#until they had to drive 10 miles to go look for him…

[tanked-up]

Price: Johnny what if you really fly away, huh! You ever think of that!?

Gaz: I should take a picture

Soap: DO THAT

Ghost: I will be so happy when you fly away, Johnny

Soap: IM BRINGING YE’ WITH MEH, LT

[chamomiletealeaf]

Follow up of the Alone mission:

Ghost and Johnny fucking you in the truck

HELL YEAHHHHHHHHHHH 🦅🦅🦅🦅

This turned way way longer than intended but enjoy this straight up porn 🙏😭

Warnings: afab! fem reader, tiniest bit of angst at the beginning, pervy Simon and Johnny, tit play, nipple play, threesome, eiffel tower position, dacryphilia, creampie, oral f! receiving, oral m! receiving, spanking, face slapping

Tensions and adrenaline were high. You and Simon waited for Johnny at the church and finally escaped with him in some truck you found.

It was scary. When Johnny didn’t answer over comms you automatically assumed the worst. You and Simon looking at each other eyes wide waiting for his response. You began to panic, gripping Simon’s bicep in anticipation and you both let out the breaths you were holding in when you finally heard his voice.

He managed to make it out alive. He made it back to you two… alive… You were all soaking wet from the rain, but none of you even noticed given the circumstances.

And as you sat in the backseat, Johnny in the passenger seat, and Simon driving away to safety, you finally let your guard down a little bit.

You leaned forward in the middle console and placed a hand on Johnny’s cheek, rubbing your thumb over his cheekbone, tears of pure joy starting to fill your eyes.

“You ok lass?” Johnny asks as he takes your hand.

“Yeah. I’m just, happy you’re ok.” You say with a smile, taking in the moment that he’s real. He’s there with you. And he’s ok.

“Oh bonnie.” He laughs. “It’s gonna take much more than sneaking past a bunch of eejits to lose me.” He reassures you and you laugh.

After about 10 minutes into the drive or so, going god knows where, you all start to feel the weight of your wet clothes, as well as the coldness.

You notice how the soaking wet pants on Johnny and Simon cling to their thick cocks, giving you a perfect outline of just how big they are.

You shift in your seat, blushing, and try to avert your eyes.

Under your tac vest, which was getting pretty heavy from the water absorbed by it, so you take it off, was a white T-shirt that had nothing under it.

You weren’t wearing a bra since you didn’t expect to be thrown into an emergency mission and didn’t have time to do anything other than throw on your tac vest and other gear.

Your T- shirt, sopping wet, clings to your chest showing off your nipples that have hardened from the cold.

You don’t notice it at first, until you catch Simon looking at you through the rearview mirror making him swerve a little. He wasn’t looking at your eyes though. And that’s when you look down and see just how exposed you are.

“Fuck.” You whisper to yourself and cross your arms to hide them.

Simon clears his throat to ease the awkwardness between you two and announces that the truck is going to run out of gas.

“Fuckin’ ‘ell.” Simon says, and you and Johnny look at him.

“What is it?” You ask.

“Fuckin’ trucks nearly empty. Thank god we’re in a remote area. It’s safe enough to wait here until Price can meet us.” He states, and Johnny sighs.

There was nothing for miles where you were, and it was better to be stranded here than in another Shadow infested neighborhood. Base was still a long ways to go anyway.

Simon pulls the truck over onto a shoulder of the road by some bushes to keep the vehicle somewhat hidden.

“This should do for now.” And he contacts Price on comms letting him know where they are.

“Price is on his way with Laswell. Give or take an hour or so.” Simon says and you sit in silence for a moment.

“It’s fuckin’ cold as hell.” You say shivering, trying to find something to say to lighten the mood.

“Me fucking too. Think I might come back there with you lass. Body heat might do us good.” Johnny says with a smirk and winces trying to get over the center console into the back with you and you giggle.

Simon watches you two make light of the situation and how your arms are still crossed as Johnny playfully snuggles up into your side.

“Fuck might as well.” Simon mumbles as he gets out the truck and moves into the back with you two.

You’re now soaking wet, in the middle of nowhere at night, in a truck with two big, thick, beefy men who are also soaked to the bone.

To anyone else, this may seem like their worst nightmare. But to you? This was heaven.

“Aren’t you two gonna take those off? It’s probably making the cold worse.” You say, referring to all their soaking wet heavy gear still strapped to their bodies.

Simon just looks at you, really wondering if you really just asked him if he’s gonna take off his gear as if he’s not always on guard.

“You know lass, if you wanted us to take our clothes off you could’ve just asked nicely.” Johnny says with a smirk and you playfully push him with your arm, revealing your bare tits to him through your wet, white shirt.

Johnny notices and his face changes. He’s no longer playful and he looks at you, and then at Simon, who he can tell has a smirk on under his mask.

You notice the energy shift and their eye contact and you get confused.

“What?” You ask them, looking back and forth between them.

“You know, we’ve got a bit of time to kill.” Simon says to the both of you and Johnny smirks.

“Aye, we do. Good thing we have this pretty little thing to keep us company.” Johnny says back and grabs your chin so you look at him.

You squeeze your legs together and arch your back a bit as you feel your pussy throb and flood with warmth at the thought of what they’re implying.

Simon laughs darkly at your obvious aroused reaction and he runs a hand up your thigh while he leans in to your ear.

“What do you say love, wanna kill some time?” Simon whispers and you whimper, turning your head back to Simon, but Johnny catches your jaw in his grasp and directs your gaze back to him. It’s then Johnny’s turn to whisper to you as he leans in, hand still grasping your jaw as he brushes his lips against your ear.

“C’mon dollie, might as well, especially when those pretty little nipples of yours look so ready to be played with.” He whispers, the smirk returning to his face when he notices your gasp, then he moves to suck on your neck making you whine.

“Been starin’ at ‘em ever since she got in the car.” Simon says to Johnny.

“So that’s- wh- mm, why we almost crashed then.” You say breathlessly with a smirk, not wanting to seem like you submitted to them so easily.

Simon moves his hand from your thigh up to pinch your nipple making you squeal.

“Oi watch your mouth dovey, or else I’ll have to put it to better use.” He says and you moan.

“C’mon bonnie. Let us play with you hm?” Johnny asks against your neck.

“Mmph. Yeah. Yeah, please. Want you both.” You stutter out, and Johnny smiles against your skin, immediately grabbing your hips and turning you so your back is to Simon and you’re now facing him.

He grabs your legs and yanks off your cargos, wrapping your legs around his waist.

He then attacks your nipple with his mouth, sucking through the stretched out sopping wet T-shirt that’s now see through that’s attempting to cover you.

He brings his other hand to squeeze at your other breast and Simon repositions himself so your back is against his chest.

Simon then lifts his balaclava up just above his nose and places a hand under your jaw, making you tilt your head just enough so he can suck on your neck.

You moan loudly, trying to bite your lip to muffle it.

“Uh-uh, sweetheart. No one out here to hear you but us. Let us hear you.” Simon says, and you let out a loud gasp when Johnny lightly bites at your nipple through your shirt.

Johnny pulls away from your tits and brings his hands up to squeeze them together, making the fabric of your shirt bunch and water gather between your tits, eventually spilling down your chest.

“Fuck me. Look at these bonnie fuckin’ tits. Look so pretty peekin’ through this shirt of yours.” He says right before smushing his face between your tits, lapping at the water dripping down from between them.

Simon stops sucking your neck and grunts.

“Alright mate move, you’ve had your turn.” Simon says and pushes his head away from you with a gloved hand making him huff in protest.

Johnny complies like the good boy he is and moves back to your neck all the way up to your lips where he begins to sloppily make out with you as Simon massages your tits.

His gloved hands feel so nice and rough against your soft tits and he squeezes them, making you arch your back and whimper.

He tweaks your nipples through your shirt before gathering them and jiggling them, wanting to really feel just how heavy or light they are.

“Fuck you’re right Johnny. Such perfect tits.” He says.

Then, Johnny moves down between your legs, biting at your thighs while Simon brings his hand up to your mouth.

“Take it off.” Simon demands, and you bite the edge of his glove allowing him to free his hand from it.

“Good. Other one now.” He says, and you bite the other glove, freeing his other hand.

He tosses the gloves aside and squeezes your tits with his bare hands this time, really getting a chance to feel them.

He bucks his hips and groans involuntarily into your back at the feeling of your nipples and the softness of your skin, even through the t-shirt.

Simon leans down to whisper in your ear.

“Didn’t know you had all this hidin’ under that tac gear this whole time lovey fuck.”

And you squeeze your legs around Johnny’s head at his words.

Johnny moans and moves up to suck at your clit through your panties, soaked from the rain and from your arousal.

“Oh fuck Johnny. Yeah like that.” You moan, and he wraps his arms around your thighs keeping you in place.

But you buck your hips too much, pleasure from Simon groping your tits and whispering to you and Johnny pretty much eating you out through your panties was too much.

“Mm. Keep her still for me aye?” Johnny says, muffled by your pussy against him and Simon moves his hands to grip your hips so tight you know it’ll bruise.

“Yeahh that’s it.” Johnny says, and he moves your panties to the side before he attacks your clit with his tongue, and you try to arch your back but Simon holds you down in place.

Johnny tongue fucks you, shaking his head back and forth and up and down making sure he hits every spot inside and outside of you. Lewd slurping noises fill the truck as well as soft praises from Simon and your panting.

“You gonna cum on Johnny’s face? hm? He must be doing a good job from the way I can feel you tensing. Him acting like a fucking mutt finally did him some good yeah?” Simon teases both of you, which just makes Johnny want to get you off faster.

“Watch it L.T., or I’m not sharing.” Johnny says and Simon just scoffs back.

“Yeah ok Johnny.” He teases with a smirk.

Johnny then slides two fingers into you and finger fucks you at an unrelenting pace just to show Simon he can make you cum.

“Oh- J- Johnny fuck, slow down.” You squeal out, the feeling of him stretching you so quickly being so good.

Instead he curls his fingers, hitting that perfect spot and he begins sucking on your clit again.

You reach down to grab Johnny’s hair and reach back behind your head to grip onto Simon.

“That feel good bunny? You like having Johnny play with your sweet little pussy?” Simon asks, ghosting his lips over your neck and leaving butterfly kisses on your cheek bone.

“Yeah. F-feels so good. Fuck Johnny. I’m- oh my god I’m gonna squirt.”

“Do it lovey, make a mess on Johnny’s face.” Simon says, and Johnny hums in agreement with him, and that’s all it took.

Johnny pumps his fingers into you a few more times as well as a few more licks and sucks to your clit and your legs begin to shake around him.

Your eyes roll back and you let out a squeaky moan as you squirt all on Johnny’s fingers and face, one hand in his hair as you bite your thumb on your other.

Johnny moans as he feels you make a mess all over his face and Simon lets out a multitude of praises.

“Oh fuck that’s it. Yeah. Holy shit, such a perfect pretty little thing. That’s it, cum for Johnny.”

You pulse around Johnny’s fingers and on his tongue as you orgasm and you fall limp letting the aftershocks take over, making your pussy pulse less rhythmically.

“Fuck lass.” Johnny says breathlessly.

“Didn’t think you were a squirter.” He smirks at you and you playfully hit his shoulder.

“Sorry I- I didn’t mean to-” You try and apologize while you catch your breath.

“None of that. That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.” Johnny reassures and Simon hums in agreement.

“Fuck yeah it was.” Simon says.

“Now on your knees dovey, we’re not done with you yet.” Simon says as he lifts you up by your hips to position you so your ass is pressed against his front, and your face is in front of Johnny’s fully hard cock nearly bursting through his pants.

The space in the back of the truck is tight, and you don’t have much room, but you didn’t mind, being smushed between two thick cocks and all.

Simon rips your panties down from your legs and gives your ass a spank, making you jolt forward, pressing your cheek into Johnny’s covered, hard cock which makes him hiss.

“Here mate, catch.” Simon says before he tosses your panties to Johnny, which he then stuffs in your mouth.

“Such a pretty wee thing she is aye L.T.?” Johnny asks Simon, rubbing his thumb over your open lips stuffed with your own soaked panties.

Simon rubs his hands up and down your back to your ass, giving it three hard smacks making you whine.

Simon laughs at your reaction then says,

“That she is. Such a perfect little fuck doll.” Simon says as he pulls his leaking cock out and smacks it against your ass.

“Fuck. Gonna be in your stomach love.” He says when he thrusts forward pushing his cock up your back to see how far inside you he’s going to be.

He then leans forward and whispers in your ear.

“Is this alright sweets?" He asks before doing anything else, and you press your ass back into him.

"Yes. Please." You whine, voice muffled from the panties in your mouth so you nod your head as well.

"Ooh such a good girl, sayin' please without even being asked." Simon states pleasantly.

Simon then lines himself up with you and slowly starts to stretch you out with his thick length, making the both of you moan.

You grip Johnny's thigh in front of you for leverage as Simon slowly starts to fuck you.

"Fuckkk love, such a tight little pussy. You're fuckin' perfect." He says as he grips your hips, beginning to go faster.

Soon, he's slamming into you from behind and pulling almost all the way out so you can feel every detail of his cock in you, rubbing against your walls perfectly. The damp skin from the rain making the clapping noises louder than normal and both men watch how the water makes your ass shiny.

He speeds up, thrusting you forward into Johnny and he grabs your chin so you look up at him.

You're whining and whimpering despite your panties shoved in your mouth, Simon's cock pounding your pussy just right and Johnny holds your chin in his fingers so he can watch you cry from pleasure.

"Aww look at that. Poor little lass can't take it. That cock feels too good hm? Look so pretty crying like that. Such a wee pretty thing." Johnny coos at you as he runs his thumb over your lips again spread apart from your panties stuffed between them.

Then, Johnny grabs your hair and smushes your face against his erection, cheek squishing against him harder pushing you forward each time Simon thrusts into you.

"Yeah feel that? You ready for my fat cock? See what you do to me lass?" Johnny says, rutting against your cheek and Simon delivers a few smacks to your ass and grunts each time you squeeze around him.

Johnny unbuttons his tac pants and pulls them down just enough to see his bulge through his boxers and he pulls your cheek against it by your hair as he continues to rut against you.

"Fuck lass, could cum just from that cute little face rubbin' against my cock like that." Johnny pants out, still holding your hair and you let out a muffled whine making both men laugh.

"Fuck listen to that little snatch take that cock. Such a greedy pussy." Simon says as you hear the lewd, wet plapping noises coming from your pussy every time Simon thrusts, his balls slapping your clit and his thighs hitting into the backs of yours.

"Fuck bunny you're drippin' all over me." Simon says exasperated.

Your eyes have been unfocused this whole time from the pleasure and Johnny takes your panties out of you mouth and throws it back to Simon, where he pockets it in his tac pants. Johnny then takes his cock out, and gives it a few strokes before tapping it against your lips.

"C'mon dollie, open up. Time to fill that pretty little mouth with somethin' better." He says with a smirk and you oblige.

You take Johnny in your mouth and your eyes roll back at his warmth and size, his weight against your tongue so much better than you could've ever imagined.

You moan around him and lazily suck him off, drifting away from Simon fucking you so good and Johnny's cock in your mouth.

"Ah-ah." Johnny lightly smacks your cheek a few times to get your attention back.

"Eyes on me. Wanna see you suck me off." He says and you moan, liking being slapped by him.

"Fuck Johnny do that to her again. Made her clench so fucking hard." Simon whimpers from behind you gripping onto your hips and leaning over you a bit.

"Yeah? You like getting slapped around?" Johnny asks as begins to thrust into your mouth making you gag, making both men moan from the sensation it gave them.

Johnny then starts to thrust into your mouth as ruthlessly as Simon is, abusing your soaking swollen cunt and your drooling mouth.

Johnny slaps your face again and you moan around him, clenching around Simon again as your eyes roll back.

"What a perfect little fuck toy. Letting me slap her around however I want. So fucking good." Johnny moans out.

"Fuck I'm gonna cum lovey. Let me fill this sweet little pussy up. Need to fill up this cute little cunt." Simon pants in your ear, now leaning his chest on your back, one hand holding him up and the other rubbing your clit.

Johnny face fucks you harder, one hand in your hair and the other squeezing your cheeks together as he fucks your face, using you as a fleshlight.

You cross your eyes and roll them back from the pleasure, letting out muffled "mm hms" encouraging the men to keep fucking you and also letting them know how close you are.

"Fuck I'm gonna fill this pretty little mouth of yours. You want that? Both of us to fill you up hm? Creampie you from both ends? C'mon do it. Cum for us and then you'll get it dollie." Johnny says and you do.

For the second time that night your pussy contracts harder than before making Simon whimper and it almost hurts how tight you're throbbing around him. You moan around Johnny's cock as he continues to face fuck you and Simon's hips start to stutter. You feel so euphoric you can barely hold yourself up as your whole body convulses with one of the best orgasms you've ever had.

"Fuck that's it. Milk me with that fucking cunt. I- mmph." Simon says before he's nuzzling his face in the side of your neck, death grip on your hips as he cums inside of you, his cheeks flushing pink from the release and pleasure.

It doesn't take too long for Johnny to cum in your mouth either, and he does so with a grunt and a moan as he spills into your mouth and over his hand, his cum leaking out of your mouth from your cheeks he has squeezed together making a mess over his fingers and your chin.

You all take a seconds to come back from your highs, and situate yourselves in a more comfortable position in the back seat.

"Fuck. That was.." Johnny says.

"Not long enough." Simon finishes his sentences with a smirk.

"You ok love?" Simon asks and you nod, still wiping your mouth.

"Yeah. I'm good." You smile all fucked out making them laugh at the state they've put you in.

They help you fix your shirt that isn't much of a shirt anymore and put your pants back on.

Just as you all get your clothes back on and situated, you see headlights coming towards you and realize it's Price and Laswell just in time.

And how you three are going to explain your wet panties sticking out of Simon's pocket, is a problem for later when you get back to base.

-

CREDIT TO @captainswhore FOR THIS DELICIOUS IDEA OF JOHNNY GOING FERAL OVER YOU IN A WET WHITE T-SHIRT RAHHHHH

[xxoxobree]

Morales Fam Road Trip HC’s.

Ft. Jeff, Rio , The Twins, And You 🥰

You guys are driving to Florida To Visit Rio’s Parents. Orlando Specifically.

You weren’t supposed to come but the twins begged you and their parents until they heard yes.

It was so last minute too, they asked you two days before the trip.

It was Really Miles’ idea that you came, he hates to be separated from you.

Milo (because you guys like that name 😭 it’s so basic) too hates to be separated from you but he’s Capital P fr so he couldn’t let you know that.

Rio said you guys weren’t going to any theme parks but the ticket prices are reasonable so they bought them to surprise you.

You are forced in the middle seat to keep the peace between the twins. 😂

It works for the first 2 hours of the trip.

Big Daddy Jeff 😍

He’s Driving ofc

Goes 10 under the speed limit.

Calls out every traffic violation he sees.

Had a lot of coffee so he’s a bit jittery and is talking a lot.

Holds Rio’s hand🥰

Does the dad hand thing when he hears snacks being opened.

Shakes it and throws it in his mouth 🤣

He was that nigga back in the day, yk what I mean ? 😏 so the playlist is good but clean versions only 🤣

Does the dad “Hey.” When y’all are misbehaving in the back.

We’ll get there when we get there , when asked how much longer.

Needs to stop to pee every hour 🤣

Mama Rio.

Had to pray for her sanity before she entered the car.

Takes pictures of everyone and everything the whole car ride.

Loves the cows , makes everyone look at the cows and horses.

“Oh my god Jeff, stop.” Whenever he calls out a road violation.

Ask if you guys are excited every time you stop.

Turns around with the mom face when you guys aren’t listening. Fussed at you guys in Spanish.

Y’all are listening to Selena.

Plays some of her childhood music and talks about memories in Puerto Rico.

Plantain chips and water. And don’t ask her for none. 🤣 She gives Milo some cause that’s her baby Miles is salty , but she shares with him too.

Miles

Is sooo excited you said yes, has a whole itinerary for you guys, that he FaceTimed you about the night before.

Sits to the left behind Jeff

Sketches Things he sees, on the way , redesigns street signs. Sketches a picture of you and his brother.

Shows you the sketches to get your approval.

Only one who listens to Jeff’s fun facts

“That looks like you” when he sees something ugly. He did it to Jeff and had the whole car cracking up

Begs to go to universal studios because he wants to take a picture with Megatron. Lowkey a minions fan too.

Shares his blanket with you.

Leans on your shoulder and falls asleep.

Makes you watch cartoons with him. You love it.

He and Jeff eats everyone snacks. Doesn’t want to share his tho.

Share with you ofc.

Tells you stories of his grandparents.

Takes pictures of him you and Milo.

Throws his legs across you and Milo.

Milo

Is excited you came too but he’s Capital P so he just hugs you.

Is the reason you’re in the middle. “I’m not sitting next to him ma.”

He leans on your shoulder too , they’re clingy boys.

Talks to Rio in Spanish the whole ride.

Shares his AirPods with you. His playlist is fyeeee🔥🔥🔥 puts you onto new artists and songs.

Plays IMessage games with you. He wins every time.

Texts you talking shit about Miles 🤣 you tell him to be nice.

Shares his candy with you and Miles

Him and Miles go back and forth about Miles eating his snacks.

Pushes Miles’ legs off of him every time and give him a death glare.

“We close Ma?” Rolls his eyes every time he hears no.

Watches Tik toks with you

[peaceloveandf1]

What I Love About The South!- LN4

..............................................................................................................................

pairing: lando norris x reader

rating: e for everyone!

warnings: none!

..............................................................................................................................

"Hey...we've landed", a soft voice flooded my ears as I was softly shaken awake.

"have we?", I questioned my boyfriend. It had been a 10 hour flight from London to Austin, Texas.

"yeah babe, c'mon let's go see everyone" Lando said, dramatically pulling me from my seat.

I groaned as I stretched my arms and legs before grabbing my bags and making my way off the plane after Oscar and his girlfriend Lily. As we loaded our bags into the car waiting for us, I was filled with so much excitement; I am home. To get to show my boyfriend and my friends abroad my home is so exciting. Of course they've been to Texas before, but this will be the first time they come to my hometown and my family's farm.

"So how long of a drive is it?" Oscar asked me from the back seat.

"mmh it's about a 2 hour drive from where we're staying for the race" I explained to them as I slipped behind the wheel and set off. We had landed in Texas almost a week early in order for all of us to be able to explore and hang out on the farm until the grand prix. My parent's farm sits on over 20 acres in the small college/farm town of Waco, Texas. This is the first time I'll be home in a year, after I graduated from Baylor University and left my hometown for London and a job in finance. I can't believe what my life has become and I can't believe my boyfriend is about to meet my parents for the first time.

I squeezed Lando's hand in excitement as we arrived at the gate to my parent's ranch.

"I'm really excited babe." He said, running his thumb over my knuckles. After the almost mile drive up to the house, I parked the car to greet my family.

The four of us grabbed our bags and as soon as my parents laid eyes on Lando I could tell they loved him.... and after a 2 hour conversation with them, I can confirm: they totally love him.

..............................................................................................................................

"Baby,I think I could stay here forever", Lando whispers in my ear as I stare at the fire.

"You're lucky they haven't put you to work yet" I giggle, leaning my head on his shoulder.

"I think if I got to stay here with you forever, then I'd do as much work as they want", he said, kissing my forehead.

"I'm happy you like it here. I was worried it might be a bit slow paced for you" I say softly.

"I like to slow it down sometimes. Especially when I'm with a cute girl who wears boots and talks funny", he said, poking me in my side elicting a laugh from me.

"I talk funny? Speak for yourself", I retort.

"I'm only playing, plus the farm gives me another reason to love the south", he said somehow pulling me closer in the act.

"oh yeah? what are the other reasons?", I turn looking at him, surprised at what he was leaning towards, seeing as we haven't said the "L word".

"mmhm I don't know if you've met her but there's this pretty cool girl from Texas. She's got this accent that drives me mad, she's real smart, and she's stunning inside and out", he whispers to me again.

"She sounds really great", I whisper back; "reminds me of this guy I met in London. He's a racing driver, he's real handsome, and he's just so sweet".

He pulls me closer as I finish my sentence and places a kiss on my forehead. As his lips leave my forehead, he tilts my chin up so that my lips can meet his. The kiss is familiar and soft, like always, so sweet. Pulling away, Lando rests his forehead against mine.

"I love you", he breathes out.

"I love you too"

[to-the-stars8]

The Waynes' Nanny

Notes: So, this is my oopsy of adding another story to my roster, but oh well. Here's my other note: Just a little side note. To make this story work, I had to de-age the majority of the characters. So, Dick is 15, Cass 10, Jason 9, Tim 7, Duke 6, and Damian 4. Just FYI. Obvi The Nanny Inspired

Bruce Wayne x Reader, Batfamily, platonically, x reader

Summary: One day, after getting fired from your job by your ex, you somehow ended up in Wayne Manor as the family's new nanny. Working with six kids is tough enough, but the handsome, rich, and emotionally confused father, billionaire Bruce Wayne, who is just too charming makes it a bit more difficult as your feelings for him confuse you. Nonetheless, you love the job and the kids, but soon enough you realize that maybe you're falling in love with the boss, too.

Pilot Pt. 1

“You have to be kidding me, fired?” You said shocked, leaning over the counter.

Your boyfriend then quickly added, “And, I’m breaking up with you.” 

The words could not come off your lips. Instead, you babbled for a good thirty seconds before just turning on your heel to leave. You stopped a couple of times to say something, but the shock was still settling in. It wasn’t until you were outside, watching people on the street that your senses came back. Turning around, you sucked in a breath and threw open the store door.

You pointed at your ex and loudly announced, “You have a small dick, and I’m collecting unemployment! So, hah!” 

Not feeling the victory, but glad that there were more than a dozen people to continue the rumor of your boyfriend’s supposedly small penis, you left.

Luckily, you were quick to find another gig thanks to a family friend. Granted, you hated going door to door trying to sell insurance in Gotham, but it paid you just enough not to be out on the street. This week, however, you were assigned to the other end of the city—The rich part. And, it certainly did live up to your expectations. These people had yards and gardens, and the air even smelled better. If you could only find a rich man, you think you’d be very happy in such a place. 

You looked down at the list of addresses your boss had given you before looking back up at the impressive sight of the house. With a sigh, you pressed the buzzer on the gate and went over your script. 

“Hello, my name is…” 

Before you could finish a British accent came through the buzzer. “Are you here for the nanny position?”

Looking around, you didn’t see a reason as to why you shouldn’t say yes. Absent-mindedly, you said, “I could be.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Oh, um, yes! Yes, I am.” It couldn’t hurt 

Suddenly, another buzz and the sound was clicking of the gate unlocking. Cautiously, you pushed your way through and you headed up the path to the front door. It was a near quarter mile to get to the house and up a hill. By the time you got up to the front of the house, you were winded and slightly sweaty. At the top of the stairs stood an old man in a suit, looking down at you with indifference. Slowly, you climbed the stairs to him. 

“You really gotta warn a girl if she’s gonna take a hike,” You huffed. 

“Most people drive,” The old man said, and you recognized the accent from the buzzer. 

You snickered at the old man, following him in, and you were amazed by just how wonderful the place was. As you entered, you did a turn, and you were amazed by just how big the house—No, mansion—was. 

“Would you like me to present your resume to Mr. Wayne?” Asked the man. 

Luckily, you were quick on your feet, “No, I’ll do it myself. Thank you.”

The man relented, giving you a disbelieving look, and went away. You sat down in one of the chairs in the foyer, quickly pulling out some papers to write some type of passable resume. As you were going for a pen, you realized quickly that you didn’t have one. Panicked, you looked around for one. 

“Ugh,” A voice said, and a boy no older than seven or eight stumbled from a doorway. On him, fake blood and a knife. He cried, “I’m dying!” before collapsing onto the floor. 

“You wouldn’t happen to have a pen, would you?” You asked, but the boy didn’t respond. Defeated, you decided quickly what you said as you saw the old man and a younger, much more handsome return. 

“Tim,” The younger man said. “We’ve talked about this. You can’t scare the guests.”

The boy opened his eyes, “I'm studying people's reactions to gore and pain.”

The man rolled his eyes before turning his attention back to you. He held out his hand toward you to shake, you took it and instantly liked the way his grip was strong. “I’m Bruce Wayne—”

“Oh, yeah! I’ve seen you on TV,” You said excitedly. “I loved the black suit you wore for that ceremony in the park last month.”

Mr. Wayne seemed taken aback by the compliment, but thank you anyway. “Just follow me into the kitchen. We can talk more there.” As he started to lead you away, he turned to the boy still lying on the floor. “Tim, go clean up, please.”

“I will, but only because you said please!” The boy cried out. 

Mr. Wayne shook his head and asked you not to mind him for now. Smiling, you replied that it was no big deal, kids were going to be kids either way. He seemed to agree with you on that and asked you more about yourself. You told him as much as you could think of, not willing or wanting to hold anything back. 

When you finally sat at the kitchen table did you stop talking to let Mr. Wayne talk, but he seemed more pleased to listen. Though, you knew better than to rattle on more than necessary. Maybe, you thought, this was why so many women thought him to be such a charming guy. 

“Can I see your resume, then?” He asked. 

Laughing nervously, you said, “Oh, uh, well, you see, I lost it on my way over here.”

“Is that right?” Mr. Wayne said, sounding like he didn’t entirely believe you. 

“Yes! Yes, it’s the damnedest thing,” You said. “I always seem to have these bouts of terrible luck.”

“Uh-huh,” He said. 

You were going to answer when a voice called out, “Dad!” 

Just then, two boys, one about fifteen and the other around ten, walked in. They seemed surprised to see you when they entered, glancing at their father before telling you hello. You got up, walking over to the boys and cupping their cheeks. 

“My, look how handsome!” You looked over your shoulder at Mr. Wayne. “And those pretty blue eyes! They must get them from you.”

“We’re adopted,” The younger one said. “And I’m Jason.”

You grinned and bent over to look at the boy. “It’s nice to meet you, I’m…”

“You’re the new nanny?” The older boy said. 

You started to answer, but Mr. Wayne cut you off. He told the boy, named Richard, that he could be nicer to you. Richard, or Dick as he called himself unfortunately, protested that Bruce was shuffling his responsibilities on some random lady from the inner city. Bruce was quick to dismiss him to his room, stating that they would speak later, and immediately apologized to you. 

“A kid makes a smart-ass comment, what’re you gonna do?” You smiled. 

“Right,” Bruce cleared his throat, not paying attention to what you were saying. “Well, those two were the oldest boys, I have one girl between them. Then, it’s Tim, Duke, and Damian. My youngest is four.”

“Trying to build a basketball team, Mr. Wayne?” You couldn’t help, but laugh at your joke. He didn’t seem as amused by it, so you quickly went quiet. 

“Yes, well, thank you for coming, but I don’t think I’m in the mood to hire sales girls from off the street.”

You rolled your eyes, mumbling that you could do it and that you had plenty of experience in taking care of children as you babysat a lot when you were a teenager. Mr. Wayne didn’t seem to hear anything you said, though, nor the phone ringing off the hook. 

“Alfred! Will you get that,” He called, seeming a bit stressed. 

“Oh, you cannot be that rich not to answer your phone,” You said, getting up and picking up the phone from the receiver. Putting it to your ear, you answered, “Wayne residence.”

“Give me that,” Mr. Wayne said and snatched the phone from your hand. “Hello?”

He went back and forth with the person on the other line, talking about how he needed a nanny. Yet, he seemed to be getting nowhere. The entire time, you laid yourself in front of him as he tried to talk to the person on the other end to get him a nanny. After a minute or two, he put the receiver down and looked at you. 

You grinned, knowing that you got the job. “You’re hired—On a trial basis!”

“Oh, thank you, Mr. Wayne!” You threw yourself at him, squeezing him tight. “You won’t regret it.”

“Right,” Bruce cleared his throat. “Well, I’ll have Alfred show you to your room—”

“I get to live here?” You asked excitedly. 

Bruce almost smiled, but held it back. “Yes. If you like.”

“If I like,” You laughed like he was joking. “Of course. Oh, it’s going to be great.”

Mr. Wayne nodded, acting like he believed you, but didn’t know for sure. He wondered if he made the right choice not only for his children but for himself as well. Since he only knew you for half an hour, he found himself being intrigued by you.

Despite this, how he felt didn’t matter. All that did matter was if the children liked you and if you were competent enough to look after them. After all, it wasn’t like he was going to fall in love with you. 

[storiesforallfandoms]

one of the guys ~ jimmy smith jr;8 mile

word count: 3481

request?: no

description: she’s always been viewed as just “one of the guys” despite having feelings for one of her friends, and now it’s looking likely that she’s going to lose him to the wannabe model

pairing: jimmy smith jr. x female!reader

warnings: swearing, pining

masterlist (one, two, three)

I had known Jimmy and Future since we were a bunch of snot nosed kids causing trouble on the playground in elementary school. Cheddar Bob was next, having followed us around like a lost puppy until we finally adopted him. Iz and Sol joined our little group in high school, and then we were complete.

For as long as I had known the guys, they considered me to be...well, one of the guys. Even after I went through puberty and actually started looking like a girl, I was still just one of the guys. It didn’t bother me for the most part. When you’re a kid, it doesn’t really matter if you’re a boy or a girl. We all played the same, caused trouble the same. But when we hit puberty, I found myself not liking being considered “one of the guys” anymore.

Especially when I realized I had feelings for Jimmy.

Don’t get me wrong, I loved being a part of the friend group and I couldn’t ask for a better set of friends. What I definitely could ask for, though, was for those friends to recognize I was a woman and treat me as such. Namely, I wished Jimmy would realize that.

One Friday evening, just like every Friday evening, I had just pulled into my driveway and was walking up to my front door when I heard another car pulling up behind me. I didn’t have to turn around to know it was Future.

“Get your ass changed, we’re going out!” he called.

“Future, I just got home,” I said.

“So?”

“So maybe I don’t want to go out with you chuckle fucks after I just worked an eight hour shift.”

“We both know that’s not the truth.”

I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t stop the smile on my face. He was right, I did want to go out. We went out every Friday night. It was a group tradition at this point. If I was seriously turning it down, there’d have to be something wrong with me.

“Give me 10 minutes,” I told Future before slipping into my house to change.

I was in and out in less time than I told him. I just changed out of my work clothes and into jeans and a t-shirt, and was ready to go again. I got into the passenger seat of Future’s car and he didn’t even wait for me to buckle myself in before he was backing out of my driveway and driving off to get the others.

“I fear for my life every time I get in the car with you,” I joked as I managed to buckle my seatbelt.

“Well, lucky for you, Jimmy agreed to drive tonight. His car can hold more people anyways.”

“Who else is going with us?”

“Just the usual.”

I looked over at Future in confusion. His tone definitely made me think there was someone else coming along for the night, but it seemed he wasn’t going to tell me. I couldn’t figure out who could possibly be joining us that Future wouldn’t want to tell me about beforehand.

We pulled into the trailer park and parked next to Jimmy’s car. Jimmy was exiting his trailer before we were even out of the car, as usual. Jimmy was usually waiting for us to show up and would be itching to leave his mom’s place as soon as he could. Jimmy gave Future one of their high five hugs, and patted me on the shoulder. It was just a step up from me also getting a high five hug, but not by much.

We got into Jimmy’s car, all three of us in the front. We started for Iz and Sol first, then Cheddar Bob. Once the car was full it was nothing but noise as each of the guys was talking over one another with Jimmy’s radio blaring as extra noise.

“How was work, by the way?” Jimmy asked me over the current argument between Future and Sol.

“Same bullshit as always,” I responded.

“I guess we should be lucky you even agreed to come out with us after working all day, meanwhile all we do is sit on our asses like a bunch of bums.”

I playfully nudged his shoulder. “Hey, you work, too.”

“I wouldn’t consider the Stamping work.”

I chuckled. I noticed then that we weren’t headed for the club. “Where are we going?”

“To pick up Alex.”

I felt my heart drop to my stomach. I looked over at Future. I couldn’t tell if he was actually deep in conversation with Iz or if he was just ignoring me. So this was who was joining us that he didn’t want to tell me about.

Alex.

She was a girl Jimmy had met at his work. She was a model apparently, or was trying to be one. Jimmy didn’t talk about her much, but the other guys didn’t waste a single moment in teasing him about her. It didn’t take a genius to realize he liked her.

Alex was waiting as Jimmy pulled up. She was wearing her usual mini skirt so short that you could basically see everything whenever she moved. It made me feel very self conscious about my choice in jeans.

Future opened the door and got out.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I asked. I already knew the answer and hoped he’d see the look of begging on my face.

“I’ll get in the back with the idiots,” he said. “I’d assume Alex will be more comfortable pressed up against you instead of Sol.”

“Yo, fuck you!” Sol snapped.

I hoped my clenched jaw would go unnoticed as Alex slid into the seat next to me. Her eyes immediately went to Jimmy and they shared a smile that made me wish I could throw myself from the moving car.

We got to the club and piled into our usual table while Future got the first round of shots. Cheddar Bob and Iz were sat on one end, I was in the middle, Jimmy and Alex were sat next to me, and Sol had pulled up a chair. When Future returned, he slid in next to Cheddar Bob. The table chorused with cheers as we held up our shots then shot them back.

I tried to play it cool, but having to sit next to Alex and Jimmy while they were flirting up a storm was making me more tense by the minute. When Sol offered to get the next round of drinks, I jumped to give him the money to buy me two of the strongest drinks he could for me. I downed the first one quickly, but took my time with the second. It didn’t take long for the shot and the first drink to kick in. My head was spinning and I felt care free and light as air.

At some point, when the drinks had hit me hard enough, I shoved against Iz’s shoulder and said (or rather slurred), “Hey, can you guys move? I gotta pee.”

“Yo, go the other way,” Future said. “There’s three of us here and only two on your other side.”

“You’re gonna break the dam this early in the night?” Sol asked. “You may as well sit on the end when you come out. You’ll be back and forth for the next few hours.”

“Look, I don’t care who moves and I don’t care where I sit when I come back, I just have to pee now.”

“Here, we’ll move,” Jimmy said.

He and Alex moved out of the booth and allowed me to get out. When I stood, I realized just how drunk I already was as I almost immediately lost my balance. I felt someone grab hold of me as the rest of the table chorused in laughter at my drunkenness. When I looked up, it was Jimmy that had taken hold of me. I smiled at him and he smiled back.

“I’m getting you water when you come back,” he said. “And you gotta pace yourself.”

“You’re always looking out for me,” I said. “You’re such a good friend.”

I put emphasis on the friend for my own benefit, but there was also some level of petty in the word. A reminder for both of us that that was the only way he saw me: as a friend. One of the guys that he went out drinking with every weekend, that he smoked with in the basement of someone’s house, that he ran around Detroit with causing mayhem since we were tykes.

I saw a look flash across his face that I couldn’t quite decipher, but I assumed I was just seeing things in my drunken haze.

I managed to make it to the bathroom on my own without incident. Once I was safely inside of a stall, I was able to sit down again. I almost didn’t want to get up and go back out to the table. Sitting was safe. The world didn’t spin when I was sat down. But I also couldn’t be sat on the toilet in a club bathroom all night either. I knew Sol was right about me going back and forth to the bathroom now that I had broken the dam, but if I put enough time between this bathroom visit and the next, maybe the spinning wouldn’t be as bad by then.

When I stepped out of the stall to wash my hands, I jumped to see that someone was waiting there.

Alex.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” she said.

I waved away her apology. “It’s fine. I just didn’t hear anyone else come in.”

I stepped around her to wash my hands. She turned to face me as I did. “Listen, I need to talk to you about something.”

I looked up at her and raised an eyebrow. “Okay?”

“Is there anything going on between you and Jimmy?”

The question took me by surprise. Why would she think there was anything between us? In all the time that Jimmy had known Alex, I had only met her once before after the lot of us had run into her at a house party. I remembered Jimmy only having eyes for her that night, too. There was no reason I could even fathom that she would believe Jimmy and I had a thing going on when he was so clearly into her.

“No,” I said. “He’s my best friend. Has been since we were kids.”

“And that’s it? Just friendship?”

“Yeah. What’s this about?”

She sighed. “I really like Jimmy, and I thought he liked me, too. But he’s never really asked me out or anything yet. I didn’t know if maybe you two had a thing going on and I read the whole situation wrong. I’ve known far too many guys who claim to be just friends with a girl and turns out they’re actually fucking around.”

Trust me, I wish that’s what was going on here.

Against my better judgement, I put my hands on Alex’s shoulders and said, “If you really like Jimmy and you want things to be more serious, maybe you should make the first move.”

She looked as though she had never even considered that option. “You think so? That won’t seem too...direct?”

“Who gives a shit? Why do men always have to be the ones to make the first move? Most of them are fucking idiots anyways and wouldn’t know if a girl liked them even if she was telling him to his face.” Alex chuckled. “If you want him, go get him.”

She nodded. I was taken by surprise when she suddenly pulled me into a hug. I reluctantly patted her on the back and tried to put the best smile I could muster on my face.

“You’re the best,” she said. “I think we’re going to be great friends.”

I bit my tongue as she hurried out the bathroom door.

That interaction was enough to sober me up more than I wanted. I could feel myself tearing up, but tried to fight it back. I turned to lean against the sink and looked up at myself in the mirror. I couldn’t help but notice everything that Alex had that I didn’t: gorgeous face, sexy voice, body of a model. I couldn’t even dream of leaving the house in a skirt as short as hers without feeling completely embarrassed and exposed. Of course Jimmy would like her, and of course he was going to say yes when she asked him to go out with her.

I hung my head as the tears slipped from my eyes and ran down my face into the sink. I prayed no one would come into the bathroom and find me here crying, and luckily someone was looking out for me because no one did. Once I felt like I had cried myself dry, I quickly splashed my face with cold water and tried to pretend everything was alright. I figured everyone was going to question where I had been for so long, but I didn’t feel like coming up with a fake answer to tell them. If I told them to fuck off, they wouldn’t pry.

My steps faltered a little when I exited the bathroom and saw that Alex and Jimmy were missing from the table. I was tempted to go right to the bar and get another drink, but I pushed through and went back to my group of friends.

“Hey, you good?” Future asked as I sat down in the booth.

“Yeah, just sobered up a little,” I responded. “Where did Jimmy and Alex go?”

“Alex asked to talk to him in private,” Cheddar Bob responded. “But that was a while ago, so who knows where they are now.”

I noticed both Future and Iz elbow him, causing him to spill some of his drink on himself. I didn’t care to imagine where Jimmy had taken Alex after she asked him out. I didn’t need to have that image burned in my mind for the rest of the night.

Everyone went back to their conversations, but I found myself not paying any attention to them. I kept glancing around the club, expecting to see Jimmy and Alex tucked away in a private corner, sucking face as if they were trying to blend into one person. Or maybe they’d be on the dance floor, practically dry humping in front of everyone. I didn’t think Jimmy was one to dance, but Alex had enough allure that she could’ve probably convinced him. But I didn’t see them, and that almost made it all worse.

Eventually I stood from the table suddenly, bringing everyone’s attention to me. “I need some air.”

“Do you want one of us to come with you?” Cheddar Bob asked.

“No, I’ll be fine,” I said. I turned and quickly made for the exit.

Once I was outside, I breathed in the cool night air. It filled my lungs, but it didn’t seem to help soothe me at all.

“You alright?”

“Jesus!” I hissed as I turned towards the voice. It was Jimmy, leaning up against the club. “What the hell are you doing out here?”

“Free country,” he said with a shrug. “Are you good?”

“Just needed air. It felt very stuffy inside.”

I walked over to stand next to him. The rough brick wall dug into my back through my t-shirt. It was cool out, but not enough to make me feel like I needed a jacket or anything. I was standing so close to Jimmy that I could feel the heat coming from his body anyways.

“Where’s Alex?” I asked. “The guys said you two went off to talk in private.”

“She left,” he responded.

I looked at him in shock. “What? And went where?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. Home, I guess?”

“Don’t you think you should’ve driven her? It’s not exactly the safest for her to be walking alone at night.”

“I offered, but she turned it down. Said she didn’t wanna see me ever again.”

I’ve definitely missed a lot of things here. “What happened?”

Jimmy sighed. “Well, she got up and went to the bathroom after you, said something about wanting to make sure you were okay where you were so drunk. Then when she came back she asked me if we could talk in private. She brought me outside and told me how she had been waiting for me to ask her out properly since we first met and she was tired of waiting, so she made the first move to ask me if I wanted to go on an official date with her.”

“And you said...”

He looked at me for a second before responding, “No. Obviously.”

Well, yeah, it was obvious that he said no. But what wasn’t obvious was why he had said no.

“I thought you were into her,” I said.

He laughed. “Who told you that?”

I shrugged. “The guys seemed convinced you were.”

“The guys don’t know shit about shit. They just like talking a big game and making fun of each other.” I just looked at him, waiting to see if there was any more he had to say. He looked at me then away again. “No, I’m not into her. She’s beautiful, yes, but I don’t see her that way.”

“Wait, so if you don’t see her like that, then why did you invite her tonight?”

“I didn’t. She was at the Stamping today and asked if she could come along. I guess this was her plan.”

Well, it wasn’t her plan until I told her to go after Jimmy, but I wasn’t about to tell him that.

I felt like everything had just been flipped upside down. I was so sure that Jimmy had been reciprocating Alex’s feelings. It seemed like that anyways. Or maybe it seemed like that because I was making it seem that way. I was projecting something onto the two of them that wasn’t really there, I guess because of my jealousy?

“Sucks that she didn’t handle the rejection well,” I said.

“It wasn’t the rejection, it was the reason I rejected her.”

My brows furrowed together. “The reason being...you didn’t like her like that?”

“No. Well...yes. Kind of.”

“You know, for a man who can freestyle, you’re god awful with your words right now.”

He laughed and lightly nudged me with his shoulder. “It was the reason I said I don’t have feelings for her. I told her that I don’t like her because I like someone else and she didn’t handle that very well.”

I could feel my stomach turning to knots again. “Oh? Didn’t like the competition?”

“No, she said something along the lines of she should’ve trusted her gut, and that all guys who hang out with girls end up fucking them in the end.”

It took a second for what he said to register in my brain. When it did, I thought back to Alex talking to me in the bathroom and asking me if there was anything going on between Jimmy and I because she knew of too many guys who were friends with girls who they were actually fucking. Then, I put the pieces together in my head.

When I turned to look at Jimmy again, he was already watching me, waiting for me to come to the conclusion. “Me?!”

“Jesus, that took you long enough.”

“What do you mean that took me long enough?! Why the fuck haven’t you told me?!”

“Because you’re my best friend! We’ve known each other since kindergarten. If I told you I liked you and you didn’t like me back, that would fuck everything up between us and within the friend group. I would rather feel this way in silence than risk losing you as a friend.”

“If you had told me I would’ve told your dumbass that I like you, too, and I have since high school.”

“Wait...for real?”

I rolled my eyes. “Yes, for real!”

We both stood in silence. We shared a look, and then a smile broke out on Jimmy’s face. I couldn’t help but mirror it, and soon we were both laughing. With the absurdity of the situation, we couldn’t not laugh.

“We’re both dumbasses,” I said between fits of laughter.

“I guess so,” Jimmy agreed. “That brings up the question, though, of where do we go from here?”

“Well, I think we try a date, just the two of us and not those other idiots in there, and we see how things progress from there.”

He smiled. “Okay, I like that idea.”

“And we promise that if things don’t work out, we stay friends.”

“And we don’t tell the guys about any of this.”

I laughed. “Okay deal.”

[turttastic]

Was just struck by the overwhelming urge to rate Stormlight characters on their driving ability. I have no evidence I'm going off of vibes alone. Here they are in no particular order:

Dalinar- I think he's generally a fine driver now, though still prone to bouts of road rage when someone won't let him merge. Very bad driver in his youth. 5/10

Jasnah- I think she would be a shockingly bad driver. She seems like the kind of person that believes the rules of the road apply to everyone other than her. The type to run a red light because the meeting she's going to is important. Never uses her turn signals because if shes in the left lane it should be obvious shes making a left turn. Despite her lack of care she always arrives safely and without a ticket, somehow. Would fit right in in Northern Virginia. Also the worst backseat driver ever. 3/10

Sadeas- Good driver but employs bad practices. When traffic is heavy he uses the shoulder of the road as his own personal lane. Only person capable of surviving New York traffic. 6/10

Kaladin- Fantastic driver but kind of slow. Won't make a left turn unless there is literally no other car on the road. Always follows the speed limit and uses his turn indicators. Also the type to yell at everyone to shut the fuck up and let him drive when he's in heavy traffic. 8/10

Syl- Cannot be allowed to drive under any circumstances. Bridge 4 let her drive once and she backed the car into a mailbox. 0/10

Shallan- Shes a bad driver but better than Jasnah. Her following distance is atrocious and she frequently rear ends people, but she does at least try to follow the rules of the road. 4/10

Veil- Worse than Shallan but says she's better. Will take a turn at 60 to try and make the car drift. 2/10

Radiant- Fantastic driver who follows the ruled perfectly. Not great at responding to unexpected situations though. 8/10

Venli- Drives like a psychopath. Weaves in and out of lanes to get there 30 seconds faster. If traffic is bad she will dead ass make a U turn in the middle of the road over a double yellow to leave. 1/10

Rock- Great driver, but hates driving. Not much more to say. 8/10

Sigzil- Best driver in bridge 4, only slightly held back by the fact that he knows every obscure rule and expects everyone else driving does also. 9/10

Moash- Believes the rules of the road are stupid and there to hold him back. The kind of guy who will not let you merge in front of him like his life depends on it. Would go 100 in a school zone for fun. 2/10

The Lopen- The guy that tells you he's a great driver but starts playing pokemon go while behind the wheel because he can absolutely do both. 4/10

Szeth- Mediocre driver prone to shocking episodes of road rage. The kind of guy who would slam the brakes to make the car behind him rear end him out of spite if they were following too close. 5/10

Navani- Fantastic driver. Always has the newest lane correcting tech and such installed on her vehicle. 10/10

Adolin- Cannot stay focused on the road. Type of guy who will look over his shoulder for like 15 seconds to carry on a conversation until Shallan yells at him to look at the road. Horrible speeder. Usually manages to avoid crashing though. 3/10

Wit- Shockingly competent driver. I mean he had all that experience with Wax, so... 10/10

Gavilar- The kind of douche who lifts his truck and has his mufflers removed so he can rev his obnoxious engine whole going through neighborhoods. 1/10

Renarin- He's a good driver in small towns and on winding, narrow country roads, but cannot handle big city traffic. Luckily he knows and readily admits this. 7/10

BONUS:

Rlain- I feel like he's just a typical good driver. Follows the rules as best he can, goes a few miles over the speed limit on the freeway, but nothing crazy. 8/10

Kelsier- It's a miracle he's survived this long with the way he drives. He would make a left on red without hesitation. Vin screamed the first time she rode with him. 1/10

[theonemeathead]

Sniper x Reader, "Quick Trip"

a sniper x reader smutfic! tw for afab anatomy, the implications of the word 'sheila'. enjoy!

August. One of the hottest months of the year, not to mention it was the hottest day in New Mexico yet. A ceasefire had been called until further notice, the temperature being down right deadly. There was no shade for miles, within the border of the Badlands.

Which just so happened to be where you lived. Your residence, currently, was Teufort's RED base. You had been on base for a couple of years now, you got along with everyone well enough; Some more than others.

Which leads you to the current situation.

You see, Sniper was about to leave on a joint-contract with Scout; Somewhere not nearly as blazing hot. And he was going to be gone for almost two weeks. Clearly, this didn't bode well with you as you stood, with crossed arms, in front of him. You had been begging him all day to let you tag along, but he refused, insistently.

"Mundy, this isn't fair! The AC in the base is broken, you gotta—!"

"I said no, sheila," he cut you off, his tone stern. Of course, you didn't take well to being talked over, especially by your boyfriend. You furrowed your brow, opening your mouth to speak, when you were interrupted, yet again.

"Sick! Ya coming with us?" Ah, Scout. His Boston accent never failed to amuse you, especially with the mischievous glint in his eyes whenever he spoke. He smiled wide, hopeful that you could maybe make the car ride a little less dull. Sniper usually wasn't one for small talk, you were lucky if you could even get a head nod out of him.

"No." "Yes!"

You and Sniper said in unison, he shot you a nasty side eye from behind his aviators. You never understood how Sniper was able to take the heat so easily. He was still wearing his full uniform, boots and all. You had half a mind not to strip naked with how unbearable the temperature was. However, still somewhat sane, decided against that and listened to your better judgement for once.

"Aw, c'mon, Snipes, let 'em tag along! At least they talk," Scout tried to reason, taking your side. Sniper sighed dramatically, grumbling something you couldn't quite understand. He crossed his arms over his chest, looking down at you.

"You're both insufferable. Get in." Your eyes lit up immediately. You had gotten your way, per usual. You clambered into the vehicle, sitting directly in the middle between the other two mercenaries. The black leather seats had definitely seen their fair share of wear and tear, various holes burned from dropped cigarettes, some exposed, yellow foam from the peeling material... But Sniper loved his van. In between your legs was the comically long stick-shift. The handle was slightly chipped away and the design faded from being used so often. Sniper refused to drive anything but manual, because it's 'the right way' he said. With a loud sigh, Sniper had pulled himself in on the driver's side, buckling his seat belt in one swift motion. He clicked the key forward in the ignition, the camper sputtering to life. It was definitely old and in desperate need of repair. The bushman reached forward for the gearshift, his rough hands accidentally brushing the top of your knee as he put the car into 1st gear. Normally, gestures such as this didn't get to you. But, something felt off about it this time.

The first 10 minutes of the car ride turned out to be a bust. Sniper was too focused on the road and Scout was knocked out, cold. The only sound was the distant crackling of the radio and the soft snores from your teammate. You had one exciting moment when Sniper went to shift to 3rd, his hand grazing your leg yet again. You shot him a quick glance, unsure if it was on purpose on not. Sniper wasn't one to tease. You leaned forward with a sigh, slightly turning the dial on the radio to the right. It was set on a classic rock station currently playing a song by Men At Work. You didn't know much about the band, besides the fact Sniper really liked them.

"I love this song." Sniper's gruff voice had come out slightly whispery. You squirmed a little in your seat. Did he always have this affect on you? His Aussie accent had rang through you ears. It was such a simple string of words, but coupled with the fleeting touches, it was... different. About an hour and a half into the car ride, Sniper made the executive decision to stop at a gas station a couple miles up the road. With Scout still asleep, Sniper pulled up to the pump, slamming the breaks to scare the sleeping Bostonion awake. With an abrupt 'oof', Scout was up and ready to fight immediately.

"What—! What is it?! What happened, are we dead??" He yelped, looking around frantically. Scout paused, huffing when he saw that you were all just in park. "You guys are freakin' assholes, I'm gonna go take a leak."

With the 3 of you filing out of Sniper's front seat, you watched as Scout stretched and walked towards the gas station itself. Behind you, Sniper had already unscrewed the gas cap, removing the nozzle and forcing it into the tank. With a simple 'click', diesel fluid immediately began pouring out. Sniper stared at it for a second before abruptly pulling on the handle of the side door of the van, exposing the inside to you. Confused, you looked up at him.

"I told ya I didn't want you coming on this trip, roo." His tone was dark, almost sadistic. Your brows pinned up, a bit of fear beginning to creep through your system. Sniper never took a tone with you. He turned to you, his eyes hidden behind his yellow-tinted aviators. You swallowed thickly, afraid of what was next. "Come here."

You obeyed, stepping closer to him timidly. Immediately, you were manhandled, almost thrown into the back of his camper van. You stared in surprise, yelping as he slammed the door closed behind the both of you. You didn't have time to react before he was on you, his mouth meeting yours. The kiss wasn't pretty or experienced as his teeth clacked against yours, his lips bruising and hungry. He must've been pent up, watching you flaunt yourself around in that low-cut tanktop and those too-short shorts. Just as fast as he had started, he had pulled away. The marksman looked you up and down, as if you were nothing but prey.

"This is the entire reason I didnt want'cha to come, darl'. Just can't keep my bloody hands off ya."

A flash of red was all you saw before you were flipped onto your stomach, Sniper using his long limbs to entangle your arms behind your back. He had you like a wrangled animal, trapped and helpless. He grunted quietly, cursing under his breath as he kept you pinned with one arm. He used his one free hand and made quick work of your bottoms, sliding them, along with your underwear, down to rest just below your ass. You jolted at the feeling of his caloused hand immediately delving into your folds, as if to relax you. A low whimper left your throat, the feeling of his long, thick fingers tracing themselves inside of you, curling to hit the right spot.

You didn't have much time, however, and Sniper knew this. He retracted his fingers, sucking whatever juices was on them off. The clinking of a belt, along with shuffling fabric excited you further. Although you couldn't look back, you could feel him start to guide his long length towards your aching hole. He slid into you, slowly. Sniper wasn't thick per se, but he was definitely long. The head of his cock practically kissed your insides in all the right places. With how wet you were, you didn't need much time to accommodate his size. Snapping his hips into your ass, you could feel every drag of his cock, every pulse and vein. His pace started off bruising, the hand keeping you pinned down began leaving crescent-shaped indents from his fingernails.

There was something primal about this. The heat had burned extra hot that day, and so did your lover, it seemed. He reached his free hand under you, beginning to rub sloppy circles on your clit. Shortly after, you eyes had screwed shut, a line of drool beginning to leak from your mouth. The campervan had rocked slightly with each thrust, your pants and pleas falling upon deaf ears as Sniper used your body. It wasn't long until you tried to warn him, maybe a little too late.

"Mick, I—!" Before you could continue, you had came, your own moan cutting you off. Sniper had a sick, twisted smile, letting go of your arms to focus fully on grabbing your hips. He had started slamming your overstimulated, quivering cunt back into him. It sent shocks through your body, the pleasure quickly turning to pain as it became too much

"Fuck, I love ya, roo. I'm gonna fill ya right up, make ya mine." His thrusts grew erratic, almost sloppy, as a string of curses and praise left his lips as he hilted himself fully inside of you. You heard a small groan, followed by some deep breaths as Sniper came inside of you. With a groan, he pulled out, his cock growing softer by the second. He yanked his pants up, buckling his belt back with extreme ease and skill. There was no time for aftercare. He helped you slide your clothes back up, your trembling thighs sending delight through him. He picked his slouch hat up from off the ground, dusting it off. He held a crooked smile as he placed it atop your head, the hat much too big for you. He had finished pumping gas, screwing the cap back on before leaning against the front of his Chevy.

"Where's Scout?"

"I paid him $20 to piss off somewhere for like half an hour. He'll be back soon, love."

[3d-wifey]

And They'd Find Us in A Week - Chapter 13

Pairing: Finnick Odair x Reader Word Count: 9.9k Synopsis: Here! Playlist: Listen up! Tag list: - @melancholicmelanin, @yvy1s, @glomp-me, @honethatty12, @swftlore, @hashcakes, @antoheartit, @finnickodaddy, @lilifl0wer, @antoheartit, @kermitcrimess, @persophonekarter, @aawdrea, @obaewankenobis, @xyxlyn, @meandurdaughtergotaspecialthing, @innercreationflower, @kisskittenn, @xngelsau, @coriolanussnowswife Chapter Summary: I've moved the arena around a bit, but nothing major; nothing starts until day 2 1: Blood rain 2: Giant poisonous bugs 3: Toxic Fog 4: Monkies 5: Jabberjays 6: Beast 7: Unknown 8: Unknown 9: Fire 10: Flood 11: Unknown 12: Lightening A/N: this bad boy is 10k, one more chapter b4 we go into mockingjay!!!!!!

Present (XII)

THE ARENA; SECTION 5  (12:23 pm-12:59 pm)

The smell of freshly rained earth lingers around them as they traverse the jungle, and Finnick thinks of you.

During the countdown, he saw you. He locked eyes with you, and, stupidly, he thought that would be enough to tide him over. Just one last moment between the two of you before performing for the cameras. But if that were true, he wouldn’t have looked for you as soon as he reached the Cornucopia—before that, even. When he surfaced from the water, over Katniss’s shoulder as he grabbed a weapon, out of the corner of his eye when he was looking for Peeta; desperate for a glimpse of you. 

And when he finally found you—no, when you found him—your voice carried his name to his ears like a gift. He didn’t need to think; his body was automatically attuned to you like a compass. He had his trident poised and ready to defend you from whatever he considered a threat—a knee-jerk reaction. But when he turned, there was only you. 

You looked at him as though there was a taut rubber band between your bodies, and you had to use all of your strength to resist giving in to that pressure. The desire to run to you was instinctive.

What would that have accomplished other than showing Snow their hand early? It’s not like he could have swept you up in his arms like he wanted to. He couldn't hold you close and make you promise that you'd come back to him, whole, healthy, and his. Being that bold this soon in the Games would benefit no one. Not when you still had to be separated. 

He had almost stopped to watch and make sure you made it out with Johanna, but, as you subtly reminded him, he had to stick to the plan. Plus, seeing you drive your sickle through the head of a man at least two times your size definitely reassured him that you could handle your own.

Not that he didn’t know you could bring a man to his knees. He’s had the pleasure of being on the receiving end of your firm hand enough to—he shakes his head, scolding himself like a misbehaving dog.

Not the time, Odair. 

Later, he tells himself, there’ll be time for that later.  

Even now, he’s thinking about how it felt to sleep next to you for the first time in eons—head against your chest, listening to your steady heartbeat as you hold him in your embrace. If he closes his eyes, he can feel sure fingers carding through his hair and dull nails scratching softly along his scalp. 

But he can’t close his eyes. No, he needs them open to dart between Katniss’s sprinting form and over his shoulder as they run for their lives through this fucking jungle. 

They’ve covered a good chunk of land in a relatively short amount of time. He’d say it’s taken them about ten minutes to cross a mile, maybe more. He’d be more confident in his estimate if they weren’t traveling up such a steep incline.

Around this point, Finnick decides they’ve put enough space between them and the Career pack that it should be okay to take a short break. He can feel Mags’s heart pounding against his back. Not ideal for a woman this close to ninety.

“Okay, hold up. Hold up.” He calls out, and they all come to a stop. He bends at the knee to help Mags down. “Okay. You alright now?”

He lowers himself to the ground, holding her hand as they sit down. “Okay?” He asks, and she nods, frail fingers gripping his tight as her other hand pats his bicep. Adrenaline makes her shake a little, but she waves off his concern. The four of them sit for a second, gathering themselves.

“God , it’s hot.” Peeta pants and Finnick senses that the oppressive heat might be more to blame than the hike. It’s like he’s choking on it; the air is so heavy that his nostrils don’t feel big enough to inhale it. He breathes in through his mouth and it’s only marginally better. He’s soaked. Something stings as it drips into his eyes and he genuinely can’t tell if it’s saltwater or sweat. “We gotta find fresh water.”

Water. Finnick looks around for any indication of nearby drinking water, listening in for a river or stream. He’d even take a pond. Water would be amazing, preferably without a high salt concentration.

Unknown insects chirp around them in unison; it sort of sounds like a snake. It’s so loud that he’s almost able to ignore the weight of Katniss’s stare. It’s not even like she’s glaring. It’s nearly bird-like how she appraises him—waiting for him to act like the predator she thinks he is. 

Three cannons fire in quick succession. The others look to the sky, but he stares at the tree over Katniss’s shoulder. Any one of those cannons could be you. He holds back a flinch at the thought. You’re not dead. No. No, you wouldn’t do that to him. He's only just gotten you back. And even after two years apart, the two of you are so deeply intertwined that Finnick’s sure his own heart would give out when yours stopped.

With a derisive snort and a shake of his head, Finnick says, perhaps a bit manically, “Well, I guess we’re not holding hands anymore.” His chuckle is met with disapproving silence. Too soon?

Katniss regards him with a look of contempt. Definitely too soon then. “You think that’s funny?"

No, not particularly. He thinks. But what else is there to do but laugh at the absurdity of it all?

“Every time that cannon goes off, it’s music to my ears. I don’t care about any of them.” He lies. Sometimes, it feels like that’s all he’s capable of. Even now, in the midst of this death sentence, he still can’t be honest about you. He can’t afford to be. Not until he knows you’re safe.

“Good to hear.” With a sly grin, Finnick observes Katniss taking a machete out of her quiver, seemingly more as a threat than a precaution. It’s promptly wiped from his face when she says your name. “Does she know that? If that’s the case, you should have killed her back at the Cornucopia. She didn't even have a weapon. It would have been easy for you.”

“She’s our ally, Katniss." Peeta attempts to caution her or maybe admonish her; Finnick doesn’t know. And he doesn’t really care, honestly. Not with how focused he and Katniss are on each other. He can’t even acknowledge Peeta defending you, as odd as it is. 

Unbidden and without provocation, the mental picture of him killing you takes shape. If he wasn’t already so lightheaded from the moist air, he’d be nauseous at the idea. Is she trying to get a rise out of him by bringing you up? Is that what this is? Or is she—is she threatening you? Whatever the hell her angle is, whatever tactic she’s trying to maneuver, he won’t let a threat against you stand—empty or not.

“You know, Katniss. You really shouldn’t speak on things you know nothing about.” He shakes his head as he ignores Mags’s warning grunt, mouth curling in that frosty way of his that entices those who are stupid enough to mistake a predator baring its teeth for a smile. But Katniss isn’t stupid. This is a language she’ll understand—the language of hunting animals. Her back straightens. His remains deceptively lax. “I mean, can't say that’s ever ended well for you, can we?”

“Are you threatening me, Odair?”

“Threat—” He can’t help but laugh because, honestly. 

This is the girl they’re laying down their lives for? The girl you’re laying down your life for? Emphasis on ‘the girl’, because she’s too naïve to be an adult. 

People like her—they're too busy fighting shadows to figure out what’s casting them. Too focused on watching their backs that they don't bother wondering why they have to watch it in the first place—and she’s supposed to lead them to salvation?

He wants to laugh. Instead, Finnick bites his cheek. Maybe he’s bitten into another pipe dream.

“No,” he scoffs. “I’m saving you.”

“Saving? Please , you don’t care about anyone but yourself—”

“Let’s keep moving.” Peeta rises to stand in between them, stopping to give Katniss a long look that she doesn't return, before marching forward and taking the machete with him. The two of them size each other up. For someone so emotionally stunted, her thoughts are broadcast clearly on her face. 

He can see her weighing her odds against him in a fight, whether her speed with the bow is any match for him and his trident, and Finnick’s weighing how much longer she can stand being a team player. He’s not cocky enough to not consider her a threat; she’s a fighter—but, then again, so is he. That’s not what’s staying his hand. Her survival is their only way out of here—not to mention how disappointed you’d be in him if you found out. He won’t be the one to snatch this chance away from you. Not unless she throws the first punch.

He subtly shifts his grip on his weapon into something more defensive, and she gives him one last withering look, or her version of it, before following Peeta. 

He wishes you were here with him. For several reasons, but in this particular moment, to show Katniss how wrong she is. Show her how much he does care about you and how much you care about him in turn. Is it childish that he feels the need to prove anything to a teenager? Maybe. Probably. Most likely.

He bends down to help Mags onto his back, scowling at Katniss’s retreating back. 

It’s definitely childish, but still. He sighs. You’d understand. All the more reason to wish you were here. He knows things were touch and go—more go than touch, really—between the two of you at the time, but would it have killed Haymitch to pair the two of you together? Johanna and Blight are more than capable of playing escort for those two brainiacs.

To be fair to the other man, Haymitch had no way of knowing if Finnick would succeed in reconnecting with you.

He takes a moment to really think about it. Namely, how much anger you’ve been harboring over the past two years and the way you drove your sickle through that man’s skull. He tilts his head, squinting. What’s that saying about a woman scorned?

Pairing you together may not have killed Haymitch, but it certainly could have killed Finnick.

His train of thought is violently cut off by Peeta crashing head-first into the force field.

SECTION 11 (12:49 pm-1:12 pm)

“We’re almost at the edge of the arena,” Johanna calls down to your group, climbing halfway down the tree before jumping the rest of the way. 

“What does the arena look like?” Beetee asks, pushing his glasses up for what must be the tenth time since you all decided to stop and get your bearings. The sweat on his face provided no traction to hold them in place.

“One big ass circle and we’re almost at the edge. Other than the beach, there’s nothing but jungle.” She sighs, stomping over to where you sit on the ground. Beetee gives a clinical nod.

“How close is ‘almost’?” You ask, handing her axe back. 

“I’d say at most a quarter of a mile. We’re closer to the edge than we are to the Cornucopia.”

“What do’ya suppose’ll happen if we hit the edge?” Says Blight in his heavy district brogue, so different than any you’ve heard before. You had asked Johanna about it at some point—the contrasts of their voices. She explained that Blight was born further north than she was, practically on the border of Seven. 

It’s not like everyone in Eleven speaks the same, but there’s at least some level of similarity that can be distinctly found in Eleven—in the southernmost districts in general. It shares a likeness with Eight and Ten. The same notes that you can sometimes hear in Katniss and Haymitch’s voices, but not in Peeta’s.

“Most likely? I’d imagine some sort of boundary or force field.” Beetee informs you all.

“Regardless. We won’t know until…” Wiress starts, trailing off as something you aren’t privy to catches her attention.

“—Until we’re upon it.” Beetee finishes for her.

You clear your throat. “I’d say it’s best we don’t find out ‘less we have to.” You drawl, dropping the Capitol accent you’ve been forced to assimilate for what you realize will be the last time. You replace the over-enunciation and grating lilt with slanted vowels and a melodic tempo.

“We can probably head in a little more and then cut to the left or right,” Johanna suggests and you realize she’s talking to you. Not just you in the sense of the whole group, but you specifically. You glance around. They’re all looking at you. It seems you’re the de facto leader.

When the hell was that decided?!

“Right. Well,” you clap your hands, picking your sickles up as you rise, “let’s get a move on. We need to go further while there’s still daylight. Then, we'll find a place to set up camp."

Hopefully.

Blight takes the lead, getting a headstart at cutting through the tightly packed vegetation with his machete.

“C’mon.” You smile down at Wiress as you help her up. She returns it gratefully and Beetee offers her his arm before they trail behind Blight. As you and Johanna carry the flank, you eye the long gash along his shoulder blade that’s steadily bleeding. Your main objective is to get these two to the pickup point, but you’d prefer if you got them there in one piece.

Chaff had said he’d be teaming up with Woof and Cecelia. As well as the morphlings, if they can find them. Unlikely, since they’re masters of stealth. You remember how they didn’t stray far from the camouflage section. You had asked Peeta about the swirls of color on his arm while you were training and he told you it was supposed to be a sunrise that the female morphling painted. She’s apparently fond of them. With skills like that, you know they’ll only be found if they want to be. 

The morphlings. That’s like if you only referred to Haymitch as ‘The Alcoholic’. You scold yourself mentally for using such a needlessly cruel nickname for them just because everyone else did. Either one of your parents would’ve pinched the skin off of you if they knew that.

I can’t keep calling them that. It's probably an odd time to do so, but you decide it’s high time you learned their actual names. Before now, you had very little reason to since you rarely interacted with them. Yet, even if they hadn’t been rebels, they still deserve the basic respect of being acknowledged as people, not just in conjecture with their addictions. You don’t expect to be BFFs after you make it out of the arena, but you’d like to, at least, be someone who knows and uses their real names.

“Thanks. For what you did back there.” Johanna takes you out of your musings, swinging her axe to and fro on her other side. “Taking that guy down for me. You didn’t have to.”

You scowl at the reminder, pretending to be focused on navigating your steps along the tricky jungle floor instead of looking at her. You didn’t want to think about that. How killing him was the first solution that came to mind. It’s not that you’re naive enough to think that talking him down was even an option. He wasn’t on your side. He wasn’t one of you. He had made his own bed of flowers by turning down Haymitch’s offer. But why couldn’t it have been Gloss or Enobaria that killed him? Why did it have to be you? Why not you? “I know I didn’t.”

“But you did, and,” she sighs, jutting her jaw to the side as if it’s taking a lot out of her to say this, “and I’d probably be so minced that the hovercraft would have to make multiple trips to get all the pieces if you hadn’t stepped in, so...thank you."

You smile at her awkward discomfort, ignoring the glances she shoots you out of the corner of her eye and acting oblivious to her increasing agitation.

“Are you gonna say ‘you’re welcome’, or what, asshole?” She scoffs.

“You’re welcome, Your Highness.” You knock your shoulder into hers and she knocks yours right back.

“I owe you one.”

You laugh. “God, I hope not.”

SECTION 5 (1 pm-1:34 pm)

The force of the blow is enough to send Peeta flying backward, knocking them over so fast that Finnick can barely register that he’s not still standing.

“Peeta’s not breathing!” Katniss cries and it’s a blur of motion as he moves into action, his body acting on autopilot. “Peeta’s not breathing!”

Prop Mags up against a tree. Check for a pulse that isn’t there. CPR. Tilt his head at an angle. Pinch his nose—a stiff hand to Katniss’s sternum—pinch his nose, blow air into his deflated lungs. Ignore the arrow pointed at his head. Put his body weight behind each pump. Push his will into the unresponsive body. From his shoulders, down his biceps, and into the heels of his hands, to where Peeta’s still heart lies.

C’mon, Peeta. C’mon, c’mon.

“C’mon, Peeta!” He can feel the anticipation of the viewers boiling in on them from all angles, his hair standing on end as he tries to pump Peeta’s heart for him. If they lose Peeta, they lose Katniss. If they lose Katniss, they lose the revolution. If they lose the revolution, they’ll lose, they’ll lose, they’ll lose—“Come on! Come on!” 

He’s got no idea why they haven’t called it yet, why they haven’t blown the cannon, despite his heart stopping before he even hit the floor. Maybe they’re hoping, like he’s hoping, that Peeta will come. The fuck. On.

A small gasp, a cough and—

Finnick falls back on his haunches, hands on his hips and panting as the muscles in his arms buzz. He’s lightheaded again from supplying so much of his air to Peeta. And the heat isn’t doing anyone any favors.

“Be careful. There’s a force field up there.” Peeta huffs and Katniss chuckles, half-hysterical, before dipping down to kiss him. Finnick pauses in the middle of a much-needed inhale, watching the two with narrowed eyes.

“Oh, my God. You were dead. You were dead. Your heart stopped.” Katniss sobs as she drapes over Peeta, shrill and so resoundingly real that Finnick blanches for a second. He’s never seen her hands waver when drawing her bow, but they tremble now as they hold Peeta close. 

Huh.

“It’s okay.” He assures her, still smoldering and smoking a little. “It’s working now.” She helps him up, still sobbing. Or maybe choking? Choking on her sobs. Peeta looks upon her with concern. 

“Katniss?” Peeta prompts, starting to look increasingly panicked and Finnick can’t handle them both freaking out. 

“It’s okay. It’s just her hormones.” Finnick is slow to stand, looking them over quizzically. “From the baby.”

“No. It’s not—” She cuts herself off with more choke-sobs. There’s something here—something he couldn’t see before. Something he hadn’t considered concerning these two, concerning Katniss. That something is familiar. What does it remind him of? It’s nagging at the back of his skull. That staunch fear, the protectiveness followed by the open gasping relief. He recognizes it. Where, where, where—

“She can't possibly care about him that much."

"Yeah, well, you'd be surprised.”

Oh. Oh, shit.

Of course, he recognizes it—that familiar, desperate love. He’s felt it.

Katniss glares at him, snotty and defensive, and he stares, mystified. He shakes his head, pulling himself from his revelation-induced stupor. The two lovebirds hug each other like they’re the only things holding each other up. And with their current states, they might as well be. To give them some privacy, he walks over to check on Mags and finds her knowing gaze. He can’t have been the last one to know this love story isn’t much of a story at all, right?

SECTION 3 (6:50 pm-10:20 pm) 

Finnick rolls his trident back and forth between his hands as they all wait for Katniss to come back from scouting in the trees. Mags cracks open and eats another one of the nuts Katniss has been using and substantially cooking by bouncing them off of the force field to show the rest of them where it is, considering she can hear it. He has no reason to believe otherwise; there’s no evidence to indicate she’s lying, but Finnick doesn’t buy that she can hear it just because of her hearing aid. If that’s the case, why hasn’t she mentioned it before now? He has no reason to call her out on it, so he won’t. Any advantage they have in the arena, the better. 

He can feel the water evaporating out of his body like a sponge being wrung dry. He feels like a beached whale. They can’t have been in the arena for that long, but the heat—it’s not the kind he’s used to. The sun in Four has nothing on this. He’s never been so thirsty before, not even in his previous Games. They all perk up when she comes back down, hoping beyond hope that she’s seen drinkable water. That hope is crushed when she shakes her head.

“The force field…it’s a dome. We’re at the edge of the arena.” She wipes her sweat-slick hair out of her face. "I couldn't find any signs of fresh water.”

They all sit in dehydrated silence. The human body can only go on for so long with no water. Food, while an amazing plus, won’t be a real problem for weeks. And between the nuts and all the fish they could catch, it’s a problem with a simple solution. Without water, however, they will almost certainly die in five days, with their organs starting to shut down in three. He's seen it back in Four. Dead men brought back from sea shriveled and arid. He always imagined it must be torture to be surrounded by all that water and unable to drink any of it. 

Now, it looks like he might find out.

And with that depressing thought, Finnick moves forward. “It’s getting dark soon. We’ll be safe with our backs protected.” Knowing the consequences of touching the force field, they’ll be able to use the arena itself as a weapon. “We should set up camp. Take turns sleeping. I can take first watch.”

“Not a chance.” Katniss scoffs.

He tilts his head.

He knows the heat is just making everything worse, only fueling his irritability. But he is so over her and this teenage snippiness. Peeta’s so easygoing that he honestly doesn’t mind his company; he can see how the two of you became such quick friends. But Katniss? She is a remarkably hard person to like. 

How much longer will she treat him like a criminal? As far as he’s concerned, the only thing he’s guilty of is giving her the impression that she has authority over him in any way, shape, or form.

Burying the blunt end of his trident into the ground, he uses it to leverage himself up.

“Honey,” he mocks, his voice long-suffering and chiding, like he’s explaining something that really should be common sense to a child who's a little behind the curve. Which, honestly, doesn't seem too far off. “That thing I did back there for Peeta? That was called ‘saving his life’. If I wanted to kill either of you, I would have done it by now."

He holds her eye before he rips his weapon out of the ground. He’s too tired to have a stupid argument over this, so he nimbly picks his way over to Mags so they can start making camp. 

-

When the Capitol anthem blares throughout the arena and the insignia projects across the sky, Finnick watches with rapt attention. He inhales sharply, watches, and waits.

Portraits of the dead flash beside the full moon. The man from Five that he killed, the man from Six, both from Eight, both from Nine, the woman from Ten and then…it stops. There’s the Capitol seal again and then nothing. No more portraits light up the sky; your portrait doesn’t light up the sky.

You’re still alive.

You’re alive. He knew that. He did. He did. He would have known, he would have felt, otherwise. After all, you had promised him, hadn’t you? In those scant few hours in the early morning before the Games, you both promised to do everything in your power to get back to each other. Promised to see this through, knowing what future waited on the other side—a future together.

He knew you were alive, but the confirmation is—

He lets out the breath he’s been holding, tension easing from his shoulders. 

“Seven,” Katniss says.

“Mhm.” He acknowledges.

Seven victors. His brows furrow. The two from Eight, Woof and Cecelia. The male morphling. All dead.

But he’s still alive. And so are you.

SECTION 1 (12:55 am–3:26 am)

In the white, spectral fog of the jungle, Johanna smacks something big and hairy off the back of her hand. Are the bugs even real?  

She wouldn’t put it past the Capitol to mutate them—control the mutts to crawl all over them and kill them in their sleep. But that’s too boring a death, too kind. Plus, it doesn’t make for good television. And eating bugs would probably make the audience more squeamish than child murder.

Thanks to you, they at least had something to eat. Berries, mushrooms, and, oddly enough, leaves. Not much, but it was something. But there was still the water issue—meaning there was none. They hadn't stumbled upon anything they could drink. No ponds, no rivers. Not even a fucking puddle.

She and you both agreed that there had to be water in the trees; it was too humid for there not to be. But with no way to collect it, they were all shit out of luck. Luckily, depending on how long it takes to get here, they’re expecting a rain cloud. It was the only logical assumption after they heard lightning strikes not too far off. Makes sense. Short of a sponsor gift or the magical ability to make salt water drinkable, there’s little for the victors to do in terms of battling dehydration.

If this rain doesn’t pull through, she’ll be tempted to tell you to bite the bullet and request a spile or something. Though she understands why you haven’t done so yet. Just the thought of begging those simpering morons to empty their pockets to help keep her alive makes Johanna shiver and she doesn’t even have the same history with them that you do. Knowing your fans, they’d probably get off on you debasing yourself.

Johanna knocks her head against the tree she's leaning on. She offered to take the first watch because she needed time to think. It was smart of Katniss to want you as an ally. It's easier on Johanna's part too, because at least you can take care of yourself.

And, had the rebellion not been afoot, it would've guaranteed Finnick as an ally too. Maybe Peeta is the one who picked you because Johanna doubts the girl on fire is sharp enough to think that far ahead. Or mature enough to pull her big girl pants on and notice anything around her that didn't actually revolve around her.

Johanna is woman enough to admit that she's jealous. Jealousy is nothing to be ashamed of when it's entirely warranted. Katniss doesn't have to worry about losing her family, not really. Because the Capitol just adores them. Katniss doesn't have to worry about losing her self-autonomy, her dignity, her innocence while in bed with a stranger. Katniss hasn't lived with the grief of what she's experienced long enough for it to turn her bitter or make her find an escape through substances.

And yet, here they are, protecting her even if it kills them. No, Johanna reminds herself. They're protecting the rebellion. Katniss just happens to be the face of it.

It’s almost pitch black. Without the sun to shine through the dense tops of the trees, the moon could hardly pull its weight. But it’s been dark for so long that her eyes have adapted a bit. They slept closer to the force field than she would have liked, but she understood your logic. No one can sneak up on them from behind with the force field at their back.

She digs the sharp metal part of her axe into the dense ground, pulling it out, and hacking away again.

She looks over to where the others are sleeping, Nuts and Volts guarded on either side by your and Blight's sleeping bodies. At least they aren't completely useless.

Even if Katniss hadn't wanted them as allies, they would've had to guard them anyway. Haymitch made it clear, in no uncertain terms, that they're the brains of this operation. Or at least Volts is. She zeros in on the spool of wire he clings to in his sleep.

She isn't one hundred percent sure how they plan on busting them out of the arena, but it probably has something to do with that. Or at least, it better. He nearly lost his life trying to get it. And she nearly lost her head trying to get him.

They need to meet up with Finnick, but she has no idea where his group is. It's not like they can just bury their heads in the sand and wait for them to show up. The plan rides on them all being together at the pickup point.

A drop of water wets her scalp and then another. It, like everything else in this place, is uncomfortably warm—bordering on hot. But beggars can’t be choosers. The drops of water feel heavier, but that could just be her imagination.

Rain? Finally.

She’ll wake the others up once her vocal cords stop feeling like she’s starting a fire every time she talks. It slowly but steadily picks up—drops landing on her forehead and dripping down her nape. She tilts her head back and opens her mouth and the dry, cracking chasm that she used to call her throat trembles in anticipation of the oncoming relief. 

When it touches her tongue, she recoils. Thick, bitter, and metallic. It's only then that Johanna realizes the warm liquid isn't water. She holds out her hand to catch a drop and it stains red.

Blood.

And, as if the Gamemakers were waiting for her reaction, the sprinkling of rain turns into a downpour.

“Get up!” She screams, scrambling to her feet. “Get up! Get the fuck up!”

You wake up, alert, with your weapons in hand. Springing to attention like you were never asleep to begin with. When you see no enemy you can fight, your vigilance gives way to confusion. The other three are slower to rise until the blood starts pelting them like coins.

They stumble up, much like she did, but they don’t know. They don’t understand what’s falling from the sky.

“Don’t drink it—!” She tries to warn them and gets a mouthful of tacky, festering blood for her troubles. It’s thick and greasy and viscous and slippery, so the remnants of it stay behind when she tries to spit it out. It coats the back of her throat, creeping its way up her nose and slicking in between her molars. 

“Blood!” The last thing Johanna can see before her vision goes red is your blurry face going from stark relief to abject terror as her words fully sink in. “It’s–it’s blood!”

From then on, there’s no room for coherent thought. Instead, Johanna gets stuck in a cycle of gagging on blood, spitting it out, and heaving in the fucked up, muggy, contaminated air, only to start it all over.

She tries to shield her eyes, but the blood creeps underneath her hands like its goal is to take out as many senses as possible. The sound of it sliding off the top of the canopies and hitting the ground is deafening; it almost drowns out your attempts to call out to Johanna. But calls for each other are only answered with blood.

They all flounder about, tottering around on unsure feet. Johanna wipes her eyes and tries to squint around it. But it’s no use. Even if her eyes weren’t compromised, the blood falls so thickly that it curtains everything around her.

Maybe that’s why she doesn’t realize she’s only seeing three red silhouettes instead of four.

She gives up on her eyes and works to save her lungs instead. She cups her mouth and nose, coughing and hacking so hard that it feels like her chest is on fire. She breathes through her nose and immediately stops when it burns her nostrils. She breathes through her mouth and it’s somehow worse to taste the sickeningly sweet iron-rich mist. She gags and breathes and gags again. 

She still can’t see, but she crouches down low, hesitant as she pats the ground. Trembling hands feel around for her axe, but, apparently, everything feels like an axe handle if your eyes are closed. She can’t afford to let another victor catch her in such a vulnerable position. She may be blind, but she refuses to be defenseless.

She doesn’t find it.

They must stay there, stumbling around fully blind and half-mad for hours before a masculine shout accompanies the sound of a heavy body hitting the ground. So loud it overtakes the sound of blood that isn’t hers rushing in her ears, the sound of the rain. They must have flown before they crashed, must have been thrown back to be that loud— the force field.

“Blight!”

A cannon fires. And then. It stops. All of it. The rain, the yelling, the torture. The heat and the smell remain, if not made worse by each other. Johanna can’t figure out which one is making her stomach roll more.

“Everyone—” she gathers the blood in her mouth, along her cheeks and tongue, and spits it on the ground with disdain. She can feel the frothing, light pink saliva and drool dripping down her chin from doing the same thing three dozen times already. “Everyone alright?”

Surprisingly, the voice that calls back first is Beetee’s. 

“I–I managed to hold on to Wiress. Blight, however…”

She knows not to expect Blight’s voice and that’s a pain too tender to prod at yet. You, however, don’t respond. And, unlike Blight, there’s no reasonable explanation for your sudden silence. She calls your name, but there’s no reply. There is, however, a spark of panic in her chest right next to her heaving lungs, but Johanna only heard one cannon.

She doesn’t know if the heat encourages it or keeps it at bay, but, just that fast, the blood is starting to congeal. Johanna pries her eyes open and it’s almost like they’re still closed. Now impossibly darker, the jungle is a nightmare. Made even worse by the fact that you aren’t here. She lurches up to spin in circles, shouting after you as Wiress keeps mumbling something. She staggers around, cutting herself off by coughing up the blood that’s managed to get into her chest. There’s nothing, no sign of you or where you could have gone. You are not here.

It’s like you disappeared.

A spotlight shines down on them—No, on Blight. On his cooling body. The hovercraft claw descends open-mouthed, dipping down to pick him up. Beetee pulls Wiress away before she can wander closer. Johanna watches as they take him away. 

Blight is thirty, she thinks. Blight is a burly man with a big beard to match. Blight has a wife, a son. Blight’s from Zone Q, the same zone kids used to make fun of for the funny way they talked. Blight had always been kind to her. Blight now hangs limp, covered in blood. Skin singed and smelling of burnt hair. This is the last thing he will ever be.

He’ll never see the culmination of the rebellion he was willing to give his life for. He wasn’t the sharpest axe in the, well, anywhere. But…it would have been nice to give him the District Seven sendoff he deserved.

She gives herself a shake. They need to find you.

“Come on, get up.” She waves the remaining two up with her axe. “Let’s go."

“Tick, tock.”

“Where?” Beetee attempts to look at her from under his blood-smeared glasses.

“Tick, tock.”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but our group has been dramatically cut from five to three—”

“Tick, tock. Tick, tock!”

“—And what the fuck is her problem?!”

“I think she might be in shock.”

“Right. Of course. That’s just fan-fucking-tastic.”

There’s an odd clicking coming from the right and some hindbrain prey instinct warns Johanna away from it. She practically drags her damsels in distress behind her as she scours as much of the jungle as she possibly can in the dark in her search for you. Down to where the sand starts, back to the edge, and then off to the left—away from the clicking. They can’t be as quiet as she would like to be, considering Beetee’s heavy steps and Wiress’s insufferable mumbling. Tick, tock, tick, tock, tick, fucking tock.

How the hell did she get stuck with Nuts and Volts, of all people? You and Blight have left her alone and now, Nuts is even nuttier than before, and Volts—

“I can’t—I can’t go on. I must, I need to rest.” Beetee gasps. She glowers over her shoulder at his weak form. He raises a hand before falling on his ass. She groans, stomping back to stand over him. Even in the low lighting, he’s a sorry sight. Alarmingly pale, even for someone from Three, he looks like he might faint at any moment now.

“And what the hell is wrong with you?”

“My wound—I believe I’ve lost a fair bit of blood.” He gestures minutely behind him, and she squints at his back. He grunts as she positions him a bit better in the moonlight and his entire left flank is warm with his blood. The wound hadn’t seemed that serious earlier, long but superficial. What does she do if he’s losing more blood than any of them realize? She isn’t trained in medicine and it’s not like they can just request some kind of aid. If you were here, maybe. They’d have much better luck getting a sponsored gift if you were the one asking for it. 

“Great. That’s just lovely. You know, this is exactly what we need right now.” She paces. Kicks a rock. hurts her toe. “Fuck. Fuck!” Johanna drives her axe into a nearby tree, yanking it out to only hack at it again. They’ve been searching for you for over an hour and there’s no telling where the hell you’ve wandered off to.

“What do we do now?”

“I don’t know! I don’t—!” She throws her hands up, not even bothering with rebuffing Wiress when she sways into her with her ‘tick, tock’ shit again. She groans, head hanging low. The plan has been monstrously derailed already and it hasn’t even been two full days yet. “I don’t know.”

Hopefully, you’re closer to finding Finnick than they are.

SECTION 2 ( 1:40 am-2:26 am)

You finally come to a stop, feet tripping over gnarled roots and fallen logs. You cough, blowing blood from your nose like snot. You’ve gotten far enough away from the rain that you can almost start breathing normally again. You look around you, turning in rough half-circles as you try to get your bearings. You’re careful to keep in mind the direction you’ve come from because the jungle looks the same as it has for the last mile and a half.

You want to rub at the stitch developing in your side, but you’re too afraid to take your hands off your weapons, even for a second. 

That blood rain was unexpected, to say the least. Not to mention cruel. You’d never seen anything like it. The Gamemakers must have gotten a real kick out of that, knowing how readily y’all were waiting for rainwater, knowing how thirsty you were.

The blood doesn’t behave like it should. It’s made your hair dense and heavy, almost oil-slick somehow, despite the frizz from all the humidity. It dries on your skin in thick, itchy patches. Not unlike the aloe vera paste used in Eleven to heal burns and the like.

There’s no telling if the blood shower is heading in your direction or not. Can you handle that again? That suffocating force clawing its way past your esophagus, into your stomach, into your lungs—hot and thick? The taste is still on your tongue and for a moment, you’re in the eye of the storm once more. Fighting to see, to breathe, to live.

You gag and you push it down, but the longer the taste of iron soaks on your tongue, the harder it is to stop it. You gag again, hard enough that your belly cramps up. Eyes watering, you rock forward, nails digging into the wood of the handles as scorching stomach acid claws its way up your throat. You throw up what little you’ve eaten, and you despair, because it may not have been much but it was something.

You stay that way, hunched over, panting open-mouthed as more spit forms rapidly in your mouth just to drip down into the puddle of sick you’ve already left. You’ll be even more dehydrated than before. Your chest burns with acid reflux, your nose runs, and your mouth pools with drool you can’t afford to lose. You want to cry. But you don’t have that luxury. You want someone to rub your back, but you don’t have that either. 

I wish Finnick was here.

You allow yourself that small moment of pity. You pull in a surprisingly cool breath before straightening up. You push your shoulders back, determined to march forward through whatever may be waiting for you because you know that on the other side, Johanna and the others need you. You walk forward, even though the idea of willingly entering that blood-filled hellscape makes your stomach lurch like a threat. 

The blood still proves to be an issue without the Capitol’s input. Some of it drips down your face and neck like sweat, damn near blinding you all over again. You can only wipe it away with the back of your hand so many times. You're still trying to find a way to keep the blood out of your eyes when you hear it.

It's like when a bug flies too close to your ear but louder. Buzzing and clicking that makes the hair on your neck stand, foreboding. 

You’ve never had much of a problem with insects, you weren’t allowed to. You can’t exactly claim ‘fear of bugs’ as a reason for not doing your job, even if you are six years old. After working around tracker jackers to pick various fruits, spiders climbing over you as you wade around the flooded cranberry fields, overzealous slugs as you pull carrots, to name a few, that fear dissipated. That’s not to say you love them, only that you’ve learned to work in proximity to them and ignore them if all else fails. You turn around, spinning in circles as the noise gets louder. You can’t ignore this so easily. You’re six again, trembling in fear as a peacekeeper directs you to a giant tree with an equally giant tracker jacker nest. That old fear makes a reappearance. It takes root, maturing from childish panic to fresh, genuine terror because something is coming toward you. 

You hear flapping, wings. Your vision is still blurred from the blood and you're in a particularly dark part of the forest with barely any moonlight, but you can see it. Some kind of bug hurtling towards you faster than you can run. It’s massive—mutated, most likely—close to the size of a wolf. You duck as it dives at you, bulky mandibles snapping.  

You’d rather fight the wolf.

It flies a few feet away before turning around and you curse the fact that you didn't pick up any long-range weapons. Where the hell is Katniss when you need her? 

You’ve trained for months. Your stamina, your dexterity, your core and upper body strength. But especially your hand-to-hand combat. Woefully, you consider how well that translates into fighting a giant mutt.

For a split second, you get the urge to hide. That animalistic impulse to find a small space to burrow into that the much bigger animal can’t get you and to find it fast. You’ve felt this before in Eleven and in the Capitol. It’s only fitting that you’d feel it here in the arena too.

It hovers in the air for a moment. It's almost as if it’s thinking. As you both regard each other, it begins to feel like it really might be thinking. Just how intelligent is this thing?

It’s a beetle; you can tell that much, which means an exoskeleton. You’ll have to go for the head, the eyes. There’s no indication that it’s about to happen, it just charges you. And you realize far too late that it'll be impossible to get a clear hit at its head. You lunge to the side, but you aren't fast enough. You yell when its pincer strikes you in the side. You pitch over, rolling along the ground. You barely manage the precarious balance of covering your head and keeping your blades away from your body.

It's not done with you. But down here, you have a better chance of avoiding its bite.

The blood makes your grip on the handles slippery. You flip the one in your dominant hand upwards and keep the other one face down as it gets ready to charge you again. You roll under it, slicing upward along its stomach as it flies over you. You're quick to stand up as it wavers in the air, wings stuttering the longer it bleeds.

You’ve both weakened each other, but neither of you is dead yet.

Your mind is quiet. Only one thought echoes in the abyss back to you.

The head. The head. The head. Go for the head. Go for the head. Take the fucking head!

It swoops down at you, wobbling in the air, but still clicking. You kneel down with your sickles turned outward and cross your arms in front of your face. You wait for it to get closer until you can see its head peeking over the gap your weapons leave and straighten your elbows, decapitating it. You close your eyes as black blood rains down on you and its head and body hit the ground with two distinct thumps.

Its body convulses on the ground and its head stays still, but you don't have time to check if it's really dead. Like the man from Nine. More buzzes and clicks come from your right and you're running before you even register that your feet are moving.

You don't look behind you, you don't need to. You can hear them, closing in on you. You just keep sprinting, lungs burning in exhaustion as you push yourself faster. You don't know where you're running to, but you know you have no way of fighting off more than one.

There's a hill a few feet ahead of you, and you prepare yourself to roll down. You throw your weapons to the bottom and cover your head as you tumble down, scraping yourself on stray twigs and rocks.

You scramble to stand up at the bottom of the hill and look up in time to see the bugs hovering at the top. They're stopped by what looks like a force field. But that doesn’t make any sense. You—you just came from there. Suddenly, they lose interest in you like you were never there to begin with and they turn around. They bump into each other as they fly away, probably on their way to swarm someone else.

A piercing scream comes from the direction the mutated insects flew off to. Better you than me, you think and regret it immediately. That could be someone you care about. Chaff, Johanna, Katniss, Peeta.

Finnick, your brain supplies. You shake away the thought. You don't have to worry about that because he promised you.

"He promised me. He promised me." You repeat to yourself in a whisper.

You stumble back into a tree, chest heaving.

Once the adrenaline rush passes, another problem presents itself. The blood on your body has grown cold, so it's surprising to feel a warm rush of liquid on your side. 

You look at where your jumpsuit is torn above your right hip. You stretch the fabric and see two holes about six inches away from each other. Twice the size of a bottle cap, one's a little above your hip bone and the other rests a little before where your back starts, both wider and deeper than you would like—but you don’t see muscle, which counts for something. They're rough, not perfect circles. Skin hangs haphazardly from them both, peeling away at the edges with jagged incisions going towards the middle. As if being punctured like a piece of paper wasn’t enough, they've been torn from the pincers still being buried in you and then violently ripped out after you fell.

Now that you're aware of them, they throb in sharp waves.

"Shit," you curse, breathing around the tears that bubble up from the pain. Your breaths are shuttered, halting. You're bleeding at a pretty steady pace and you won't last long with the wound out in the open. Especially if there's a creature out here that can smell blood. “Shit, shit, shit.” You whimper.

You scream as cramps rocket through your abdomen and the ability to be quiet is beyond your pain-addled mind, you can’t stop it. Luckily, it comes out of your dry throat more of a raspy croak than a real scream. You press a shaking, blood-soaked hand to your mouth anyway. You don’t know what other killer insects may be out here with you and you can’t afford to grab their unwanted attention just because you can’t control yourself.

Your medical knowledge isn’t extensive. Honestly, it’s a little below average for what’s expected in Eleven, but probably far more than what an ordinary citizen in the other districts would know. Not everyone can afford the services of doctors, especially if they live in the Shacks, so you were all taught how to help each other. You don’t know any of the fancy shit they probably teach in the academies, but you were taught how to heal with the land—old methods and practices passed down from before the Dark Days.

Your first thought is to clean it, but with what? You don’t even have clean water to drink. Your second thought is to pack it, if not with cotton then with aloe vera—it’ll ward off infection for a while, right? You have no way of disinfecting it, not by yourself and not with what’s available to you, so stopping the bleeding is the next best thing. 

This may not be your environment, may not be your plants, but you learned a thing or two while training Peeta in the Edible Plant section. This is the perfect environment for natural, as natural as the arena will permit, aloe to grow. But it’s still dark. You can’t go looking for it, not by yourself. And you aren’t desperate enough to start begging your sponsors for help. 

You sigh. You’ll have to settle for the bare minimum. 

You pull both of your sleeves down where they detach at the shoulder and even that little movement makes your stomach cramp again. You flinch as the muscles underneath the wounds spasm, pumping out more blood. 

You tie one end of both sleeves together, working past the hurt, and, God, does it hurt. But the hurt is unavoidable. That’s what you tell yourself. That’s what you’ve always told yourself. You let your mind drift, taking you somewhere else.

The hurt is unavoidable. The hurt is unavoidable. The hurt is unavoidable.

Sweat drips down your back, or maybe it’s blood, as you move the makeshift tourniquet around your waist. You lay a flat piece of the fabric on the wound and nearly black out as you tie the two loose ends in the back. You tie it again just for good measure, biting around a scream as you pull it tight enough to staunch the bleeding.

Your vision swims as you gasp in big gulps of air. Your hands shake from the pain and yet another adrenaline drop. Your legs feel weak, barely holding you up as you lean most of your weight against the tree.

You need a game plan.

Another canon fires.

You don’t know how long you sit there, eyes closed, head tilted back, pitying yourself. But by the time you decide to get moving, you notice something. Something’s…wrong. 

Everything sways when you move your head up. You blink nearly twenty times before your eyes can focus again. You feel warm. Not warmth from the humidity. Not warmth from exercise. But warmth from a fever, a sickness. Nausea creeps upon you and, fuck, please, you can’t throw up again—you can’t . An injury this nasty will certainly come with symptoms, but you shouldn't have this kind of reaction. You try to remember what kind of bug it was. You remember it was a beetle, but you rack your brain for what it looked like. Your muscles spasm around your wound, reminding you how open and exposed they are even when covered with fabric.

You’ve got two plugs taken out of your side, you’re covered in blood, both real and synthetic, you’ve been poisoned, and you’re alone.

Alone. There is no sound other than your labored breathing because you’re alone. That’s the worst part somehow. 

You’re slow as you lean down, wincing at the slightest movement, and snatch up your sickles. If just that is enough to sap you of your energy, then—

You can’t stay out here in the open where you’re vulnerable, no one to watch your back, no one to protect you. You’re an easy target, no help to the revolution like this. You take a few quick breaths to psych yourself up. You push off the tree, grunting as the smallest use of your abdomen aggravates the wounds. You hobble along, heading in the opposite direction of where you left Johanna and the others.

Hopefully, Finnick’s group is having better luck. 

SECTION 3 (3:17 am-3:28 am)

Finnick is sure that there are certain moments that he’ll remember for the rest of his life. His reaping, the first person he killed, meeting you. These moments, these entries penned into the book of his life, define him. They’re all weaved into a tapestry, sewn into a quilt that illustrates his past and blankets his future. Who he is today, and who he will be tomorrow, is shaped by these moments. He’ll remain irrevocably changed by these events. 

He’s sure this moment will be one of them.

The fog creeps behind them and he’s suddenly so glad you aren’t a part of their group. A spectral wall of wispy gas that observes their suffering with the same indifference as the Capitol does. Peeta is a solid weight on Finnick’s shoulder and he’s thankful for it. It’s a reminder, the weight of what he’s defending. He clenches his teeth against the fog's stray tendrils and their poisonous grasp, increasing his speed even as pain licks at his heels. 

“Fhinnic’, Fhinnic’!” He skids to a stop, looking behind him at Peeta’s slurred insistence. He turns in time to see Katniss and Mags crash to the ground. He rushes over to them. Mags sits concerned next to Katniss who’s beginning to blister.

“It’s no use,” Katniss says. He kneels beside them and he can see she’s feeling the effects of the fog. Her left leg is getting stiffer and her face has begun to droop. “Can you take them both? Go on ahead, I’ll catch up.” The confidence in her voice is interrupted by the grimace on her sagging face.

Mags has been touched by the fog less than the rest of them, if at all. Probably for the opposite reason that Finnick seems to have the most damage, she’s small. By this logic, it should be easy for Finnick to carry her along with Peeta. It should be easy.

“My arms aren’t working. My arms, they aren’t—” From his shoulder blades down to his fingertips, the muscles in his arms are ruined. They spasm sporadically, jerking uncontrollably as they hang limp at his sides. He’s even relying on Peeta to hold onto his trident for him. “I’m sorry, Mags. I can’t, I can’t do it. I’m sorry.” He apologies. He keeps apologizing to her and he can’t see why, too focused on the wave of white threatening to seize them. 

It’s all so quick. Mags has realized what Finnick himself is too stubborn to acknowledge. There’s a heaviness in his chest that he tries to swallow around but it only spreads to his throat. His throat gets tight. His senses feel heightened, his heart beating faster, lungs heaving harder, but he’s still trying to find a way out of this. His mind is moving at the speed of light, determined to fix it, determined to row this impossible boat upstream—thinking about everything but the only realistic outcome here.

They never talked about this. Never discussed the possibility. A situation where he would ever have to—it just never, never came to mind. He never thought to imagine it. And yet, she’s taking off the bracelet she’s wearing—his bracelet that she wore as a token for him. The same bracelet he made under her roof, under her knowing gaze. She slides it up his wrist, tightening it before grabbing his face between her weathered hands. She places a gentle peck on his lips and that’s when he realizes she’ll be leaving, whether he’s ready to say goodbye or not.

“Mags? Mags? Mags!” Tears blur his vision as she dodders uphill into the fog. Katniss grabs his wrist, stopping him from going after her. “Mags! Mags!”  

“Finnick!” He can see her silhouette just past the veil of mist, convulsing violently before—a cannon fires. He sits there, desolate. He can’t tell if the numbness spreading through him is organic or from the nerve damage.

“Finnick, we have to go. We have to get outta here.” He’s slow to turn around and look at Katniss. “We have to go.” 

Finnick climbs to his feet, accounting for Peeta’s weight, as Katniss drags herself behind him. He sniffs once, twice, three times. 

Later, he tells himself, there’ll be time for that later.

A/N: 1.) Blight's accent is the Canadian accent - specifically Letterman Kenny 2.) reckon the covey (Lucy Gray's group) traveled to the north from 11 to 12 during the 1st rebellion and got trapped in 12 after they lost. the Seam now has a distinct accent that sounds vaguely southern. 3.) i headcanon there's no singular southern accent in 11, using this map:https://fineartamerica.com/featured/vintage-map-of-panem-from-the-hunger-games-design-turnpike.html?product=art-print you can see just how much southern land it covers. So that's a mix of Creole, Irish, Mexican, and deep south roots. I'd imagine the mix of Creole, southern aave, and Spanish makes for a very particular accent. but if I had to pick one, it's closer to the southern drawl than the southern twang. 4.) the capitol accent basically the transatlantic accent 5.) You and Finnick think the same, since it was his idea to sleep next to the forcefield and use it as a weapon. yall literally think the same. also finnick wakes up the same way you do in the book when katniss screams about the fog. 6.) in the book, Lucy Gray is quiet but cunning. She doesn't have the "girl bossified quirky" demeanor she does in the movie and I blame Disney for that. As such, she doesn't have the "loud and proud/nothing affects me/cocky without a cause" attitude in my canon. What attracted Snow to her was that survivor instinct he saw in her that he felt he had. Everything that made Lucy Gray interesting to him can be found in Star (and Peeta.) I think Katniss's personality wise is so much like Sejanus's that it pissed him off. close enough to District 12, but not exactly. district eleven has the exact background that Snow wishes he had with 12. He has more control over Eleven, they're easier to control/oppress as opposed to the free-spirited District 12. With Star, he strives to fix what mistakes he made with Lucy Gray. my beta reader said "i agree honestly like i think thats also why people are misreading snow in the movie bc they don't actually understand lucy gray and therefore misunderstand why snow even liked her" 7.) eleven is mainly a black and indigenous North American (Canada, US, and Mexico) population

[starshinegarcia]

Into You - Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader

Season 4, Episode 9 “Pickup” - Reader is in place of Emily in the first scene, then she goes in alongside Emily later on (part 2) as bait, instead of Jordan.

Thank you so so much to @cerisereids for the prompt, and to @ilikw for bringing it to my attention!! I hope i did it justice!

“I’m so into you, I can barely breathe”

As you stepped into the sleazy bar, you suddenly became very hyper aware that you were the only female in a few-mile radius who wasn’t wearing a low cut something-or-another. You trailed close behind Morgan and Hotch, as you all made your way to the monologuing misogynist hidden away in the back corner of the bar. Viper’s voice carried through the air- saying something that, you’re sure would’ve made your blood boil, had you been paying any attention- his poisonous eyes landing on you and smirking. A shiver went down your spine as you subtly shifted your gaze over to Hotch, who was watching Viper intently- but his eyes softened when he glanced back at you. “Agent, you alright?” You nod, avoiding his gaze as Viper finishes talking- in fear of your cheeks flushing if you look directly into Hotch’s eyes again. You feel his gaze on you, until it shifts and you instead look up as Viper walks towards the three of you.

“So, what, you think this guy, this unsub took one of my classes?” “He copied your ‘the camera adds 10 pounds' routine verbatim.” Hotch replies. Viper smirks. “Yeah, that’s a good gag.” You bring your eyes up to meet him, speaking for the first time, “If you could just give us your attendance lists, it might help us find him.”

Viper toys with it for a minute, before a defiantly sassy “No.” “No?” You repeat. “My clients expect a certain amount of confidentiality. I won’t compromise that.” Hotch then continues to banter with him about warrants, then something about outwitting “alpha males like you” to Morgan before you speak up, “What club were you at last night?” Hotch’s jaw has been clenched slightly this whole time- he shouldn’t have had you come along on this particular questioning. With every passing second, he became less and less in control of his actions, as jealousy clouded his judgment. The way that that man was looking at you, all that he wanted to do was grab your waist and show that stupid snake man who you really belong to. But, no, you weren’t even his, regardless of how inappropriate that would be if you were. He grins, very obviously checking you out as his eyes travel up and down your body. “It’s a legitimate question.” Derek counters, watching his body language.” “Firstly, How many times do you have to rely on your badge to score, baldy? Secondly-” He turns to Hotch, standing opposite you while Morgan follows him intently with his eyes. “Here, in this harsh light, you may have the advantage..” Viper suddenly takes a step towards you, inching his face so close you can smell the tobacco on his breath, “But meet me on my turf, and ohoho, the things I could make you do..”

A flame erupts inside you, wanting more than anything to cuss him out- but a tall figure is in front of you before you get the chance to respond. Hotch’s voice rang out, cold as he passed the man a business card. “Call us with any questions. And, if you do, I can be certain that if you talk to my agent like that again, it won’t end this peacefully.” You could hear the anger in Aaron’s voice, and you scoffed. As if you couldn’t fucking protect yourself. You feel Derek’s hand on your shoulder, indicating towards the exit. “You okay, blondie?” You shake your head, muttering under your breathe, “All he sees me as is a fucking child, I can protect myself.” Derek furrows his brows slightly, letting you walk to the SUV ahead as he lays back and walks in pace with Hotch. “How much longer are you going to pretend that you don't want to kiss her, boss man?” He winks at Hotch, before hopping in the passengers seat. Hotch’s hands clench the wheel as he drives. That stupid guy. The things that I could do to him, I’d make him regret ever letting his filthy face near her’s. She needs my protection, she hasn’t learned how to calmly react yet, that’s it, she’s new, that’s why I want to protect her. His eyes flick up and find yours in the backseat, as you sit there with your arms crossed, quickly shaking your head and looking out the window when you feel his eyes on you. Every fucking time. He never lets you stand up for yourself, never lets you fight back, half the time he finds an excuse to make you stay out of the unsub crime scenes. Who the fuck was he to defend you? His stupid, handsome face.. Morgan observes you both with a slight smirk, shooting a text to his baby girl that says something along the lines of “I think Blondie and Hotch may finally realize something’s up between them.”

“Been waiting, and waiting for you, to make a move”

As soon as the SUV pulls into the Georgia Field Office, Hotch gets out, with a curt “Agent. My office, now.” before slamming the car door behind him. You grumble and shoot an angry look in his direction, before following him into the Field office, and into his makeshift headquarters. As soon as the door shuts behind you, you start, “Do you not think I’m strong enough for this team, sir?” He sits down, folding his hands and watching you intently as you pace. “I do.” “Is there something weak about me? Do I not make it clear that I know how to deal with suspects and criminals?” “I do not see you as weak, and I certainly know your ability to argue-” You interrupt him, “Then what, sir, what is it? Every damn time, you just cut in front of me as if I’m your daughter or something, I mean, come on, I know I’m younger than you but I-” “That isn’t why I do it, you haven’t worked here long enough to get your footing yet, I’ve done it with Prentiss, Reid, when they first started-” “Then why do they look so surprised every time? It’s like I’m some special pearl, I can only ask questions but never actually interrogate or go catch unsubs-” You’re both yelling by now, and Hotch has stood up and made his way towards you, “Agent, I do not appreciate your tone with me right now.” “Well I don’t appreciate your- your- your weird, jealous, overprotective-” Your stop, chest heaving as he towers over you. You thought he would be angry, on the verge of dismissing you, but instead, his eyes have gone soft as he gazes down at you. Suddenly, you feel his lips on yours. You’re kissing your boss, and it feels so beautiful, so good, so right, as he wraps his arms around your waist and you bring yours around his neck. He pulls away, immediately trying to step back, sputtering apologies, but you grab his hands and kiss him again, with more passion than before. He gives in, for a moment, but pulls away firmly after a few more seconds, and as quickly as it had happened it was over. “Tha, uhm, that will be all, Agent. Thank you” Hotch says breathlessly, motioning towards the door as he resumes his seat at the paint-chipped desk.

Well, fuck.

“A little bit scandalous, but baby, don’t let them see it..”

Keep your eyes peeled for part 2…only if it’s wanted, that is ;) Also on AO3 under the same name!! i’m @/pumpkinspicedtheatre on there :)

[jasmines-library]

Safehouse

WHUMPTOBER 23 DAY 13. Prompt: “infection.”

Fandom: Supernatural.

Summary: after sustaining an injury on a hunt, you and Dean are forced back to the safehouse, however the wound festers and becomes infected, leaving you very ill. With Cas MIA and without the proper equipment to treat the wound, you are left clinging onto life.

Warnings: infections, sepsis, cleaning wounds, pills (painkillers), cursing, blood, gore, stitches.

Word count: 2.1k

MASTERLIST ⛤ WHUMPTOBER WORKS

🕸 ⋆ ⁶𖤐⁶ ࣪⋆🕸

“Come on sweetheart. Not much further.”

Dean’s arm was slung around your waist, pressing tightly on the wound just above your hip. Although the bleeding had slowed town to a trickle, the blood still slipped between the gaps in his fingers. It had been caused by a rogue kitsune out in Minnesota, her claws had driven deep into your side when she managed to catch you off guard. It was a moment of weakness that made you cringe. The pain was blinding as the three long digits carved away into your flesh. You hadn’t even been aware that you were screaming from pain and collapsing to the floor until you realised that Dean’s face was above you, not next to you. His eyes were wide and he bit down on his bottom lip as he tore off his flannel and pressed it firmly to the cut, eliciting another cry of agony from you. He mumbled reassurances as you rose shakily to your feet. Supporting your weight, Dean rushed you towards the car. That was when everything started to go wrong. 

After easing you into the car, Dean whipped around to the driver's seat and shoved his key into the ignition. The engine rumbled before stuttering to a halt. Dean furrowed his brow, twisting the key into the ignition and pressing his foot on the gas. Again, the car refused to move.

“Come on, Baby.” He uttered, sparing you a sideways glance. 

Again, no result.

“Son of a bitch.” Dean slammed his hand down on the wheel hard, throwing his head back in frustration. The damn thing must have messed with the car. 

With no time to waste, he clambered back out of the car and wrapped his arm back around your waist to begin the trek to the safehouse. In normal circumstances, the walk would have only taken an hour at a stretch. It was one of Bobby’s that he used to use for hunting back in the day. That was, hunting before the supernatural. It was a cosy shack-up, large enough for all three of you to stay, but Sam had decided to stay back on this one. Dean mentally cursed himself for not forcing his brother along. He was always the more diligent one, much better at stitching people up. It was possible that with the extra backup, you might not have even gotten hurt in the first place. Though, Dean made a mental note to call him once you were situated to get him to come and collect the two of you asap. Though the drive was over 10 hours long, Dean knew that the chances of his brother reaching you were higher than the chances of getting the car fixed soon. Even with Cas MIA, Dean had tried praying to the angel, but he knew that it was almost hopeless. 

With your injury it had taken well over an hour to get within a mile of the house. You were slow trying to navigate your cumbersome body, forcing one foot to move before the next. Relying heavily on the tall man to support your weight, you trudged forwards, leaning heavily onto your side. Dean thought that had he not been there, you would have keeled right over and dropped to the leaf-strewn floor in the middle of the woods. It was then that your head dropped to your chest and your knees buckled, causing Dean to lose his footing. He cursed, stumbling to keep his grip on you. When he righted the both of you, he noticed the way that your eyes drooped so much that they were practically shut. 

“Sweetheart?” 

You barely registered his words through the ache in your side. “Mm?”

“You gotta stay with me. We’re so close.” He pleaded. “We’re so close.”

“Hurts.” You mumbled. 

Dean pushed up the hem of your torn shirt to take a look at the wound. His green eyes dilated at the sight. 

It was angry and red raw, oozing substances that he didn’t want to know. Infection was surely on its way. With a new sense of urgency, he lifted you into his arms and ran the last stretch to the cabin. 

Your head lolled against his chest as he reached the house and flung the door open. Your eyes were closed, but he could tell from the way your breaths hitched and how you stirred uncomfortably in his arms that you were still clinging onto consciousness. He placed you down tenderly on the couch before moving towards the bathroom and flinging open the cabinet. He breathed a sigh of relief when his hands grazed over the white medical box. 

Rushing back to you, he tipped the contents of the box on the floor, scattering the contents by his feet. Kneeling down beside you, he rummaged for a bottle of antiseptic or something to clean the wound with. When he picked up the bottle, it felt too light in his hands, but he unscrewed the cap and tried to tip the content onto the wound. A dismal drop fell from the cap. He flung it across the room. You furrowed your brow when you heard his footsteps retreat again, only to return moments later. Dean returned with a bowl full of soapy water and a rag. 

You grimaced at the contact of the cloth as he began to wipe away the blood and dirt from your skin. Your skin felt hot to the touch which only worried the man more. Once he was done cleaning, he tore open a gauze and bandage which he secured tightly around your body. He couldn’t stitch you up whilst infection was prominent. Then, he scrounged for something to help with your pain, unable to stand the way your face was scrunched tight. He slipped it between your lips and got you to force it down with a sip of water, half of which dribbled down your chin. 

~

Sam’s on his way. He's coming. Dean reminded himself. 

He had called Sam straight after you had fallen asleep. He told his brother that he would leave as soon as he could, but he was tied up with a small case. That was over 12 hours ago and in that short amount of time, you had gotten much, much worse.

A sheen of sweat had broken out across your brow, plastering loose hairs to your forehead. Your body trembled with violent shivers as you tried to cling to the small blanket that Dean had laid over your body. He kept a constant eye on the gashes above your hip. They had begun to clot, but were swollen and oozing. Dean could tell by the way that you groaned that your whole body ached too. He furrowed his brow, the infection was taking over and he was worried that without the proper equipment to treat it you would lose the battle. The bags around his eyes were dark and dragged down his face.

He hadn’t stopped once since you had gotten injured, spending his time rummaging through all of his cupboards for something. Anything. But he found nothing but a few cans of tinned soup and spam. When he wasn’t mindlessly searching or cleaning your wound, he was st by you clutching your hand. He sent many silent prayers to Cas, but the familiar flutter of wings were never to be heard. 

He studied you as you breathed hard, gazing off into nothingness with hooded eyes. Picking up the round bottle of pills, Dean tipped out a few into his hand. 

“Y/N?”

You rolled your head. 

“Come on sweetheart. Drink up.”

Slowly and with help from Dean, you took the small pills and forced them down. You'd barely finished drinking before he placed a heavy hand on your forehead. 

"The fever is too high," He said. You hear footsteps walking towards the kitchen door and then the door itself opening. Dean stepped out, leaving you in semi-darkness of the room where the light no longer flooded through the windows. You heard cluttering from the other side of the house before he returned once more. 

"I'm sorry, this may hurt." He placed a wet cloth on your forehead. The coolness of the water felt wonderful against your clammy skin, but it also sent a chill through your whole body. You shivered uncontrollably.

Dean bit his lip, watching you nervously. 

The room is uncomfortably hot. Your clothes were soaked with sweat and you couldn’t seem to catch your breath. You felt dizzy and nauseous, the room spun around you. Closing your eyes, you tried to try to relax and separate yourself from the pain. You breathed in and out slowly, counting to five on each inhale and exhale. But it seemed to make no difference. 

Your droopy eyes caught Dean’s from across the way and your heart leapt in your chest. He was dishevelled and torn. You open your mouth to speak, but all that came out was a feeble groan.

Dean tilted his head and smiled, a tired, sympathetic smile that could easily have been mistaken for a frown. He was blaming himself once again.  "I'm sorry sweetheart. I’m so so sorry…”

“Dean?” you whispered, letting the name roll off your tongue. It was really the first coherent thing you had said in the slow hours that dragged by. 

“Yeah sweetheart?”

“Stop it. Not your fault.” You told him, trying to be authoritative, for you knew the man too well, but your weak body wouldn’t give you the authority to order him around.

He gave you another tired smile. "Get some rest, Y/N,"

You closed your eyes and let yourself drift off.

~~

Your eyes flew open. You couldn’t say why, but you had a strong sense that you were being watched. You turned your head towards the door to see a figure silhouetted against the light from the doorway. He was tall and lumbering with hair that hug down by his shoulders.

You blinked and the figure vanished. You blinked again, and now the room was empty.

You lay there, listening to the sounds of the house. They were hard to make out in your barely coherent state, but if you focused hard enough, you could make out the heavy footsteps passing back and forth in the hallway, the distant murmur of voices, and the creak of old boards. There was a sudden warmth next to you as your shirt was peeled back, followed by the bandages the Dean had not long changed. You groaned at the contact of the fabric against your wound. 

A thin film of blood had already formed over the surface of the wound. At some point, most likey during your relentless shivering Dean suspected, you had torn the clot on the wound and it had begun to bleed again, leaving a trail of scarlet on the bandage. Since then the blood had congealed and begun to dry around the edges of the wound. The flow had slowed almost to a stop, but the bleeding continued accompanied by an oozing of nasty fluids from the infection. Dean gulped. This meant that not only was the infection a problem, but they had to deal with more blood loss. 

Sam felt a little sick from the sight and smell of the wound, he couldn’t begin to comprehend how it felt for you. He took a deep breath as he uncapped the bottle of antiseptic before pouring it onto the wound. 

Your body bucked and you let out a shrill cry of pain, eyes flying wide open. Dean gripped your hand so tight that his knuckles turned white. The disinfectant worked quickly, killing off much of the bacteria, and slowing the rate of blood loss. The redness around the wound brightened - a strong sign that it was working. For now, the blood loss seemed to have stopped, though the wound is still very serious.

Using the disinfectant to clean the needle, Sam worked his long fingers agilely to thread the needle. He then positioned it above the gash and plunged it into your skin. Despite how hard you tried not to let it, a scream tore itself from your lips. 

“I know sweetheart. We’re sorry. It’s almost done.”

Dean had to hold your writhing body down so that his brother could finish stitching you up. “You’re doing so well, Y/N. so well.”

When Sam finished the last stitch and cut the thread, your eyes rolled into the back of your head and you melted into the couch.

🕸 ⋆ ⁶𖤐⁶ ࣪⋆🕸

<-DAY 12 ⛤ DAY 14 ->

🏷️ Taglist:

@senjoritanana

@deans-spinster-witch

@amaryllis23

[half-oz-eddie]

One More Night Before I Turn Myself In

18+, Graphic Depictions of violence, mentions of abuse, fetishizing

Steve Harrington has had it up to his ears with Hawkins. He lost Nancy, his parents divorced and all anyone ever cared about was dumping their kids on Steve, with the big house and all the free time—no, fuck that. He needed to be somebody that could enjoy life somehow. 

In the middle of the night, he got in his car with every intention of quietly disappearing from Hawkins for good. Not like anyone would miss him anyway—

He screamed when a dark figure slammed down on the hood of his car. He trembled as it made its way to the passenger’s side. 

Oh. He sighed in relief. It’s just Hargrove. 

Hargrove?!

Steve rolled down the window. “Whaddya want, Hargrove? I’m not in the mood for a fight.”

“Not here to fight, Harrington. Where ya headed?” He asked, leaning into the open window. 

“Dunno. But I’m getting outta here.”

Billy pulled the door handle. “Open up.”

“Why?”

“C’mon just—“ he struggled with the door handle until Steve unlocked it and allowed him in. “Take me wherever you’re going.”

“What? No—“

“C’mon! Please? I need to get outta here for awhile.”

Since when was Billy the type of guy to say please? 

“Ugh, fine.” He groaned. “But I don’t wanna hear any complaints.”

“I’m not gonna say shit.”

Steve took off in the silent night, driving past the Now Leaving Hawkins sign before Billy glanced over at him in the dim moonlight.

“No radio?”

“I thought you weren’t gonna say anything.” Steve snapped.

“Touchy.” Billy tusked. “Just saying. It’s too damn quiet. It’s creepy.”

“Fine.”

Steve turned on the radio, just as a breaking news story was broadcasting.

“—was shot and killed in his home—“

Billy reached over and changed the station, letting Hungry Like The Wolf play.

“You like this song, right?”

“Yeah, it’s…one of my favorites.”

“Cool.” Billy muttered. 

They drove in silence for another 10 miles before Billy asked Steve to pull over so he could “take a piss in the woods.”

“Can’t you wait til we reach a gas station?”

“I can’t hold it.” Billy insisted.

“Fine. Go.” Steve pulled over and Billy jumped out. 

He went behind the closest tree and Steve turned up the radio slightly, none the wiser to the sounds of Billy discarding something in the woods. 

He returned to Steve’s car and the drive continued on. 

Eventually Billy had fallen asleep, slowly waking up before sunrise.

“Where are we?” He asked in a groggy voice.

“Pittsburg, Pennsylvania.”

Billy stretched and sat up. “Why here?”

“It’s far from home and I saw an ad for a job here. I’m checking into a motel. What do you plan on doing?”

Billy shrugged. “Whatever you’re doing.”

“Hey, I said I’d drive you. I’m not carrying you along and taking care of you—“

“I didn’t ask you to take care of me. I can take care of myself. I have money for my own fuckin’ room.” Billy said matter-of-factly. 

“Whatever, fine.”

They walked into the motel together and Steve requested two separate rooms. 

“It’s cheaper if you double up.” The desk agent suggested. 

They looked at each other then shrugged, agreeing to split the fees for a double room. 

They each received keys to room 206 and stepped inside. Neither of them had any luggage on them so there was no need to settle in. 

Billy claimed the bed closest to the bathroom, tossing his jacket on the chair and lying down on the bed. He turned on the TV and found an old movie to watch.

“It might be cheaper if we split for breakfast too.” Steve presented the idea.

Billy passed Steve a $5. “Get me a six pack.”

“You’ve gotta eat—“

“No. I don’t know how long I’m gonna be out here, or what I’m gonna do next, so I gotta save my money.”

Steve sighed, leaving the motel room without another word.

Billy fell asleep once more, springing up when Steve returned.

“I got your six pack, but I also got you some food.” Steve passed Billy a sandwich. 

“…Thanks.” He reluctantly accepted. 

They ate in awkward silence. They didn’t exactly like each other, or know what to talk to each other about. Deep down, they were both scared because of how foolish and impulsive they were being, but they didn’t want to discuss it at the moment.

“I’m gonna go and, uh…try to find a job. Want me to drive you anywhere?”

“No, I’ll just hang out here.”

“Suit yourself.”

Once Steve was gone, Billy decided to take a shower and go for a walk to clear his head.

But his head would never be clear after what happened. It still felt like a hazy nightmare. A nightmare that would never end. 

He was so in his head, he didn’t realize that he’d been walking around aimlessly for hours. 

When he returned to the motel, Steve was already there, this time, with lunch. 

“Stopped at a KFC. Want some chicken?”

“Just a little.”

Steve passed Billy some chicken and a biscuit. They enjoyed it with some beers. 

“So, uh…where’d you go?” Steve asked. “Sightseeing?”

“Something like that.” Billy answered vaguely.

“I um…I got a job. It’s at a uh…bowling alley nearby.”

“Congratulations, Harrington.”

“Thanks…”

The awkward silence returned. Steve felt like he had to tread carefully with Billy. He still didn’t understand why they were playing survivor in a motel room, or why they both decided to run away the same night—or why he agreed they’d do it together. Was Steve this desperate to not be alone? 

Maybe so.

“Hey, do you like—wanna go to a club tonight or something? Get drunk, meet some hot girls, I dunno.” Steve laughed.

Billy glared at him before his expression softened with a snicker. “Whatever, sure.”

“Yeah?”

Billy shrugged. “You’re cooler than I thought, Harrington.”

“Sucks we got off on the wrong foot, right? But it’s not too late to start over.”

Unbeknownst to Steve, it was far too late for that. But just for tonight, Billy wanted to enjoy it.

Steve took Billy to a thrift store and they bought something affordable to wear for their night out, then found a nightclub. 

They opened a tab, got some drinks in their systems and mingled with some girls, but oddly enough, felt more comfortable clinging to each other instead. 

“You two look kinda cute together.” One of the women they met mentioned. 

Steve emphatically shook his head and Billy waved it off. “O-oh we’re not—“

“We’ll pay you a hundred bucks if you let us watch you dance together.” The second woman proposed. 

Was this like…some sort of fetish to them? Do they get off on seeing guys dance together?

“I mean, for a hundred bucks…”

Steve snapped his head in Billy’s direction. “What the hell? You serious?”

“What’s the problem? It’s just a dance. You scared?”

“I—no—whatever, c’mon.” He acquiesced, taking another shot before allowing Billy to drag him onto the dance floor. 

They glanced over at the women who watched them, expecting a good show.

Billy pulled Steve close by his belt loops. “Just close your eyes and pretend I’m somebody else.”

“I don’t mind dancing with you.” Steve admitted. “It’s not like you’re—ugly—or something.”

Billy smirked and leaned into Steve’s ear. “Hey, Harrington…”

“Yeah?”

“Are you fuckin’ flirting with me?”

Steve pulled back to get a read on Billy’s expression, relieved to see a smile on his face. Maybe he’s just joking.

Steve began to shake his head, before smiling and shrugging.

Maybe Steve’s just joking too, Billy considered.

They let themselves relax and enjoy each other’s company, invading each other’s personal space, swaying and gyrating to the music, half hard cocks obviously felt against each other’s.

There was electricity coursing through them, and they found themselves liking this far too much. It had to be the alcohol, they both believed. 

Billy leaned into Steve’s ear again as Steve’s hand made its way onto Billy’s ass. 

“I’m horny.” Billy confessed. 

“What do you want me to do about it?” Steve asked.

“Do you wanna do something about it?”

“Kinda, yeah. Is that weird?”

“No. You wanna go back to the motel?”

Steve’s cock was throbbing at this point. Of course he wanted to go back to the fucking motel.

Billy pulled Steve in the direction of the women, hand out for the payment. 

“We’ll double it if you kiss.”

“Oh, that’s no problem.” Billy grabbed Steve, leading him in a sensual tongue kiss. Steve couldn’t resist the urge to grab Billy’s cock while Billy grabbed the back of his neck.

Fuck. He didn’t know what was in the air, or those drinks but Jesus Christ did he want to bring Billy back to the motel and fuck his brains out. 

The women paid them their $200 and they took a taxi back to the motel. 

They didn’t think, they didn’t discuss, they didn’t reconsider. Clothes were simply flying off at the door before they landed on Steve’s bed, Billy’s hand wrapped around both of their cocks as they kissed. 

The night felt like a fever dream but the feeling of their cocks touching and the sensation of their tongues darting against each other’s reminded them both that this was real—for whatever reason it was happening. It was fucking happening. 

“Have you ever done this before?” Billy asked, lips still pressed to Steve’s.

“Had sex? Mhm. Of course.”

“With a guy, Harrington.”

“No, but a hole’s a hole, right?”

Billy tusked. “You make me sound like a cheap whore.”

“Not cheap.” Steve corrected. “You’re definitely worth $200.”

They laughed against each other’s lips before their kissing resumed. 

Billy continued to jerk their cocks until they were painfully hard. He loosened his fist and spat into his hand, rubbing it all over Steve’s cock. 

“Fuck me.” He exhaled. “Don’t be a pussy.”

Steve positioned himself between Billy’s legs and slowly slid his cock inside. 

“Oh fuck, you’re so tight.” Steve moaned, thrusting in and out and in and out. Faster, harder, rougher. 

Billy had done this before, and didn’t mind that Steve was being so rough, but shit…his cock was massive, and he could feel every inch as he thrusted. 

Steve didn’t understand anything except the feeling of his cock drooling inside a man’s tight asshole. And the man happened to be Billy Hargrove, who was as pretty as ever writhing beneath him. 

He slowed down his thrusts, savoring their kisses, relishing in how incredible sex felt.

“I’m gonna cum.” Billy moaned out.

“Me too, holy shit. You feel so good.”

“Cum in me, if you like it that much.”

Billy’s invitation was just enough to send a rippling feeling down Steve’s spine as he came inside Billy, emptying himself inside his hole.

Billy soon followed, spilling out all over himself.

They stared into each other’s eyes, still in disbelief that they acted on their sudden attraction to one another. 

— 

They got cleaned up and slightly sobered up, then sat at the table, eating some chips. 

“So…uh…I wasn’t sure—“

“Wanna hear something crazy, Billy?”

“I guess.”

“I think…” Steve chuckled. “Maybe this was meant to be. It just—all of it felt so right, didn’t it? I’m not saying we have to jump right into anything, but—“

“I can’t, Steve.” Billy deflated. “I can’t…we can’t.”

“O-oh I—“ He nervously laughed. “I wasn’t trying to be weird but—“

“It’s not that. Tonight was…great, but…I can’t because…I need to…turn myself in.”

Steve narrowed his eyes. “Turn yourself in…for what?” He warily asked.

“I got so fucking sick of…him…beating me and treating me like shit so…I went in his room…I got his gun, and while he sat at table reading the paper and waiting for dinner, I raised his gun to his face, and...”  Billy pointed a finger gun at Steve “blam.”

Steve’s eyes widened. “Y-you…killed your father?!”

“And tossed the gun in the woods when we made that pit stop.”

Billy didn’t seem remorseful at all, but if he was indeed a victim, well, then Steve was willing to defend him.

“Hey, you’re a victim in this.” Steve comforted, holding Billy’s hand across the table. “I’m sure they’ll understand—“

“I shot him right in front of Susan.” Billy replied emotionlessly. “She would never speak up for me.”

“What about Max?”

“She’s just a stupid kid. It doesn’t matter what she says.”

“I don’t want—I don’t want you to go and spend the rest of your life in prison over someone who abused you.” 

“Doesn’t matter. I can’t be on the run for the rest of my life.” He frowned. 

“Let’s go to sleep and sort it out together tomorrow, yeah?”

Billy noticed how desperate Steve was for him to stay. Why, though? It didn’t make sense. It’s not like they were in love or anything. Sure, he liked the guy and felt this insane connection to him. And maybe Steve felt like Billy was the only familiar piece of Hawkins he had with him. 

Whatever it was, it didn’t matter.

Billy couldn’t stay. 

But for the night, he humored Steve. They talked, they cuddled in bed, and Billy let Steve fuck him one last time.

But this time, he was gentler, slower, and it felt like, maybe, Steve knew he’d leave in the morning, whether he wanted him to or not. 

Which was true.

When Steve woke up the next morning, Billy was long gone. All he left behind was his watch and a note.

“Put some money on my books, pretty boy.”

[faefictions]

Hospital Meet Cute | Pt 2

Eddie Munson x Reader

3k words

Warnings: depiction of a panic attack, mentions of parent death and incarceration

“Just in here,” Eddie spoke as he helped you cross the threshold into his trailer. He was gentle as he led you to the couch. 

Your appearance and demeanor had shifted since the night he met you, almost a week prior now. Your arm was now in a cast, the bags under your eyes were 10 shades darker, and it was much harder to get you to crack a smile. 

It wasn’t a sudden switch. When he came back to your hospital room that first night, The Lord of the Rings in hand, you were giggling at every new voice he pulled out of his back pocket. You had been exhausted, but you did your best to stay awake, just to soak up every second you could with him by your side.

Eddie could barely sense the shift in your mood until it was the complete opposite from when he met you. There were moments here and there, but it wasn’t until the last night in the hospital that he saw a more vulnerable side of you. It was the side he saw in front of Hopper that first night, the side of you that he desperately wanted to protect. 

A nurse had come into the room around 6pm to bring you dinner, and with what she deemed to be great news. 

“You’ll be discharged first thing in the morning.”

Eddie lit up at the phrase, excited to finally get you out of the dreary hospital room and away from the drab food that you had been choking down. As the nurse left the room, his gaze switched to you, and he caught the look of terror in your eye before you faked a smile back at him. He wasn’t sure if he should mention it, but after an hour of you being unable to so much as look at your food, he decided to try. 

“You don’t seem too chipper about getting out of your lovely little prison cell tomorrow,” he began, studying every inch of your face in hopes of understanding you the best he could. 

“No, it’s not that I…” you began to make an excuse, but you couldn’t even think of a lie. Eddie could see your discomfort, so he scooted closer to you in his chair. He brought his hand up next to yours, as an offering in case you needed it. 

“Can I be real with you?” you spoke again, finally turning your head to really look at Eddie. You knew his answer before he spoke, because the moment your eyes met, his entire body visibly melted. 

“Of course,” he smiled and moved his hand the last few inches to join with yours. 

“Everything I owned was in that car,” you tried to start by stating the obvious, hoping he would catch the issue before you had to say the hard parts, “And the place I left was barely even a home years before I left it.”

“What a perfect time to start over.”

“I don’t have a penny to my name. And I barely had a place in mind when I started driving. I don’t know where to go from here.” 

Your voice began to pick up speed, and he could hear your breath doing the same. 

“You don’t have to worry that far. You can stay with me for as long as you need, and that’s all you need to worry about for now. Right now, you just need to focus on healing. I’ll take care of everything else until you’re back on your feet.”

“I met you less than a week ago. I can’t ask you to-”

“Freaks need to stick together. I’m helping you whether you like it or not.”

His voice wasn’t harsh, though his words almost felt like a threat. It was with pure intention though, and you knew that. 

You remained mostly quiet for the rest of the night, still refusing to eat your food. You barely spoke a word the next morning on the way to Eddie’s trailer. The absurdity of your circumstances were really starting to soak in. 

Every single thing you had ever loved, ever held dearly, had been turned to ash less than 10 miles from where you stood. You hadn’t grown fond of many things, hadn’t wanted to hold on to many memories, but that didn’t make this any easier. 

You were currently sitting in an oversized pair of sweats and an unflattering t-shirt. The only clothing you owned that had not been burned to a crisp were now covered in dried blood from the crash. These were the only things the nurses could find for you to wear home from the hospital, and you weren’t going to complain. 

But Eddie wanted you as comfortable as possible, so the second he got you seated on the couch, bag with bloodied clothes in hand, he rushed off to his room to find you something to change into. He could always give you the tour later. 

Half an hour later, now wearing Eddie’s favorite Dio shirt and an old pair of gym shorts, you were struggling to focus on anything he said. 

Hospitality still wasn't something you were used to, and it felt burdensome to put on someone else. Even when that person was forcing it upon you. You couldn't help but dwell on the self pity as he told you about Hawkins, and every word was in one ear, out the other. 

Eddie could tell you weren't listening, but he would have hated the silence just as much as you if he stopped his rant, so he continued until he ran into the rare occurrence where he ran out of things to say, at which point, he turned on the TV.

That same dead look in your eye remained for the rest of the night. Eddie had made you dinner and forced you to eat every last bite, although the nausea you were feeling had only gotten worse since leaving the hospital. 

It pained him to leave you, but Eddie knew that you needed sleep shortly after you finished eating. You looked tired, but not in a way that sleep would heal. He knew that resting would help, but he feared that leaving you alone would only pull you deeper into the hole he sensed you were falling into.

That was why he didn't hesitate when you asked him if you could both sleep in the living room for the night. You were embarrassed to ask at first, unsure what he was planning on for sleeping arrangements. But you knew there was only one bedroom, and you were barely willing to even think about being alone in an unfamiliar  room right now.

You been here before. Not physically, of course, but mentally. The night after your dad died. You were fresh in a foster home, temporarily until they could locate any relative they could find. You knew that their search would return fruitless, that you were doomed to be passed from one temporary home to another. 

That feeling, the dread you felt that night, was the same feeling you felt now. You couldn't remember how long it had lasted the first time, or how many times you'd felt it since. What you did know was that it hadn't been this bad since that night, and you were worried it would get worse. 

As Eddie returned with what you assumed was every single blanket and pillow he owned, you looked up at him, trying to will yourself to speak. He glanced at you as you raised your head to speak, and he was met with a little more life behind your eyes than he had seen all night. However, that life was in the form of tears brimming your lower lids. You inhaled sharply, and closed your mouth as you began to panic, not knowing what you were supposed to say to him. 

"Hey, what's going on," he quickly dropped the remaining pillows and dove onto the cushion next to you. 

Out of pure instinct, he grabbed you and gently brought your head to his chest. If he had been thinking clearly, he might have asked what you needed from him, or had tried to get to the bottom of the tears first. But after seeing that state you had been in all day, your breaking point was his too. 

Feeling the warmth of his arms around you, the rising and fall of his chest picking up in worry for you, and the soft fiddling of his fingers on the ends of your hair was all too much. You hated to do it, but you burst into sobs against his body. Your crying only grew louder and more desperate as you considered the fact that you had worked yourself up so much about being a burden that you had made yourself even more of one. 

“It’s ok, you’re alright,” he whispered as he held you. He was about ready to cry himself, hearing your sobs nearly turn to screams. He refused to stop holding you, and luckily you weren’t putting up a fight. In fact, your fists began to pull at his shirt, bringing him even closer. He would have let you stay just like that, but as you pulled, he could hear you start to hyperventilate, and he knew you needed more help than he was providing. 

“Hey sweetheart, I need you to sit up a little for me,” he winced as he pulled you away from him, eliciting a yelp from you that nearly made him cave. 

“It’s ok, I’m still right here, we just need you to calm down a little, ok?”

“I’m so sorry,” you choked out, struggling to catch your breath. 

“No, no apologies. There’s nothing you need to say sorry for, ok? Can you look at me?” 

Eddie waited for your eyes to slowly meet his before he continued. 

“Good job, can you sit up just a little more? I’ll still be right here.”

Your breathing didn’t slow as you sat up, but you trusted Eddie enough to do whatever he said in the moment. 

“Good, now put your hand right here,” he grasped your wrist and guided you to rest your fingers against his chest, “Is it ok if I put mine here?” he asked as he slowly brought his own to a spot higher on your chest. You nodded quickly, still staring directly in his eyes as you awaited his next instructions. 

“I need you to try to breathe with me, ok? When I breathe in, you do the same, and let it out when I do. Do you think you can do that?” 

You nodded once again in reply, so he began to take slow, deep breaths. It only took a couple tries for your breathing to start regulating, and the embarrassment you had felt started to rise as a blush in your cheeks. 

“I’m so sorry, Eddie,” you said, no longer through tears. 

“I said no apologies,” he smiled at you. 

You wanted to fight him on it, but you were winded. So instead, you removed your hand from his chest, prompting him to do the same. You both leaned back against your respective arm rests on the couch, but as you avoided Eddie's gaze, he refused to look away from you. 

“Wanna talk about it?” he asked, cautiously. He knew how easy it would be to scare you off. How easy it had been for anyone to scare him off in high school. He knew how risky it was to even ask, but there was no way in Hell he was about to let you think you were alone in this. 

You glanced up at him, barely making eye contact before you shot your eyes away. Of course, you didn’t want to talk to him, or anyone else for that matter, but you weren’t sure what else to do. How else to feel better. To feel safer. 

“How did you know how to do that?” 

“I’ve had my fair share of panic attacks. My uncle used to have to calm me down the same way after I came to live with him.” 

“You lived with your uncle?”

“Yeah, I got dropped off with him after my dad got locked up.”

“How old were you?”

“12.”

You were left speechless at that confession. You were the same age when your father died. There was something almost comforting about thinking that while you were going through one of the hardest moments of your life, little Eddie was somewhere out there doing the same. 

“Did I say something?” Eddie grew nervous at your sudden silence and incredulous look. 

“No, I… we’re just more alike than I thought.”

There was a pause as he calculated his response, which came after he began to fidget with the cloth of your shorts, right where they ended at your knee. 

“You lose your parents too?”

You nodded,”Mom left when I was 5 and Dad died when I was 12.”

“I’m guessing you didn’t have an Uncle Wayne to be dropped off with?”

“No. I was in a couple different foster placements until I turned 18. Then I had my own apartment until I decided to pack everything up and lose it all in a car fire.”

“Were they good to you?”

“What?”

“The foster parents. Were they good to you?”

“Relatively. I mean they gave me a place to sleep, fed me everyday. I wasn’t asking for much more than that. And it’s not like they were obligated to give me more anyway.” 

“But you deserved it.”

“I was a shithead teenager at the time. Some of those people were practically saints for not kicking me out after the meltdowns I had.”

“You were a child. Dealing with the loss of both of your parents, and I don’t imagine you had very many people outside of your home helping you process your grief. You deserved more.”

Everything he said was so matter of fact, but as he continued he grew more insistent. He needed you to believe every word he was saying.

“You deserved someone that loved you. Someone that you could go to after something like this, and someone that could prove to you that you were not just a shithead teenager. You were a human being, dealing with shit tougher than half of the actual shitheads that made your life a living hell will ever have to deal with.”

“Thanks Eddie, but it’s fine. Made me who I am today.”

“Calloused and unaccepting of help?” “Exactly,” you smiled, and Eddie couldn’t help but let out a breath of tension. 

“Maybe I was wrong, maybe you are a shithead,” he chuckled and grabbed the nearest blanket to throw at you. 

You both giggled as you uncovered yourself from his projectile, finally feeling the weight lift from the atmosphere. 

“Ok, which couch do you want to sleep on? We’ll get you all settled in.”

“Whichever one you don’t want to sleep on,” you replied genuinely, but Eddie was not having it.

“No, from here on out, you are being treated the way that 12 year old you should have been. So you choose your couch, I’ll get you a glass of water, and you’ll go to sleep so you’re well rested for our shopping trip tomorrow.”

“Shopping trip?”

“You think 12 year old you deserved my sweaty old gym shorts to live in? Absolutely not. We’re going to get you your own clothes, your own food, your own pillow and blanket, and anything else 12 year old you would have wanted.”

“I was 12, I probably wanted a pony at that age.”

“Well 12 year old you might have to wait a little longer for that one. My trailer isn’t going to make a great stable,” he laughed. 

“You really don’t have to do that though. You letting me sleep here is more than enough.”

“I said you deserved more than a meal and a place to sleep and I meant it. Now, which couch do you want.”

You hesitated for a second, but ultimately replied that you would stay on the couch you were already on. You tried not to smile at his pleased expression as he tucked you in and got you a glass of water, as promised. 

“TV on or off? And don’t you dare say ‘whatever you want’”, he mocked your voice in a way that made you giggle. 

“Can we turn it on low? I don’t know if I’ll be able to sleep in silence.”

“That’s more like it,” he smiled and turned to grab the remote. He turned it to a pleasant home shopping channel, and turned the volume down low. 

After he grabbed the rest of the blankets to put on the other couch for himself, he returned to crouch in front of you. 

“Do you need anything else?” he asked, mischief now replaced with the same concern from earlier. 

“I don’t think so. And no, I’m not just saying that,” you smirked. 

“Good,” he smiled, “I’ll be 2 feet away if you need anything. Please don’t be afraid to wake me up, ok?”

“Ok,” you smiled back. He began to get up, but you stopped him before he could turn around. “Eddie?”

“Yeah?” he asked, crouching back down. 

“Thank you.”

“You don’t have to…”

“No, please. Whether I deserve all this or not, it didn’t have to come from you.”

“Well I’m glad it is me,” he smiled in a way that sent a shiver up your spine, but before he could see your blush, he leaned in and kissed your forehead. You were grateful that the light was off when he pulled away so he couldn't see how beet red your face had become. 

“Goodnight,” he whispered before making his way to the other couch. 

“Goodnight,” you whispered back, heart beating a mile a minute.

Tags: @emma77645 @eli-flower @vivalasv3gan @beeblisss @tiny-bird-of-sunshine @helloheyhihowdyheya @r-a-d-i-0-n-0-w-h-e-r-e @yujyujjj @pettydonuts @peachysink @sophal22 @eddielives1986 @eddieswifu @chickpeadumpsterfire @fluffybunnyu @panagiasikelia @canthavetoomuchchaos @g0thdraculaura @celestcies

There may be a part 3 coming your way in the coming months, so please add yourself to my tag list if you would like to be tagged!!

[kining-the-evil]

We Can Be Fucked Up Together

(Randy Meeks x Riley!reader)

Summary: You find solace in Randy after your best friend and boyfriend go on a killing spree

•

Warnings: making out, no actual smut but allusions to it, memories of murder, murder, former Stu x reader, backflashs to The Night of the murder, blood, reader having sympathy for Stu

•

An: This is My first scream fic, And I am very happy to be Writing about Randy. My baby deserves more love

•

The walls felt like they were closing in around You. You shouldn’t be alive, the blood loss was already making your head woozy and your midsection was starting to go numb from where you had been stabbed. You chose to believe Billy was the one who stabbed you, otherwise you’d Look Even more pathetic kneeling on the ground trying to stop Stu’s bleeding.

“Stop moving.” You mumbled while putting more pressure on some of his wounds.

“Im feeling woozy!” He whined, And you hated How it made you feel. You shouldn’t feel bad for him. He had killed people, he was planing on killing you, and yet your heart hurt to hear the person you’d loved for the past two years Be in pain.

“You’re going to die If we stay Here-“ You started to try and push yourself to your feet, but a gun to your back stoped you.

“Don’t fucking move,” Billy hissed.

“He’s going to die!” You yelled back, But You didn't try to stand up again.

“Then you better keep pressure on it until i fucking kill Sidney.” He snapped before running off to find Sidney, who had gone to hide somewhere.

Once the gun was gone Your attention went back to the man on Front of you. He had tears in his eyes, but an almost smile on his face.

“Why?” You whispered, unsure if you even wanted an answer.

“Why not?” He chuckled, jerking his arm up and pushing the knife straight into your stomach.

You sat up straight in your bed, letting out a small scream as you ripped at your shirt. The only thought running through your head was ‘i Need This Off.’

“Fuck!” You mumbled, struggling with getting the shirt up. You started to calm when you saw the lack of blood on your shirt. Another nightmare.

As you steadied your breathing, you couldn’t help but notice how small your room felt. How dark it was. You couldn’t stay here. Not tonight. You would either fall back asleep To Deal with nightmares, or Lay awake And Deal with memories. Not that you had a lot of places to go.

You could wake up Dewey, but his pain meds knocked him out. Besides, you didn’t want to bother him. Sidney wasn’t on the best terms with you currently; the two of you were never the closest in your group of friends. The only left Randy.

You stood up and pulled some sweatpants on along with a jacket. You debated going out the window, but you would have to walk the few blocks to his house and you weren’t brave enough for that yet. Instead you quietly made your way through the house, sneaking by your parents and brothers room so you could grab your car keys. Thankfully, your parents slept hard enough that they wouldn’t hear you driving away.

Driving definitely wasn’t the best idea; your entire body was still shaking and you didn’t dare go more then 10 miles an hour. When you arrived at the Meeks, you were quick to turn off the car to not wake the entire family and got out.

Just like you had the other three times this week, you found the window into Randy’s bedroom. You couldn’t see the man, but the tv in his room was on. You knocked on the window lightly, and it didn’t take long for his face to appear in front of you. He quickly opened the window, frowning at you.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” you offered a small smile. He helped you climb into his room, and you took your spot on his bed next to him. He was sat with his back to the wall, an arm wrapped around you. You were cuddled into his side, watching the tv in front of you both. Nightmare On Elm Street.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“How can you watch this shit?” You ignored his question for his own, turning your head away from the screen.

“I love this movie,” he shrugged.

“I used to,” you mumbled. It was silent for a few minutes, saved for the movie playing, before you said something. Something that had been bothering you every day for the past 6 months.

“I should have noticed it sooner.” He tensed slightly, and you immediately regretted saying it; but you had to. The thought had been filling your head for months.

“You couldn’t have.”

“Ya, I could have. My best friend and boyfriend went on a killing spree, I should have noticed something.” Randy pushed you away slightly, making you look up at him.

“Sidney was dating him, should she be blamed for what happened too?”

“Thats different,” you snapped. “She fought back, I tried to save him!” You whisper yelled, worried about the others asleep in the house.

“Thats because its who you are,” he argued back. “You go out of your way to see the best in people, even if they don’t deserve it. Even after what Stu did, you didnt want to be the reason he died.” You flinched at his name, you hadn’t heard it be said out loud other then on the news. Dewey normally shut it off relatively quickly when it was on.

“You told me plenty of times how awful they were,” you pointed out. The tops of his ears turned a light pink, making you frown. Why would he be blushing?

“That may just be because I hated seeing you with them all the time,” he admitted.

It was your turn to blush, your face heating up a bit. ‘He doesn’t mean it like that,’ you reminded yourself. Randy had been in love with Sidney for years, the only reason he hadn’t made a move was to avoid angering the women.

You didn’t actually get a chance to say anything before chapped lips were people pushed against your own. You eyes shot open, surprised by the contact, and he quickly pulled away.

“Shit! Sorry sorry, god. What the hell os wrong with me?” He mumbled the last part to himself. He didnt get much time to feel bad before you reached up to pull his face to your own so you could kiss him again. He made a sound of surprise, but he didn’t fight against it; instead he kissed back. It wasn’t rough, but you could feel relief coming from him. Like any tension was being removed from him.

He pulled you lightly so you would settle on his lap, knees on either sides of him. He kept his hands on your hips while yours slid down to his chest, gripping his shirt lightly, like he would fly away if you let go.

This wasn’t necessarily a new position for you. Stu had you like this plenty of times, but it felt so different. Stu left bruises on your hips, Randy’s hold was gentle. Stu kissed with the intent of going further, Randy kissed you like he was thankful to even get this. Randy felt…safe.

Eventually you had to pull away, your lungs burning from the lack of air. You both stayed just as close, foreheads resting together and you coups feel his breath on your face.

“I thought…Sidney…” you mumbled between breaths.

“I never thought I had a chance with you,” he admitted. “I had you as a friend, so I thought it would be enough. But it wasn’t.” His eyes boar into your own, and it felt like he was staring straight into your soul.

“Caring about me right now will be rotten work. I’m really fucked up” you told him.

“I dont mind. We can he fucked up together.” He offered, making you smile.

“I’d like that.”

[arialerendeair]

Happy Birthday!!!!!! May all your wishes come true!!!! Good health and wealth to you!!!

As a Gabe anon, I feel compelled to give you a little idea and here it is. A Sleepless in Seattle AU!

Hob is a recently widowed father to a precocious 10-year-old, Robyn. They lost Eleanor just the year before and to help themselves, they pack up and move out of the city she grew up in to move to Seattle.

On the other side of the country, Dream is preparing to marry Calliope, whom he met at work. The relationship is fine. He likes her well enough and she likes him well enough. Marriage is just something that makes this all seem real.

It's Christmas Eve and while on a long drive home, Dream tunes into a radio show where Robyn is asking for a new wife or husband for his father. He's been real sad since his mom died and he just wants someone to join their little family.

Then Hob catches him and sends him off to bed and takes over the call. He gets to talking about what he loved about his wife and what he misses most. Dream heart melts for this stranger so many miles away.

Dream decides to write him a letter. He wants to meet Hob and Robyn on top of the Empire State Building on Valentine's Day, much to the chagrin of his friend Lucienne who rightly tells him he doesn't want to be in love in real life. He wants to be in love in a movie. He's also still engaged to Calliope after all. Dream thinks better of it and tosses the letter, which Lucienne still mails.

Hob meanwhile has moved on and has started dating again. Which Robyn doesn't like. He finds Gwen too weird for his tastes. Besides he likes Dream's letter the best. Which puts the house at odds. Robyn wants to go to New York for Valentine's Day, Hob wants to go to a cabin for the weekend with Gwen. They fight about it all day long until Eurydice, Robyn's new friend, uses her parent's travel agency to put him on a plane.

Robyn's going to New York to see his new dad <3

- 🤜 anon

ANON I HAVE NEVER BEEN MORE GRATEFUL IN MY LIFE THAT YOU DECIDED TO COME AND GRACE MY INBOX WITH THIS. BECAUSE THIS IS GLORIOUS.

~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~

Hob has never been more panicked in his entire life than he was when he got the phone call from his babysitter that Robyn wasn't at home. The ensuing fight with Gwen had been quick, vicious, and frustrating. She had understood his need to go after Robyn, of course, but when she found out that Robyn had left to meet this mystery letter person, they'd had a fight over the love letter that Hob still carried in his wallet.

(Why did he carry the letter in his wallet? How long had he had the loopy handwriting memorized, how long had he known every single word, no matter how many times he'd read it....)

Hob had taken Gwen home, and had accepted her demand to delete her number from his phone and hauled ass to the airport, purchasing a ticket the second he hit the counter, racing to the gate in time. The flight was agonizing, and Robyn had clearly turned his phone off, no matter how many times Hob looked at it and begged for his kid to answer one of his dozen or so texts.

~!~

Perhaps Dream should have known that Calliope would not stand to play second fiddle to anyone, even an imaginary man who had no basis or truth in reality. Yet when she'd handed him the ring back with a regretful look, he'd felt nothing but relief. He had no doubt that in another world, they could, perhaps, find happiness together, but every time Dream looked at the Empire State Building... he wondered.

Strange that the sound of a single man's voice had made him decide to abandon all reason. But Robert Gadling (call him Hob, according to his adorable son) had sounded so wistful and so lovely that it had been impossible not to be drawn to the possibility of offering what it was that the man was seeking. No matter that he lived across the entire country and the possibility of him being at the top of the Empire State Building tonight was so unlikely as to be called impossible...

The romantic in him couldn't deny it how much he wanted Hob to be waiting for him there. Even if Dream had no idea what he looked like, or how someone like Robyn would like him, it didn't matter. The possibility of it all was a break in the 'fine' that it seemed had been suffocating him his entire life.

So Dream raced to the Empire State Building, barely making it past the guard, promising a quick look before he left, and ran out onto the observation deck. The sight of no one there, only an empty chill, had his heart sinking, because of course he'd been foolish, of course he had wanted too much, wanted the impossible - when the door opened behind him.

Standing there was a man, with his son, and they were in the middle of an argument.

"I told you no one would be up here, they were closed-"

"But Dad, his letter promised! He promised!"

"I know, but sometimes adults make promises that they can't keep," Hob said, his voice softening, gentling.

Dream stared in shock, because it was impossible not to recognize both of those voices. He'd heard them in his dreams for weeks now, and they likely hadn't seen him because of his all black ensemble. He cleared his throat and stepped into the orange light from the inside.

"I am in the habit of keeping my promises," he offered up, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jacket. He stepped closer, even tough it was clear that they were both in shock. A moment later, Robyn was barreling toward him, and Dream caught the boy against his legs carefully, well aware that Robert Gadling (Hob, Hob, his name was Hob) was watching. "It's a pleasure to meet you Robyn."

"I knew you'd come, Mr. Dream. You promised. You said that everyone needs to have dreams, and how important they are, no matter how fantastical they are!" Robyn said, his face pressed tight to him. "You're perfect for Dad, I just know it."

Dream swallowed down the instinctive disagreement, because he was far from perfect for anyone, and in fact, it was the distinct opposite, where he was often too much. "I think that will be up to your Dad and I to determine, Robyn. But I have you to thank for our meeting." He knelt down, uncaring of he cold granite on his knees and met the warm brown eyes of the boy who loved his father so much, he'd tried to do the impossible.

"No matter what happens, Robyn, never forget how important it is to-"

"Put magic into the world," Hob finished, quoting Dream's letter from memory, meeting the wild blue eyes that sent his heart stuttering all over again. "Because if we do not make our own magic, if we do not rejoice in the magic there is to be had, it will fade away before we even know what we have lost."

Dream's breath caught and he stared at Hob. "You read my letter," he whispered.

"Dad keeps it tucked in his wallet," Robyn stage-whispered. "He's read it so many times when he thought I wasn't looking. I think he needs a little magic."

Dream's lips quirked and he grinned as Hob began to flush, his cheeks growing more and more red by the second. "Does he now?" He reached out and gave Robyn's hands a small squeeze before standing and moving closer to where Robert Gadling was tugging at his ear lobe in embarrassment.

"Hello Robert," Dream breathed, his voice soft. "My name is Morpheus Endless, but I would have you call me Dream."

"Hello Dream," Hob repeated, his voice soft, reverent. He could feel his cheeks were flaming red because the most beautiful man he'd ever seen swayed closer to him. "Call me Hob, please? If that's not too weird?"

Dream nodded. "Hob," he agreed. "You kept my letter?"

Hob nodded and reached out to pull it from his letter, unfolding it carefully. "I, I used to be a medieval professor. No one hand writes letters anymore. But yours was handwritten."

"Of course. It was important," Dream whispered. "It had to be a little bit magical. For the man I fell a little in love with over a radio show."

Hob gasped, his eyes widening. There was a story in the way Dream's chin tilted up, unrepentant, but aware it was too much, that it should be too much. It was a story he very much wanted to discover. He swallowed and looked down at Robyn who was grinning wildly at both of them.

"I think I fell a little in love with you when you turned around to tell Robyn you always keep your promises," Hob admitted, his heart pounding. Pink streaked across Dream's cheekbones and he wanted to chase it with his lips. "But don't you live in New York? We, we don't..."

"As it turns out," Dream said, pushing his hands into his pockets. "I am a children's author who is quite able to work from wherever he likes. So perhaps, I could offer my guest room to you both this evening, and I could visit the west coast soon?"

"Really soon, Mr. Dream?" Robyn asked. "Please?"

Dream winked at Hob and looked down at Robyn. "If I can manage it, I have every intention of flying back on the same flight as both of you. I can't have someone else stealing your father away when I have decided to properly court him, after all."

The noise that escaped his throat was embarrassing, but hearing Dream say that he intended to COURT him was... he wasn't the one who should be COURTED, not when Dream was, was, he was the one who deserved to be courted!

"If he will have me of course," Dream added, meeting Hob's eyes again. "I am perhaps out of practice, but I will do my best."

Hob could see the hesitancy there, the worry, and if he wasn't halfway in love with Dream already from that small declaration, he didn't know himself at all. So instead, he reached out, tangled his hands in the collar of Dream's jacket and pulled him in close. "We can practice together," he breathed against Dream's lips, swallowing his gasp with a soft kiss.

They broke apart to Robyn's loud cheer followed by the pointed clearing of the throat of the elevator bellman. Hob laughed and pressed his forehead against Dream's, holding onto his hand tightly as they made their way to the exit. Perhaps it would end horribly, perhaps it was a dream not meant to last, but...

Dream didn't let go of his hand for the rest of the night.

Or on the flight home.

Or on the car ride back to his house.

Or when he offered the use of his guest room in return for Dream's kindness.

Or, when, three weeks later, he admitted that he had fallen in proper love, and he wanted Dream to stay.

Dream didn't let go, and Hob let himself believe in the magic of happily ever after.

[amomentsescape]

A Kind Face

Norman Bates x Reader

Summary: After finding themselves in the middle of nowhere, Reader thinks it's a blessing to stumble upon a motel. And it only helps that behind the counter is a cute, selfless man.

Warnings: A couple of bad words

Word Count: 922

A/N: Do people still read/write for this man? I feel like I haven't seen many fics with him lately. Also I know that the GIF is from Bates Motel, but this could definitely be read with either character of Norman in mind (Psycho or Bates Motel).

It was too late for this.

Driving alone with a low tank of gas in the middle of the night wasn't exactly your smartest idea, and you certainly weren't about to see this through.

You desperately needed to find a place to stop, but it seemed like human life ceased to exist wherever you were currently.

So when you finally spotted a motel sign, you didn't even hesitate to pull over.

It appeared to be pretty empty however, and there was a moment where you worried that this place was desolate.

But it was worth a try.

And even if this area was abandoned, at least you had a little bit of shelter to figure out your next course of action.

You grabbed some of your things and stepped into the lobby, only to see that the lights were on. However, you didn't notice anyone up at the front desk.

You walked around a bit, surveying the area.

It was honestly well kept. Things were tidy, the floor and chairs were free of dust, and the air smelled a bit like fresh flowers.

"There could be worse places..." you murmured.

"I do my best."

You about jumped out of your skin.

You spun back around to the counter to see a man standing behind it, a friendly smile gracing his features.

"S-sorry!" you spat out. "The place is really nice. I just didn't see anyone outside and..."

He let out a soft laugh at this. "We don't get many customers here."

You nodded. "I mean, there isn't much out there. I haven't seen another car in miles."

You met his gaze and felt your face grow warm. The man before you had very gentle features, and something about his gaze made your chest flutter. He was cute.

"Um, is there a gas station nearby?" you asked.

His smile fell a bit. "Uh, no. Unfortunately the nearest one is a good eight miles or so from here."

You frowned. There was no way your car was going to make that journey. You had been riding with the gauge pointed at "E" for at least 10 minutes.

"And even then," he continued, "no gas station around here would be open this late."

Of course.

You decided to weigh your options. Continue driving on an empty tank until your car inevitably breaks down in the middle of nowhere or get a room in this motel run by a cute man? Easy choice.

"How much is it for one night?" you questioned.

He smiled again. "Free of charge for you."

Your eyes widened. "Oh no, I wouldn't feel right staying here without paying."

"No, please. I insist. I can take you to the gas station in the morning as well, since I'm assuming your car is low?"

You nodded. "If you insist, then sure. And thank you."

You both shared a smile at this, his face starting to grow a pink hue. He quickly broke his gaze and looked down.

"Oh, here."

Norman turned around and grabbed a key from the wall. You noticed that all of the keys were still hung up.

He handed it to you and you thanked him, seeing that the key had the big number 2 on its tag.

"Is there someone in room 1?" you asked.

His eyes glanced over to the key dangling on its hook behind him before turning back to meet your eyes.

"Uh, no. It's just... there's a leak unfortunately."

You nodded at him. "Well, I really appreciate this..."

"Norman," he answered.

"Thank you, Norman. I'm (Y/N)."

"(Y/N)," he repeated back, his smile widening.

---

You honestly slept quite well that night. You were surprised to find the room perfectly clean when you went in, and seeing the sight of the large bed made you plop into it immediately. You went to sleep that night with Norman's sweet smile on your mind.

In the morning, you greeted the man at the counter, handing him the room key back.

"Thank you again," you spoke.

"No worries."

You grinned. "I'm just gonna go check on my car really quick."

He nodded in understanding as you exited the lobby, hoping that maybe your gas gauge was just a bit off last night.

But when you tried to start your car, the engine wouldn't even turn over. It was like the battery was completely dead.

"The hell?" you whispered to yourself.

"Is everything alright?"

You jumped a bit at the sound of Norman's voice, letting out a breath.

"M-my car, it won't start. I think there's something wrong with the battery?" your voice was laced with concern.

He sighed. "It's Saturday morning, so you won't be able to get a hold of a mechanic until Monday."

You groaned. You didn't know anything about cars and by the looks of it, Norman didn't either.

"You can stay here until then, if you want," he suggested. "It would be free of charge, of course."

You looked at him as you tried to make a decision. It was only a couple of days, and Norman seemed like a nice guy. It wasn't like you had much else of an option anyways.

"Sure, if that's okay with you."

"Of course!"

His voice was so pleasant.

There was no way you would have even suspected him of messing with your car in the middle of the night. Why would he? It wasn't like he was already enamored with you and desired to have you stay with him just a couple days longer.

Or more.