.

CONTENT chapter twelve, best read in dark mode, rafe cameron x reader au, LONGEST chapter ive probably EVER released, very “what the fuck” chapter tho, lowkey readers clicker mutt trauma now, the clickers in my head lowk remind me of grievers from the maze runner, this whole things just a huge fight my bad, lots of y/ns thoughts incorporated in here where i tried to make it realistic but umm LOL

main masterlist | series ml | tag list | previous next

you want to stay, you and rafe both. staying near the cornucopia gives you a clear line of sight. it’s the perfect spot to wait out the last tribute, to see them coming before they see you.

and god, you want a minute to breathe. you need it. your limbs ache. your eyes still burns from tears. your hands won’t stop shaking.

but of course the gamemakers won’t let you rest. not now. not when there’s a finale to squeeze out of you. the show it just getting started for them out there.

you hear it before you see it.

click. click. click.

it freezes your blood solid. your head snaps up at the sound, eyes scanning automatically for the source. it’s quiet, too quiet, and for a second you think maybe you’re hearing things. maybe it’s just your nerves.

but then your eyes land on it. perched on top of the cornucopia, right at the mouth of its silver curve, is the mutt that killed topper. and it’s staring directly at you.

its six eyes are unblinking and wet. its legs are planted firmly apart, holding its long body up in that eerie way that reminds you of a cat right before it pounces. only it’s not small, it’s not soft, it’s massive, probably armored at this point, and too intelligent for comfort. you don’t know how long it’s been watching, how long it’s been waiting.

you take one slow step back, then another. “rafe,” you whisper, barely a breath.

he doesn’t respond at first. maybe he’s stunned. maybe he just saw it too. but you feel the shift in him. his arm tenses, jaw tightens. then his head turns slowly and locks onto the creature.

you don’t speak. you don’t need to. you both know what happens next.

you’ve seen this before. this is the part in every games where the mutt wins, unfairly picking off a tribute or two when it’s toward the end of the battle. that is unless you’re fast, unless you work together. and you swear you won’t give it the chance.

your eyes meet rafes. there’s a single nod between you, a decision made in silence. so then you run.

your boots slam against the dry ground, kicking up dust and leaves as you bolt for the tree line. rafe is beside you, slightly ahead at first, his arm brushing yours. behind you, you hear it,

clickclickclickclickclick

then silence, and then impact. the mutt hits the ground like a fucking meteor. it doesn’t growl and it doesn’t roar. it just starts running. you forget how fast it is or it seems to be, you don’t know. you don’t dare to look back. you can’t. all you can do is sprint, chest burning, lungs begging for air. you grab branches, shove past trunks, stumble over roots.

there’s a break in the trees. you see it at the same time he does. it’s a slope, jutting upward into a steep rock face. it’s climbable, you both know you need to get on there.

rafe jerks his head toward it and shouts, “go!”

you don’t ask questions. your fingers find holds in the rock like your life depends on it, because it does. he’s behind you, a presence at your back, one hand bracing your thigh to boost you up when your foot slips. your spear clangs once against the stone before you catch it, heart racing.

“got it,” you mutter breathlessly.

he grunts in acknowledgment, waiting at the bottom long enough to scan the tree line one more time. the moment your hand is over the lip of the ledge, you throw your whole body over, rolling onto your side and gasping for air.

rafe plants himself on the ground in front of you, mace in hand, breathing hard. sweat clings to his temple. he’s not speaking at first. he’s scanning.

you’ve never seen him this tense, like not even when you faced other tributes. this is different because this thing isn’t human.

meanwhile you clench jj’s spear in both hands, gripping the metal so tight your knuckles ache. you hover on the balls of your feet, rocking lightly between your stance to test your grounding.

“don’t throw it,” rafe murmurs to you, as if you would anyway. you’ve never trained with one before. “keep it close. jab center, then back off. move your feet. plant low when it rears up.”

you nod quickly. “heard.”

“if it pins me, aim for the eyes. top left looks like it’s blind, it’s scarred. just keep moving. don’t freeze. no matter what.”

“you either,” you whisper.

his eyes flick to you. there’s no smile, not really, but something in the look says he heard you. he returns his focus forward, tightening his grip. “it’s gonna circle fast. let it. we hold ground ‘til it commits.”

you shift your stance again. “and when it does?”

his voice is low. “we end it. still need to find that last guy around here.”

click.

clickclickclickclick!

you swear you’ve never felt your stomach drop any faster before in your life. your jaw locks.

“stay!” rafe tells you, and he’s off to try to slide past it. you see the mutt break through the underbrush, limbs unfurling, mouth already open and drooling with that sticky tar-like fluid. just like you remember, it’s bigger up close.

you and rafe going different directions forces it to choose, but it doesn’t.

the mutt springs forward. it’s not just fast, it’s smart. it lunges straight for rafe, teeth open wide, a guttural clack echoing in its throat.

he swings his mace hard, catching it across the face.

it yelps, snarls, then immediately swipes at him with one of its back legs. the claws miss by inches, leaving four deep slashes in the dirt.

you don’t think. you move. you charge in to jump off, spear low, and aim for its side. the tip sinks into scales but doesn’t pierce deep enough. it thrashes, and you yank back just in time before it turns on you.

its six eyes lock onto yours, but you don’t blink. you plant your feet and jab again, faster this time, aiming for its neck. it reels back just enough to dodge, then slams its body sideways, ramming into you with pure muscle and bone.

you stumble, then fall hard. your wrist screams, but the spear stays in your grip.

“y/n!” he rushes in and slams the mace into its hind leg again, buying you seconds to get back on your feet.

you scramble up, blood on your lip. there’s even dirt in your teeth, and it just keeps going. there’s literally no rhythm to this thing yet. there’s no pattern that you can see. it doesn’t fight like a wolf or a bear or a person. it lunges, then retreats. it circles. it climbs up the rock wall and pounces again from above like a fucking jungle cat.

the two of you are barely keeping up.

sweat burns your eyes. your shoulders ache from swinging and jabbing and missing and swinging again. you’ve hit it a dozen times by now but nothing’s sticking. no wound slows it down. it’s bleeding, but it doesn’t care. it doesn’t tire. is this even fair?

rafe’s breathing is ragged. he takes a claw to the side and grunts, stumbling back. the mutt almost gets his leg, but he throws himself behind a rock just in time.

you rush it, not even thinking. you jab at its eyes, again, again, again. it shrieks, backpedals, slashes wildly. the air sings past your ear as it barely misses your face.

you feel like you’re about to have a heart attack. this thing won’t stop.

“this is impossible,” you mutter, chest heaving. “we can’t kill it—”

“we can,” rafe spits. his lip is split too. blood runs from his temple down his neck. “we have to . . c’mon.”

the mutt charges again, tail lashing like a whip.

“move!” rafe barks, and you leap just in time as the mutt’s jaws snap where your ankle was seconds before.

you land hard but roll through it, eyes already scanning for rafe. he’s gripping his mace like it’s fused to his hand, crouched low, waiting. the mutt turns toward him next.

“now!” you shout.

and like clockwork, he strikes low, sweeping at its feet with enough force to make the beast stumble. its knee buckles for half a second.

gives you just enough time. you scream as you throw your whole weight behind the spear and drive it into its exposed rib. it lets out some guttural sound before thrashing wildly again.

you get knocked back by the force of it. the spear is still in your hands, slick now with whatever it bleeds.

“keep it off balance,” rafe pants. “don’t let it plant.”

“you think i’m trying to let it?” you snap, spitting out dirt, chest heaving.

he gives a short, breathless laugh, “fair.”

the mutt’s legs dig into the dirt again, rebalancing, tail curling tight behind it. it's angry now. pissed. its movements turn reckless, more desperate. the spear hit did something, but it’s not enough.

you circle it again, keeping just out of reach.

“go left,” rafe calls. “get it turning.”

you sprint that way, weaving between trees. the mutt follows with a screech but that leaves its back open, and rafe slams the mace into its spine. it howls and lashes behind it, tail catching him across the chest and sending him sprawling.

“rafe!”

“i’m good,” he coughs.

you grip your spear tighter, knuckles white. it’s your turn to bait it. you charge straight at the beast, aiming high. its eyes flick toward you, but that split-second is enough for rafe to recover and lunge for its leg.

you jab, he swings, you duck, he distracts.

your bodies are giving out, but the moves are working. not enough to kill it. like god, not even close. but you’re chipping away.

it’s limping now, just barely. but it’s still fast.

you both end up pressed against the cliffside again, covered in sweat and bruises and blood. some of it’s yours, some the mutt’s. your breath is shaky. your knees want to collapse.

“this isn’t working,” you rasp.

“no,” rafe mutters, eyes locked on it, “but it’s bleeding.”

you look down at your spear, then glance at his hands, scraped raw around the mace handle. you’re both wrecked.

the mutts head tilts toward you again. its breathing is louder now. not ragged, but winded. you’re getting to it.

“new plan,” rafe says.

you blink at him, sweat dripping into your eyes, chest burning like fire. “what?”

he doesn’t look at you, he’s watching the mutt, “you stay away. don’t leave the rock unless you have to. it’s already tracking you more than me.”

“so?”

“so we use that.” he wipes blood off his mouth with the back of his hand. “i draw it out. you wait for the opening. straight for the base of the skull. or the throat. whichever comes first.”

“rafe—”

“you trust me?”

your jaw clenches. you hate this. you hate when people throw that at you like it’s not the one card you’ll always fold for. but you nod, because you do. plus you really have no choice.

“good,” he says as you move behind the rock. meanwhile he’s already up, moving. the mutt snarls, snapping its head toward him.

he whistles. “come on, ugly,” he mutters, gripping his mace again. “let’s go.”

it charges, making you flinch, watching as it barrels toward him.

rafe doesn’t run. he sidesteps just enough to avoid being gored, but not enough to escape untouched. its claws scrape down his side, but he uses the momentum, spins, and slams the mace into its ribs.

it reels back, hissing, but it’s not down. you grip your spear, edge forward, waiting. he’s keeping it busy and buying you seconds.

“now, y/n,” he calls. “you see it?”

you nod before you realize he can’t see you, then yell out, “got it!”

you move to crouch behind it. the mutt notices too late.

you stab once. it screeches. another stab? it jerks, tail flailing, nearly knocking you back, but then it spins. and rafe’s too close to reposition.

“no—!”

you watch it lurch for him, shoulder-first. and he throws himself forward, not away, but into the attack, to lessen the damage. it slams him.

his body crashes into the tree behind him, splinters flying from the bark. the breath is knocked clean out of him. he slides down the trunk, hits the ground hard.

you scramble toward him, dirt flying behind you. his eyes are glazed, half-open, locked on the sky like he doesn’t know where he is. you press your palm against his chest again. it rises in short, uneven breaths. you don’t know if he’s even seeing you right now.

“rafe—” you whisper, “hey.”

your hands shake as you push up the hem of his shirt. blood smears across your fingers, but there’s no open wound, just bruises faint on his ribs. you suck in a breath through your teeth.

you drop the shirt. your hands are cupping his face before you even realize it, lifting his head from the dirt so he’s not just lying there like a dead thing.

“come on,” you murmur. “tell me you’ve got it.”

you don’t know what to do, don’t know how to help. your hands keep moving like they might do something, one over his heart, the other brushing sweat-drenched hair from his forehead. you don’t even know what to touch.

his fingers twitch against the dirt. he’s probably just trying to fight it. not physically, but up here, in his mind. his body might be wrecked, but he’s working through it anyway. at least you’re hoping so, you can’t do this without him here.

“just one more, rafe, c’mon,” you whisper, “we need to.”

rafe’s eyes finally lock with yours. they’re bloodshot, heavy, but focused. he needs to try again, you can see it. he needs to redeem himself.

“get me up,” he breathes.

a/n: umm what the freak sorry what was that. i just want it dead but i wanted to give this enough time so it doesnt look like they kill the mutt that easily 💔

you don’t argue. you loop your arm under his shoulder and haul with everything you’ve got, teeth clenched from the effort. he stumbles to his feet, one hand on your back, the other finding his mace again. his grip falters for half a second, but then tightens. you steady him.

behind you, the mutt snarls, its claws dragging through dirt as it shakes itself off, wounded but nowhere near done.

you and rafe don’t move. not yet.

“on my mark,” he mutters, limping. “we do this fast.”

your fingers tighten on the spear. “then give the word.”

and when it lurches forward again, this time, you’re ready. you plant your feet.

the mutt charges, claws tearing into the ground, gaining speed. it’s favoring its right side now, just slightly, a limp from one of rafe’s earlier hits. and it’s bleeding from the flank where your spear grazed deeper than expected. it’s fast, but you’ve read its patterns. you’ve watched how it swings first high, then ducks low. you’ve learned it.

“now!” rafe barks.

you spring left, he lunges right. you two are like a trap snapping shut.

the mutt twists in confusion, trying to follow both of you. it swings one massive claw at you, misses, and exposes its underbelly to rafe. he doesn’t hesitate. smash. his mace slams into its ribs. there's a crunch.

the spear’s become part of your arm now, weightless in your grip. you jab, weave, stab, pivot. you just move. you’re cutting shallow wounds, just enough to force its focus.

blood sprays across your chest, and thankfully it’s not yours. but the mutt adapts. it rears, faster now, and this time it nearly clips rafe in the shoulder. he stumbles. you see it and you scream, “duck!”

he drops just in time. you vault off the nearest rock, your legs burning as you launch yourself upward, slashing the spear across its snout. it screeches. its head jerks back. rafe’s up again, driving the mace into its knee. again, then again.

the mutt staggers. its balance is off. its legs twitch. and suddenly you’re back-to-back with rafe, both of you panting, dripping sweat and blood and dirt and whatever’s left of your strength.

“it's slowing,” you gasp. “we can end this.”

“take the eyes,” rafe says. “you blind it, i break it.”

you don’t even answer, you just go. you rush forward, spear tight in your grip. the mutt roars and swings wide. you duck low, then thrust right into one of its six eyes. the spear drives in deep. the mutt shrieks, staggering again.

rafe moves like a shadow behind it. his mace slams into the back of its head, then the joint of its shoulder. the bone cracks. the mutt falters, drops to a knee.

“again!” he yells.

every ounce of energy left in your body pours into the spear. you slam it through the second eye, black blood pouring. the mutt flails, roars, and thrashes.

rafe runs. he sprints toward the cliffside, leaps onto a nearby ledge. he’s above the mutt now, higher ground, perfect angle.

you pull the spear back, drawing the thing’s gaze upward again. it’s enraged, probably gonna run in blind. it lunges, but it’s too late.

“for district two,” rafe snarls, and drops. his mace comes down like a comet, full body weight behind it. it slams into the beast’s skull.

there’s a loud crack. the mutt collapses. dead.

finally, the arena goes silent.

you’re standing in the dirt, gasping, spear still clenched tight. your body’s trembling. and across from you, rafe’s down on one knee, arms heaving, breathing like he just outran death.

your legs give out, and the spear slips from your hand as your arms catch you in the dirt. one of your forearms drapes across your forehead, shading your eyes.

you can’t breathe right. your chest tightens, not from pain but from everything else. it still isn’t over.

“is this even worth it?” you murmur to the air.

there’s a high-pitched whistle in the distance.

your eyes snap open. it’s far, but not too far. and you know that sound. another whistle cuts through. this one’s closer.

you force yourself to sit up, barely. your muscles are screaming. you can’t tell if you’re shivering or just coming down from the high of surviving.

and then, there’s a snarl. it comes from behind. you roll weakly to your side and twist to look, and there it is. one of the pack mutts. coyote-like, just like jj said. its teeth are bared, eyes locked on yours.

the weird thing is that it’s alone, it’s separated from its pack. but it’s not stupid. it’s herding.

your heart drops. you’re being forced to move probably. it’s there on purpose. you glance sideways, rafe still slumped, breathing hard. he’s conscious. but barely.

you reach for him. your arm shakes with the effort. “rafe—” your voice cracks. “rafe, we have to go.”

he groans, head lolling toward you. his lip is split. his left eye is swelling. but he nods, barely, just once.

you brace your hand against the ground and heave yourself upright. you grab jj’s spear and then you reach for him.

“c’mon,” you whisper, dragging your body beside his, tucking his arm around your shoulders. “c’mon, get up.”

he stumbles with you but you grit your teeth and keep going. your eyes flick to the mutt. it’s watching you both, still snarling, but not attacking yet.

you take one step, then another. and then you run, kind of. you’re half-carrying rafe, your legs burning with every stride. branches whip at your arms. your breath tears out of your throat in short, gasping bursts.

behind you, the mutt follows. and somewhere ahead, you hear them. it’s the last tribute. he must be closer now. you’re close enough to hear the scuffle, the sharp whistling commands, and the other pack mutts barking, circling, driving.

you stumble out of the trees, barely holding rafe upright. your foot catches on a root and you almost drop him, but you grit your teeth and drag him forward, vision doubled, chest splitting from the pressure in your lungs.

up ahead, a tree stands alone in a pocket of the forest, its lowest branch way above your reach. and perched right on one of the heavy limbs, like maybe twenty feet up, is the last tribute curled tight like he’s trying to disappear into the bark.

this is the last tribute.

he’s shaking and hunched over, clutching his side like he’s either been stabbed or clawed, maybe both. his other arm’s wrapped tight around the branch to keep from falling. and below him are six of the pack mutts. they’re growling, clawing at the base of the trunk and snapping their jaws up at him like they’re just waiting for him to slip.

you slow, staring, and he notices you. his head lifts slowly, eyes wide and dark with panic. his mouth opens a bit like he’ll say something. he needs help.

he's not thinking about the games. he's not thinking about winners or kills or who’s left. he's just thinking about surviving. he doesn’t want to die like this, no one does.

but he wants something from you. he doesn’t want violence. he wants mercy.

you stop dragging rafe. you ease him down against a mossy stump, out of view, away from all of this. your hand touches his cheek briefly, checking that he’s alive. and he is. he leans into your touch a little but it’s obvious he just needs some rest, and you’ll give it to him. you just can’t carry him and do this at the same time.

you turn back to the tree. the tribute’s still watching you. his chest rises and falls in shallow, rapid gasps. one of the mutts makes a jump and almost reaches him, but he kicks it away, slipping and catching himself on the branch last second. he whimpers, clearly not expecting to survive much longer.

you’re about to run when a whistle cuts clean through behind you. you don’t even get the chance to make a move.

your breath snags in your throat and your head turns before you even mean it to. it’s twitchy and hungry-looking, its eyes wild. but the pack hears it.

they turn like a single body, claws skidding in the dirt, snarls turning into a complete silence as they all whip their heads toward you.

you freeze, arms half-lifted, fingers curled tight around jj’s spear, your chest rising and falling too fast. your gaze flicks upto the last tribute, still clinging to the branch, still staring at you with that open, pleading expression.

he knows what’s about to happen, and so do you. you meet his eyes, just for a second. maybe he sees it—the threat, or the promise.

watch me do what you couldn’t.

or maybe just, you’re next.

then you run. you turn so fast your ankle nearly gives, pushing off the forest floor as hard as you can, lungs screaming in protest. behind you, the mutts explode into motion, all of them. you hear them crashing through the brush, the shriek of branches snapping under their weight, the high-pitched whistling cut through the air like war drums.

you don’t know where you’re going. only that it has to be away from rafe at least.

you weave through the trees. you think, maybe if i climb . . . but you dismiss it just as fast. it’s too slow. they’d catch your leg before you even got halfway. they'd drag you down. you wouldn’t stand a chance. every breath is a gasp.

crunch.

you wince, stumbling. not from the sound, but from the feel. something solid under your boot. you keep running for a second before instinct makes you look down.

there’s red. it’s not blood, which you would’ve assumed it was. but it’s this bright, crimson red, just smeared under your sole.

a rose?

you whip your head up and around. they're everywhere. they’re just scattered in patches, all over the forest floor. you haven’t seen them in days but they’re still with long stems, like sometimes foot-long at least, spiked with thorns too big to be natural.

you hesitate. your body screams at you to keep going, but your mind is racing now. in some perfect world the mutts will step on them. and maybe the thorns will slow them down, but you’re pretty sure they’re just going to run around them.

you swallow, hard. all you do is just run faster. the whistles get louder, they’re closer. they're right on you. you cry out, half from fear, half from pain, “c’mon, come on—”

the forest thins ahead. you know where you are. a ledge is coming up soon. you know it.

you set your jaw, heart in your throat, but you run toward it. you burst through the last of the trees, your steps skidding to a stop right before the ledge that overlooks the same bloodstained water you and rafe dragged yourselves out of before.

you don’t run anymore. you plant your feet and wait.

the first one is fast, smaller than the rest. maybe it’s the scout. its paws tear at the dirt as it lunges for you, snarling with its teeth already out.

you don’t flinch. you swing, yelling. the point of your spear drives up hard into its ribs until the tip cracks through bone and catches something vital. the mutt shrieks, jerks, and you twist your body, using all your weight to heave it over the edge. it flails, claws outstretched, and then it’s gone.

there’s a splash below but you don’t have time to watch. the next two come at once. you kick at the first one, your boot slamming into its shoulder hard enough to stagger it. the second one’s already lunging, jaws snapping for your neck, but you spin, swing, and the tip of the spear fortunately hits right between the eyes.

its body goes limp mid-air and crashes at your feet. you stumble back, eyes wide, trying to suck in air you don’t have time for. and then—

it all happens so fast. there’s another one, flying straight at your head, mouth unhinged, jaws gaping wide enough to swallow your face whole. you duck.

like you don’t even think, you just drop. your knees hit the ground and the thing soars right over you, landing behind you with a crash that sends it straight off the ledge. another splash.

there’s still more.

you see the next one too late. it’s on you before you can steady your stance, its fangs clipping your shoulder as it lunges. you cry out and jab hard, spear low, but it’s not deep enough. it gets stuck in its side.

you curse under your breath and let it go, driving your knee into its gut. you reel back and kick, your heel colliding with the thing’s jaw in a heavy crack. it stumbles sideways, stunned but not dead. you don’t even wait to make sure.

because below, you can hear the ones that fell are now thrashing, claws finding stone, finding tree. they're climbing back up.

you pivot as fast as you can cause there’s still two more left. they block your exit, fangs dripping, eyes locked onto yours, but they don’t pounce right away. their heads shift toward each other, letting out sharp whistles, clicking from their throats in bursts. one growls. the other snarls back. they’re arguing, and you run.

you bolt past them before they can decide who gets to kill you, leaping over the twitching body of the one still bleeding from its side. your chest heaves.

the two behind you freeze for a second, then give chase.

you finally stop when the trees thin out again, when you’re far enough you can breathe. you plant your boots in the dirt again, then draw both daggers from your sides with trembling hands, and turn to face what’s coming.

you don’t have to wait long. they’re already on you. and they’re fast, like too fast. the one on the left darts between trees like it’s weightless, and when you fling your first dagger, it just barely scrapes the back of its leg. you curse under your breath and pull the next one.

try again.

this time you take a second longer to aim. you let it fly, and it lands, right in the neck of the second mutt. it yelps, collapses with a skittering snarl, still twitching but done. but you don’t get time to feel relieved because the other one’s leaping at you.

you barely process the blur before it slams into you, knocking the air from your lungs. you roll, the ground scraping at your elbows, your ribs screaming. you land hard on your back, the mutt on top of you, its jaw inches from your face, open wide enough to swallow your head whole. it really can’t close. it doesn’t need to.

its eyes are monstrous. they’re soulless, nothing but pure rage. pure hunger.

you scream, not loud, and shove at its chest, trying to keep it off of you. its breath smells like actual death. you feel the drag of claws at your sides and panic surges so fast it almost blinds you.

you hit it hard. your fist cracks against the side of its head. it jerks, stumbles back just enough for you to twist and crawl backwards, your palms slick, shoving your back up against the nearest tree. your eyes are wide as you let out shallow breaths. blood runs down your temple into your lashes, stinging.

you look around and you see it immediately. a rose. it’s just one, thick-stemmed, ugly, red. but it’s poison. poison. use it.

your sleeve’s already torn, but you wrap it around your hand as fast as you can, shielding yourself from the thorns. the second you hear claws scraping dirt again, you rip the rose from the ground.

just in time, the mutt charges. its mouth is open again, its target your throat. you lunge up from your crouch with a half-scream, grabbing it at the side of the neck with every ounce of your strength, twisting your arm so the rose-thorns slam into flesh.

your hand drives it in, making direct contact.

it snarls, but it’s weaker. it’s twitching, jerking. its body starts to give way, muscles locking. then, nothing. it drops, limp, right at your feet.

you don’t move. not yet. you’re too terrified to. your legs are still bent like you were about to kick. your body’s tense like it doesn’t believe it’s over. but you straighten out slowly, pressing yourself into the tree bark behind you.

you wipe the blood from your brow with the back of your hand, smearing it across your temple. your arms feel like dead weight, but you reach down and reclaim your dagger anyway. the mutt on the ground breathes shallow, like it knows. like it’s still aware. it looks at you.

and for a second, you hesitate, but then grip the dagger tighter and plunge it into the neck once, then twice. it doesn’t move again.

you look up and spot the other one already collapsed a few feet away, blood leaking from its wound, chest barely rising. it’s dying, but not dead. you don’t wait for it to get there.

you have to get back to rafe.

so you move quickly, eyes sweeping the ground, scanning the scene until you spot them. the roses. they’re still scattered, but untouched. you drop to your knees, snatching them one by one, biting them off at the base of each bloom and yanking until all you have are the long, thick stems.

you want the thorns only.

you pocket them, stuffed tight into your jacket. it hurts, but you don’t really care. up on shaky legs, you run, heading straight in the direction of where you last saw them.

the trees open up and the light hits the clearing in flashes. everything’s moving. he’s there. rafe. and so is the last tribute. there’s already a fight going on, probably started after you’d left. rafe is on the ground, bleeding, and you don’t know how bad it is. you don’t know if he’s losing. you can’t tell yet.

your legs are already burning. you don’t think, you just act. you see the tribute move toward him again and you grab your last dagger, the one you kept just in case, and hurl it with everything you have left in you.

it slices through the air, fast and clean, and buries itself deep into the guy’s calf.

he lets out a sharp cry and stumbles back, reaching down to grab the blade sticking out of his leg. that’s when you reach into your pocket, fingers closing around the rough, thorned stem of the rose.

your body moves without thinking. you launch forward, and you jump, legs wrapping around his waist, one arm hooking hard around his neck as you pull the stem across his throat from behind, hard and unrelenting. your grip is iron.

you don’t even think about the fact that you didn’t wrap your hands this time. your sleeves are rolled up, and now the thorns are biting into your palms, ripping skin open, blood mixing with toxin. the pain is sharp, immediate, but you don’t care.

because he’s choking, thrashing, trying to pry you off, but the paralysis is kicking in, slow and terrible, and you can feel his limbs locking up under your grip. you can feel it too, only you try to block it out as much as you can. need to make sure this guy stays down.

he stumbles as you try to hold on, but his balance breaks, and you fall too.

he collapses backward right on top of you, his weight knocking the breath from your chest. your head hits the ground with a thud so hard you see white. you groan.

you did what you had to do.

“y/n . . .”

rafe’s dragging himself forward. he’s holding his shoulder like it’s dislocated or shattered, the other hand gripping his mace, the weapon hanging like dead weight.

he’s breathing hard but bleeding harder. you don’t know how he’s even still standing.

he limps toward you both, rage still simmering under his skin for the way the tribute came at him while he was already down. he leans down with a grunt, grabbing the guy by the collar and throwing him off of you like it’s nothing.

he doesn’t wait. he looks down at the twitching body, the way the paralysis has taken over, limbs frozen and spasming slightly, and he raises the mace. then slams it down into the guy’s chest, right over the heart.

the sound is sickening. bone cracks. flesh splits. the cannon fires almost instantly, echoing over the trees, cutting through the quiet.

rafe stands over the body, chest heaving, blood splattered across his arms and jaw. he spits into the grass, like the fight left a taste in his mouth he can’t stand.

then his eyes lift straight to you. and for a second, the rage in him softens.

he drops the mace beside the body with a loud clatter. his shoulders are still tense, but his eyes are only on you now. he stumbles closer, gripping his bad shoulder tight, trying not to fall over. his limp is obvious, but he doesn’t stop moving until he’s close enough to reach out.

he crouches, barely, and waits. he doesn’t touch you. not yet. he just watches you breathe, waits for the paralysis to loosen its grip on your limbs, the same way it had taken the tribute.

his chest rises in wild bursts, blood sliding down his arm in fat red lines as he tried to move his shoulder, like fix it, or do something. his jaw clenches so hard you can hear it pop. he shifts like he’s trying to pop his own shoulder back into place in the meantime, like the pain is something he’s almost gotten used to by now. but he never finishes the motion. he just stays.

his body rocks slightly with every breath. he blinks down at the grass, the dirt, then over to you.

you don’t get it.

your own breaths are shallow, barely coming back to you. the paralysis is still sitting heavy in your body, holding you down like weights tied to your limbs. you blink at him slowly, dazed and confused and somehow still alive. the games should be over. someone should be dead. either him or you. and yet . . .

he hasn’t done anything.

you stare at him as hard as you can, trying to find it. a reason. or a trick. some final move he’s planning, maybe. he’s probably waiting for the paralysis to wear off so you can have a ‘fair’ fight. district two always plays into the spectacle, right? give the people a proper ending, make it dramatic, bloody, full of glory.

but your limbs barely twitch. you can’t even sit up. and you don’t want a final fight, not anymore. not even with him.

he deserves to win. he earned it. you'd let him win in a heartbeat, so why won’t he take it?

rafe finally moves, slowly, like it hurts just to lift his arm. you can’t even flinch. all you can do is watch as he reaches for your pack beside you, fingers slipping inside until he pulls free one of your daggers.

oh, this is how he’s gonna do it.

he turns it in his hand. he’s calm now, like eerily calm, just sitting there, legs sprawled out, breathing through his nose as he studies it like it’s something important. you don’t understand.

he’s going to kill you, you’re sure of it. the only thing you hope is that it won’t hurt too bad. maybe he’ll be quick. maybe he won’t look at you while he does it. maybe . . .

“do you trust me?”

he looks at you. there’s something wrong in his eyes. there’s like a flicker of guilt, maybe grief, or just something softer. something you don’t want to see because it means everything you thought you knew about this moment is wrong.

your brows twitch, just barely, because that’s all you can move. your mouth is dry. your head is still ringing from the impact.

what are you doing?

his eyes drop again, and you can see him thinking. it’s all over his face. whatever he’s about to do, he’s building it in real time, figuring it out second by second, and it’s scaring you more than any tribute ever has. is the capitol watching? are they showing this right now? do they know what he’s about to do? because you don’t.

not until he shifts, and the dagger turns.

you think—no.

he wouldn’t. he can’t. he wouldn’t.

but then it happens so fast you can’t even blink.

straight into his own gut, angled just right. the sound it makes is horrifying. it makes your stomach turn. your eyes go as wide as they’ll go.

he grunts, his body folding forward slightly, and the dagger stays in, lodged in his abdomen like he barely hesitated at all, like it was nothing. like it was the plan the whole time.

blood spills out in thick, dark streaks. your limbs are burning, just barely coming back to you, but you still can’t move. your heart is screaming, what the hell did you just do?

but he’s not looking at you anymore. his head is bowed, his hand still on the hilt of the blade. he shudders out a breath before his fingers twitch around the handle of the dagger. he’s staring down at it, jaw locked, eyes glazed and unreadable. he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t make a sound, just pulls it out.

the blade comes free, slick and red and wrong, and he stares at it like he’s not even sure it’s real, like he’s outside of his own body. he swallows hard, his throat bobbing. and then he lets go.

the dagger clatters to the ground beside him with a soft thud. it bounces off his leg, rolls once, then stills in the grass between you.

you can’t breathe. rafe. your limbs still feel like they’re pinned beneath concrete but you fight, harder than before. your hands twitch, your toes curl. your jaw clenches as you try to roll toward him, but your body won’t fucking listen. your nerves scream against the paralysis as you try again and again, but all you can do is drag half your body a few painful inches.

why is he doing this?

this isn’t good for district two, no matter how much he probably believes this is doing him or you good. why would he just do that without warning? without mention? or a plan?

why would he give it to you like this?

you want to scream. you want to grab him by the collar and shake him, tell him to stop being so stupid, or so fucking selfish in his sacrifice. this isn’t how this ends. this isn’t how you win. this isn’t a win at all.

tears start to pool in your eyes. you’re furious. you watch him falter before he collapses. he just falls back with no grace, lands flat on the ground, legs sprawled, one hand curled loosely by his ribs where the blood is already soaking through his shirt. the other falls to his side, palm open to the sky.

you snap. a sharp inhale breaks through your throat like it’s the first breath you’ve taken in minutes. your chest rises with it, violently, and you gasp so hard it aches. it feels like breaking through the surface of freezing water. you blink through the sting, your fingers finally twitching with purpose. one leg even moves.

and then your voice, hoarse and broken, “rafe.”

he doesn’t answer, but the sound of his name tears something open inside you. it forces you up. your muscles burn, your back aches, your hands tremble as you finally manage to sit up, still dragging one leg behind you as you crawl toward him.

“no. no, no, no— fuck—”

your eyes scan his body, wild and panicked. his shirt is soaked through, the wound’s deep. his skin’s gone pale too. his eyes are fluttering, barely staying open. he’s bleeding out fast on purpose. you know he pulled out the dagger to make sure he’d bleed out. he wanted this.

“what the hell did you do?” you breathe, watching in horror.

he doesn’t look at you. his mouth parts slightly, like he’s trying to say something, but nothing comes out. his breaths are shallower now.

and all you can do is hold your hands over his wound, trying to press, to stop it, to do something, but the blood slips through your fingers like water.

you shake your head. “no, you’re not— you can’t do this to me,” you argue with him, almost pleading. “you can’t do it like this, you don’t get to do that. you don’t get to make that choice for me.”

you press your hands down harder, harder than you think you should, because there’s no guide for this, no perfect pressure that guarantees his blood will stay inside his body where it belongs. it’s all instinct now, just panic and muscle memory. his blood is hot beneath your palms, slick between your fingers, and all you can do is try.

you’re shaking. your legs are soaked in him. it’s everywhere.

you try to think, dig through the thick fog in your head for anything kie told you days ago, any of the weird survival shit she used to spout while in training or out here chewing on leaves.

pressure above the wound.

pinch the artery.

was that right?

did she say that or did you make it up? you don’t know. you adjust your palms anyway, inching higher, closer to the place where his ribs end. it’s the best you’ve got.

you remember training, but vaguely. there was a blood-loss seminar that lasted ten minutes and ended with a demonstration on a dummy whose torso opened like a puzzle box. they said something about gauze, pressure, to wrap tightly and elevate. it all feels like a joke now. none of that taught you what to do when someone you care about is bleeding out beneath you.

you think of your mentors, anything you can remember. literally anything.

always account for change—

no.

this isn’t war. it’s a show.

that means it’s rigged for drama. that means they want surprises.

don’t fall for them.

and then, it’s like an afterthought . . .

if it gets desperate, start a fake romance or something. no one’s done a good one in years. doesn’t have to be real.

the capitol eats that shit up.

you freeze, and then you blink.

. . . a romance? now?

it’s stupid. it’s insane. it’s all you have. you need to save this, you need to keep this going.

your eyes fall to rafe. he’s still breathing. his chest rises in uneven pulls but he’s still here. and something in you clicks into place.

his ‘do you trust me?’ is still ringing in your head. rafe had a plan. he has a plan. you don’t know if you’re reading him well enough to know what kind of solution comes out from this, but while you have the upper hand you plan on taking advantage of making the moment yours while you can.

make a romance. show a connection. he’s bleeding and dying. your only hope is him, or neither of you.

you crawl forward, blood dripping from your hands, your knees slipping against the soaked grass. your heart’s hammering in your ears, threatening to shake your ribs loose, but you don’t let yourself stop.

you hover over him. your face is inches from his. you can feel the heat of his breath against your lips. he smells like metal and sweat and smoke and everything you’ve both been through.

you don’t think. you just lean down and kiss him, taking the chance. even if this doesn’t work in any way, you might think of it as a goodbye. god, he’s so fucking stupid. so you’ll be stupid too.

for the first time in your life, having experienced what you have, it almost doesn’t even feel worth it winning the games anymore. not if it’s just going to be you going home.

it’s soft at first. you’re both hesitant, but it’s like you’re afraid he’s not really there. but he is. his lips barely move under yours, but it’s enough, enough to tell you he feels it, enough for the cameras, enough to make it look like love, if anyone’s watching. if anyone still cares.

your fingers tremble as they reach down carefully. they find the dagger between you. you wrap your grip around the handle.

you kiss him one last time.

the blade finds your gut immediately after. it goes in fast, and deep, and it hurts. you jerk forward, gasping against his mouth. a cry escapes you before you can catch it. your eyebrows draw together in pain, your breath falters, and your hands shoot up to your stomach, too late. the damage is done.

the blade sinks through like it belongs there, and for a moment, your vision blurs.

you pull away from the kiss, lips parting in a quiet gasp as you press your forehead to his. tears slip free before you can stop them.

you can feel it, the way his fingers twitch against your arm. he knows.

he’s going to hate you for it, but you don’t care. he should live. he should win. you won’t let them take that from him.

you reach for the handle again, try to pull it out, but the pain is unbearable. a choked scream escapes your throat and you collapse sideways, arm clutched over the hilt, fingers trembling too hard to grip anything. your legs fold beneath you. your body refuses to cooperate.

and just like that, you’re down. you land half-curled on the grass, the blade still in you, your blood already spilling fast. good. let it spill. let it pool. it’s got to be convincing, right? dramatic enough for them to care?

hopefully you bleed out faster, it doesn’t help that the knife won’t come out though. maybe they’ll tend to him first and save his life, rescue him, resuscitate him.

you let your eyes drift open, only halfway.

he’s still there beside you, breathing. you reach for him, your fingers grazing his.

this is how the sixty-eighth hunger games ends, not with a fight, not with glory, but with both of you lying here in the grass, wrecked and ruined and too tired to get back up. you can’t imagine what your parents could be thinking right now.

maybe you die, maybe he lives. maybe neither of you do.

maybe.

maybe.

maybe.

@nicholaschavezslut69 @iissza @snowtargaryen @yootvi @ariiwritess @spideysimpossiblegirl @skyslowalking @adribarbie @obsessionsarenotfortheweak @0-tatiana-0 @beebeerockknot @rafestar @drewstarkeyzwhore @drewsephrry @annaconscience @writtenbyhollywood @yourtypicalteenagegirl @daisydark @v4mpscrms @issahruiz @ilovefictionallmenn @derpjungkook @vanessa-rafesgirl @sunny1616 @alphabetically-deranged @nrmlgirl @supercxnt @xoxosblogsblog @rafegetinmybed @siyahmoonlight @livie4lifestarkeyblyth @d-daxx @tsumudoll @ogcrashout @jjasmiineee @loverliner @ailimedae @belle101200 @hiimbrina @nomup @ayy1234567 @girxwrp @k4yr14 @amterasuu @theteenagementality @maggscr @hey-you22w @delilah22pbp @hayleynott @silkenthusiasts ++

no im jk you actually wake up to the soft hum of something beside you LOL. it’s a steady, mechanical rhythm that syncs weirdly with your breath.

there’s pressure on your face, around your nose, like something's taped there, plastic, warm. a tube?

your brain’s fuzzy, still trying to reboot itself, but one thing is certain: you’re not in the arena anymore. you’re not even in bed back home in two.

this isn’t home. this isn’t the games.

your eyes flutter open slowly, everything stiff and heavy. you try to lift your arm, just a little. it doesn’t obey. it aches instead, some phantom weight dragging your muscles down stiff like stone. you manage a slow turn of your head, just enough to make out your surroundings.

you’re in a room. it’s sterile, pale, muted.

where am i?

the walls are a soft off-white, almost green under the fluorescent lights. there’s a low hum coming from a machine to your right, wires connecting it to your arm. an iv bag swings gently above your head, half-full. your mouth is dry, your lips cracked.

a hospital?

no windows, just a frosted panel to your left with some shape moving behind it. there’s just one bed, no flowers, no cards.

no one.

except your eyes lock on something up ahead. across the room, on a countertop beneath a narrow mirror, something shiny catches the light. you squint against the sleep crusting in the corners of your eyes, blinking until it clears.

what?

it’s your crown.

it’s the one they made you wear for the tribute parade. you remember hating it.

i’m sure someone’s already picked it up, valis’s voice is faint in your head, but it’s hard to imagine, it’ll be returned to your suite. no need to worry.

but now it’s sitting here, alone, like a gift. or worse. a prize.

your stomach sinks. did you win?

no, no, no. that can’t be right. you stabbed yourself. you made sure that if it wasn’t rafe then no one would make it out. that was the plan. that was the whole point. they were supposed to leave both of you to the capitol graves.

before you can panic properly, the door hisses open.

you freeze. you can’t do much else anyway, but your heart trips in your chest as footsteps cross the threshold. enobaria walks in.

she’s not herself, not quite. her posture is softened, her shoulders are curled inward like she’s trying to fold in on herself. her arms are wrapped around a cardigan, clutching it to her body like she’s cold or nervous. or both. she looks at you, her gaze sharp but wavering, and for a long second, she doesn’t say a word.

you just stare, eyes wide, throat too raw to speak.

finally, she lets out a quiet, slightly broken breath. “you’re awake.”

you don’t answer. you can’t.

she approaches the bed, her boots quieter than you remember. maybe she’s been upset. she must’ve had a conversation right before this because why is she like this? she knows something you don’t. she stops beside you, eyes scanning over the wires, the bruises, the half-healed stab wound beneath your blanket.

“you made it,” she says quietly. “you’re here . . . fuck, kid. you did it.”

just you?

no . . .

no.

your brow furrows as you stare at her. rafe?

tears already brim your eyes in frustration. there’s just something off in her tone. she’s sad. guilty, even.

you try to speak, but your voice won’t cooperate. your throat tightens around the question you don’t know how to ask. she sees it in your eyes.

“i didn’t think. . . . i didn’t think they’d let both of you make it out. and i told you—remember? the games, they don’t do fair. they don’t like two winners. it’s too clean. not dramatic enough.”

you blink slowly.

what?

two?

you open your mouth, but nothing comes out. your head spins. your fingers twitch against the sheet. a question forms on your face before your brain even finishes processing it.

both?

she said both.

both of you made it out.

you suck in a shaky breath. your heart flutters and stutters, like it’s trying to understand what this means.

but you’re horrified almost. this has never been done before. you’re sure that in previous games you’ve seen there be usually one victor, and if the last one tries to kill themselves before they secure their win then there’s none. games gone, tapes erased, you’ve seen it at your mother’s work. so why you two? why did they keep it this time?

rafe.

he’s not dead.

he’s alive.

a/n: okay lowkey that was rly messy but u get the idea damn, n now i dont have to worry about the first games. but this is the end of act 1 for icwfm!!

as far as act 2 goes, this will be the post-games era. this will be taking place any time after rafe and y/ns games up to the 74th games. this style of writing will be different for this!!

since post-games writing wont be a “book”-like series, i’ll be jumping from different ideas like “snow meeting with rafe and reader for the first time” to “rafe and reader meeting other victors for the first time” to “rafe and y/ns trafficking; y/ns punishment for refusing” like we planned in this.

it’ll still be in paragraph form (i debated between that or just headcanons) but it wont be like .. idk .. like each chapter wont pick up from where we’d last lead off like we’d do here because i only wanna cover the most important parts of their next 7 years as victors.

does that make sense?? okay awesome. TIME TO SHOW THE BRUTALITY OF THE CAPITOL NOW, POST-GAMES.

if u have any questions lmk and if u have any ideas or things u wanna see as far as post-games, lmk also. act 3 will be after where we’ll go back to book series and cover the 75th games and the rebellion and everything. 🤗

[prettiestlovergirl]

DISCONNECTED

tw: MDNI; fem!reader; semi-public sex; teasing; almost getting caught; unprotected sex (wrap it b4 u tap it); oral fixation! reader; family friend! luke castellan.

concept: going on vacation to your family's beach house with your favorite family friend. song: disconnected by 5sos.

a/n: oh how i love family friend luke castellan. also, sex in a bikini. that is definitely a plus. for pool house context, i'm imagining one like slightly smaller than the one in the OC. this is supersuper unedited. enjoy, my lovelies! 𓆩♡𓆪

when your mom informed you that the castellan's were joining you guys for your yearly spring break trip to your family's beach house, you'd been fucking ecstatic.

you played it cool in front of your mom, of course. just smiled and said it sounded fun, you couldn't wait to see them again and catch up. you had to play it cool, telling your mom you were looking forward to catching up with mind-blowing sex was not an option.

unfortunately for you both, you hadn't gotten a moment alone. there was always a sibling or parent interfering in every single private moment the two of you had.

until today, that is.

you had resigned yourself to having an orgasm-free vacation, deciding to instead spend as much time as possible in the pool, the cool water acting like a giant cold shower.

you got up early, hoping to relish in some of the silence at the pool without any smaller kids running around. you figured you were the only one awake, so you had no issues wearing one of your smaller bikinis.

you'd been in the middle of placing your sunglasses on your face when you suddenly felt two hands wrap around your waist. you yelped in surprise, hand flying over your heart when you heard a familiar laugh in your ear.

"jesus, luke! you scared the shit out of me!" you huffed, smacking his chest roughly while he continued to laugh at your surprise. god, you didn't realize how much you missed his laughter against your skin.

"'m sorry, 'm sorry." luke grinned, pressing a quick kiss behind your ear before he went on. "let me make it up to you?" he hummed suggestively, hands lightly squeezing your hips.

"knowing our luck, someone's gonna wake up right now and cockblock me." you grumbled, biting your lip as he started pressing soft kisses along your neck that made you shiver despite the april heat.

"then let's go into the pool house. no one'll think to check there first." he hummed, nipping at your skin hard enough to make your breath hitch. you finally relented, just nodding your head. you didn't trust your voice not to come out all breathy.

luke led the two of you to the small pool house, locking the door behind you before pouncing almost immediately. his lips met yours in a hungry kiss, drawing out a desperate whine from you.

it had been far too fucking long since you'd had his lips on yours like this, it had been pure fucking torture having him be so close for this past week and be unable to touch him.

your hands roamed all over his bare chest, desperate to feel every inch of his skin, feeling for any new scars or marks he'd gotten since the last time you'd seen him.

"fuck, i wanna take my time with you, but there's no time." he murmured against your lips, groaning softly against you. you tightened your grip on him, gently grinding your hips against the bulge in his swim trunks.

"s'okay, don't care, just fuck me." you moaned, relishing in the feel of his skin against yours. he grunted as your hips rolled against him, quickly pushing you back towards the white chaise lounge in the center of the room.

he helped you lay back against the pillow, not once pulling his lips off of yours. he'd waited far too long to bruise your lips with his, he didn't plan on breaking until he absolutely needed to.

you laid against the pillow, one leg bent up on the chaise lounge while the other hung off the side so you'd be spread open for him, just like he wanted.

luke moved one of his hands down, slipping it under the fabric of your bikini. he rubbed his finger over your entrance, moaning at just how fucking wet you were for him already. it was certainly good to know you wanted him just as bad as he wanted you.

finally, he broke the kiss and you whined as he pulled away, despite the fact that you were now practically gasping for air. "need you to hold this to the side, baby" he told you, panting lightly before pressing his lips to your throat.

you brought your hand down, pulling the small strap of fabric covering your aching pussy to the side and holding it there. he ran his tongue over his suddenly dry lips, taking another mental picture of how fucking gorgeous you looked all spread open for him.

if he had it his way, he'd just bury his tongue in you right then and there, but there was no time. "never gonna get tired of this sight." he informed you, his free hand bringing his throbbing cock out from his swim trunks.

he lined himself up to your glistening pussy before thrusting inside of you, drawing moans out of you both on impact. your back arched against the chaise, mouth open as you felt the delicious sting of your walls stretching to fit him.

you'd think that after the amount of times you two had fucked, he'd fit without much of a struggle, but alas, here you were. "fuck, baby." luke groaned, hands moving back to grip your hips tightly.

"fuck, luke, give me your fingers, need to muffle." you moaned, eyes focused on him while he started to thrust into you. he did as you asked, releasing the grip on your hip with one hand and letting you grab hold.

he started thrusting fast and hard, your eyes squeezing shut as you moaned out before bringing three of his fingers into your mouth. you sucked and swirled your tongue around the digits, making him groan as his eyes watched.

"god, you look so fucking hot like that." he grunted, his pace picking up more as you looked at him. the feeling of your cunt gripping him like a vice and your tongue coating his fingers in your saliva spurred him on.

"harder" you moaned around his fingers as he fucked you, eyes squeezing shut in pleasure. your voice came out muffled and wet, drool and spit slipping down chin as he moved faster into you.

you let out more muffled moans, hips bucking up to meet his every thrust as he fucked into you. your foot stayed up on the tips of your toes, body buzzing with the attention it craved for so long.

luke's eyes were fixed solely on where you two were joined together, watching the way his cock got lost amongst your soaked walls again and again.

your arousal created a thick, creamy white ring around the base of his cock that he fucking relished in. he just couldn't take his eyes off you, the way your pussy clenched every time he moved out and fluttered when he shoved back in.

"fuck, g'na cum!" you moaned, mouth hanging open with his fingers still in your mouth. he started fucking into you even faster, wrapping your bent leg around his waist to go even deeper into you.

"hold on just a little longer, baby, fuck, just a little longer" he grunted, grip on your body tightening so he could fuck into you harder, getting close to cumming himself.

"shit, shit, fuck!" you cried out as your legs quivered around him until you finally came, drenching his cock in your pussy juices and creating a loud, wet slapping noise as he continued to fuck you rough and fast.

"oh, fuck, c'mon, fuck, cum for me, luke, please, want to see you cum" you moaned out, your hips bucking up once again to meet his thrusts and take him in deeper to help him get closer.

"oh, fuck, do that again" luke demanded, eyes closing as you bucked your hips up again to meet his thrusts until he quickly pulled out of you.

he wrapped his hand around his cock, fisting it immediately before cumming on your stomach with a groan. "fuck, babe..." he panted, the two of you slumped in silence for a moment.

he pulled his fingers from your mouth, a string of saliva trailing behind them as he swiped them through his cum on your chest. wordlessly, you pulled his hand back up to your lips, cleaning the cum off his fingers while he watched with rapt attention.

he'd been about to say more when he heard the doorknob start to jiggle. "luke? is that you?" your dad's voice called, snapping you instantly out of your dizzy post-orgasm haze. you quickly grabbed your towel, wiping your chest off.

"yeah! what's up?" luke called, looking at you with wide eyes as he started to quickly put his dick back in his shorts. "have you seen y/n?" your dad questioned, making your eyes widen.

"uh.. yeah! yeah, she went down to the beach like twenty minutes ago. wanted some alone time, i think!" he lied, biting his lip gently. "oh, alright."

he waited until your dad's footsteps trailed off before letting out a sigh of relief. "shit, that could have been bad." he murmured, glancing back over at the door.

you let out a giggle as you slumped back down against the chaise lounge, biting your cheek to try and stop your smile as he glared at you.

"so, now that he's gone... round two?"

ᵈⁱᵛⁱᵈᵉʳ ᵐᵃᵈᵉ ᵇʸ @ᵐᵘʳᵘᶠᶠⁱⁿ

[rezitio]

can you do Baki links?? But death row convict version?

I was originally just going to do for doyle and sikorsky but I decided to do all

𝐌𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐋 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇 𝐑𝐎𝐖 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐕𝐈𝐂𝐓𝐒 𝐓𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐒

spec, kaiou dorian, ryuuko yanagi, hector doyle, sikorsky. nsfw

warnings: THESE ARE QUITE DARK!!! kidnapping, threats, fear play, manhandling, NONCON/DUBCON, breaking in, rewards and punishment piv, f!m!oral, anal, size kink, silver fox, spanking, fingering, threesome, raw, etc.

where is everyone else?

━━━━ READ AT YOUR OWN RISK ━━━━

✦ ╮ Speck

01. Spec comes into your room and places you around in different positions

02. You don't know who he is but how in the world would you have said no? You were too scared too.

03. Why is he here? He's supposed to be in jail yet he's re-arranging your guts in your apartment

04. Spec uses brute force to get what he wants

05. He's never tried to hide it, he's a killer. He'd kill your whole family and come to your room fucking you like he hasn't done anything

✦ ╮ Kaiou Dorian

01. Catching his little princess alone, spread on the couch so innocently for him.

02. Fine, he won't take your virginity but he's still going to make sure you know you're his.

03. I have nothing to say this just reminds me of him

04. Pussy eating with your silver fox

✦ ╮ Ryuukou Yanagi

01. It's his princess's reward for being such a good girl this whole week

02. It's his princess's reward for being such a naughty girl this whole week

03. He just tied you up and shoved you in his trunk. You don't know how long you've been on the road, or where you're even going.

04. You're going to explain to him why you acted so naughty and why he shouldn't punish you

05. After a long day, He goes home to his princess needy and begging for him, just what he needs

✦ ╮ Hector Doyle

01. Shh... as long as you stay still it will be over soon. Maybe next you'd listen

02. In the prison, Doyle would always visit the physical therapist, reporting a feeling down below. And you'd always inspect it (with a gun to your head)

03. Those are Doyle's hands. Slowly caressing you, feeling you and intruding your warmth

04. It's that time again when he visits you, promising he'll take you with him one day when he disappears into the night

05. How long has it been since you two touched? You can see it by looking at how desperate you are for his fingers.

✦ ╮ Sikorsky

01. I can imagine Sikorsky chocking you with his length because of a passing comment he did not quite like.

02. You kept kicking the back of his seat. Pissed off, he grabbed you to the front and punished you

03. His fucking princess being fucked raw and hard in the ass

04. You thought he was gone, sentenced to death they said. So why is he in your room, hand over your mouth preventing your screams on his death date?

05. He taunts your opening while you beg him, all that pleading gone to waste his length intrudes your lips.

✦ ╮ Two unrelated death convicts, escaped at the same time for one purpose, to taste that pussy.

sikorsky[left] choxking you , doyle [right] pounding you

REZITIO @nightxstalker might do yujiro next

[torakowalski]

Continued from here but heading all the way back to the beginning. (Not yet) Olympic Swimmer Steve, Hawkins Public Pool, summer 1986:

Eddie isn't a natural swimmer, but he has to find some way to regain the strength those fucking bats took. So when he finds out that Steve and Max are both doing their physio in the public pool, he blows Wayne's mind by demanding he goes to Melvalds and buys Eddie some swim trunks.

Not that Eddie is a follower. But if the rest of Team Rehab is in the pool, then Eddie is gonna be in the pool too.

The problem is that now Eddie is in the pool. He's wet, he's exhausted, and he's wearing nothing except what's basically soaked, clingy underwear, while Steve fucking Harrington looks majestic and gorgeous, swimming lengths not ten feet away.

"It's better through binoculars," says Max. She's sitting on the edge of the pool, even more tired out that Eddie is. Eddie is half taking a break and half making sure she doesn't slide off the side and drown.

"Hm?" Eddie asks.

"Steve. Shirtless. It's hotter through binoculars."

Eddie has one second of limb-freezing, stomach-tightening terror, the same second he always gets, no matter whether someone is being too perceptive or whether he's deliberately outing himself.

He makes himself breath through it.

"Jesus Christ, Maxine," he says and gets kicked in the back for his troubles. He'd like to think the kick is gentle because she's worried about his injuries, but it's probably just the hardest she can kick, right now. "Maybe I'm looking at his form."

Max laughs. "Well, yeah."

Eddie gives up. He looks over his shoulder at her. She has the expression of a person who is cool about you being queer and also wants you to know that she's cool about you being queer and also is fifteen and doesn't want to have fucked up.

Eddie makes himself be brave back. "Is it me or is he just getting more built, while you and I flounder around over here, just trying to regain any muscles at all?"

"He's here like, all the time," Max says. "Like hours before us and hours after we go home. He says it turns his brain off."

Eddie can kind of see that; it's definitely harder to think about all the shit that went down at spring break when you're busy trying not to get chlorinated water up your nose.

"Doesn't he have his own pool though? I'm damn sure he has his own pool."

Max shrugs. "I think it got earthquaked." She lifts her head, using a hand to shield her eyes. "Hey, who's that?"

Eddie looks where she's looking and sees a middle aged dude in red swimming trunks and a white t-shirt squat down at the far end of the pool, catching Steve's attention when he surfaces after what must be his fiftieth length in a row.

They're too far away to hear what's being said, but Steve pushes his hair back off his face and bobs in place, clearing listening hard. They talk for a while, long enough that Eddie and Max both start shifting, Max - like Eddie - clearly wondering if they need to stage a rescue.

Then the guy nods to Steve and stands up, walking away, while Steve turns, looking around.

When he spots Eddie and Max, he swims over, all long, and golden and wet.

"Who was that?" Eddie asks, when Steve pops up next to them. "Trouble?"

"No." Steve shakes his head, clear drops of pool water flying from the ends of his hair. "No, he's a swim coach here. He says I'm good."

"Duh," says Eddie.

"You know you're good," says Max.

Steve grins. He does know he's good; it's written all over his face. But so is some bafflement and Eddie doesn't think that's faked.

"Yeah, but like, he wants to train me. He thinks I could compete?"

"Like at the Olympics?" Eddie asks, not totally sure where else swimming people go to swim.

Steve laughs, but only a little meanly. "Jumping a hell of a lot of steps there, Munson. But maybe State? I could maybe do State? I was supposed to be at tryouts last year, but." He shrugs.

"But Billy gave you a massive concussion," Max fills in for him.

Steve shrugs again.

Max kicks him, about as hard as she kicked Eddie. "You better have said yes to that guy or so help me I'll crawl after him myself."

Steve rolls his eyes at her, but they're sparkling. He looks excited, pleased in a way that Eddie hasn't seen for months. "Yeah," he says. "I said yes."

(Part three now here)

[rafesbabygirlx]

A Lot of Time has Passed | Part 7A

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

Season 4 Rafe x Maybank reader

Summary: Beginning at the time jump, the Pogues seemingly succeeded at something, Rafe is struggling with making amends and being a better person. JJs sister left the island after returning from South America. Returning after 18 months with a secret.

A/N: I’ve pretty much wrapped up part 1. Which is why this is pretty long. I’ll be splitting it into its own 2 parts.

Part 2 comes out next week so I’ll be able to finish the series then! There will be much more Pogue story lines then! You’ll hear more about Maybank Readers involvement with the hunt! Hope you’re enjoying so far!

Word count: 3.2k

Warnings: angst, smut (brief oral, p in v) Ruthie trigger warning.

You and Rafe are up early, getting ready to head out to the beach. You glance at your phone as you head into the closet to change, seeing a new message from JJ.

JJ - 9:04 AM: “Waves look good today. Grab your board and come join us! Unless you’re too prim and proper for us now.” 🌊

You - 9:06 AM: “Don’t worry, I’ll be there to watch you wipe out every time.” 😇

Meanwhile, Rafe is talking about the offer from Hollis, which has been on your mind too. “Y’know, I might be warming up to what Hollis suggested. It could be a good way for you to get established. Make people take you seriously. This is where you’ve always wanted to be, right?”

Surprised by your support, he glances over. “You think?”

You lean out of the closet, watching him pack your beach bag. “I mean, I’ve got my reservations. I don’t trust anyone who speaks so highly of your dad.” He gives you a look, but you ignore it. “And Sofia pushing you to take it? I mean, what does she know? But maybe it’s worth a shot. I just want you to feel good about whatever you decide.”

You step out, holding your bikini top in one hand, catching him looking at you. Smiling, you gently push his face toward the mirror. “A little help?” You pull your hair out of the way, and he ties the strings in a firm knot behind your neck.

“No matter what you choose, I’m here. But honestly, I’m starting to come around on the idea.”

He grins, his hands settling on your hips. “Feels like this is just landing right in my lap, huh?” He cups your face, his thumb brushing softly along your cheek.

“You could make so much money, Rafe.”

“Well, then I guess I’m about to make so much money.” He leans in, trailing kisses from your lips to your cheeks and down your neck as he pulls you closer, lifting you onto the sink. His fingers press into your hips, and you laugh.

“Making money turns you on this much?” you tease, tilting your head.

He smirks. “Guess it does. Though having you there with me doesn’t help.” He tugs at your bikini bottom, dropping to his knees. “Rafe, we need to leave soon…”

“Just a quick taste,” he murmurs, ignoring the clock.

He laps up the wetness that’s already coating you. Bringing his lips up to your clit and sucking on it. He moved his way back down to your hole and swirls the entrance with his tongue. You love how it feels but you want him inside of you.

You place your palm on his forehead and push his head back. He looks up at you with furrowed brows. “Inside, now… please.”

“Well since you asked so nicely.” You pull his shirt off of him and he drops his swim trunks to the floor, they pool around his ankles. He undoes the strings of your bottoms, releasing you to the cold air of the bathroom and he pushes up your bikini top.

He runs his hard length through your folds to get it nice and wet and ultimately thrusts into you. You move forward to place your forehead in on. You stare into each other’s eyes. It’s a bit of a strange feeling, you and Rafe completely sober. It’s complete intimacy, neither of you are drunk or high, just looking for a quick fuck with a comfort person. You’re deep in this, you’re both in so much love.

He moves his head down, breaking eye contact, to suck on one of your nipples. One hand traveling to your clit. Rubbing perfect circles on it. Your body arches into him. You moan into his ear and his sends him into overdrive. He’s pounding into you getting you both so close. You grip his shoulders and grind into him meeting his rhythm and clench around him. “That’s it, cum for me, I’m right there too baby.”

His words don’t help and you crash immediately from them. Your legs fall numb and drop from Rafe’s waist so he picks them up and thrusts a couple of more times before he releases into you. You two stay in the same position before Rafe pulls out. He pulls up his swim shorts and walks over to the tub to grab a wash cloth.

He comes back over to you reaching behind you to turn the water on. He smiles at you and you lean into kiss him. You kiss him everywhere, lips, cheeks, neck, chest you don’t want to miss a single spot. Then you just pull him in for a hug. “What are y-?”

“Just hold on a second. I just want to hold you.” He obliges and wraps his arms around your back. You rest your ear in his chest and listen to his heart beat. You’re like that for a few moments when you break. “Can I clean you up now?” You smile and nod and he does just that. Further taking care of you by pulling back down your bikini top and retying your bottoms.

You both stand there for a moment, catching your breath and enjoying the post-coital glow. The water still running, creating a soothing background noise. Rafe gently turns off the water and sets the washcloth aside, his eyes never leaving yours.

“I think I might like this sober sex thing, especially if it’s with you forever,” he says with a smirk. You giggle and roll your eyes, but can’t help the smile that spreads across your face.

“I think we might be onto something here,” you reply, leaning in to kiss him again. The water still flowing, the room still spinning, but this time it’s not from alcohol or drugs – it’s from the pure, unadulterated passion and love that you share with Rafe.

╰☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆╮

You hop off the sink, quickly smoothing out your hair. Rafe grabs the beach bag, and the two of you head down to the kitchen. V’s face lights up as soon as she sees you both, and she cheers. You scoop her up, and Rafe wraps you both in a hug.

Since hiring Elaina as V’s full-time nanny, things have been easier. She’s from the island, Topper’s cousin, though from a more middle class background, working hard at her studies in business while juggling this job. It’s ideal for her, and it’s a relief to have someone you trust with V.

You invited Elaina to come to the beach, but she declined. Just then, Rafe gets a text from Topper. “Alright, we have to head out. Your annoying cousin keeps blowing up my phone. Gotta get there before he does.” You both say goodbye, giving V a quick kiss before telling Elaina to text if she needs anything.

Once you’re in Rafe’s convertible, he passes you the beach bag and jogs over to grab your surfboard. Surfing has been part of your life for as long as you can remember, ever since you and JJ started daydreaming about riding waves far enough to leave everything behind. Most importantly leaving Luke behind.

The drive to the beach is calm and bright, Rafe’s hand resting on your thigh while yours settles on his hand. When you arrive, you spot Topper, Kelce, and Ruthie waiting. After the drama from the other night, you only greet Kelce, deciding Ruthie can deal with being ignored for now. Topper, caught in the middle, gets no special treatment either.

Ruthie’s the first to break the silence. “Hey, Rafe and Y/N. What’s up?”

Rafe breathes out a quick “nothing,” while you offer her a flat, uninterested smile, rounding Topper’s Jeep to get in.

As you head to the sand, you spot the Twinkie nearby and wave to JJ and the rest of the crew. The kooks have parked a bit close, not you or them are thrilled about it. You and Rafe settle down near the water, where he sips a beer, his hand moving gently along your leg as you both take in the scene.

JJ, Kie, and Sarah are already in the water, with JJ teaching Sarah how to surf. She catches on quickly, and you watch them, smiling. You steal a glance at Rafe, trying to read his expression, but he’s a mystery.

When Sarah steps out of the water, you turn to him. “Want to go talk to her?”

He shifts, but shrugs it off. “She can come to me.”

You roll your eyes. “You know that’s not how this is going to work, Rafe.”

He starts to argue, but JJ interrupts. “Yo, sis, you riding or what?”

“Yeah, I’m coming!” You hop up, handing your cover-up to Rafe, who gives you a lingering look. Licking his lips as he looks up and down your body.

“Can you be serious for a moment?” you say, exasperated. “I’ll be the first person to help you here Rafe. But you’re not gonna get anything from her. You have to give it your all, that’s the only way it’s gonna work. You caused the damage you have to fix it.”

Leaving him to think, you grab your board and jog over to JJ. He raises an eyebrow, smirking. “What’s up with baby daddy? Got another stick up his ass?”

“He’s actually been great, J. Leave it alone,” you snap, cutting off JJ before he can say more. With that, you both rush into the water, ready to surf. The waves carry you effortlessly, and for a while, it’s peaceful, even with Topper and Kelce joining in. But it doesn’t last—JJ blows a wave, causing Topper to wipe out.

“Well, so much for a peaceful day,” Kie mutters under her breath as Topper storms out of the water, Kelce right behind him. You spot Ruthie on the shore, her eyes glued to the scene, already gearing up for her next bout of drama.

╰☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆╮

The rest of the afternoon is spent with your family of Pogues, their laughter and banter offering a break from the tension that always lingers when you’re around Rafe’s dry, humorless crowd. It’s freeing, and for a moment, you let yourself forget about the other world—the Kooks and their incessant games.

The day flies by, and soon enough, you’re sitting in a circle with everyone when Kie’s voice rings out. “Guys, there’s a turtle hatch!”

Your eyes widen with excitement. “Oh my god! I’ve lived here my whole life and never seen one!” You jump to your feet, helping Kie clear a path for the tiny hatchlings.

The group gathers around, marveling as the baby turtles make their way to the water. You reach for your phone, wanting to capture the moment to show Vivienne later, when the sound of an engine revving cuts through the peace. Your head snaps up just in time to see Topper’s Jeep hurtling toward you.

Heart pounding, you grab Sarah and John B, pulling them out of the way as Kie stands firm, waving her arms to try and stop them. But Ruthie, wild-eyed and relentless, aims straight for her. JJ dives in at the last second, yanking Kie out of the Jeep’s path as it roars by.

“What the fuck is wrong with her?!” you shout, the panic morphing into fury as Ruthie speeds through the turtle hatch, sending sand and broken shells flying. She throws a drink at Kie, drenching her in alcohol before heading back to the cluster of Kooks, who cheer her on.

Kie, now soaked and furious, picks up a lifeless hatchling and starts walking toward the group. Your eyes find Rafe’s, watching his expression as he stands surrounded by his friends, unmoving. Then you look at JJ, who gives you a nod, and together you follow behind Kie.

The anger you’d felt toward Topper and Ruthie since the last confrontation fuels your steps. The sting of betrayal simmers as you realize that Rafe, the man who claims to love you and your daughter, is once again silent when it matters most. He can do it in private but not when there’s too many Kooks around.

Kie’s voice cuts through your haze. “Look at what you did!” She screams at them, but you barely hear the exchange. Your vision tunnels, zeroing in on Ruthie’s smug face and Rafe’s indifferent stance.

Ruthie spits out a threat about being filmed, and without thinking, you snap. “Fuck you, Ruthie,” you hiss, stepping between her and Kie. Topper raises a hand to stop you, but you shove it off your shoulder.

“And fuck you too, you cowardly lap dog.” He blinks, momentarily stunned. “What?”

“You’re pussy, Top. Always hiding behind your girlfriend, letting her pull your strings. It’s embarrassing,” you seethe. He doesn’t say anything, not shocking.

Ruthie throws out another taunt you barely register. Your fists clench, itching to make her regret ever crossing you. But the thought of your daughter flashes in your mind—a reminder of why you can’t afford an assault charge.

You take a breath, forcing your hands down and stepping back. “There is seriously something wrong with you people,” Kie shouts, her voice trembling with rage. You exchange another look with Rafe, one filled with disappointment and disbelief. JJ issues a final warning, promising consequences if they ever come at the Pogues again.

“JJ, let’s go,” you command, your voice tight. You start to lead Kie away when Rafe’s voice, low and almost apologetic, cuts through the chaos. “Yeah, I saw that,” he mutters, siding with Ruthie.

Blood surges hot in your veins at his words as you push over the large speaker Kelce had set up earlier, the crash punctuating your fury. You flip Topper off as he shouts after you, but you’re already walking away, your pulse thrumming with betrayal and rage.

Walking back, you keep Kie close, rubbing her upper arm in an attempt to soothe her. “When you get home, you should hold a little funeral for him,” you suggest softly.

She wipes her eyes, a faint smile breaking through the tears. “That’s a good idea.”

At the Twinkie, you help Kie climb in and press a gentle kiss to her cheek. “I’m sorry, Kie.” She nods silently, eyes fixed on the lifeless turtle cradled in her hands.

With a heavy heart, you move to help pack up the rest of their things, casting a glance at Sarah. She meets your eyes, sympathy etched across her face. “It’s okay,” she whispers. “She’ll be alright.” You step forward, sharing a strong, silent hug, then turn away, bracing yourself for the walk back to the group that now feels so foreign.

As you pass through the cluster of Kooks, you ignore their smirks and jeers, stuffing your belongings into your bag. Rafe steps up, his expression unreadable. “Not cool, Rafe,” you say firmly.

“They deserved it,” he counters, eyes searching yours for understanding.

“I want to leave. Now.” You sling your surfboard under your arm and march off toward the car, determined not to get back in Topper’s Jeep, no matter how far Rafe’s is parked.

Rafe rushes after you, but the adrenaline coursing through your veins pushes you forward faster than you thought possible. You reach the car before he does, rattling the door handle impatiently. When he finally arrives, you snap, “Open it.” He unlocks the door, grabbing your board before you can stow it yourself.

“Maybank, stop it. You’re really going to give me shit over what Ruthie did?” he protests.

You shake your head, a bitter laugh slipping out. “No, I’m giving you shit about your ego. You care so much about what those people think that you can’t say a word, even when you know it was wrong. If the roles were reversed…” He turns away, heading to the driver’s side, but you reach out, grabbing his wrist to pull him back.

“I’m not done.” Your eyes lock with his, demanding his attention. “If that happened to you, do you think any of them would care? Do you think they’d protect you like JJ did Kie? They wouldn’t, Rafe, because you don’t actually care about each other. You only get mad when it makes the Kooks look bad. That’s not real loyalty.”

You take a breath before continuing, your voice steady and resolute. “We might be ‘scum from the Cut,’ but we’re a family. We stand up for each other, no matter what. Something your so-called friends could never understand. You want to be better for V, for me, even for Sarah? Then get the fuck over yourself.”

You roll your eyes and grab your bag, sliding into the car without another word. The drive home is silent, the tension palpable, a stark contrast to the calm of the morning.

When you arrive home, you grab your bag and rush inside. Elaina is feeding V her dinner, and the moment you see your daughter, warmth floods you. “Hi, baby!” you coo, pressing a kiss to her chubby cheek. V laughs, her giggle a balm to your frayed nerves.

“Hi, mama!” she chirps, eyes sparkling.

You turn to Elaina. “I’m going to take a quick shower. You can head out after that—I’m not going anywhere tonight.” Passing Rafe as he enters the kitchen, you don’t spare him a glance, making sure to lock the bedroom and bathroom doors behind you.

Under the hot stream of water, the tension in your body starts to dissolve. You stay there longer than intended, letting the day wash off you. A sharp knock on the bedroom door snaps you back. Rafe’s muffled voice follows. “Come on, Y/N, open up.”

You dry off at a leisurely pace, slipping into pajamas and combing through your damp hair. The knock grows more insistent, but you take your time applying moisturizer, savoring the rare moment of peace. Finally, you unlock the door.

“Finally,” Rafe mutters, frustration lacing his voice. “Dramatic much?” His tone grates on your nerves, but you stay silent, walking past him without a word. He calls out, “Really?” but you don’t turn back.

Sitting at the table with V, you pick at reheated leftovers as she babbles between bites. Another things Kooks don’t have a grasp on. Practically had to force Rafe to not to throw these leftovers out.

Rafe joins you, reaching out across the table. You glance at his hand but don’t take it. He sighs, retreating as you show V the videos of the baby turtles, willing away the memory of the broken shell in Kie’s hands.

“V, do you know how pretty you are? You get that from your mama,” Rafe says softly. The sweetness in his tone almost cracks your resolve, but you hold firm, in the back of your mind you like the effect you have on him. You get up clearing the dishes and pressing a kiss to V’s head she giggles at your touch.

You set a plate of food in front of Rafe, who looks up, surprised. “I ordered something to be delivered.” You clench down on your teeth and you go to pull the food away but he grabs your hands and stops you. “I’ll have this, I can save that food for tomorrow.”

He’s gonna save his food? It’s getting really hard to not be mad at him. He tries so hard with you. Why can’t he do it for others?

You set it back down again. Grabbing V to give her a bath. You rest your hand in his shoulder and you walk past him. The nighttime routine is mercifully smooth, and soon V is asleep. You’re curled up in bed with a book when Rafe enters, sitting at your feet.

Tbc in Part 7B

Taglist:

@maybankslover @eringaitskill @luissa266 @lolll505 @dayyzlol @calaryssia @eg-dr3amer3 @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @rafestar @bigbonenative @writtenbyhollywood @livie4lifestarkeyblyth @leilanizcals

[corrodedcoffins-blog]

Meetings On Window Sills

masterlist

note: I fucking love 60s-70s music so there's a lot of it mentioned, and also remus is a full blown music nerd so why would i not make them bond over music?? also this was inspired by 2007s Jump In! starring my first crush: corbin bleu lol

warnings: didn't edit (don't care), little tiny bit of angst between remus and his dad, smoking, remus having back problems since 11 and a city boy, reader has hair long enough to put in a claw clip

word count: 3.8 k

♡ summary: Many don't know that during summer, Remus goes home to a muggle girl, and he spends more time on his fire escape than in his room some days

♡ Remus Lupin x fem!muggle!reader

request ✗

1971

He’d known her his whole life, well since he was 6 months old. Their mums had both gone to the same ‘mommy and me’ class and hit it off when they both took a smoke break. Since then their mums had noticed they didn’t have much in common and grew apart, not after buying apartments in the same building.

Remus stretched his back, hands on his waist while leaning back, just having done all his folding, getting ready to organize in his trunk. As he stood from the small single bed in the corner he heard the soft hum of music coming from outside, the young boy lifted his widow, needing much more force than when it was made. 

“I don’t know! I don’t know!” 

Remus looks to her widow, seeing the record player playing on her desk while she reads, not seeming to be doing a whole lot of that though. From his view it looks to be Little Women, which he had read and which he would never tell her, but he had been bored on a visit to his grandparents before they died and that was the only book in his moms childhood room, so he read it and enjoyed it enough to finish and not have much of a critic.

“You always sing that song much louder than the rest.” 

His sudden voice caused the girl to jump in her seat, putting the book down and turning down the record she looked at to him, slightly embarrassed at him catching her. 

“It’s my favourite.” She said moving to sit on her window seat. Remus of course noticed this as a sign that she wanted to continue the conversation, he also noticed the way she played with the bottom button of her cardigan. The boy exited his window onto the fire escape to sit on the window sill.

“It’s The Beatles?” “Yeah, my mum got it for me for Christmas last year. Along with George Harrison’s solo album, ‘cause he’s my favourite Beatle- he actually wrote the song I was singing.” She knew she went on a little too long but Remus wouldn’t stop her, that was the type of person he was, kind hearted. When he listened to her, he really listened, he heard every word and took it in.

“Because he wrote your favourite song?” “Not just that, but I guess that’s where it started then I looked through all my albums and all my favourite songs he wrote.” She briefly pointed behind her and he saw the self of records behind her.

“What ones?” He asked, getting more comfortable by leaning his back on one side of the window frame.

“Umm, I’m happy just to dance with you, and of course here comes the sun.” “That’s me mum's favourite, tells me every time it’s on the radio.” 

The conversation stalls, to avoid awkward stares Remus looks down to the street and watches a man with a yellow jacket cross the street, it glowing in the yellow street lights. His stare only breaks when he hears her voice ask, “What’re you packing for?”

“Oh- That..” Her brows furrow at the nervous tone, he wasn’t sure how to tell her, it wasn’t like they were best friends, they talked once in a while like how they are now and would see eachother at school, “I wasn’t sure how to tell people, I’m going to a different school next year.” “Where?” “It’s a boarding school up in Scotland.” “Why are they making you go?” 

Remus would be lying to say that didn’t surprise him, she sounded like she would miss him a little more than he thought she would, and that deeply confused him.

“My father went so-” It’s interesting how much truth he could say while withholding the biggest piece of information from her.

“That sucks. Aren’t you going to miss your friends.” “I never had many friends.” Overstatement. He had no friends, never really did, kids at school made fun of his scars, or for being a nerd, or for having second hand clothes that his mother still had to sew to be wearable; take your pick really. 

“Not many people like me.” “I like you.” Remus’s head lifted from its stare at his swinging legs, “As- as a friend of course.” “Of course, I like you as a friend too.” 

-

1973 

As soon as he walked through the door, Remus set on the way to his window, leaving his trunk at the door. 

“Hun! Where’re you going so fast?” His mum asked, placing the keys in the bowl by the door, and putting her hands on her hips. His father made his way past her to the kitchen.

“I missed my room!” He yelled, never slowing down the hall. Once they believed he was out of ear shot, he heard his father say, “He wants to see Jen’s girl.” 

As he got closer to her window he saw the girls laying on her back legs up resting on the wall while she read. Her head snapped to the window after the first knock, a large grin making its way to her face. She rolled off her bed and opened the window for him and he heard the tune of Bowie flowing through the room.

She crawled half out the window to hug him, her arms going around his neck and he held her back, his hands felt warm, his embrace felt safe. He wore a thin jumper that felt soft on her skin.

“I’m so happy you’re back.” “Me too.” They say, pulling back and getting comfortable on the window sill. She was still smiling at him, and him at her, before Remus felt he had to look away or he would explode. He took the moment to look at her room and it had changed quite a bit since last summer; bed against a new wall, something she did when she felt she needed a change. He noticed her vinyl collection had grown.

“You finally got Ziggy Stardust!” “Oh yeah!” She jumped off the ledge they sat on and made her way to put it on. 

“I went with some friends to London and we got to go to a huge record shop. Remus you wouldn’t believe the stuff they had there- they had Bob Dylan’s first album so my collection of his is complete.” “Brilliant.” Remus sat down on her window seat bench and grabbed the album from her shelf to get a closer look. With the Bowie record set up, she nudged the volume dial up before returning next to the boy. She hit his leg to get his attention, “Listen to this first one it’s my favourite.” 

He put the Bob Dylan album down to give his full attention to the music. 

Many hours later, the two were still perfectly content listening to album after album, pausing their conversation when a particularly good verse came. They were now on the floor of her room, the girl laid out on her carpet flooring, looking just as carefree and stunning as ever. 

“Joni next?” She said as the album playing came to a close, before he could respond they heard a knock on the window, it was his dad.

“Bit late, innit? ‘S past one, Remus.” “Sorry, Mr. Lupin, we lost track of time.” “‘S alright, dear, but come to bed Remus.” “Okay.” 

His father went back through the window and waited. Remus stood the floor and stretched his back, the girl stood as well, “Tomorrow?” “Yeah.” “G’night, Rem.” “G’night.” 

He joined his dad out on the fire escape as they made their way back to his room, once they got inside and closed the window his father broke the silence. “I know you like that girl, but you’ve ‘ot to keep her out of this world, especially with what you are.” 

And just like, an otherwise perfect night, ruined by one comment by his father. 

“I know.” “Alright. G’night, son.” The door shut behind him, and when he heard that click he let the tear drop.

He knew from his friends that  some people don’t care, they found out this past school year and he still hasn’t told his parents that fact. But for all his life he’s heard otherwise, and he can’t help but think one day the boy’s will come to their senses and leave him all alone again. Y/n though, a muggle, if he ever told her he can imagine that  best case scenario is him having to use obliviate.

-

1975 

Remus retreated to his room after dinner, wanting to sleep or read or something that didn’t involve more people, it had been a long day even before he got on the train home for the summer. As he grabbed the book on his desk he saw a trail of smoke leading to a certain girl’s bedroom, he leaned forward to see her with her glasses on, smoking a cigarette, and wearing mismatching pajamas.

He lifted the window with ease, causing the girl to flick her eyes back to him, “You're back.” “Same time every year.” Both shared a look with smiles on their faces, the girl broke eye contact to grab her pack of cigarettes, and overing him with one.

“Yeah.” He climbs out the window and comes to now sit on her window sill and takes his own cigarette, she grabs the light from behind her and he lets her light his. Her fingertips brushing against his check as she blocks the blooming flame from the soft summer breeze.

He takes the chance to gaze at her lips, wrapped around the cigarette, residue of lipstick left behind, a soft red. She never needed the makeup, but sometimes if he woke up early he could watch her put it on. A moment that he found she looked the most beautiful, practiced movements, mouthing the words to whatever song she was listening to, and the funny faces she made made him smile. 

“I missed you.” “Yeah?” A smile creeped on his face as he looked into her eyes. “Yeah.” “I missed you too. I always do.”

The girl looks away, a smile on her face, unaware that Remus continues his stare looking from her eyes to her smile and the way her hair falls in its clip. She wore a thin olive green tank top, he could tell she wasn’t wearing a bra so he moved his eyes to the clouds she was looking at. 

“How’re your friends?” Sometimes she felt as though she knew the boys, with how much Remus talked about them, her mind began to wonder if they knew as much about her as she knew about them.

“They’re just the same pricks they’ve always been.” “James got any farther with Lily?” She muttered, flicking off her cigarette and taking another puff, she looked so beautiful and natural. She had glasses that fell down her nose, messy hair that she liked that way, and a laugh like no other.

“Lils would like me to say ‘no’, but I think she likes him a lot more than she cares to share.” “That’s the way it always goes.” She trailed off, to look at him and he was already looking at her.

It was second year Remus became friends with Lily, they were paired up for a project together and became close. At first she was jealous of the girl, she felt that Lily was going to take her spot in Remus’ life, it weirdly enough was when she heard of James’ fondness for the ginger girl that she no longer worried. Well that and the fact that Remus never did anything to insinuate that he was any less friends with her because of Lily. 

And what she didn’t know was that half of the time he was with Lily, he ended up bringing up her.

-

1977 

Y/n was waiting all day for Remus to come home, she never left her room the whole day in waiting. Looking to his window every ten minutes in hope she would see her lanky boy crawling out his window.

It was late in the evening when she came back from the bathroom and immediately went to check, she almost didn’t believe her eyes when she saw the lamp beside his bed on. The girl shrugged on her cardigan that was lying across her desk chair, and crawled out the window.

Remus had just gotten back from a nice dinner with his parents, this was his last summer as a kid and they wanted to make it special from the beginning, especially since next week he was going to spend a month at the Potter’s. 

He was interrupted from changing by a knock on his window, he turned on his heels to see the girl he’s been waiting all year to see. Her smile lights up his face, she looks away and it takes him a moment to realize it’s because he isn’t wearing a shirt, clad in nothing but pajama pants gifted to him by Peter. He quickly slips on a jumper before he opens the window and she stumbles into his room. 

“Hey.” “Hi.” They each silently take this moment to get a look at eachother, the girl noticed that she could see that scar on his chest end just where his jumper begins, it’s surprising that she could know him since they were babies yet doesn’t know when he got that scar. To be honest she never asked about them, she could tell he was insecure about the way he looked, though in her mind there was no need to be.

During this Remus is having his own thoughts about her looks, she was wearing that cardigan she’s had since she was ten, underneath was a tank top like she commonly wore. Her hair was up in a clip, the same ones Mary always wore, small pieces of hair falling out. She was beautiful.

“Urm.. How have you been?” The boy asked justering for her to sit as he took a seat on his bed. She joined him, leaning against the wall and pulled a carton of cigarettes out of her cardigan pocket. 

“Good, yeah I’m good. You?” She replied, feeling around her pockets, “No lighter.” He stood from the bed and went to his dresser drawer, retrieving the pink lighter and throwing it to the girl, she caught it with ease yet didn’t begin to light.

“Is this the lighter I gave you?” 

When they were fifteen, they first smoked weed together, at a nearby park in order to not get caught by their parents. And Y/n, high, had given Remus her lighter when they had climbed back up the fire escape to their windows and told him, “This is my favourite lighter. I don’t know why? I think ‘cause it’s pink, so that means it’s lucky- ‘cause the lighter is lucky it’s pink and not some boring lighter like yours- No, you know what Remus? You should take this one, ‘cause it’s luckier and prettier than yours. But keep it safe, it’s my favourite.” 

That night Remus put it in his sock drawer to keep safe, he never wanted to use it or worse lose it, so he kept it safe just as she asked.

“Um, yeah.” He mumbled, a little embarrassed at the amount of sentiment he put into that cheap lighter. 

“You kept it?” “Yeah, you told me to.” 

He becomes even more embarrassed when she chuckles. She looks down at it in her hands, her chuckle dying down and smile slips. There's a moment of silence as Remus doesn’t know what to say so he just returns to his spot on the bed next to her. She doesn’t look up at him still as she asks, “Why did you keep it?” 

Truthfully Remus does know why he kept it, it was just because she gave it to him, but if that sounds lame in his head it will most definitely sound lame if he says it to the girl he likes, no love, he’s always known he loved her. So once again he’ll chicken out and doesn’t respond.

She waits for his answer, and when it never comes, “Is it.. For the reason I think?” She boldly asks, looking at the side of his face as he has not looked away from the spot on the wall in front of them. 

Another moment, and the beautiful girl tries to get his attention by leaning her face in his line of vision. His gaze is unnerved, he’s too consumed by the thoughts running in his mind, until they all go silent.

She presses a kiss to the side of his mouth and says, “I like you too.”

Head snaps to look at her, eye to eye, nose to nose, and finally lips to lips as Remus presses a hard kiss right on her lips. She immediately begins kissing back, and trying to take control but to her surprise Remus is a lot more comfortable in his actions now and is the one leading the kiss and pushing his tongue between her soft lips, which she gladly accepts.

The girl trails her hand up the inside of his thigh before skipping up to hold his jaw, Remus at the same time grabs her hips and squeezes, causing Y/n to swing one leg over his and straddle the boy’s lap. Her hands fall from his jaw, to his neck, to his chest and pushes him away lightly.

Both slowly allow their eyes to open and look at eachother, smiles mirroring each other. 

“So-” “Boyfriend girlfriend?” “Yeah, that’s cool.”

-

1977

“I’ll get the Bowie album, then we can listen to it when you get back.” “When’s it coming out?” “October.”

The girl replied, her head lying on his bicep as she played with his hand, drawing shapes and tracing his veins. In his other hand, resting on her stomach, Remus held the book he and Lily decided to read over the break for their informal book club. 

Y/n thought about asking what she’s been wanting to ask since they’ve gotten together, “Are you going to come home for Christmas?” The last time he did was fifth year, last year he had gone to his friend James’ house. And from what he told her, he had the best time, so you can see she was a little worried he would do that again and she wouldn’t get to see her boyfriend till next summer.

What she didn’t know was that Remus was hoping to avoid this at any cost, it was a full moon this christmas. So even if he did come home, he wouldn’t even get to see her much.

“I haven’t thought about it.” “Oh.” Damn, wrong thing to say. She thought about it. She asked him. She wanted him there.

“I mean- I would love to come home and see you! I just- I don’t know if-” “What?” 

She saw the hurt in his face, she knew whatever he was thinking about he was trying to push down and resist it, she sat up and sat crisscrossed facing him. She leaned down and grabbed his hands, gently taking the book out of his hands and marking the page by folding the corner.

“What’s wrong, Remus?... You can tell me.” “That’s just it- I can’t, or rather I shouldn’t.” “Okay, now I’m confused.” She scoffed, shaking her head and standing up to get some space, “What can you not tell me. I tell you everything.” 

Remus sat up, leaning against the wall on his bed, head in his hands, thinking about everything. Everything he ‘couldn’t’ tell her, if he couldn’t trust her he believed he couldn’t trust anyone ever again.

“Okay, you have to believe me though, and it’s going to sound like I’ve gone mad. So just remember that I know how absolutely insane I sound, and that I’m still telling you because I trust you. More than anyone.” Met with slight hesitance, Y/n replies, “Okay.”

“I’m a wizard.” He waits for the big reaction that never comes, he stares at the confused face of his girlfriend before he stands and goes to his bottom desk drawer and grabs his wand.

“Levioso.” The boy says, pointing at his record player and directing it as it levitates, before ultimately placing it back in the same spot on his dresser. When he looked back at the girl, her jaw opened in shock. 

“Holy fucking SHIT!... That just- in air! You are!” “A wizard? Yes.” “How? I mean- you- what?” 

Remus came to her side, guiding her to sit with him on his bed, “I know this is a lot to take in, but I’ve got more.” “MORE?” She looked towards him, concerned for what was to come.

“Yes. Okay, I’m also a werewolf.” “If I didn’t know you, or see that pissing record player float- God, I’d think you were too far gone.” Her words were a relief, causing Remus to chuckle, but truthfully a weight lifted off his chest, to have the most important person in his life to not judge him, “You have no idea how much that means to me- I’m the same Remus you knew, you just know everything now.” 

-

1977

“So I werewolves are real, what about vampires?” “Yes.” “What?! Am I going to have to worry about them?” “Don’t visit Romania.” “That’s not funny.”

They laid together, well Remus laid done while his girl moved every few moments, very excited about the new world she was learning about, at this moment she sat on the boy’s thighs with her legs straddling them on either side.

“What’s your favourite subject in school? For real, now that I know you don’t actually take English.” “Defence against the dark arts.” “That’s a class?” “Yes, a very important one.” He replied, moving his hands up the girl's thighs, from her knees to grasping her hips. He keeps his hands there, squeezing when he feels like it.

“What’s your least favourite?” “Flying. But I haven’t taken that since first year.” “WHY would you hate flying? That’s the dream.” “I don’t like heights.” “But you’re FLYING! Through the air!” “Really? Well, now I’ve got to rethink things.” “Oh, shut up.” 

Remus was laughing now, and he could tell she was trying hard not to. He pulled her down to him, keeping her there with his hands on her back as he attacked her cheek with kisses, “Ah!” 

The small scream falls on deaf ears as Remus continues kissing her cheeks to her jaw and burrows his head to the crook of her neck. He mumbles something she can’t quite hear, but she can just barely make out the word ‘love’. But still continues to fight him off, “Ah! Rem- tickles!” “Don’t care.”

[marvelfilth]

Off the deep end 5 (18+)

Pairing: Ghostface!Sam Carpenter x f!reader

Warnings: canon typical violence, Sam going a little mad

Summary: Ethan is your close friend, and he might be the only one who still trusts you. You know it makes you even more suspicious in Sam's eyes, you know Mindy will take it as confirmation, but you simply don't care. You just want this to be over.

Masterlist

You sit in the trunk of Sam's car, furiously rubbing blood from your hands. Mindy cries in Chad's arms, Tara hovering over them both. Sam's beside you, a cigarette clutched between her fingertips. She hasn't said anything since she dragged you out, carefully sitting you down and wiping your face clean before you scooted away from her, accepting some wet wipes and dissociating at the sight of your blood stained hands.

Your head is a little clearer now and you don't flinch when she starts cleaning the wound on your shoulder, blowing gently when you wince from stinging pain.

Body bags are rolled on stretches one by one. You look down when you see detective Bailey break down in the middle of the street.

But you can't look away from Mindy stomping your way after she's been patched up by the medics, murder in her eyes. She halts to a stop before you, hand poised for a slap. Sam pushes her away before she can land it. "What the fuck, Mindy?"

"Yeah, what the fuck? You're defending her?!" She shouts, furiously wiping away her tears. "It's her, don't you see?"

Her raised voice attracts unwanted attention, people start looking at you with furrowed brows and you see a blonde woman take a few notes in her notepad.

"She made her go, Sam! If it wasn't for her Anika would be here," she breaks down in a sob, falling to her knees. Chad follows her, hugging her close to his chest, his eyes on you. You shudder at the rage shimmering in the dark pools.

"Mindy, she did her best," Tara whispers, clutching Sam's hand.

Your vision blurs with unshed tears, your fingers itching with need to do something, maybe go back to the elevator and keep trying to bring Anika back. Maybe you need to chase him and take his life.

You look away. "She's right, it's my fault."

"No, it's not." Sam reaches out to you, reassurances on her tongue, but Mindy pushes her back before she can voice them.

"She hid the knives," Mindy hisses with a cold look in her eyes.

"What?" Tara mumbles.

Your head suddenly feels too heavy for your neck as you try to understand what she is talking about. What knives?

"What a caring fucking girlfriend you are, huh? Let me get you a glass of water, Sam," she mocks. "You hid the knives right before we got attacked. And you got the call. You were at the fucking bodega. Did you kill that man in the alley too? Fuck, maybe you let that fucker in yourself, maybe you planned all of this. Maybe- Maybe you killed Anika in that elevator. You did, didn't you?!"

Her hands are on your shoulders, pushing hard enough to leave bruises. Your mouth falls open, but not a single word leaves your lips. You tremble violently, shaking your head, and see Tara takes a few careful steps back, her eyes glossed over. Mindy shakes you, screaming right in your face, and all you can do is crumble to the ground, choking on a sob.

Sam catches you before your knees hit the ground, pulling you into her chest and squeezing you tight.

"It's, okay," she whispers, "it's not your fault."

Sam's hands feel scalding hot on your body, but her words fall on deaf ears when the only thing your brain can register is Mindy's anguished cries.

It's your fault, it's your fault, it's your fau-

Loud shouts ring from the entrance, another stretcher rolled out. Mindy gasps, and in a flash she's gone, running after the group.

Anika.

You shoot up, ready to run after Mindy, but Chad stops you with a firm grip and a shake of his head, before turning around and following his sister.

You sag back into the truck, closing your eyes. When you open them, Tara is nowhere in sight, only Sam left standing by your side.

"Do you trust me?" You ask.

She freezes, her eyes widening a slightest bit at the abrupt question. "I do."

"Would you trust me with Tara?"

You can tell your question takes her by surprise. She's silent, tension taking root in her shoulders before it spreads over her whole body. She gulps, her eyes flickering around the street.

You nod, resigned. "I understand."

She turns to face you, her brows pulled tight, and takes her hand. "I trust you, I do. But Tara- Sometimes I don't even trust myself to protect her."

A dark chuckle escapes your lips. "That's not what I'm asking, Sam, and you know it. It's not about protection. Do you trust me not to hurt her? Not to kill her?"

She looks down, letting go of your hand, and pulls out a pack of cigarettes. She takes a drag, blowing smoke away from you, her hands tremble.

This is it, you think. No matter what she said about Anika, no matter what she said about trusting you, you know she doesn't. Not completely.

"I don't know."

You look away in an attempt to hide your tears and nod, drawing a sharp breath. "It's okay. I'll just- I'll go, wait it out. And if you still want me when it's all over, I'll be there."

Sam straightens like a rod, her hand around your waist in an instant. "No. I'm not letting you out of sight." She clings to you, cigarette thrown to the ground. You let yourself enjoy the warmth of her embrace for a few fleeting moments before you start pulling away, but she doesn't let you, forcing your head up to meet her pleading eyes. "Please, don't go. I can't let you go."

You swallow dryly, and wipe away another set of tears. "You'll have to. N-none of you trust me," you choke on a sob, pushing against your girlfriend when she only hugs you tighter, pressing fleeting kisses into your hair. "You- you'll keep looking behind your back to make sure I haven't fucking stabbed anyone. I'd rather wait it out than go through that."

Sam shakes her head, "I need you close, so I can protect you."

You scoff, and forcefully push her away. "I don't need your protection. You should go to them," your head jerks in the twins direction, "make sure they're safe."

"Stop it," she hisses, following you as you try to walk away, "what the fuck do you think will happen once you're alone?"

"Nothing."

You need to get away. You need to go back home, curl on your bed and cry until you physically can't anymore. You still see Anika's empty eyes staring back at you, still feel the stillness of her chest under your palms. Everything around you is blurry as you stumble through the mass of people - paramedics, police officers, reporters and…

"Ethan?" You blurt as he steadies you.

He pants loudly, his eyes wide and questioning. "What- what happened?" He asks, pointedly looking at the blood all over your front.

He's thrown against a nearby car before you can answer, Sam's fist raised for a punch. "Where were you?" She growls, her hand closing around his throat. He's almost crying, his eyes glistening with tears.

You can see yourself in his place. You fight the urge to throw up.

"Sam," you speak up, but she doesn't hear you, pushing him hard enough to leave a dent.

"I- Econ," he wheezes, "I had econ."

"Sam, stop."

She listens this time, her eyes not straying from the gasping boy as she takes a few steps back.

You shudder as her hand returns to yours. "I'll take him with me."

She stills and doesn't utter a single word for a long moment. Ethan watches you, confused, but hesitant to voice his concern, as you both wait for Sam to speak.

"What?" She asks, her voice gravely quiet. "What did you just say?"

You swallow. "He'll stay with me, that way I won't be alone. He's a big guy, he's more than capable of protecting me."

She tilts her head to the side, her eyes growing a shade darker. "You're not going anywhere, especially with him."

“Wha- what is that supposed to mean?” he splutters, visibly offended.

You shush him with a look, shaking your head.

It's not ideal, you know, but it'll have to do. Ethan is your close friend, and he might be the only one who still trusts you. You know it makes you even more suspicious in Sam's eyes, you know Mindy will take it as confirmation, but you simply don't care. You want to barricade yourself in your room, open a bottle of tequila and fall asleep in your warm bed. You just want this to be over.

Sam shakes you out of your thoughts, a question in her eyes.

“What?” You ask, suddenly too tired to look her in the eye. You focus on the spot over her shoulder, still feeling the burning intensity of her eyes.

“I don't trust him.”

“You don't trust me either.”

"I can't afford to, but I can't- I can't afford to lose you either," she confesses, her voice shaking ever so slightly.

You close your eyes, feeling her arms envelope you, the smell of her cologne tickling your nose.

“Sam?” Tara calls.

Sam doesn't allow you to leave the sanctuary of her warmth, pulling you closer when you try to step away. “No,” she whispers, her grip so tight you struggle to breathe, “you're staying with me.”

“Sam, Gale found something.” There's an edge to Tara's tone, and when you open your eyes to look at her she doesn't meet your gaze, pointedly looking away.

Sam nods, tugging you along to follow Tara.

“Actually,” the blonde you saw earlier steps closer, her hand hovering over her gun on her thigh, “I don't think she should go with us.” She pointedly looks at you, her brows furrowed.

“What?” Sam hisses, shooting daggers at the shorter woman, but she appears unfazed.

“From what I've gathered, she seems to be our prime suspect. It wouldn't be wise to take her with us.”

“We should hurry,” Tara says, pleading Sam with her eyes.

“No,” Sam growls.

“Sam,” you plead, tugging your hand out of her grasp. “Just let me go, please.”

You're so tired.

“Sam,” Tara pleads. “We can't take her with us.”

“Then we don't go.” Sam's words are final.

Tara’s eyes narrow, you close your eyes, anticipating the verbal fight.

“What?”

“You heard me. For all we know Kirby is the killer.”

The blonde woman, Kirby, snorts, shaking her head. “This isn't your first rodeo, Sam. Love interests are always top suspects, and, with all of the evidence Mindy presented me with, you should be grateful I'm not putting your girlfriend in a cell.”

Tara looks at you, really looks at you for the first time since Mindy's outburst, her eyes swimming with questions. You look away, unable to hold her gaze any longer without crumbling apart.

“Sam, I'm going.” Tara says quietly. “She'll be-” she stutters, glancing at Ethan, “she can take care of herself.”

You nod, peeling yourself from Sam. She holds your hand tight, staring at Tara. “You're making me choose?” She asks, trembling.

Tara gulps, her eyes wide as she looks at your joined hands. “Whatever Gale found, we need to check it out,” she says, trying to convince herself as much as Sam, “I- I'm going, Sam,” she stutters, arms tight around her stomach.

All you can see is a girl forced to go through another massacre, a girl who still hasn't moved on from her best friend's betrayal. You understand.

Still, it hurts like hell.

“Go,” you whisper, managing a tired smile, “I'll be okay.”

With the last push, you leave Sam staring at her sister, and follow Ethan in the direction of his car.

×××

A movie theater.

That's what Gale found.

Sam walks in, Tara in her wake, timid and hesitant. She can't even look at her little sister right now, instead she focuses on what's right in front of her - her fathers hooded robe.

“You think she's still alive?”

She clenches her teeth tight and glances behind her shoulder. Another hallucination, just what she needs.

“Fucked up, isn't it?” Her father taunts, walking around her in circles.

She closes her eyes, clenching her fists tight. “Get lost.”

His mocking laugh grates at her ears. “I think one of them is already dead.”

She grinds her jaw, closing her eyes. “I said get lost.”

She turns on her heel, leaving the open space. She walks aimlessly, disappearing behind one of the many doors and sliding to the floor with her back against the wall. “Fuck,” she whispers, blinking back tears, “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

The door creaks open.

“Sam?”

It's Kirby.

Sam's fists clench.

“What?” She hisses.

The blonde looks at her for a moment, her eyes holding an understanding that hits Sam like a hammer. “We have some good news.”

Sam nods, not really caring.

“The next time that asshole calls we'll know where he is.”

Sam nods again.

“Sam.”

She looks down, playing with a loose thread in her shirt. “Good.”

“You made the right decision.”

Sam scoffs, standing up in one swift motion, now looming over the shorter blonde. “The right decision? She's alone. With that fucking-”

“He's alone with her.”

“Kirby,” Sam growls, a clear warning in her tone.

“I know. I went through this too, remember?” The shorter woman holds her ground, not budging an inch. “You know we can't trust her. You know it was the right thing to do.”

Sam swallows down the urge to scream. Instead she leaves, her steps echoing around the empty room, contemplating just going back and making you stay by her side, even if she has to force you.

×××

Ethan has to pack a bag. That's what he tells you anyway.

You sit in the passenger seat of his car - you didn't even know he had one - and wait for him to come out of his dormitory. You don't even jump every time a random car driving by honks. You tense, looking around, but you don't jump. You count that as a win.

You miss the feeling of safety Sam always brings.

“All good,” Ethan smiles, getting back behind the wheel. You startle, looking to your left.

“You sure?” You mumble, eyeing the small duffle bag he throws on the back seat.

“Yeah,” he shrugs, “I don't need much anyway. I know Sam's gonna get that fucker soon.”

You smile, relaxing for the first time since you left your girlfriend's side. “She will.”

His driving is a little messy - he hits at least three potholes on the way to your apartment and texts someone twice - but you don't complain, you're a far worse driver.

“That's me,” you sigh, welcoming him inside your apartment.

He looks around, his eyes widening as he takes in the mess that is your living room. You didn't really have enough time to clean up after Sam's visit.

“Sorry about that.” You blush, making a beeline for the kitchen. “Want something to drink?”

×××

“Sam,” Tara pleads, tugging at her sister's arm.

“Not now,” Sam hisses, looking around the park.

Kirby's plan to simply sit and wait for a call didn't sit right with Sam, so now they're here, in the middle of a park, with Kirby and Bailey as back up, baiting one of those fuckers in broad daylight.

She prays it works.

“Sam, you know-”

“Not now,” she hisses. Tara jumps away. Her sister never used that tone with her.

“I'm sorry,” she whispers, blinking back tears. “Maybe we shouldn't have left her. Not like that.”

Sam's eyes narrow as she turns on her heel. “You say that now?”

Tara squares her shoulders, wiping her cheeks. “I thought-”

“It doesn't matter what you thought. You made me choose. I would've never done that to you.”

Her sister folds in on herself, hugging her stomach. Sam sighs, looking around. She knows she's being too hard on her sister, but she can't bring herself to care right now. Not when you're in danger.

Sam starts, “Look, I know you're scared-”

“Yes, for you!” Tara interrupts, shaking. “You remember Richie? Remember his plans for you? And this- Kirby was right about love interests. We both know it.” Sam opens her mouth to protest, but Tara doesn't let her speak. “Don't try to deny it! I care about you, Sam, and if it means I have to be the bad guy to keep you safe, I'll do it.”

Sam's mouth snaps shut. Tara's eyes glint with determination now, her face set. She nods, feeling some of her anger seep away. “Okay,” she sighs. “I'm sorry for snapping.”

“I'm sorry for making you leave her.”

The sisters share a look and, after Sam nods, Tara throws her hands around her older sisters shoulders.

And then her phone rings.

“You're gonna die, you know?” She answers, looking around.

“No, you're gonna die, Sam, but not before watching your little sister bleed out.”

Sam swallows. Tara squeezes her hand, grounding her sister.

“But don't worry,” the voice starts, taunting, “it’s not her time. Yet.”

Sam stares ahead, unseeing, as the phone clicks.

“Kirby, did you get it?” Tara says into her ear peace. “What?” she pales, looking at Sam with wide eyes. “Yes, I know the address…” she trails off, trembling “...it's Y/n’s”

"What?" Sam breathes out and freezes.

Tara, not wasting any time, grabs her sister and runs to Bailey's car, pushing her in before taking a seat behind the wheel. The sirens blare, gnawing on Sam's mind.

Ethan, she thinks, that motherfucker. She's going to kill him. She'll make sure he suffers.

"Sam." Tara glances at her sister, expertly waving through the traffic. "I know you care about her, but..."

"What?"

Sam nods, her palms bleeding from how hard she's dug her nails into them.

"It might be... not what we expect. At Y/n's place, I mean." Tara mutters, glancing at her sister warily. Sam closes her eyes, taking deep, even breaths as her sister speaks. "Be ready for anything, okay?"

She is more than ready to gut the boy.

“Faster,” her father hisses from the backseat and she doesn't spare the hallucination a glance. “Or you'll lose your precious girlfriend.”

She grits her teeth, nails digging into her palms, and focuses on the road ahead, willing him to go away. She can't afford a distraction, not now, not when you are in danger. Tara glances at her warily, before hesitantly placing her palm on her shoulder, squeezing.

The breaks screech and she's out before the car comes to a full stop. She forgoes the elevators, running up the stairs to your apartment and bursting through the unlocked door.

The first thing she sees is blood.

The first thing she hears is Ethan's sobs.

"S-sam," he whimpers, clutching his stabbed stomach. "Please…"

Tara bumps into her back, panting and coughing. Sam's hand shoots out, stopping her sister from getting closer to the boy.

"Where is she?" Sam asks, her voice gravely quiet. She scans the apartment with her eyes, seeing no signs of struggle.

Her father appears by her side, nodding at the knife lying by the boy's side. “She did him good,” he grins in appreciation.

"I'm sorry," he wails, tears streaming down his face, "I'm so sorry, Sam."

She hums and takes a step closer, her fists clenched tight. "Where. Is. She."

Ethan blanches, pressing himself flat against the wall. "We were talking and she- she told me how sorry she was about Anika, told me how hard it was seeing her die, and then… then I hugged her, because she was crying and shaking, and I couldn't just stand there." Sam nods, crouching, and urges him to go on, her fingers squeezing around his wrist. "And then I felt the pain. I- I pushed her away and she- she did it again, she stabbed me again. It hurts so bad, Sam… Please," he sobs, wheezing.

Sam hums, pulling his hand away from the wound and presses her palm against it, hard. "That's not what I asked you," she hisses, enjoying the way he starts to writhe, screaming in pain, and pushes harder. She leans down to whisper in his ear, "Where is she?"

Ethan looks at her with wide eyes, terrified.

"Sam," Tara warns, "stop."

Her father chuckles.

When Ethan doesn't answer, she pulls her hand away, only to punch him straight in the gut, earning a pathetic wheeze. "I won't ask again."

"You're m- mad," he chokes, looking at Tara for help.

"We all go a little mad sometimes," Sam hisses before punching him again and again.

In the corner, her father smiles proudly.

She needs to know where you are. She needs to know you didn't do this. She needs to know you're not one of them.

"Sam, that's enough." Her sister pulls her by the shoulders, forcing her to stop the assault on the poor boy. "You heard him.. You see him. It's her," she whispers, blinking back tears. Sam shakes her head, ready to resume the interrogation, but Tara stops her. "Sam. This is not you. Stop."

Sam blinks rapidly, only now seeing a twinge of fear in her sister's eyes. Fear of her. She stumbles back, choking on her breath and falls to her knees, numb.

She sees her father shaking his head, disappointed in his daughter for stopping so early, for trusting you. She feels her sister's warm embrace, and hears her soothing words. She clings to her, burying her face in the smaller girl's frame, only one thought on her mind.

It's you.

[yourislandgirl]

*:ꔫ:*ₓₒ IRRESISTIBLE ˚ ༘♡ੈ✩ || 심재윤 x fem!reader || drabble

— KISS ME, DON’T SAY NO series

summary: distracted by the charm of your darling boyfriend, you find yourself unable to resist his need for attention, but in all seriousness, who’d be able to resist jake?

genres: fluff, romance, non-idol!jake x non-idol!reader, est. relationship, ft. mentions of huh yunjin and layla

warnings: attempts at humour, swearing/cursing, pet names, slightly suggestive bcs jake’s a simp and doesn’t bother hiding it, mentioned the book ‘to all the boys i’ve loved before’ . ya know, in case you don’t like that book ..

w.c: 1.5k

[archive]

“Stop.”

His giggles were glittery. Just hearing them would set off a flutter in your chest. “What? I’m just appreciating nature and its beauty.” You could practically hear the smile from his voice.

It took a lot of strength to not look up, to keep your gaze firmly situation on the letters that ran along the page in front of you. Your fingers tightened around the soft copy covers of the novel in your hands, thumb rubbing against the paper as you tried to read the next sentence.

It was an impossible task, you quickly realised, your senses distracted by the ticklish sensation of grass against your ankles. The culprit, however, wasn’t the innocent grass field of the park, but actually your attention whore of a boyfriend, laying on his stomach by your feet, drawing little invisible doodles on your bare calf with the tip of the grass blade.

more under cut !!

You knew what he was doing, the unsubtly in the teasing glances that he’d sneak your way, observing your reaction, seeing how long it would take for you to break. It was one of his more annoying qualities that you couldn’t help but find endearing… eventually.

At that moment though, you resolved to simply tap your finger against the corner of the book, your eyes unfocused, not a single word on the page registering as you pursed your lips, squashing whatever tiny smile wanted to make itself known. You were gonna last this time.

See, previous times it had happened — and yes, it happened a lot — Jake would usually win. Whether it was his inconspicuous back hugs which eventually had him pulling you away from whatever you were doing previously, or the more blatantly obvious way he’d smile, quirk his head to the side, and pull you along with him.

Jake was simply irresistible. And he knew it, which is always a problem.

That afternoon, however, you‘d decided the best way to defeat him, is to divert him, distract him, and so you set your plan into motion;

“Jakey, what does this word mean?”

“Hm?”

Immediately the grass blade was abandoned, the pursuit to tease was thrown aside and your puppy dog of a boyfriend had pulled himself up and shuffled closer, leaning his back against the large tree trunk, just like you.

He pouted his lips, following your finger as you pointed out the word. “Iota? I thought you were reading a romance book…”

You scoffed, “I am.” Slipping your bookmark into the spine you closed the book to show him the cover. ‘To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before’ was printed in pretty ribbon-like loops of text, glossy and black against the light baby pink background.

Jake smirked, opening the book once more to read out the sentence before he started explaining the origins of ‘iota’ (ancient greek text), and the significance of that letter (it’s the smallest in the alphabet), and how it applies in a modern context (“Basically, babe, it means you couldn’t give less of a fuck”).

You bit your lip, suppressing your laughter as you carefully pulled out your bookmark and continued reading. Your head rested against Jake‘s shoulder, his voice slowly helping you relax as he continued to explain random yet somewhat applicable definitions to the word ‘iota’.

You couldn’t really understand, mostly because you were only paying like 40% of your attention on what he was saying. Zoning in and out every now and then, catching a few anecdotes about his senior year maths class and imaginary numbers, whatever those mean.

Just as you reached the next chapter, you felt Jake tap your forehead. “Are you sleeping?”

“What? No!” You shuffled back a bit, looking at him incredulously.

Jake’s eyes darted down to the novel in your hands, noticing the next chapters number on the page. “You’re reading? I thought you were listening to me,” he whined, an embarrassed little smile on his lips.

You shut the book in an instant, completely forgetting about your bookmark. “I am!” You insisted, choosing to summaries his explanation as proof. “You said it was ancient greek alphabet, the smallest of them all, means I couldn’t give less of a flying fu—”

“Fine, what was the last thing I said?”

You stilled, “Uh…” Mind going blank, you figured a blind shot in the dark wouldn’t hurt, safest option, honestly. “…That I’m the love of your life?”

Jake‘s expression fell flat. “No, I didn’t—”

“I’m not the love of your life?!”

“That’s not what I— …Well played.” Quirking his lip a little, Jake sighed, holding out his fist as a peace offering.

“Thank you.” Smirking, you fist bumped him, before looking back down to open your book. But you paused, eyes glancing back to your unused bookmark. You flicked your head towards Jake, “I don’t—”

“Chapter twenty,” he said smoothly, before turning around and using your fumbling to rest his head on your lap.

“Enjoy the flattering angle,” you mutter, dryly.

Jake stayed silent, his gaze fixated on you, on the way your hair fell in front of your eyes and you constantly brushed it away and yet refused to pin it back. Or the way you very, very softly mouthed the words you were reading, ever so faintly, it’s barely a whisper. Or how you’d smile at the stories events before quickly controlling your expression so you don’t look like a fool, grinning at a book.

Jake sighed, brushing his hair back. “I guess the story’s interesting?”

You hummed. “Somewhat.”

“Somewhat?” He sat up. “Then pay attention to me.”

You leaned forward and kissed his cheek, before settling back against the tree. “I would, baby, but I need to beat Yunjin at this month’s goodreads challenge. And I would have beaten her last week but—”

“But I dragged you to the couch for movie night—”

“Which I loved. Among other things that night.” You suppressed your smile.

Nudging your knee with his, Jake let out a breathy chuckle. “Shh, there’s kids running around”

You shook your head, amused. “What I’m saying is, I love spending time with you. So much so that I want you around even if I’m just doing something by myself. But you make it so damn hard for me to concentrate.”

Your eyes had completely left the page yet again, finding your focus purely captured by the comfort that Jake gave you whenever he was present, the kind of relaxation where you simply get to exist, side by side, and that’s enough. It truly was his fault that you were this distracted.

Though, he obviously didn’t think so.

“That’s on you,” his eyes shone with that cheeky charm that he seemed to never run out of. His fingers rested on your knee, tapping away as he spoke. “I can’t exactly just stay put like some loser when I have the most irresistible person for a girlfriend.”

You scoffed, “I thought you were the irresistible one.”

Your mind replayed memories of past instances where Jake would send you a smug grin, throwing his arms wide open, surmising that he was simply irresistible and you should just give in (translation: he just wants hugs).

Jake shrugged. “Well, I am. But it’s not like I’ve got monopoly over it.”

“Mhm.”

He watched as you, yet again, tried to concentrate on the novel at hand, to get some progress in your reading. But your competitiveness was faltering and he could see it.

On the one hand, he wanted you to win, for your own happiness.

On the other hand… “C’mere.”

“Hm?”

Jake leaned closer, cupping your jaw as he went in to kiss you. You knew there was no hope of finishing another chapter anymore. Let alone the book. Jake had this way of capturing your entire soul, of holding it in his warm hands, keeping it safe. The same way it felt to have his hands holding your face, his thumb softly rubbing your cheek, his tiny giggles unable to be contained between your kisses.

“You’re a jerk,” you whisper, smiling so wide that the implication of such a sentence made no sense in comparison.

“Right,” Jake leaned forward and gave you a quick peck. “But you know, if you’d really wanted to read today, you wouldn’t have brought me along.”

You nudged your forehead against his. “Fair point.”

The novel slid from hands, flat on your lap as you moved your fingers along nape of his neck. You’d just started pulling him closer by his chain necklace when—

“Hey mister!”

Jake flinched and looked to the side at the tiny irritated mass in light up sketchers standing a meter away.

“Your dog has my ball!”

“Oh shit…” You shifted back as you watched your boyfriend scramble to get up, cursing his clicking joints as he ran. “Layla!!”

“Guess you win this month, Yunjinnie.” Hurriedly putting the book back in your bag, you got up and ran after Jake.

a.n: third instalment of the kiss me, don’t say no series !! even if it’s officially feb 9th i’m holding off until i get up again in the actual morning to publish jungwon’s — skipping sunsun for now! sorry :( i just really wanna get jungwon’s out on his birthday !!!! anyway, i hope you liked this one <3

taglist: @oceanstide — @sheepsgf — @itsrinsdrs — @enjakey

2025 © yourislandgirl

[lovethestarrs]

RABID

DARYL DIXON

CONTAINS: light swearing, arguing, Daryl is a little mean but I promise not for long, Daryl thinking he’s a bad man, I would place this in the farm era, lots and lots of kisses from this stinky guy, age-gap but not really mentioned so kind of not, short, not proof read

A/N: I felt like making this with auto-capitalization, I don’t know why. Title inspired by Nicole Dollanganger (one of her songs is actually in TWD!)

“Daryl, please look at me.” I beg, tears in my eyes. He doesn’t look, just continues wiping down his bow. “Please don’t ignore me.” My voice is breaking, I can see Daryl’s face contort, sniffling back his own sobs. I drop down to my knees. “You’re all I need. In this fucked up world.” My head and hands fall into his lap, begging for just an acknowledgement.

Daryl and you were known as a cute little pair to the group. He wasn’t a violent man, you knew that, but Daryl couldn’t stop worrying he’d hurt you.

You had confessed your love to him, telling him why you loved him, and how perfect he was.

“You’re perfect, Daryl. You’re so sweet, especially to me,” you chuckle. “You’re brave, you’re strong. You’re amazing.” You say, smile present on your face while you sniffle.

“Y/N,” he huffs. “You’re a sweet girl. My God, the most amazing one. But I’m a bad man. I’m like.. like some rabid dog.” Your smile begins to fade. “No, no, don’t say that.” You hold his cheek in your hand. “It’s true. I’m no guy for a girl like you. Can’t risk hurting you.” He pushes a strand of hair out of your face, his eyes lost in your beauty.

That had been a week ago. He has since then not spoken to you. No matter how much you tried to make conversation, he would hardly acknowledge your presence.

“Hi, Daryl.” You smile when you catch him eating squirrel under a tree. All he does is raise his brows and go back to chewing.

You walked away, back into the house, wiping your nose and eyes from the spilling tears. You sat in your room, crying as all you could think of all was Daryl and how he’d never be yours.

—

Three weeks with Daryl ignoring you. It felt like psychological torture. You carried on with life but Daryl never left your head.

You saw him sitting against the trunk of a tree, cleaning his bow. It was only the both of you in there, everyone in their own worlds— so you gave in.

“Daryl.” It was hushed and short. He never looked at you, never said anything. “Daryl, please. I’m sorry. Please just look at me.” You plead, dropping to your knees in front of him.

“Daryl, please look at me.” I beg, tears in my eyes. He doesn’t look, just continues wiping down his bow. “Please don’t ignore me.” My voice is breaking, I can see Daryl’s face contort, sniffling back his own sobs. I drop down to my knees. “You’re all I need. In this fucked up world.” My head and hands fall into his lap, begging for just an acknowledgement.

“Goddammit, Y/N.” His breaking voice finally echoing in your ears. He put his bow down and his fingers intertwined into your hair. “Sit up.” He says softly.

You sit back up and look into his eyes. There was a silence in as he cupped your face in his hands. “Don’t apologize, okay?” He wipes a tear from your eye. “I’m sorry. I’ve been a dick to you. Fuckin’ ignoring you and being an ass. I just don’t want you to expect more than you should from me. I can’t imagine myself to be good for you.”

You sniffle, “No,” you wipe your nose. “You’re the one I want. I don’t care what you think about yourself. I love you. And you’re not a bad guy. I think— I think you’re the sweetest guy I have ever met.” The words fell out of your mouth with urgency to get him to listen to you and what you had to say.

Before you knew it, he pulled you into a kiss. His lips were warm and felt so soft. He pulled away, tearfully he asks, “You love me?” His lip is quivering, eyes squinting to hold back the welling of tears. You nod and he pulls you in again.

“I fuckin’ love you, Y/N.” It causes you to smile through your tears. He presses his forehead against yours, “—Love you so much.” His lips meet yours again, wet and needy.

Your arms instinctively wrapped around his neck and you sat in his lap. His hands fell to your waist to keep you there as he continued to kiss you, tongue swiping between your lips, asking for access which you permit.

—

It was Valentine’s Day, your first with Daryl and when you woke up there was a note left on your dresser. You unfolded the paper, on top of it written: Lover.

When you opened the note it read:

‘Dear Y/N,

Thank you for being the most amazing girl. Thank you for loving a guy like me. You’ve accepted me in ways I’ve never been before. You make me feel like a new man. I know I’m not good at showing it but I love you. More than you’ll ever know. Happy Valentines Day, Lover.

Love, your man— Daryl Dixon.’

You looked at it tearfully. God… you loved him. More than he’d ever know.

[aliesbienish]

A study of wolves: chapter three

chapter one ✩ chapter two

Paul Lahote x Reader

- The previous day -

“Why did we even agree to this study, clearly she is going to notice signs that the wolves around here aren’t always of the typical gray variety?” Paul questioned the tribal council, pacing at the foot of the meeting table.

“Son we didn’t have a choice, the majority of the land you boys protect falls out of the reservation. It was going ahead anyway, so it made sense to at least have someone from the council always there to steer clear of anything suspicious,” Billy placated, hands up in surrender to the clearly riled man.

“Billy’s right Paul,” Sam chimed in “there wasn’t an option. Plus this way we get income from the cabin and a guide. You know we need this to complete the maintenance on the school.”

“So you are okay with us becoming a study? Because we all know between the cameras and her field observation training we’re fucked. There is no way we can always play it safe with these cold ones lurking around, a mistake is inevitable.”

“Son,” Billy continued “it’s not even like it’s an issue anymore. You’ve imprinted on her, so she is one of us now. It’s well within reason to tell her what is going on.”

“No” Paul growled. “That is my choice and it’s absolutely not happening. Some silly idea that she’s my soulmate doesn’t change the fact she is a complete stranger. We don’t how she’ll react, there is no way I’m risking it,”

“You might not have a choice if she catches sight of something she’s not supposed to.”

“This is my only choice, and I’m not letting anyone taking it from me. Not even you.”

Billy sighed, resting his head in his hands. The chief was well aware what Paul’s reservations were really about. “Son, I know you didn’t want this. But please understand this is a blessing from the spirits, fighting this will only hurt you,”

“I refuse to let my choice be taken away, and I refuse to let hers. I will help to keep our secret safe but once this project is over she will leave and life will continue. And I don’t want anyone to try to do anything to change that.”

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

The sky was clear but the southerly winds whipped ferociously along the cliff face where Paul parked up. The great blue expanse of ocean was mesmerising, stretching out as far as the eye could see. It was in moments like this you felt solace, out of the noise and bustle of large cities. Just the sounds of birds, waves crashing and winds whistling amongst the trees. After taking the moment to ground yourself you made your way over to the truck bed to grab your gear, Paul doing the same with his own bag.

“What’s the plan?”

“Well the most recent report says the last sighting was off this trail here,” you said pointing across the gravel road and to the unsigned trail head. “It happened in a clearing about four miles in so I think we head out there keeping an eye out on the way.”

“Sure thing boss. Anything you want me to keep an eye out for?”

“If you wouldn’t mind looking for prints, the ground should be pretty muddy under the vegetation cover so anything that’s been here since the previous rainfall last week should have left a mark. I don’t think we’ll actually come across a wolf since they’re nocturnal. But hopefully we can find a good spot for at least one of the cameras,”

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

For the past hour you had been hiking in relative silence. Paul lead the way, keeping a steady but maintainable pace. The trail itself was muddy but relatively flat, and wide enough you didn’t have to squeeze past any bushes. So far you hadn’t spotted anything apart from a wild rabbit that darted across the path in front of you.

Seeing a fallen trunk parallel to the path up ahead you decided now was as good a time as any to have a break.

“You keen for some morning tea?” You called to your companion, who gave you a nod and slowed down.

Perching on the thankfully stable trunk you pulled out the first of the sandwich haul.

“What’s your poison; PB & J or ham and cheese?”

“Whatever one you don’t want,”

“Na-ah, that wasn’t my question now was it. What kind of boss would I be if I just gave my worker scraps?”

“A standard one,” Paul smirked. Before grabbing the ham and cheese sandwich from the lunchbox. “Thanks”

“So Paul,” you began after a few bites of food, “what do you usually do besides leading clueless city girls around the forest ?”

“Thanks for making me sound like a serial killer. Plus I wouldn’t call you clueless,”

“I mean in the serial killer equation I think I’d rather be clueless. Would be worse if I willingly followed a killer into the middle of nowhere. Now answer the question idiot,” you laughed affectionately.

“Whatever the council needs really. Usually some form of construction or land maintenance,”

“Do you enjoy it? I imagine it’s nice to be working with your hands and doing something different every day?”

“I do. It’s not what I had anticipated doing, but it keeps me busy. I don’t think I could ever work in an office.”

“What did you think you’ll be doing?” You paused a second, and realised you may be getting too intrusive with someone you didn’t know. Something about Paul just made you want to dig into what made him…well him. “Sorry you don’t have to answer that. I’ll just shut up,”

“Don’t worry [y/n], it’s fine. But you have to swear you won’t tell anyone,”

“I solemnly swear,” you declared grabbing his left pinkie with your right.

“Child,” Pull laughed, before wrapping his pinkie around your own. “I also thought by now I’d be travelling the country. Maybe working with animals on my way, at a ranch or something like that,”

“Nothing wrong with that at all. In fact it’s smart, animals are obviously much better than people,”

“Obviously,” he snorted.

“May I asked what changed?”

“Ah just council things really, it’s my duty to the tribe.”

You could tell he was skirting around the answer, but you knew it would be beyond rude to pry any further.

“Well there’s still plenty of time to try something new,” you declared as you swung your backpack on. “Shall we continue future cowboy?”

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Hope you all enjoyed xx

Next chapter

[ghostgirl-22]

My version of road trip AU preview for the handful of ppl that gaf <3 there’s a bit more than this written… but here are 2 states :) I personally love it and am mostly writing it for me so if y’all don’t fuck with it I promise I’ll keep the rest to myself lol. Side note: how do y’all make your fonts all pretty and colorful outside of what tumblr offers?

—-

New York City

Tashi lies and pretends she’s road tripping with girlfriends from the tour so her parents don’t book a flight out to New York and insist on escorting her back to Palo Alto themselves which they absolutely would do if they knew her plans. Driving across the country with two boys. (Both of them she made out with— one of them her boyfriend.) God forbid. Even she can’t believe she’s doing it.

They’re late picking her up from the hotel the tournament put her up in. Somewhere in the middle of Queens. She’s sitting in the lobby with her suitcase and tennis bag. Awkwardly waving goodbye to some of the girls she just beat in the tournament. 

Patrick’s coming from his house in Rhode Island and he’s already picked up Art in Massachusetts early this morning.

“Boston rush hour traffic was hell and he’s a horrible navigator,” is Patrick’s explanation as Art flips him off and jumps out of the passenger’s seat of the double parked car to help her load her suitcase in the trunk. “You have a tomtom dude… you just don’t fucking listen,” Art snaps back.  

As annoyed as she is she can’t help smiling thinking maybe they’re more annoyed. She carves out her own little space in the trunk amongst their messy half zipped suitcases and scattered clothing and clutter. It looks like Art loaded some things he had at home that he wanted to take back to school. He lifts her suitcase into her designated space for her. So chivalrous. 

“Do you care if I sit in the front?” She asks, biting her lip. 

He cares, it’s obvious but he shakes his head no anyway. “Of course not.”

”Thanks… we can switch later,” she offers.  

They’re supposed to be driving from New York City to Palo Alto. Nearly 3000 miles in Patrick’s little Jeep. He’s got a full tank of gas. A cooler full of water and sodas.  “We also have lots of chips and pretzels,” Art explains. 

“But no food food?” Tashi asks. 

“Uh peanut butter and honey,” Art says weakly. “And wheat bread.” 

It’s supposed to be a three day drive but it’s summer break… they’ve got nothing but time. no games, no practice, no school, no plans. “It takes as long as it takes,” Patrick shrugs. Setting the Tom Tom gps. 

It’s so hot Tashi feels like she’s barely dressed— short shorts and a tank top which she can tell Patrick really appreciates as she slinks into the passenger seat. The way she appreciates his thighs in athletic shorts, his biceps in a crisp white t-shirt, his freckles in all the sunlight. Art dressed nearly identical except with a stanford t-shirt and a baseball cap. He’s sleepy, soft and beautiful like always. Sexual tension between the three of them, already so thick you could cut it with a knife. 

The air conditioner is blasting but Patrick’s got the windows down. A lit cigarette in hand.

”I think we need rules,” Tashi says. 

“Rules? Why the fuck would we do that to ourselves?” Patrick asks, before taking a long drag of his cigarette.  

“Oh I dunno, so we don’t fucking kill each other… like rule number one… you can’t do that the whole time,” Tashi snatches the rest of the cigarette pack out of his cup holder. “Maybe 1 per state.”

“Oh fuck off,” is his half hearted response but he throws her a sideways glance and a little smirk as she pockets them. 

“Just ask me if you want one and I’ll consider it.” She says, biting back on a little smile of her own.

He reaches for her hand and links their fingers. Pulling her close to his lips and pressing a kiss to the back of her hand. 

“I missed you.” 

She kinda melts a little bit a lot. She loves the way he doesn’t let go of her… notices the way he catches Art's eye in the rear view mirror, a little smirk on his lips. As if this is also about him somehow. Then there’s a loud honk of someone jamming on the horn behind them.  

“Okay okay, I’m fucking going! Jesus.”  

Patrick puts the cigarette to his lips and starts the drive out of New York City. They turn down street after city street. One lined with row houses and flooded with water. Kids and teens playing around in front of an opened fire hydrant. Water splashing the car windows on the passenger side as they pass. On the next street they pass kids playing basketball at the open air park. A loud car sitting outside a bodega blasting Spanish music. The rumble of the overground train as Patrick weaves in and out of traffic, avoiding bicyclists, pedestrians, double parked cabs and the city bus like its a video game. All while he turns up the radio playing “Lady Marmalde” with Christina Aguilera, Missy Elliot and Maya. 

It’s Patrick’s music. Loud and brash, silly and unapologetic. Like him. They listen way too loud. “Voulez-vous coucher avec moi, ce soir?”  Singing along mostly making up words like they’re already in the best part of the road trip. Patrick racing steadily towards the beltway as  they escape the city via the Verrazano bridge all the way at the bottom of Brooklyn. Tashi gazes out the window at the sparkling water of the Hudson. The New York City skyline getting further and further away in her side view  mirror.   

New Jersey

“How do you know how to drive like that in the city?” Tashi asks as they enter the New Jersey turnpike. 

“Why? It’s kinda sexy right?” Patrick smirks. 

“He’s a city kid,” Art chimes in. “His sister and her surgeon husband live in his parents old New York City townhouse.” 

“Oh fuck… so you’re like…really, really rich,” Tashi says. 

Patrick shrugs, there’s a little color in his cheeks, “I mean… they are sure. I just have my jeep.” 

“That they paid for.” Comes Art from the backseat. 

“It was a birthday gift actually. so technically...” 

All through the Jersey turnpike and on towards  Pennsylvania they argue talk too much and eat too many chips. They share sodas and stories about family, how many siblings do you have? And all the annoying sibling stories. She knows Patrick but not the way art knows Patrick. All the people Patrick brings up Art knows and vice versa. Then Tashi, curious about their lore, starts asking them about boarding prep school. It’s like an avalanche of inside jokes. Some things she asks to know more about… some she lets them keep to themselves. They speak in riddles… they mention one word or say a name and thats all they need. Giggling with each other off of little to no context. They do it so often it’s like they aren’t even aware they’re talking in code. It’s adorable (and annoying) and maybe she’s a little envious. Wishing she had a friend that close. 

They get gas on the turnpike. “God bless Jersey we’ll have to pump it ourselves the rest of the way,” Patrick says. Which is just another invitation for her to call him a spoiled rich kid which always makes him blush. Even after they go into the food court for the bathroom and snacks, Tashi sits shotgun. She stays in front all afternoon even though she knows it makes Art jealous (she’s still unsure of who he’s more jealous of but she loves to play around with the idea of who he wants more in her head. Currently she thinks he wants Patrick more). 

As for Patrick, he has to hold her hand whenever it’s free. She’ll never admit to him… but it absolutely gives her butterflies. It’s like he still needs to touch her if he can’t be in her face. Needs to hold her hand up near his mouth within kissing distance. She can sense it… that  Art is anxious for their flirting. Sitting in the backseat one shoe up, tapping on the center console, biting his thumb. She glances back at him often just so he feels included… and not because she likes to flirt with him too. Maybe she does make eyes at him… but only a little bit. She knows she should behave herself but she does get a bit of a rush knowing they’re both so into her.

Patrick’s playlist, now background to their chatting, is beginning to transition from pop music and some R&B with artists like Nelly Furtado, Britney, Usher and Justin Timberlake, to random classic rock tunes. Stuff Tashi heard her grandpa… her mom’s dad… play a lot when she was younger. “Ramble On” by Led Zepplin, “Don’t Fear the Reaper” by Blue Oyster Cult, “Dust in the Wind” by Kansas she’s vaguely familiar with all of them  and when she explains how she knows them— it sends them all down a rabbit hole about old music they know. And Tashi takes over the music rig plugging her iPod in and running a playlist of Motown songs some she’s certain they’ve never heard (Diana Ross, Aretha Franklin, some of her grandma… dads side… favorites like the Temptations. They’re both delighted to hear “My Girl.”  

They stop at the last turnpike exit before Pennsylvania for “real food” and more gas while their at it. Patrick stretches his legs. Pulling her into a real kiss before she can go inside, tongue slipping into her mouth big hands on her shoulders, her waist, her ass…then he’s slipping them into her pocket as he steals his cigarettes back with a grin. 

“Loser,” she tells him only mildly breathless as he puts one to his lips. 

“Takes one to know one,” he grins back. 

Art lingers awkwardly before she links her arm with his and drags him inside. They both get salads. Patrick meets them inside after his cigarette and gets a Nathan’s chilli dog. They eat in the car… in the parking lot. Seats reclined. Patrick arguing with them about why he should be able to just kick his shoes off.

“absolutely fucking not,” is Art’s response. 

“Come on, you’d get used to the smell. After like an hour or two you won’t even notice the difference.” 

“No fucking way… thats rule number two. Keep your shoes on. I mean… unless you’re wearing sandals all day of course” Tashi says… stretching her bare feet out onto his lap. 

“Now you’re just rubbing it in.” He teases his knuckles over the pads of her feet and she pulls away quickly because she feels it all over, tingling in places she shouldn’t be. He smirks at her, his gaze going dark and she looks back at her salasd… feeling her stomach start to do little impatient flips. She’s been so close to him all day. Touching him, smelling him, hearing his voice. She can’t act like it hasn’t had an affect on her. Maybe if art falls asleep first or they book a room in a motel she can get it out of her system. Otherwise it’ll be a long night.

(Forgive any anachronisms i beg. I think all music is from on or before 2006 — was gonna use telephone by Beyonce and gaga but I stopped myself… and the gps came out in 2004 i looked it up i promise)

[reidsdimples]

Can i Request again?🥺🥹.. Spencer reid x Bau! reader. In one of the cases, the reader becomes the bait to catch the serial killer, however she was injected with a mystery Aprosidiac. Spencer is the one to find her first. So you know. Sex or dead. Spencer keeps it a secret. Then she left the Bau because she couldn't fathom what happened. The reader got pregnant, and she saw Spencer reid resemblance on her Toddler. So she confronted him.👉🏻👈🏻

Accidental Baby Genius | Part 1

This idea was too good to squeeze into just one part 😮‍💨

18+❤️‍🔥 MNDI ‼️

Tw: mentions of drugs, Maeve, pregnancy

Part 2

Unsub on his way to me you inform the team via text as Vincent Croll stalks over to you.

They’re not outside and this isn’t going to be a sting operation. You’re intended to get close to him, to influence him to “take you home” as per his usual MO. You needed to know where his home was, where he kept the others.

Vincent has a thing for playing a very specific game with his victims. But you needed him to come out of hiding and play. You baited him, went undercover, made sure he was watching you, and now you’re here at this illustrious night club, sure that he’s going to ask you to come home with him.

“You are… wow,” the gruff looking bearded man spreads his arms. He hugs you and he smells musty.

You make small talk with him, occasionally checking your phone. You told the team to stay away. Let you get into his house to help those girls. Then they can track your phone to find you.

The two of you get to talking for a while about this thing or the next happening on the news. Finally he asks you to step out back with him for a smoke. You don’t smoke but you agree. You check your phone and it’s Spencer.

“I’m out front in case you need to back out of this,” his text reads. Your partner has always been so concerned over your safety. Especially when it came to being undercover. He thought there was a better way to deal with this unsub and didn’t like using you as bait.

“Thanks,” you smile at Vincent and take the cigarette.

What happens next, happens much too quickly. He’s figured you out, and he’s not going to let you know where he’s keeping the girls. He brings you into his game in an instant with a needle straight to your neck, he pushes the plunger and warm fluid swims into you.

Fuck.

“Good try,” he growls and takes off.

You steady yourself against the brick wall. Your vision swims and you’re sure this bastard poisoned you.

This game in particular- you’ve seen from recent victims- is one where he either injects you with poison or an aphrodisiac.

Help, out back. you text Spencer.

Whatever he gave you, the dose was high. You’re hoping the swimming in your vision is the Oxy he infuses with the aphrodisiacs and not just straight up poison.

“Y/N, what happened?”

“Syringe, the syringe,” you point to it on the ground and hold your neck.

“Shit,” he scoops it up and hurries you back to his car where he breaks something out of his trunk.

He swabs the inside of the syringe and runs some kind of tests with his kit. Of course Spencer Reid had a drug testing kit just on hand.

Meanwhile you become very aware of your nipples against your bra, your legs pressing together to place pressure on your pussy. You’re sucking on your bottom lip and Spencer standing there, frantically using those hands to work his text equipment is the hottest thing in the world. You have your answer for what he injected you with.

“MDMA, OXY, but not poison,” he slumps his shoulders. You giggle.

“Spencer take me home,” you grin get comfy in his front seat. You try to remember what was so scary about what just occurred but you can’t.

You’re not going to do anything to or with Spencer, that would be crazy. You’ll just go home, use your little rose toy, and sleep it off.

You’re staring at Spencer, your mouth watering at the sight of his soft lips, you want to run your tongue up the side of his long neck, you want to run your fingers through his wavy locks and press his face into your pussy…

Somehow a small moan escapes you and he snaps his head over towards you as you adjust in your seat.

“Are you okay?” He asks.

“Good, so good,” you purr.

Ew stop, you chastise yourself but you can’t help it. You’re going to mount your work crush right here right now.

He pulls into your driveway ten agonizing minutes later and offers you a hand to help you out of the car. You take it a tug him closer to you, you sloppily wrap your arms around his neck and smile into his chest. You inhale his scent greedily.

“Okay,” he peels you off of him slowly and guides you towards the door.

You purposely stumble which forces him to walk behind you with his hands on your hips. You’re aware of the thin material of your short dress and just how easy it would be to bend over…

“What are you doing?” He asks and evidently that thought didn’t stay in your head.

You had flung yourself forward on the brick steps to your house and arched your ass up in the air towards him. You can’t help but laugh at the way he throws his hands up, red spread across his cheeks as though he’s unsure what to do.

“Shh,” you shush him and scamper up the stairs.

You grab his hand and drag him in with you. He doesn’t protest, he doesn’t seem the least bit adverse to following you into the house in this state.

“Do you need anything?” He rubs the back of his head awkwardly.

“Mhmmm,” you drawl out the sound and eye him up and down while biting your lip.

“I don’t think we should… you’ve been drugged,” he reasons.

“Are you saying you don’t want to?” You pout and bite at his neck. “Because I’ve been wanting you to bend me over your desk for months.” You nip at his earlobe and you can’t believe you just admitted that.

“I’m not saying that I’m just saying that-“ he swallows hard.

“Fine, I’ll be upstairs pleasuring myself. You’re free to leave or join me,” you offer.

You prop yourself in your bed in the silk sheets feel incredible on your too hot skin, your rose sex toy comes to life with a buzz and you smirk.

Your heels are still on but you’ve kicked your thong into god knows what direction, and pulled your dress up. Just the sensation of your favorite toy buzzing in your hand has you whimpering. Every nerve is alive, it feels too fucking good.

You spread your legs wide in the dark of the room, and spread your pussy open just enough to place the vibrating bud on it. It’s so intense, oh fuck, it’s never been so intense. You lull your head back and you don’t know if Spencer left but you don’t care. You need an orgasm. Or ten. You’ve never been so turned on.

It’s completely inappropriate but you arch into your toy and moan loudly as it vibrates against you with disgusting suctioning sounds from your wet cunt. It’s glorious.

All kinds of whimpers and moans are escaping you when suddenly Spencer appears in your doorway.

He hadn’t left.

He clearly had been warring with himself though. He watches you, his face cast in shadows from the dark room. But you can see him lick his lips as you run the rose toy over your dripping cunt. You up the game.

“Spencer I’m about to cum,” you mewl. And it’s not a lie because his eyes on you send you over the edge. You throw your head back and twitch as your legs squeeze closed around your wrist. You pant for a moment.

“How many times have you called my name when using this?” He crawls onto the bed, towards you. He’s a mess of wavy hair, his tie undone.

“Too many,” you whimper the truth.

He places his large hands on your knees and pushes them apart. You open your hand and let the small toy go.

“You should have told me,” he whispers and pushes his hands up your thighs, he squeezes gently. “How are you feeling?”

“I want you, I feel good, I want you to make me feel good,” you stammer because you can’t focus with those hands on you.

You’re surprised when he adjusts the speed of your rose to vibrate harder. He presses at against your over sensitive clit and you writhe beneath him. He lets out a pleased moan and you feel his long middle finger poking at your entrance.

“Please,” you beg him.

He obliges and slides it in swiftly, he pumps you slowly while pressing the toy against your clit.

“So pretty,” he coos and withdraws his finger to rub it between your folds.

You frown when he removes the rose but are blindsided when his mouth latches roughly onto your throbbing pussy.

“Fuck,” you grip his hair hard, pulling it so that he’s deeper in your cunt. He groans against you but tongue fucks you properly.

Your body comes alive as though it’s been set ablaze and you cum on his face quickly, too quickly.

You’re whining when he moves up your body.

“Need more?” He whispers against your ear. You nod. “Greedy girl,” he bites down on your neck.

You frantically rip his shirt open, needing to feel his body, god you loved his body. You run your hands over the planes of his chest and abdomen, moaning your arousal as you reach his belt buckle.

“Do you want my cock?” He tilts his head and looks at you.

“Please,” you beg. He leans down to whisper in your ear while he pulls his cock free of his pants. “Do you want me to fuck your tight little cunt?” You whimper at his dirty words and you can feel the head of his cock against your heat. “Do you want to cum on my cock? How many times have you fantasized about this?” He continues and then he moves down and flicks your nipple with his tongue.

“Reid, please,” you pant.

“Mmm,” he moves back up your body and finally, finally lines up his throbbing cock to your drenched hole. “No one can find out about this,” he whispers assertively.

“No one,” you agree and claw at his hips to encourage him.

When she pushes into you, you can feel every inch of him and he moves slowly. He allows you to stretch to fit him.

“Fuck, tight little cunt,” he groans as he focuses to push in.

“It feels so good,” you cry out and watch him push himself deeper. “Please Spencer just fuck me hard, give it all to me.”

“Yeah?” He asks. You nod and wrap your legs around him.

He abandons the gentle routine and slams the last four ish inches into you, you scream like a lunatic because you’ve never felt so good. You’ve never felt so alive and he’s rutting into you as hard as he can.

Your headboard slams violently into the wall as the sounds of his balls slapping against you fill the air. He pounds relentlessly in your pussy, arching up to hit that spot inside of you until all you can do is hold onto him for dear life.

He’s fucking you like an animal which is fitting because you currently feel like a fucking cat in heat. You’re rolling your hips to meet him thrust for thrust and he’s breathing loudly, groaning here and there.

“Spencer,” you cry out as you reach your climax again.

“Cum on it,” he bites out and fucks you faster.

“Yes sir,” you don’t know where the ‘sir’ came from but you both let it slide.

Your pussy clenches around him and drags a whimper of his own from his throat as your entire body shakes.

“Fuck baby,” he gasps.

You’ve brought him to the edge too, he isn’t thinking and you aren’t thinking because he explodes into your throbbing cunt. His cum fills you completely as his thrusting slows.

You moan and whisper some kind of praises for him fucking you so well.

-

You hardly remember him moving out of you before you pass old cold. Sleep takes you more violently than ever and you wake up hours later on your face. The room spins and a horrid groan escapes you.

“You okay?” Comes Reid’s voice as he moves from the armchair in your room to your bedside.

“Mmm,” you shove him away because you were going to throw up. And that you did, your poor rug. Ugh.

Spencer rushes to the restroom to get you a hot wash rag and a small cup of water. He’s clothed now, though his black button up is untucked and his slacks ride on his hips lower due to his belt being undone.

“Thank you,” you sigh and sit up. He blushes and looks away from you, only then do you realize you’re naked and pull the blanket up to your chin. “How long did I sleep?”

“About five hours,” he informs. Sure enough it’s six am.

“Did you sleep?” You ask nervously.

“No, I was watching you,” his mouth presses into that awkward smile of his.

“I’m sorry that I kind of jumped you like that,” you clear your throat.

“No, no I’m sorry. I feel like I took advantage..”

“No-“ you cut him off. “I would have done that sober. Perhaps I would have been less brazen about it but… yeah.” You smile awkwardly.

“Really?” He tilts his head and raises his eyebrows.

“Come on Reid, I’m no actress. You didn’t have any idea I was attracted to you?” You ask.

“I guess I just never assume people are attracted to me,” he shrugs.

“Well. Nonetheless, I should tell Hotch what happened,” you inform.

“I told him that Vincent drugged you and I was watching you for the night, they’re organizing a sting on him tonight,” he says.

“Oh, thank you,” you nod.

“We can’t tell anybody about this…” he speaks lower.

“I agree,” you nod and a hint of guilt invades your gut.

“Besides you’ve got your…” he pauses. “Gavin.”

Gavin wasn’t your boyfriend, more of a casual hookup friends with benefits guy that you’ve mentioned.

“Right,” you glance around the room awkwardly. “And you’re talking to your Maeve,” you give him a small smile.

“That’s true,” he relaxes a bit. “I think I should go,” he stands.

“Thanks, for everything,” you say.

-

In weeks that follow, your life changes drastically. You’re all over the place, you’re having trouble focusing, you’ve developed PTSD from being drugged, you’re emotional. It’s a lot. You fight with Gavin constantly, you and Reid hardly talk.

It all comes to a head when you’re shot in the shoulder about two months after the drugging.

“You did great, the bullets gone,” the doctor tells you.

“Thanks,” you sigh in relief. “Can I see the team?”

“Actually there’s another matter to discuss,” the kind eyed older woman pulls her rolling chair up. Your heart hammers. What could it be?

You eye her Valentine’s Day scrubs, taking note of the smiling hearts.

“You stated upon triage that you weren’t pregnant or breast feeding. The MRI picked up on this…” she hands you a xray looking scan.

Your mouth drops open. “You’re pregnant, honey,” she points to a small sack looking thing in your uterus.

You don’t speak, you say nothing for an impossibly long time. So long in fact that she informs you she’s ordered ultrasounds and that she won’t say anything to your team. You barely hear her and she wonders out of the room.

You’re still not present, still in a dream like trance when they give you an internal and external scan.

Everything okay? They said we can’t see you. Spencer texts you.

All good, just some tests. You send back.

“Alright everything looks and sounds good,” the lady tells you. “You’re measuring about eight weeks. I’m going to write down your due date and give you a list of OBGYNs in your zip code,” she smiles.

The doctor returns with said paperwork and is prepared to discuss things further.

“Alright, it would appear as though you are due on Halloween,” she hands you the paper. “The surgery didn’t impact the baby. It’s perfectly healthy.” You swallow hard and nod. “Is there anyone you would like to speak to?”

“My boss, Agent Hotchner,” you squeak. She nods and squeezes your shoulder sympathetically.

While you wait you’re working out the time frame- it could easily be Spencer’s or Gavin’s. You slept with them within days of one another. You lean over and vomit in the bin they gave you. You’re shaking.

“Y/N, everything okay?” Hotch’s eyebrows are arched in concern.

“I need this conversation to stay between us,” you say first and he sits.

“Okay,” he nods.

You hand him the ultrasound pictures.

“I think interested in that transfer to North Carolina.”

The transfer to said FBI department involved a desk job, perfect.

“I-“ he’s speechless. “Congratulations.” He glances at the pictures. “October huh?”

“Apparently,” you sigh and drop your face into your hands. You adore the BAU but you can’t stay.

“Can I ask why you want to transfer? We can put you on desk duty here…” he says.

“My family is only an hour from the FBI office there, it just makes sense,” you glance at the ultrasound again.

“Did you know you were pregnant before this?” He gestures at your shoulder.

“No, she just told me,” you half scoff, half laugh. He smiles.

“Well, okay. I can get started on that transfer Monday,” he stands.

“The team can’t know,” this takes him by surprise. You refuse to ruin Spence’s life, it had only been a month since Maeve’s death and he wasn’t coping well. “Please.”

“Of course,” he gives you that troubled glance but doesn’t push it.

You’ll operate as if it’s Gavin’s and move on from there. You know Gavin will run the other way anyway.

You’re doing Spencer a favor, if it isn’t his he won’t have to worry about it. If it is… well maybe it’s better he doesn’t know at all.