#said gore is lightly mentioned!!!!

[wildwestdean]

impetus

summary: dean gets targeted by a witch while working a case, and she curses him to yearn for what he secretly loves the most. it seems to have no effect, until it's pointed out that he can't seem to stay away from you - but what happens when he tries to fight it?

pairing: dean winchester x female reader

word count: 9.4k+

warnings: violence, hunting/working a case, mentions of murders, gore, evil witches, reader and dean get attacked, swearing, alcohol consumption, angst, fluff, yearning, mutual pining, idiots oblivious to their own feelings, magical curses, hallucinations, nightmares, depictions of death, depictions of drowning, fighting/arguments, heart-to-heart, confessions, use of [y/n], nicknames, mature themes

“Right, well, this isn’t creepy at all,” Dean declared, rolling Baby to a stop before switching into park. 

You both sat quietly as you surveyed the desolate building, a feeling of unease washing over you. 

“Maybe we should wait for Sam,” you suggested half heartedly. He was only down at the Sheriff’s station, and it wouldn’t even take ten minutes for him to meet you here, but you knew Dean wouldn’t wait. 

“No,” he said, confirming what you already knew. “Someone else is missing and this is our best lead so far. If you don’t want to go in, that's fine, but I am.” 

“I’m not letting you go in there alone,” you snapped, sitting up as tall as you could despite the pit forming in your stomach. 

“Awe, you worried about me, sweetheart?” Dean teased, turning to look at you with a grin; one that was effectively wiped from his face when he saw the look in your eyes. “Hey, what is it?” 

“I don’t know,” you said honestly, shrugging lightly. “I just have a bad feeling about this.” 

“Bad feeling like what?” he questioned, his brows knitting together. 

You thought about it, trying to pinpoint what it was you felt, but you couldn’t. “Just…. don’t go wandering off,” you ended up saying- begging, more like. 

“Alright,” he agreed easily. “We stick together, and we’ll be in and out before you know it.” 

“Right,” you confirmed with a nod. “Let’s gear up.” 

You exited the car as quietly as you could, making your way around to the back as Dean unlocked the trunk and propped up the panel to the arsenal.

“You and Sam better be right about this,” he muttered, digging out the box of witch-killing bullets. 

Your mind raced through the details of the case: An exsanguinated priest, a dead nun with her tongue ripped out, the president of the high schools abstinence club found without a heart, and various livestock missing various body parts - if this wasn’t a witch, you were a little scared to find out what else it could be. 

“We have to be,” you breathed out, loading your ammo. 

“Can you do me a favour and sound at least a little confident?” he asked playfully, lightly nudging your arm with his own before tucking his gun into his jeans. 

“Sorry,” you said sheepishly, holstering your own gun. 

“It’s alright,” he said earnestly, handing you your favourite knife (one that used to be his before you claimed it as your own). “I’m just not used to seeing you so spooked.” 

You couldn’t help but chuckle quietly as you took the knife from him. “I’m not used to feeling spooked.” 

“We’ll make it through,” he consoled, closing up the trunk. “Just like we always do.” 

“Just like we always do,” you echoed with a nod, following him towards the building. 

The overgrowth brushed your calves as you made your way up the walk, and after a quick survey of the facade, Dean swung the door open after picking the lock. 

“Wait!” you hissed, stopping him before he entered. “Sam does know we’re here, right?” 

You watched as his shoulders shrugged before stepping inside. “Probably.” 

“That’s… comforting,” you sighed, following him across the threshold. 

The two of you did a quick preliminary sweep of the main level before making your way to the top floor, finding nothing of significance in any of the rooms. Making your way back down, you both stopped dead in your tracks as you heard a clatter come from beneath you. 

“Of course there’s a basement,” Dean whispered. “Why wouldn’t the creepy ass witch be in the creepy ass basement of this creepy ass house?” 

“How do you know she’s a creepy ass witch?” you teased, raising an eyebrow at him. “Maybe she’s hot. Or a guy. Or both.” 

He faltered over his response, considering your words for a moment. “I’ll bet whatever tab you drink up at the bar once we end up ganking this bitch. She’s creepy.” 

“Deal,” you grinned, wiggling your eyebrows at him. 

You both chuckled, before another noise from the basement drew your attention back to the case at hand. Dean awkwardly cleared his throat before leading the way in search of the basement entrance, using the occasional noise as guidance. 

“God, I hate witches,” he muttered to himself, slapping away cobwebs as he descended the stairs. 

“I don’t think the witch put those webs there,” you said with a snicker. 

“No, they’re just the one turning this rotting corpse of a house into a lair of evil and despair,” he hissed. 

You rolled your eyes in response, unable to stop the fond smile from creeping onto your face as you made it to the bottom of the stairs. 

A muffled cry caught your attention, and Dean spared you a quick look before running in the direction it came from, you hot on his heels. Coming up on a corner, he slowed to a halt and peered around the wall. 

“It looks clear,” he decided after a moment. “Just be careful,” he added, continuing on his way. 

Upon turning the corner, you were enveloped in the warm glow of candles, which would have been nice, had it not been for the rest of the scene. An altar lay at the far wall, burning candelabras stood in each corner of the room, and the very person you were searching for was bound and gagged in a chair in the middle of the room, surrounded by a circle of candles. 

Dean cursed and muttered under his breath, surveying the room. “I’ll get him, you get the altar.“

“Okay,” you agreed, running across the room. Once you reached the altar, you couldn’t help but stare in shock and disgust for a moment as you took in the sight; all the missing body parts seemingly staring back at you from where they lay soaked in blood. It took Dean shouting your name from across the room to bring you back to your senses, and you quickly upturned the altar as Dean instructed the now freed man to get out as fast as possible and wait by the car. As soon as the contents of the altar were scattered, an ear piercing shriek came from behind you. 

Quickly whirling on your heels, you were greeted by a cloaked figure, who seemingly came out of nowhere. 

“What have you done?” she screamed, dropping her hood as she stared daggers into you. 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you feigned innocence. “Did I ruin your big plan?”

“You ruined everything!” she shrieked, slowly approaching you. “You’ll pay for this!” 

“Yeah, I don’t think so,” Dean called out from behind her. 

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve waited for this?! How many centuries passed by until the circumstances were right? I had it! I had it all! I was one spell away from seeing my love again!” she continued to scream, advancing further towards you as she ignored Dean.

“Back off, Grunhilda!” Dean roared from behind her, drawing his gun. 

“No!” she shrieked, barely lifting her hand in order to easily swing his gun away - and stop you from drawing your own. “You stupid little gnat. You think you can just come in here and mess with things you don’t understand? You think you can take this from me?!” 

Her shouting was drowned out by the sound of your own heart pounding in your ears, your entire body feeling like it was on fire as your throat constricted, the air leaving your lungs and not returning. You felt your bones cracking beneath your skin as your feet left the floor, and you shared a look of terror with Dean before black began to cloud the edges of your vision. 

Without an effective weapon handy, Dean rushed the witch and tackled her to the floor, sending you crashing down. You met the concrete with a thud, and it knocked the rest of your senses out of you. You laid there for who knows how long, fighting off the waves of pain and nausea, willing yourself to move as you listened to the struggle happening a few feet away from you. 

By the time you managed to prop yourself up, Dean was pinned down as she advanced on him, and you desperately looked around for either of your guns. 

“Do you have any idea what it’s like?” you heard her ask, menace laced deep in her words. “To want something so desperately, to feel that desire within your very soul?!” 

Dean struggled against her hold as you struggled to pick yourself up, to at least crawl to a weapon if you had to.

“Well you will,” she sneered, cackling to herself. “You’ll know how it feels. To have what you want the very most to be so close to you, to have it at the edge of your fingertips, only to never be able to grasp it! For it to be the only thing you can think about!”

“Shut the hell up,” Dean seethed through clenched teeth, glaring at her. 

She only stepped closer towards him, cackling to herself. “Your strongest yearning, hidden deep in your heart, will nevermore be yours to part. Be it with sun or with rain, that which brings joy won’t be without pain.” 

“You finished yet?” Dean interrupted, before he had the wind knocked out of him, rendering him silent. 

Moving as quickly as you could without being noticed, you closed in on Dean’s pistol while the witch carried on. 

“Whatever you crave you cannot say, yet you’ll seek it out be it night or day,” she continued, hovering over him. “Consider yourself lucky, you useless toad. I’ve had countless lifetimes yearning to see my love again, and I’ll spend lifetimes more. At least you only have this one measly little life to yearn for what you want.” 

Grasping the gun in your hands, you carefully rose to your feet and steadied yourself to take aim. “Man, you really do talk too much,” you huffed out.

The shot rang out just as she turned towards you, though it was silenced by a roaring wind that accompanied a bright blue light. Within seconds, everything was calm and quiet again.

Fighting every urge you had to collapse back onto the floor, you trudged your way over to Dean in an attempt to help him up. 

“God, I told you she’d be creepy,” he gasped out, groaning as he stood. 

“You want a prize?” you asked incredulously, staring up at him. 

“I wanna get the hell out of here,” he said, ushering you to take leave. “Then I want those drinks you owe me.” 

After what felt like another entire day, you and Dean had dropped the victim off at the hospital, patched each other up, cleaned out the basement, showered, and filled Sam in on everything that went down. 

“So… she cursed you?” Sam asked curiously, trying to understand. 

“I dunno. She tried to, I guess,” Dean replied nonchalantly. “But [Y/N/N] put a bullet in her. No witch, no curse, right?” 

Sam shared a brief look with you, before turning back to Dean. “Yeah, but… there was no body.” 

“What?” Dean asked gruffly. 

“The witch,” you said. “I shot, but she vanished. What if she isn’t dead?” 

“Well, I feel normal, so I’m gonna say she’s dead,” Dean declared with a shrug. “Now, can we head to the bar? I’m in desperate need of a drink… or twelve.” 

Without waiting for an answer, he quickly stood and donned his jacket before looking back at you and Sam. “You guys coming or what?” 

“Oh, do I have a choice to not go?” you asked playfully.

“You can stay if you want, but your wallet comes with me,” he replied, smiling innocently. 

“Alright, let’s go,” you said with a dramatic sigh, grabbing your own jacket. 

Not long after, the three of you were sliding into a booth in the nearest dive, enjoying the lack of people; you guys seriously needed to decompress. 

“Alright, I’ll be back,” you declared, hopping out of the booth to get the first round of drinks. 

“Make sure you get a tab started!” Dean jokingly called after you. 

You flipped him off in response, taking a seat at the bar after placing your order. While you waited, Sam watched as Dean grew more restless in his seat. 

“Dude, what the hell is your problem?” he finally asked, eyeing Dean as he fidgeted anxiously. 

“What?” Dean asked cluelessly, glancing around the bar. “I’m thirsty. She’s been gone for what, like, half an hour?” 

“It’s… barely been two minutes, Dean,” Sam informed him with an amused grin.  

“Yeah, well. I want my beer,” Dean mumbled, tapping his fingers on the table as he glanced around once more. “I’m gonna go see if she needs help.”

Before Sam could even reply, Dean was already halfway across the bar, meeting you just as you got your final drink. 

“Need a hand?” Dean asked cheerfully, his sudden appearance making you jump. “Sorry,” he added with a snicker. 

“Dick,” you muttered with a laugh, hopping down from the stool. “Here you go,” you added, handing him his beer.

“Awesome,” he beamed, taking the bottle from your outstretched hand. 

He followed closely as you made your way back to the table, handing Sam his drink before sliding into the booth; Dean followed suit, leaving you nestled in between him and the wall. 

The three of you had a few more rounds before Dean slipped away, determined to teach a lesson to the arrogant ass harassing players around the pool tables - just because you didn’t need to hustle people anymore didn’t mean it wasn’t still fun every now and then. You watched him fondly, laughing quietly to yourself as you watched him fumble around with his cue before making a terrible break. Harder than it looks, you could just hear him say. 

Your attention was turned back to Sam when he cleared his throat, and you were met with his questioning gaze. “Does he seem weird to you?” 

“Weird how?” you asked, face scrunched in confusion. 

“I don’t know, strange,” he replied with a small shrug. “Like- like antsy or something.” 

Your eyes flit back across the room to Dean, who was very much in his element as he upped his ante, before focusing on Sam again. “I haven’t noticed anything, Sammy.” 

He sighed in resignation, seeming to already know that would be your response. “It’s probably nothing, just forget I said anything,” he replied, shaking his head dismissively before finishing his drink. 

“If you say so,” you muttered quietly, sipping your drink as you cast a worried gaze across the bar, getting lost in thought.

By the time you each finished another round of drinks, Dean made his way back over to the table; much to the surprise of you and Sam. 

“Done so soon?” Sam questioned, raising an eyebrow at his brother. 

“Yeah,” Dean shrugged, sliding back into the seat beside you.

“But you only played one round,” you said quizzically. 

“So?” Dean wondered, gulping down the rest of his beer. 

“So, you usually play a lot more than that,” Sam pitched in, shifting his gaze between you and Dean. 

Dean sighed, his bottle clanging on the table as he set it back down. “Why am I getting the third degree here? I played a game, he learned his lesson, I got over it. End of story.”

“Okay, grouchy,” you snickered, ruffling his hair a little just because you knew he hated it. Except he really did love it when it was you doing it.

“Whatever, anyone want another round?” he asked with a huff, lightly swatting your hand away. 

“No, I’m gonna call it a night,” you admitted, shifting to slip your jacket back on. 

“Yeah, me too,” Sam declared, starting to stand from the table. 

Dean stood as well, assumingly just to let you out. “Alright, let’s go.”

You and Sam both stilled in your movements at his response, sharing a shocked look with each other. “You’re… coming with us?” 

“Why wouldn’t I?” he asked with a scoff, shrugging his jacket on as he looked questioningly between you and Sam. “Seriously, what the hell is wrong with you guys?”

“We just didn’t expect you to call it a night so early,” Sam explained helplessly. “Gettin’ old, huh?” he added, trying to lighten the mood a little. 

“Yeah, I mean, you barely even wracked up a tab!” you declared with a laugh, before grinning mischievously. “Drinks just don’t agree with you anymore, do they, old man?”

Dean scoffed and rolled his eyes, fixing his collar just to busy his hands. “Okay, alright, one more wisecrack and I’m leaving you both here.” 

Despite the finality in his tone, the amusement dancing in his eyes gave him away - as did the hand he extended to you to help you slide from the booth. 

“Whatever you say, grandpa,” Sam teased, patting Dean on the shoulder before walking away with laughter in his wake. “I’ll be outside!”

You chuckled in response, and the stern look Dean gave you only made you laugh even more. “Yeah, yeah. Hurry it up, chuckles,” he chided, wiggling his fingers at you. He surveyed the bar as you finally took hold of his hand, sliding out from your seat with ease and standing before him. “Ready?” he asked, gaze turning back to look down at you. 

“Yeah, I just gotta go pay,” you replied, nodding your head in the direction of the bar counter. 

“Alright,” he said with a nod. He gave your hand a squeeze, though instead of letting go like he normally would, he held it firmly as he led the way across the bar. 

You followed along quietly, trying your hardest to not read too much into it. Though when you stood before the bar and he had yet to release your hand, you gave him a puzzled look. “Did you wanna go get the car?” you asked hesitantly. 

He looked confused for a moment, as if he wasn’t entirely sure what was going on either, before he cleared his throat with a curt nod. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll meet you out there. Don’t take too long,” he rushed, giving your hand another fleeting squeeze before shuffling away. 

Strange, you thought briefly, before shifting your attention to the bartender before you. 

As you paid the tab, Dean settled into the driver's seat of Baby, and Sam watched him impatiently drum his fingers against the wheel as he hummed along to whatever song was in his head; and he couldn’t help but snort a laugh as Dean checked his watch one, two, three times since getting into the car. 

“You’re ridiculous,” Sam chided with a laugh, shaking his head. 

“What?” Dean inquired, annoyance clear in his voice. 

“Dude, please tell me you see what’s going on,” Sam pleaded. 

Dean widened his eyes in confusion, glancing around the near empty parking lot before looking back at his brother. “What’s going on?” 

Before Sam could reply, their attention was caught by the opening of the bar’s door when you emerged from the building, a grin forming on your face as you caught sight of them waiting in the car. 

Dean matched your grin, quickly reaching for the door handle and scrambling outside. “There she is!” he greeted happily, opening the back door for you. 

“Fucking idiot,” Sam muttered to himself, staring out the window with an amused grin as you and Dean settled into your seats. 

The three of you made it back in no time, and, having to settle for a single bed when first getting to town over driving for another who-knows-how-long just to find another motel, shuffled out of the car and into your shared room with heavy feet.

“Finally,” Dean muttered with relief, shutting the door behind him as Sam took a seat. “Whoa, whoa,” Dean barked, holding up a hand. “What’re you doing?” 

Sam froze just as he sat on the bed, staring up at his brother. “What?” 

“That’s my bed,” Dean declared with a huff. 

“No, it’s not,” Sam answered with a scoff. “It’s your turn for the couch.” 

“Dude, I’m not sleeping on the pull-out!” Dean declared with finality.

“What, are you kidding me?” Sam asked incredulously. “You got the bed last time!” 

“Yeah, and I just got ragdolled by a crazy ass witch, I deserve a mattress!” Dean argued, stepping towards the bed. “Get up.” 

“No,” Sam argued stubbornly, relaxing further atop the sheets. 

“You guys are ridiculous,” you said with an exasperated sigh, walking across the room. “I’ll take the couch.” 

“Not a chance,” Dean denied, not even sparing you a glance. 

“What, why?” you asked in confusion. 

“First of all, I’m not sharing with Sam,” Dean replied, turning to look at you. “Second, you got it worse than I did. I’m not shoving you on a pull-out.” 

“Oh, please-” you started to argue, before he cut you off. 

“I patched you up myself, [Y/N]. Don’t bother trying to lie to me,” he cautioned. 

You opened your mouth to argue once more, but the look on his face stopped you short. “Whatever,” you mumbled, turning towards the bathroom. “I’m getting ready for bed. Figure this out before I get back so I can actually go to bed, please.” 

The bickering resumed as you quickly retreated, shutting the bathroom door on Dean’s disgruntled declaration of “best two out of three.”

By the time you re-entered the room, you were met with silence. Surveying the surroundings, you found Sam digging through his toiletries bag while sitting in his original spot on the bed. Your gaze snapped over to the couch, where Dean sat looking like a kicked puppy. 

“You went with scissors again, didn’t you?” you asked, raising an eyebrow at him. 

He met your gaze as Sam snickered behind you, causing his face to sour even more. “Shut up,” he mumbled before standing, bristling past you with slumped shoulders. 

You chuckled quietly to yourself and grabbed the spare sheets, quickly making up the pull-out for Dean while he got ready; hopefully he’d be a little less cranky about it all if this was at least already done. 

Once finished, you made your way over to the bed and curled up under the covers. After saying a quick goodnight to Sam, you were asleep before Dean even left the bathroom. 

Fear gnawed at Dean, his body frozen in place as a cold spread through him, panic clinging to him like ice. He tried to call out to you, but all that left him was a strangled breath as his lungs seized up. He watched as the waves carried you away, further and further from where he stood. By the time his legs finally moved to carry him closer to shore, his feet were so heavy it was as though he was wading through quicksand. 

“No, no, no,” he pleaded quietly, watching as the waters edge never grew near no matter how far he ran. 

Your voice cried out to him, surging him forward even faster as you drifted ever outwards, terror seeping deeper into his bones with every futile step he took.

He couldn’t reach you. 

He couldn’t save you. 

The realisation that you were gone caused his world to come crashing down around him as he fell to his knees. A roaring filled his ears, and he didn’t know whether it was the irascible water that held you captive or the blood racing from his pounding heart. 

As he stayed there - watching the crashing waves for any sign of you, listening for a call of his name, unwilling to move for fear he’d miss you - the water suddenly crept up around him, as if to mock him. 

The sky darkened as he let out an anguished cry, his voice blending in with the storm beginning to brew around him. Yet despite the deafening howls, he heard it clear as day: your voice, calling out to him.  

“Dean.”

The world stilled around him once more, your voice ringing out in a whisper as gentle as the wind. 

“Dean.” 

He stood, frantically searching the horizon for you. He tried to call out, yet his voice still never came. 

“Dean!” you called out, voice booming like thunder from above. 

A small hand gripped his own, pulling him so forcefully he was yanked off his feet. He let out a startled cry, a spark of lightning igniting so brightly before him that he screwed his eyes shut. 

“God dammit, Dean!” 

Another force shook him, and when we reopened his eyes, he was met with the suspiciously stained ceiling of the motel room. He bolted upright, heart hammering against his chest as he looked around. He caught your worried gaze as he wiped the sweat from his brow, trying to steady his breathing as you leaned in closer. 

“[Y/N?]” he gasped out, pushing himself further upright.

His hand reached out automatically, fingers tentatively brushing against your cheek as if to evaluate your solidity. When he was satisfied that you wouldn’t evaporate, he surged forward to wrap you in a desperate embrace; the icy grip of terror finally starting to melt. 

“It was just a nightmare, De,” you soothed quietly, tracing a hand along his back. “Everything’s alright.”

“Yeah,” he said tightly, swallowing the lump forming in his throat as he let you go. “Yeah, it’s fine. I’m alright, get back to bed.” 

“You’re okay?” you questioned, concern laced in both your face and tone of voice. 

“I’m okay,” he affirmed with a nod, casting his gaze aside so you wouldn’t see the panic still swirling within him. 

“Okay,” you said softly, placing a gentle kiss upon the crown of his head before standing from the edge of the pull-out. 

Dean got up after you to grab a glass of water, his heart jumping in his chest as he remembered the sight of you being ripped away by the current. 

“Just a nightmare,” he reminded himself under his breath. “Just a nightmare.” 

Not having slept another wink after his nightmare, Dean was unsurprisingly the first one up the next morning. Taking it upon himself to get breakfast for the three of you, he found himself at the nearest diner waiting for his order. 

Drumming his fingers impatiently on the sticky linoleum counter, a burning desire to call you began to build within him. Knowing you were likely still sleeping, he decided to busy himself with a stupid game you downloaded on his phone. 

Yet the urge to reach out to you grew tenfold as he sat there, a sinking feeling that it might mean you were in danger starting to take hold of him. Just as his mind began to swirl with questions of what the hell was going on with him, he heard your voice calling his name. 

His head snapped up, expecting to see you sliding onto the stool beside him, ready to give you hell for walking here in search of him all by yourself in a random town. He figured you must’ve known he was here, and it wouldn’t have been a far walk from the motel, but it was still stupid.

Though the words died on his tongue as he realized you weren’t there, and that familiar feeling of dread trickled through him after scanning the diner and not finding you anywhere. 

Another voice called out, this time the waitress, announcing that his order was ready. He met her smiling face with nothing but confusion, her smile faltering for a moment.

“Everything alright?” she asked hesitantly.

“Huh?” he asked, before snapping out of his daze. “Oh, yeah. Just a little too early for me. Thanks-” he paused, squinting to read her name tag. “Thanks, Edna,” he charmed, flashing his signature grin as he gathered the order. 

“Anytime, sugar,” she charmed, her smile perking back up as she sent him a wink. 

With one last - albeit awkward - grin sent her way, Dean quickly left the diner; already feeling lighter for knowing he’d be back at the motel soon. His grin only grew when he glanced across the street and caught a glimpse of you staring back at him, proving that he wasn’t crazy and you really did come to meet him. 

He took a step forward, intending to call out to you, when a truck drove by and blocked you from sight. The grin was wiped from his face and the coffee tray nearly slipped out of his hand when he noticed you had completely disappeared in its wake. 

Fearing the worst once more, he scrambled into the car and quickly called you, firing Baby to life as the line rang. 

“Hey,” you answered with a stifled yawn. “Please tell me you’re getting breakfast. And coffee.” 

“Yeah, I-” he faltered in his response, having to let out a breath of relief as he realized you were safe and sound. “I’ll be back in a few, you and Sammy still there?” 

“Where else would we be?” you asked with a giggle. 

While the sound would normally bring a smile to his face, your words only caused a frown to appear. “You only waking up now?” 

“Don’t judge me,” you teased. “It’s only… ten after seven, I barely slept in.” 

“Just not used to being up before you,” he lied, knuckles turning white as he gripped the steering wheel. 

“Miracles really do happen,” you joked with a laugh. “You sound weird, is everything okay?” you added, worry tinting your voice. 

“Hm?” he wondered, not processing your question right away. “Oh, no- yeah, I-... just didn’t get much sleep.”

“Right,” you said, teetering on the edge of believing him or not. 

“Really, I’m good,” he assured, sensing your apprehension. “I just gotta catch some z’s and I’ll be good as new.” 

“Okay. I’ll see you in a few then,” you relented. “Drive safe,” you added as an afterthought before hanging up.   

The line went dead as he stopped at a red light, his stomach churning as he stared at his reflection in the rearview.

“Just need some sleep,” he assured himself. 

“Dude, would you quit it with the pacing?” Sam snapped, setting his book down on the table for sheer lack of concentration. 

Dean stopped just long enough to stare daggers at his brother before marching down the library once more. “She’s been gone too long.” 

“She’s been gone an hour,” Sam informed, hands running over his face in exasperation. 

“Exactly,” Dean replied, pointing a finger at Sam in acknowledgment. “Something must’ve happened.” 

“Dude, she’s at the grocery store. With Jack. What the hell could possibly happen?” 

“I don’t know!” Dean exclaimed, arms flailing as he whirled to face Sam. “Something must’ve! She hasn’t answered my last text and it’s been-” he paused, pulling out his phone to brandish the screen. “Seven minutes!” 

“Oh, my god,” Sam groaned, tossing his head back to stare at the ceiling. “I can’t deal with this anymore.” 

“What are you talking about? Aren’t you worried?” Dean asked gruffly. 

“No, Dean, I’m not worried! There’s no reason to be worried!” Sam proclaimed. 

“No reason? She could be dead!” Dean barked, his face taking on an expression of disbelief. 

Sam sighed as he leaned over the table, raising his eyebrows. “Okay, let me ask you this: why, exactly, do you think she’s dead?” 

“Oh, come on, Sam!” Dean grumbled. “We don’t exactly live cookie cutter lives here, you know. One minute she’s returning the shopping cart, and the next she’s got a damn knife in her back!” 

“Dean,” Sam soothed. “You know as well as I do that’s a load of crap.” 

“No,” Dean argued, shaking his head. “We don’t know that. We don’t know anything, you know why?” 

Before Sam could even respond, Dean waved his phone around before dropping it on the table. “Because she won’t answer her damn phone!” 

“Okay, this is actually ridiculous,” Sam declared. “How can you seriously not see what’s been happening to you?” 

“Knock it off, Sam,” Dean muttered, waving a hand dismissively as he began pacing again. “I’m fucking fine.” 

“You’re fine,” Sam repeated incredulously. “You’re friggin’ cursed, Dean!” 

“I’m not cursed!” shouted Dean. “Would you quit it with that crap?” 

“Right, because nothing’s been going on with you lately, right?” 

“Right!” Dean agreed with a huff. 

“You haven’t been, say, I don’t know…. not sleeping? Feeling stir crazy? Getting paranoid?”

“Sam-” 

“No, I’m serious, Dean! How can you not see this?” 

“Because I’m fine!” Dean argued, stalling his movements to gather his phone from the table.

After a few moments of silence, Dean rolled his eyes and found himself once more walking the length of the library. “Okay, maybe I’ve been feeling a little weird lately, but I’ve just been tired - and you know what? I survived worse. So yeah, I’m fine!” 

“Right,” Sam said sceptically.  “And have you… noticed when it is that you feel… weird?”

“I don’t know!” Dean announced frustratedly.

“Dean,” Sam chastised. 

“What?” 

“You’ve been feeling like this all week, and it’s only getting worse. You’ve been like this since that witch cursed you - and don’t say she didn’t. Use your fucking head, Dean! You’re cursed!” 

Dean’s jaw clenched as he tried to remain calm, taking a moment to formulate his response. “You’re insane,” he finally declared. 

“I think you’re the insane one,” Sam contested. “You were cursed to yearn for something, Dean. Only in this case… it’s someone.” 

“What the hell are you talking about?” 

“C’mon, Dean!” Sam pleaded with a laugh. “The only time you get like this is when you’re more than ten feet away from [Y/N].” 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dean muttered dismissively. 

“You’ve checked your phone another five times since you picked it up.” 

“So?” Dean questioned, failing to resist the urge to check it once more. “I’m worried, not cursed.” 

“You’re worried because you’re cursed!” Sam argued. 

“I’m worried because I lo-” Dean quickly fell silent as the words died on his tongue, his brain firing into total overdrive as he laughed nervously. “I care, that’s why I’m worried.” 

Sam stared at his brother in total disbelief, trying to find a way to make him realize what was going on- or, most likely, acknowledge what was going on. 

Yet before the conversation could go any further, the bunker door screeched open and the sound of your laughter fleeted down to greet Dean, effectively turning his scowl into an affectionate grin. 

“Hope you remembered my pie!” he called out, marching to meet you at the foot of the stairs without so much as a glance back in Sam’s direction. 

“When have I ever forgotten?” you asked, feigning offence as you held out the bag which contained his pie.

“Well,” he started, taking the bag from you. “There was that time in Redford-”

“Hey!” you interrupted with a laugh. “I didn’t forget, they were out!”

“See, I still don’t believe you,” he teased, heading for the kitchen. 

“Believe whatever you want, Dean,” you replied playfully. 

“I’m still waiting for it, you know. You should get me two next time,” he joked, though he was partly serious. 

“Dean?” Sam’s voice tentatively called out.

“Yeah?” Dean replied hotly, keeping his back to Sam as he went to grab a beer from the fridge. 

“Who, uh… who the hell are you talking to?” he asked carefully, surveying the empty kitchen. 

“Hilarious, Sam,” he said dryly, shutting the fridge. “I’m talking to-”

His mouth ran dry as he turned around, being met with just his brother, who was staring with concern from the doorway. 

“[Y/N],” Dean finished weakly. 

“Her and Jack aren’t back yet, Dean,” Sam said carefully, as though talking to a lost child. 

“Yes, they are. They got back, she gave me my pie, we came in here,” Dean said fiercely, his confidence shattering when he went to gesture at the pie he set down moments earlier and found it to be gone.  

“Maybe you should sit down,” Sam suggested, not knowing what to do. 

“I’m fine!” Dean shouted, hovering over the counter. “I’m fine,” he repeated, moreso to himself than anything. 

“Okay, look, how about I try calling [Y/N], okay?” Sam offered, hesitantly walking further into the kitchen. “See when they’ll be back.” 

“They are back!” Dean barked, glaring at Sam. “She was just in here!” 

Sam didn’t know what to say, the fear and concern for his brother crashing down on him. 

“She was just in here,” Dean repeated shakily, meeting Sam’s gaze with confusion. 

“Dean,” Sam started to say, before the familiar tone of your ringtone came from Dean’s phone, cutting through the air like a knife. 

Dean pulled the phone from his pocket, clearing his throat before answering. “Yeah?” 

“Dean, thank god,” you cheered, sighing in relief. “Listen, we came out to a flat tire and I don’t have a spare because I forgot to fucking replace it and there are too many people around for Jack to, you know, try fixing it,” you rambled anxiously. “Can you please come help?” 

“You’re still at the store?” Dean clarified, looking up at Sam with frightened eyes. 

“Yeah, we’re stuck in the parking lot,” you told him breezily. 

“Okay,” he said, swallowing thickly. “Alright, I’ll be right there.” 

“Thanks, De!” you said happily, ending the call. 

Dean stood there for a few moments staring down at his unopened bottle of beer on the counter, trying to gather his thoughts, before finally lifting his gaze to Sam.

“I’ll, uh…. I’ll be back,” he told him, not waiting for a response before trudging out of the kitchen.

You found yourself yet again rushing down the hall to Dean’s room, his muffled yells waking you in the dead of night once more. 

He uttered your name as you shut the door behind you, and though it took you by surprise the very first time it happened - nearly two weeks ago, now - it was something you’ve almost come to expect. It was killing you, watching him go through this every night and not being able to fix it. You would sit with him, find ways to gently rouse him from his terror filled slumber and comfort him when he woke, but it never seemed like enough; he deserved more.

At first you didn’t think there was too much going on, figuring his shift in behaviour was just due to his lack of sleep. You didn’t believe Sam when he talked to you about it; Dean may have been acting a little more strange than usual, but it didn’t raise any red flags.

It wasn’t until the morning following your conversation that you noticed it, cluing in and realising how different Dean had been; how long he’d been different. The excess text messages, the increase in phone calls, the insistence on you not going anywhere without him and his exuberant reactions to you getting back safe when you did go somewhere without him, his constant questioning on where you were or where you’ve just been. Something else was going on, and you could only think it really did come down to the witch you two encountered.  So you and Sam called up Rowena, getting her take on the situation and figuring out what to do. 

Her words now echoed through your head as you perched yourself on the edge of his bed: “Magic isn’t simple. Some curses are anchored by the witch, ending whenever they were to die. But others are more complex, rooted not in the witch but the object of the curse itself, not breaking until their purpose is carried out one way or another. Perhaps if you can figure out what it is Dean needs, you can break the curse yourselves. If this carries on for any longer… I’m worried it will kill him.” 

While you ran your fingers through his hair, you decided right then and there that once he woke up, you wouldn’t leave without confronting him about it. You knew it would likely start a fight, and you felt a little guilty knowing you would all but interrogate him right after having another nightmare, but all that guilt flew right out the window the second Dean startled himself awake, the sight of his panic stricken face as he gasped for air nearly bringing you to tears; you’ve seen him like this too often as of late. 

“It’s alright, Dean,” you soothed, reaching out to him. “I’m right here, everything’s fine.” 

His gaze snapped to you, unable to hide the confusion and terror still coursing through him despite the relief he felt. “[Y/N]?” 

“Yeah, De,” you cooed, running a hand across his shoulder blades. “We’re in your room, everyone’s okay.” 

He let out a shuddering breath, hanging his head in his hands. “You’re okay,” he whispered softly. “You’re okay.” 

You sat quietly with him for a few more minutes, patiently comforting him as best as you could while you thought of how to approach this conversation. 

Clearing his throat, Dean was the first to speak again as he rose from the bed. “Sorry I woke you again.” 

The dejection and shame laced in his voice tore your heart to bits, and you had to put up a good fight to keep your emotions in check. “You don’t need to apologize.” 

“Yeah, I do,” he disagreed, trudging to his sink in the corner. 

“Dean, please talk to me,” you pleaded, watching as he turned on the water. 

You fell silent, waiting for him to deny you and brush you off again. You waited for him to say something, to do something, but all he did was stare at the running water. 

“Dean?” you asked cautiously, slowly getting up from the bed yourself. 

“I can’t save you,” he muttered quietly, his gaze on the faucet unyielding. 

“What?” you asked curiously, not knowing what he meant. 

“I can never save you,” he carried on. “You always just… slip away from me. Every time. It’s always the same.” 

“What’s always the same?” you questioned, moving closer towards him. 

“I try,” he muttered, seemingly oblivious to your presence. “I run, and I fight, and I try, but I can never reach you. I can never get to you.”

He seemed to snap out of his daze a little, moving to splash water over his face before turning off the tap. “You keep dying. I keep watching you die. I can’t watch you die again, [Y/N]. I can’t.” 

“This is what your nightmares have been?” you wondered. 

He fell silent again for a minute before meeting your gaze in the mirror. “Yeah.” 

“It’s not real, Dean,” you told him softly.

“It’s real enough for me,” he muttered, turning to face you. 

“And is this why you’ve been… acting differently towards me?” you asked hesitantly. 

He averted his gaze, hanging his head as he considered your question. “I guess,” he said with a shrug. “Maybe, yeah. I don’t know.” 

“Dean,” you scolded with a sigh, plopping back down on the bed. “Why won’t you just tell me what’s going on?” 

“Because everything’s fine!” he argued once again. 

“I’m not stupid, Dean!” you challenged. “I know you. I can see something's eating you alive and it’s fucking killing me to witness it. So please, tell me what the hell is going on.” 

“It’s just nightmares,” he lied, crossing his arms against his chest. 

“It’s more than nightmares!” you cried. “You’re withering away into nothing, Dean! I mean let’s face it! You’re practically a zombie nowadays with how little sleep you get, you’ve been acting like a puppy with separation anxiety, and let’s not forget how completely erratic you’ve been.”

He glared at you, jaw clenching as he decided whether or not to entertain this conversation. “Okay, so maybe I haven’t slept lately,” he admitted starkly. “But like I keep saying, I’m fine.” 

“Don’t you ever get tired of lying?” you sneered, glaring up at him. 

He rolled his eyes, averting his gaze to anywhere else as he shook his head. “No, but I’m getting tired of having this conversation all the time.” 

“Well too bad!” you yelled, abruptly standing from the bed. “Cause I’m tired of never having this conversation go anywhere! I’m tired of you brushing off the idea of you being cursed. I didn’t believe it at first either, but what the hell else could it be, Dean?” 

“Oh, come on!” he barked, running a hand over his face. “I see Sam got his hooks into you.” 

“Yeah, he did. And you need to listen to us.” 

“No, I really don’t,” he scoffed, starting to head to the door. 

“Even if it kills you?” you blurted out. 

“It’s not gonna kill me!” 

“God, look at you, Dean! It already is!” you argued, marching closer to him. “How would you feel if the situation were reversed?” 

He let out a sigh, pausing with his hand on the doorknob before turning back to you. “What?” 

“What if it were me going through all this instead of you? Would you let me get away with not even listening to you and Sam?” 

He narrowed his eyes at you, staring at you in silence for so long you expected him to turn away again. Instead, he let out a deep breath as he took a seat, gesturing for you to carry on. “Five minutes.” 

You almost went to argue before you thought better of it, knowing full well that if Dean never came around to the theory he would actually cut you off at the five minute mark. So, you did your best to recount the entire situation for him, reiterating what you, Sam, and Rowena had to say about it all in the hopes of getting through to him. By the time you finished, you knew it was well over five minutes, so you took Dean not interrupting you to be a good sign. 

“Okay,” he finally said with a small nod. “Well, I listened. Can I go now?” 

Your heart dropped to your stomach, anger and fear bubbling inside of you as you exploded. “God, you are unbelievable!”

“Well what do you want me to say?” he grumbled. “I just don’t believe that’s what’s going on.” 

“How can you not believe it?” you asked incredulously. “It’s obvious!” 

“Look, I said I don’t believe it, alright?” Dean snapped. “Why are you so hellbent on making this into some big fight? Just accept it.” 

“No!” you seethed. “I can’t just accept the fact that this could kill you. Especially not when there’s a way we could end this.” 

“No,” he disagreed, shaking his head. “You can’t fix this, [Y/N/N]. You just can’t.” 

“I can!” you cried. “Just tell me.” 

“Tell you what?” 

“You know what,” you scolded. 

“This is so fucking ridiculous.” 

“Tell me anyway.” 

“Why the hell do you care so much?” he questioned exasperatedly. 

“Because I’m fucking terrified, Dean!” you exclaimed. “I’ve watched you grow more restless and anxious every day since the night we finished that case. I’ve seen the life drain from you more and more as sleep became nearly impossible for you. And I know it’s nearly impossible for you, because I have spent the last eleven nights sitting on that bed as you got terrorised by your own mind. I don’t care if you believe in this curse or not, Dean, because I do.” 

Dean stood quietly, absorbing what you said as the severity of the situation began to dawn on him. 

“I mean don’t you get it?” you asked sadly, cutting through the silence. “If something happens to you, if I lose you… that’s not something I can come back from.” 

Dean fell silent once more, running a hand through his hair as he took a deep breath, pacing around the room a little as he turned everything over in his head. 

“I’m scared, Dean,” you reiterated softly. “Please, just let us try to fix this.” 

“There’s some things I should tell you, then,” he admitted quietly after a moment of silence, taking a seat on the bed. 

“About what’s been happening?” you asked hopefully. 

He nodded, staring down at his hands folded in his lap. “Yeah.” 

“Okay,” you said, moving his desk chair to take a seat. “I’m listening.” 

He took a bracing breath, taking a few minutes to build the courage to speak. “Well, you know I’ve been having nightmares.” 

“I do,” you agreed quietly. 

“It’s always the same one,” he admitted, keeping his gaze cast downwards. “I could never figure out why. It didn't make sense to me why it was always the same thing. So I finally talked to Sam about it, and he had a pretty good theory. But, you know me. I didn’t want to believe it because it came back down to that witch and this stupid fucking curse.” 

He let out a bitter laugh, pausing long enough for you to speak up. “What did he have to say about it?” 

“I tried telling myself I was fine,” he continued, ignoring your question. “I was fine, at first. At first it was just not sleeping well… but then other things started happening.” 

“Other things like what?” you wondered quietly. 

“Like my blood feeling like it’s on fucking fire,” he muttered, wiping at his face. “And my skin feeling like it-… like it’s being peeled off my goddamn bones, and my face feeling like it’s melting… and how I get this- this bubble inside my chest that feels like it’s either gonna burst or suffocate me and how it all only happens-” he stopped in his rambling, taking a deep breath before chuckling in disbelief. “God, it only happens when you’re not around, [Y/N].” 

“I-... what do you mean?” you asked breathlessly. 

“Oh, come on, [Y/N],” he said bitterly. “I know you’ve noticed. I text you more, I’m almost always calling you. I just- I get this… this unwavering panic inside me when you’re not around. I keep-... I swear to god I see you everywhere when you’re gone. I catch sight of you across the street, I smell your stupid shampoo when I’m alone, I hear your voice when no one’s there. I had an entire conversation with you and you weren’t even there,” he carried on, shaking his head as he briskly wiped away an angry tear. “God, I’m going fucking crazy,” he added with a manic chuckle. 

“You’re not crazy, Dean,” you said gently. 

“That night,” he started, staring at the wall across from him. “She was trying to get back someone she lost… someone she loved.” 

“Right,” you agreed. 

“They used to drown them, people they accused of being witches,” he continued slowly. 

“Yeah, it was pretty common. Sink, and you were innocent. Float, and you were guilty,” you pitched in. “But… what does that have to do with this?”

“I think they were innocent,” he said simply. “Whoever she lost… I think that’s how she lost them.” 

“Why do you think that?” you asked curiously. 

Dean cleared his throat, staring pensively at his hands once more. “The nightmares. It’s always… you always drown. I keep-... I can never save you.” 

“I don’t get-” you started to say, before he cut you off. 

“It’s how she lost who she loves, [Y/N],” he said curtly. “It makes sense for me to see the one I love go the same way.” 

“I-... what?” you asked, too stunned to think of anything else to say. 

“The dreams, the hallucinations, the- the way I’ve been feeling… I didn’t want to admit it, I still don’t, but I can’t… I mean I can only ignore it for so long, right?” he said, scoffing quietly. “Especially with you and Sam breathing down my neck about it.” 

“Ignore what, Dean?” you asked breathlessly, your heart hammering in your chest. 

“You,” he muttered. “They way I feel about you. The way I’ve always felt about you.” 

You didn’t dare respond, his words ringing in your ears as he fell silent, each of you lost in your own thoughts for a while. 

“I’ve always known that I love you, [Y/N/N],” he carried on, slowly meeting your gaze with glistening eyes. “But this… this curse, this whatever it is. God, it’s just made it all so much worse, and I knew. I knew it was you that my entire being was screaming out for but I couldn’t… I couldn’t admit it.” 

“Why not?” you asked shakily, feeling your tears starting to build. 

“How could I put that on you?” he asked, a few rogue tears slipping down his face. “You said it yourself, this thing is killing me. It’s gonna kill me, unless I get what I want, and given that that’s you, I’m calling it game over.” 

“No, Dean, it’s not,” you denied with a sniffle, cutting through your own stray tears. “You should’ve told me.” 

“Yeah, well,” he grumbled, shrugging lightly as he looked back at his hands. “I told you now.” 

“Dean,” you sighed, wiping your face as you stood from your seat. “Do you trust me?” you asked, walking towards him.

“Of course I do,” he said quickly, almost offended by the question. 

“Okay, well, I’ll need you to trust me on this,” you replied, stopping just in front of where he sat. 

“Okay,” he said with a huff. 

“You gotta look at me, though,” you said, laughing softly. 

Sighing dejectedly, he slowly lifted his head to meet your gaze, a ghost of a smile dancing on his lips as he looked at you. 

You smiled softly at him, gently taking his face in your hands before wordlessly bringing your lips down to meet his. At first, neither of you really knew what was happening, and just when you thought to pull away you felt his lips moving against your own. His hands gripped your waist to hold you in place a moment longer before you each pulled away, staring silently at each other as you processed what just happened. 

“What, uh… what was that for?” Dean finally asked. 

“Well, it was either that or slapping some sense into you,” you said playfully. “Which I almost think you still deserve, because I can’t believe you honestly think I don’t love you back.” 

“What?” he asked, his grip on your waist loosening in shock before tightening once more. 

“You’ve had me since the day we met, Dean,” you told him softly, carding your fingers through his hair. 

“You actually…” he trailed off quietly, trying to focus his thoughts. “You actually love me, of all people?” 

“Yeah,” you said quietly. “I do.” 

“So I- well, I guess I could’ve saved a lot of trouble if I really did just tell you, huh?” he asked jokingly, laughing tightly. 

“I’ll give you hell for it tomorrow,” you teased, half serious. “For now, how about we try getting you back to sleep?” 

“Actually,” he said, eyes sparkling with mischief. “I have a better idea involving this bed.” 

You couldn’t help but snort a laugh, grinning fondly at him. “Oh, really?” 

He grinned back, laughing with you before taking on a more sombre tone. “Do you trust me?” 

“Always,” you said honestly. 

“Good,” he replied with a grin, laughing heartily at the shriek you let out when he tossed you on the bed. 

He stared down at you, a look you’ve never seen before painted on his face. “What?” you asked, giggling nervously.

“I love you,” he said earnestly, brushing a lock of hair away from your face. 

“I love you, too,” you replied shyly, grinning softly. 

He matched your grin, drinking you in a moment longer before crashing his lips upon yours once more. 

When Dean woke the next morning, it didn’t take long for a grin to spread across his face as he quickly realized two things. 

The first thing being that you, the love of his life, still remained tangled up in both his arms and the sheets, sleeping peacefully atop his chest. 

The second being that, for the first time in a total of thirteen days, he was able to sleep without being haunted by his nightmares. 

He felt you stir, and his grin widened as you nestled in closer, tightening your grip on him as you slept. He planted a kiss against your temple, pulling you in close as he blissfully settled in for another peaceful rest. 

Maybe witches aren’t so bad.

tagging: @roseblue373

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[eternal-evergreens]

｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+*⁠.⁠✧JJK Men as Yanderes ｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+*⁠.⁠✧

Post Format: Headcanons

Featuring: Gender-Neutral Reader, Satoru Gojo, Suguru Geto, Kento Nanami, Toji Fushiguro, Ryomen Sukuna, Mahito, Choso Kamo

Word count: Each piece is roughly 750 words

Warnings: implied sabotage (Gojo, Toji, Choso), invasion of privacy (Gojo), kidnapping (Gojo, Sukuna), murder (Geto), kidnapping mention (Nanami, Toji), suicidal ideation (Nanami), light gore (Gojo, Sukuna, Mahito), reader injury (Sukuna), threats of bodily harm/mutilation (Mahito), sexual assault (Mahito), implied murder (Choso)

Satoru Gojo

You're nothing special. Not compared to him, at least. With no long line of sorcery or blue blood running through your veins, your family is just about as average as it gets.

You're nothing special---not to Jujutsu society, anyway. But who gives a shit about that? To Satoru, you're more than special.

You're everything.

He's always been the strongest, and yet, when he's with you, he just feels so weak.

Like a schoolgirl fawning over her latest crush, Satoru often finds himself checking his phone while away on missions, hoping to see your name appear on his screen. It doesn't have to be anything special—even a picture of some ugly animal with the caption "That's u, lol." is enough to get him going. Just knowing you were thinking of him at all, even in an unflattering light, makes him feel lightheaded in a way not even battle can emulate.

It's weird. It's embarrassing.

But he can't get enough.

Satoru wants you more than he's ever wanted anything, and he wants you to feel the same way. He'd do anything if it meant winning your heart.

If you asked him to kneel, he'd kneel. If you asked him to beg, he'd beg. If you asked him to rip out a man's heart and present it to you, he'd ask if he should do so on a silver or gold platter.

If you asked him to let you go, however...

You sigh and fall back onto the couch. It'd been a week since your landlord mysteriously kicked you out, and Satoru took you in with a frankly suspicious eagerness. To say that he was an overbearing roommate was to put it lightly.

He'd follow you around the flat from room to room, enter your bedroom without knocking, and once, you even caught him sifting through your laundry. He wasn't even embarrassed about getting caught, let alone the fact that he had done it in the first place.

You decided to start searching for a new roommate after that.

"Y'know," Satoru says, slinging his arms around your shoulders---you hadn't even heard him approach. You quickly close your computer, which happens to have very clearly been showcasing cheap apartments in the area. "I could have just taken ya'. Snatched you up off the street like some kidnapper."

"What...?"

"---But I decided to play nice instead. I thought we could forge a real relationship that way. But you've just been pushing me away. I'm starting to think I've been too lenient with ya'. Like maybe I should have just locked you up instead."

"That isn't funny, Satoru."

"Who said I was joking?" You open your mouth to respond, but Satoru cuts you off before you get the chance. "You want dinner? I can order us takeout. Anywhere you'd like."

Drop it, his eyes say. You do.

That very night, you pack a bag and head to the nearest hotel. In the morning, you'll ask your job if they can transfer you to another city. For tonight, you'd like to just get a good night's rest without the lingering fear of waking up to his figure looming over you.

You wake up to familiar surroundings. It doesn't register as strange until you remember checking into a hotel the night prior. You shoot up to get a better look around. Sure enough, you're in your own bedroom, not the hotel's.

But how...?

You're sure you left last night. Did you dream it? You go to check your phone, but it's not there.

Just then, the door opens. "Oh, you're up," your roommate says.

"Satoru, what's---"

"I called you in sick for work today," he says casually, "and tomorrow. Actually, starting today, you're unemployed."

"What?!"

"Don't worry. I can take care of us. I've got more than enough money."

Satoru wants you more than he's ever wanted anything, and he wants you to feel the same way. He'd do anything if it meant winning your heart.

If you asked him to kneel...If you asked him to beg...

If you asked him to let you go, however...

"C'mon, baby, you know I can't do that," he'd say, arms around your waist and head in your lap. "Ask me for something else, anything. Just not that. Do you want a pony? We can get a pony."

"No---"

"What about a cat? Or maybe you prefer dogs? I could get a purebred if you wanted one. I know it gets lonely being in the house all by yourself."

"I want to go outside, Satoru."

"We could get a fish tank, I guess. Though I doubt they'd make good company."

"Listen to me---"

"Actually, maybe that's for the best. Wouldn't want to compete for my lover's attention in my very own home, you know?"

Suguru Geto

When he was at his lowest, Suguru thought of you. It kept him going. It kept him sane.

So, of course, you were the first person he asked to join him in the creation of the new world. His world.

"Our world," he said, the look on his face desperate, pleading.

You declined, of course. His ideals went against everything you stood for as a Jujutsu sorcerer. As a person.

He took it well---or seemed to, at least. He flashed you a plastered-on smile and released your hands from his, leaving you with no further fuss.

For a while, that seemed to be the end of it.

Life went on. Though you would occasionally catch wind of his nefarious deeds, dealing with such things never fell within your purview. In fact, it almost seemed as if the higher-ups were purposefully keeping you from any cases that involved him.

You had all but forgotten about that fateful evening when a call from the higher-ups had you booking a flight to Okayama.

Apparently, there had been a sudden influx of cursed spirits in the region. And as the lead researcher in cursed phenomena, you were called to the scene.

You had already been given a file outlining the happenings, but out of courtesy, Yumi, the assistant supervisor assigned to the case alongside you, filled you in regardless.

"It's not that there's a higher rate of cursed spirits being born in this area," she said. "They're migrating here."

"Hmm," you look over the map on your tablet again; colour-coded dots mark the locations and grades of each (presumed) non-native sighting. The spacings are far from natural. They seem to have been made with intent, almost as if forming a pattern of some kind.

"We've set up a barrier to track the arrival of new cursed spirits. Nearly every curse from fourth to semi-first grade in the neighbouring towns has been coming here. Some of our windows have even spotted them moving together in groups."

"Was there anything strange about their behaviour? Like moving in single-file lines, with strange movements, or perhaps even speaking?" Yumi lights up.

"Yes, actually! They were all---"

Your screen flashes, suddenly restarting the tablet without your input.

"Huh...?"

"[Last]-San..." Your supervisor almost whispers. You tear your eyes from your screen to hers as she weakly holds up her tablet to you.

Over four hundred cursed spirits have been spotted crossing the Okayama border within the past fifteen minutes.

Your tablet finishes restarting, and you scramble to view the map again, hoping what you just saw was nothing more than a glitch.

The loading screen seems to take ages to complete, but when it does, the map shows exactly what you feared.

Oh. You get it now.

The pattern it was trying to spell out. It's "愛"

---"Love".

You hear a scream.

"Ah, it's good to see you again. How long has it been now?" A voice---one you're all too familiar with---says. "Two, no, maybe three years?" Suguru is wiping blood off of his hands. You don't want to look down. You can't look down.

Yumi is dead.

You looked down.

"I'm not sure why I phrased that like a question I didn't know the answer to," he says, smiling in a way that makes your heart ache. "I've been keeping track down to the days, you see."

"Were you...behind this?" You've never been one for combat. You can't use reverse cursed technique to save Yumi. You can't fight to save the others. There's nothing you can do.

You've never felt so helpless.

"I did," he admits casually. "I recently got my hands on a new curse. First-grade 'Pied Piper', its technique creates a sort of call-and-response between itself and other curses of a lower grade through a musical frequency only other curses can perceive. With that technique, I can manipulate the movements of curses I haven't yet acquired without leaving my residuals behind."

"But if it's coming from the technique of a curse you possess, your residuals would still be left behind," you counter.

"Ah, as quick on the uptake as always, [First]," he praises. "You're right, or you would be if this curse were under the control of my curse spirit manipulation. No, this curse was tamed, not subjugated."

"Why are you telling me this?"

He's going to kill you once he's finished explaining.

"I've always appreciated an inquisitive mind," he says. "especially when it's your inquisitive mind." Your mouth forms a vague 'O' shape as the realisation dawns on you.

"愛"

"Love"

...You're never getting away.

Kento Nanami

Nanami is someone who has never really been all that content with life.

Sorcery sucks. Corporate sucks. Japan sucks.

Sometimes, on his darkest days, Nanami thinks about what would have happened if he had joined Haibara—or better yet, if he had never even been born in the first place. If the world is this awful, wouldn't it be better to have never experienced it at all?

But then he met you, and suddenly, the world didn't seem all that bad.

Don't get him wrong, it's not like your presence suddenly made all the wrongs in the world right, but it did make him feel like they all mattered just a little bit less. Like maybe all this suffering was worth it, if it also meant he could see you smile.

So, of course, he'd do anything to keep you safe. To protect that smile.

The easiest way to ensure that, of course, would be to clip your wings. To lock you away somewhere where only he could reach you. A songbird that only sings for him, a dove in a birdcage.

He'd treat you like royalty, of course. His job pays well, but he's a somewhat frugal person by nature, so he has plenty of savings lying around. Whatever you wanted, he'd get you.

As long as you stayed safe, he couldn't ask for anything more. Even if you didn't love him, as long as your smile could be protected, that would be enough.

He's in the middle of researching what kind of restraints would cause the least damage and irritation to your skin when he realises what a grave mistake he was about to make.

'If the world is this awful, wouldn't it be better to have never experienced it at all?'

What if...

What if you started feeling that way, too?

What if, in trying to protect your smile, he ends up being the one to take it away?

He could offer you all the material things in the world, but if it comes at the price of your freedom, it might still not make you happy. After all, it was the same for him.

If money didn't make him happy, why would you be different?

Sorcery sucks. Corporate sucks. Japan sucks.

Nanami is worse.

He doesn't deserve you. It's with this thought in mind that he begins to avoid you. He refuses to meet your gaze, leaves the room when you enter, and declines all missions that involve your presence.

He feels like he's going crazy. Separation has made him sloppy and reckless. He comes home with more injuries, and a part of him thinks he deserves it.

Bags begin to form under his eyes as two weeks go by without the haven of your presence. He sees you everywhere now. The girl across the street is dressed in a substyle you like. The model in that magazine has your eyes. The cafe down the block is having a special on your coffee order.

"Nanamin, why're you avoiding [Last] all of a sudden? They do something to you?" Nanami scoffs at the remark but doesn't answer. He turns to leave but stops when Gojo continues. "Y'know, they actually came cryin' to me about it. Said they had no idea why you suddenly started treatin' 'em like they've got the plague." Nanami turns to look at Gojo, who's fiddling with his blindfold. "You should make up with them soon. Can't leave our cute little assistant supervisor feeling so down, you know?"

Nanami hates to admit it, but Gojo might be right.

'What if, in trying to protect your smile, he ends up being the one to take it away?'

Fuck. He can't do anything right.

He really doesn't deserve you, but what can he do? If he leaves, you won't smile anymore, but if he stays, you'll be smiling at a monster.

But what can he do? He'd do anything to protect that smile.

Even if it means hiding his fangs.

Toji Fushiguro

Toji is a man who takes what he wants and doesn't care if he has to get his hands dirty in order to take it.

Naturally, this applies to you as well.

It's strange, he's never wanted someone as badly as he wants you. Not his past flings, not even his late wife.

Toji is no stranger to romance. He was married, after all. He knows love. It's a familiar feeling.

That's why he's inclined to believe that what he feels for you isn't love. No, what he feels for you is far too primal to be love. It's rough and all-consuming. It's nothing like the soothing feeling he had around his wife.

Love wraps around one's heart like a warm blanket. This wraps around his heart like a python.

But if it's not love, what is it?

Actually, scratch that. It doesn't matter.

Whatever it is, it's some form of desire. And if he desires something, then all he has to do is take it.

Yes, it's better to keep these kinds of things simple rather than getting tied up in technicalities.

There is a problem, however. He'd like nothing more than to just lock you up and keep you for himself, but with his somewhat unstable income and his habit of bouncing around from place to place, that isn't exactly feasible.

Ah, what to do...?

He could settle down or stop spending his money as soon as he earns it, but where's the fun in that?

No, rather than try to adapt to your lifestyle, he'd much rather force you to adapt to his. Still, he supposes some sacrifices will be necessary, as his lifestyle is currently only fit for one.

You'll have to quit your job since you'll be moving around from place to place alongside him, but he'll just take on some more jobs to cover the extra cost; it's no big deal.

He proposes the idea to you so matter-of-factly that it's almost as if he believes you to have already agreed to the plan beforehand. In reality, this is your first time hearing of such a thing, and you're so stunned that you momentarily lose your voice.

You've known this man for two, no, maybe three weeks, and yet he's asking you to drop everything and come overseas with him? You're not even friends! He's just a regular at the cafe you're employed with.

It dawns on you that he must be joking, so you chuckle awkwardly and avert your gaze. Perhaps you simply haven't known him long enough to gauge his sense of humour. You feel a little embarrassed for nearly having taken him so seriously.

Then, he shows you the plane tickets.

Bewildered, you end up being more blunt than you perhaps meant to: "I'm not going," you say, pushing his tickets back to him.

"Sweetheart," he says dryly. "I'm not asking." You shoot him a strained, confused smile, which quickly morphs into a more genuine one as the door chimes.

To think you'd ever be happy to serve a customer. It's a foreign sentiment, but if it means an end to this strange interaction, you'd happily serve a hundred---no, maybe even a thousand customers.

You take their order and get to making their drink, shooting quick glances at the man---Toji, you think---from behind the bar.

He hasn't taken his eyes off of you.

It's days like this that you wish the company wasn't so stingy about hiring more than one person for shifts. You're about to clock out, and if that man is going to stay until closing, you'd really like to have a coworker walk you back to your car.

It's twenty minutes until closing when Toji finally leaves. You let out an unconscious sigh of relief, feeling your shoulders relax. That was weird, but you shouldn't have to see him again, right? He's going overseas tomorrow, after all.

Yeah, you won't see him again. Thank goodness.

It's with that thought in mind that you flip the "We're open!" sign to its side and lock the doors. It's only 6 PM, but the fall season means it's already dark. You shiver from a cool breeze as you make your way towards your car at last.

Huh. Flat tire.

Ryomen Sukuna

Those who know of Sukuna will inevitably feel sorry for anyone who happens to catch his gaze. Sorcerer or not, none will ever possess even a fraction of the strength he carries, and for someone like Sukuna, that means you're no better than a bug to be trampled on.

What a poor, pitiful thing you are. You must be treated more like a pet than a person. A plaything for him to toy with, to discard once you've ceased to entertain.

However, this interpretation couldn't be more wrong.

What others fail to realise is that Sukuna would never waste his time on someone he doesn't consider his equal. Weak as you may be, there's something about you that seems different in his eyes.

Like a precious gem left unpolished, there's a certain allure to you that only a trained eye could see, and he'll be damned if he lets anyone else stake a claim on you first.

No, he'll be the one to bring out your true potential.

Sukuna has never met someone worthy of being his companion. This has never bothered him, however. Loneliness was not something he was familiar with. There are those who have tried, of course, to prove their worth, to stand by his side, but none have ever moved him.

None until you, that is.

The funny thing is that you don't even try to win his attention. You never once asked for his gaze to land upon you. And yet, he can't bring himself to look away.

Sukuna doesn't know what to do with you. You make him feel things he's never felt before.

Is this weakness? Is it love?

Is there a difference between the two at all?

Should he kill you? Should he keep you?

What can he do to make these feelings go away? What can he do to ensure they never go away?

In exchange for not pillaging your homeland, the townspeople offer you up as a sacrifice. It was Uraume's idea.

At midnight, you're dragged out of the comfort of your home and tied to a stake, where you stay for hours. By dawn, you've worn yourself out with struggle, dried blood sticking to your hands and the ropes around your wrists, when a white-haired stranger comes to collect you.

The stranger undoes your bindings, but only the ones keeping you bound to the pole. You're dragged along like a dog on a leash for countless hours until you eventually arrive at the largest estate you've ever seen in your life. It's midday when you're untied and allowed to bathe. The warm water releases all the tension from your aching muscles, and as you bathe, the white-haired fellow replaces the garments you arrived in with robes made of fine silk.

The stranger's name is Uraume, they tell you. They'll be taking care of you until their master is ready to meet with you.

"What happens after that?" you ask tentatively.

Uruame flashes you a smile that refuses to answer.

Before you know it, a full week has passed you by. You're still yet to see this so-called master, but Uraume tells you not to worry. After all, the master has already seen you lots of times, they say.

The thought of being watched in secret sends a shiver down your spine.

Though the prison is large, you're confined to only one wing of the estate, and after a week of having nothing to do but wander, you have the entire layout memorized. Bored and unattended, you decide to venture out into the unknown past the garden's gates. There, you come face-to-face with the largest man you've ever laid eyes upon.

A hulking figure with four arms and fiery pink hair turns to you, and in an instant, you fall to the ground, only vaguely aware of the blood pooling around you and the pain across your chest.

In truth, Sukuna had tried to kill you, but his technique missed your vitals. It takes him a moment of watching your blood ooze out of the open wound to realize he did it on purpose. Before he even realizes it, he's picked you up in his lower arms and applied reverse cursed technique to your injury. You've lost consciousness, and your pulse is weak, but you aren't dead. Relief floods through Sukuna's veins as he listens to your soft breathing.

From that day on, you're never to leave his side unless absolutely necessary. From that day on, Sukuna has someone worthy of standing by his side, not as a servant, nor a pet, but as a companion. From that day on, Sukuna has a lover.

Whether you like it or not.

Mahito

As a curse born from the hatred and fear humans feel towards their own kind, Mahito relishes humanity's anguish and despair. He kills without a second thought, not caring who he hurts or who gets swept up into his path of mass destruction.

So why is it that this particular human sways him so? Why is it that he thinks your soul looks pretty, just the way it is? Why does he want to touch you but not to warp you beyond repair?

Why does he want you to look at him? Why does he want to scoop your eyes out of your sockets so that you can never look away?

To be a curse is to always follow your own desires, no matter how contradictory or inconsistent---that's the motto that Mahito lives by.

So, of course, this philosophy applies to you as well.

It doesn't make sense, and he doesn't understand it. But that doesn't matter to him. Why would it? He's a curse, and curses take what they want. What he wants is you, so, of course, he has to take you, too.

Mahito doesn't spend long watching you before he makes his move. First, he has to check if you can even see curses to begin with. If you can, that'll make things easier. But if you can't...well, that'll be fun too.

He bumps into you at the train station around 2 AM. It was a late night at work, and you're now dead on your feet. There's no one around, so it's the perfect time for him to test you. He taps your shoulder with a smile.

If you don't react, he starts feeling you up, talking aloud about how much he wants you as his hands roam your body.

"Mm, you're so weak," he says, palm on your stomach. "Look at you, all unguarded. If I wanted to, I could take your soul and just—" he squeezes the flesh on your abdomen. "—until you go splat! Hmm, but I don't really want to do that. I wonder why?" His hand trails down to your hips, brushing past—but not quite landing on—your private areas.

"It's weird, isn't it? You can't even see me. You don't even know I exist. But I know you exist." He grabs your hand, interlocking your fingers together. "Humans usually wear rings when they're married, right? I wonder why you don't have one? You're such a catch," he giggles. "Ah, well, I guess it's better for me. Less work, y'know?Though, I would have liked to see the look on your face, coming home to dear, sweet hubby, all mangled up in your living room. I wouldn't even bother transfiguring him. No, I'd want you to see his face clearly, all contorted in pain with his guts splayed out all over the floor."

He follows you home. You still can't see him, but you at least seem a little aware of his presence, with the way you keep glancing over your shoulder, randomly picking up the pace and taking more turns than necessary.

How fascinating! You can't see him, and yet you can sense him? He's swooning already.

"Don't worry, [First]," he says, arms around your shoulders as you fumble with your keys. "You'll be able to see me soon. And after that, you're never getting rid of me."

If you do react, however, he holds himself back, opting to strike up a lighthearted conversation with you instead.

"What's a pretty thing like you doing here all alone?" He asks. "Don't you know the subway is dangerous at night?" You visibly bristle, clearly on guard. He grins.

"Do you need something?" You ask, clutching your bag to your chest and stepping back. His grin widens, easily closing the distance you've just created.

"You're lonely, aren't you? All you do is work; you don't even have any friends! It's kind of pathetic, really. That's okay, though, I like you anyway. I might be the only one."

"What do you---"

"I could help you, you know. Ease your loneliness, maybe?" He's touching you now. Nothing outright inappropriate, but you could smell his intentions from a mile away.

"No thanks," you say. The train stops, and you hurry off the platform. Fortunately, the stranger doesn't get off with you. He waves at you as the doors close, and you run all the way home.

Finally feeling safe, you don't bother to do anything more than kick off your shoes before collapsing on your bed. It creaks under your weight, then creaks again. You freeze, your eyes shooting open.

"Heya," the stranger says. "Fancy seeing you again."

Choso Kamo

If you were to describe him in one word, 'inexperienced' may be your best bet.

Though it's true that he has 'lived' for over one hundred and fifty years, he spent most of that time as a cursed womb, unable to truly experience the outside world for himself. Even after being incarnated and absorbing the memories of his host, Choso finds himself unable to relate to any of his body's experiences. He knows what love is and what lovers do, but only from a technical standpoint. To actually experience it is something he's never even dreamed of doing.

So, of course, when he starts feeling these things for you, he's unable to properly put a label on them. At first, he thinks he's sick, which isn't unreasonable, considering his rather long list of symptoms (fever, shakes, sweats, heart palpitations, and clouded mind, he notes dutifully).

However, that idea is quickly shut down. Being a cursed womb death painting, it's highly unlikely that he even can get sick; plus, his symptoms only seem to surface when you're around (or when he's thinking of you, which, admittedly, is often).

Did you curse him? No, you don't have a technique like that.

Then, what...?

It takes him a somewhat embarrassingly long time for him to realise the truth behind his feelings. It isn't until after he catches himself staring at your lips and thinking about how soft they'd feel against his that he concludes he likes you.

So, he's figured it out. Now what...?

Choso searches through his host's memories in an attempt to figure out how to woo you. Unfortunately for him, his host was a frat boy with commitment issues who knew more about one-night stands than how to build the foundations for an actual relationship.

So, Choso consults Yuki Tsukimo, who he, with his very limited circle of friends, considers to be an expert.

As expected, Yuki is ecstatic at the news that Choso has found his type. Immediately, she's giving an impromptu lecture on the ways of the heart.

"First, you have to figure out their type," she says, wagging a finger. "If it's a match, you're all good. If not, you either need to give up or double down."

Through Yuki's mentoring, Choso learned the general rules for signalling romantic interest. Flowers, chocolates, walks in the park, walks on the beach—a lot of walking in general, actually—candlelit dinner, pick-up lines—he's got it all memorized.

The problem is that his throat gets dry, and his knees lock up when he so much as thinks about talking to you.

So he takes to following you with his eyes instead.

"It's just until I gather the courage to talk to them," he tells himself. "I'll stop once I figure out their type."

Right, if he can't ask you about your interests, he'll just have to observe them instead.

So, he watches you. All the time. Eventually, he all but forgets about his previous plan of it being a temporary habit.

It's just so...addicting. Watching you go about your day like normal. Completely unaware of his presence in the shadows. 

He learns about your hobbies, your interests, what kind of shows you like, your favourite foods, whether you still keep stuffed animals in your room, and more. He has a mental folder of all your likes and dislikes. And while there are some things he’s not able to learn, some places he’s not able to follow, it’s enough. Just knowing this much is perfect. 

He doesn't do anything. He doesn't plan to, either. He’s content with just watching. It's comfortable like this. He doesn't want anything to change. So, he forgets about stopping, and instead sinks even deeper into his newfound obsession.

If he had it his way, things would stay like this forever. Him, never confessing, and you, never knowing. But, unfortunately, fate had other plans in mind.

It was 10:15 AM, and you were at a local coffee shop by yourself when the barista handed you their number with your receipt. You shyly accepted, and just a day later, the two of you had plans for a date the next week.

Unfortunately, your 'date' canceled last minute and blocked you with no explanation.

It's a good thing, then, that your good friend Choso just so happened to bump into you, lending you his shoulder to cry on.

Well, there's no reason to waste a good dinner reservation, right?

You never do go back to that cafe, but if you did, you'd find the barista missing from the register.

[januaryembrs]

LET IT ONCE BE ME | Spencer Reid x Prentiss!Reader [7]

Description: The THREE times she waits + the ONE time she doesn't have to.

length: 17.9k

trigger warnings: criminal minds gore + violence. jealousy. talks of sex and male and female anatomy. they get horny for one another basically. talks of Maeve + day of the dead. yearning idk? mention of one twin absorbing the other one in the womb (sorry if this is taken the wrong way but I conferred with my friend who did this when she was a foetus and she said it's not offensive and is okay to talk about so?)

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‘Let it once be me, who do I have to speak to 

About if they can redo the prophecy?’

The one where they pretend to be married

“I will not be exploited in my own home,” Bugsy chided, the faint smell of burning toast filling the small kitchenette. The butter knife sat ready in her hand, salted spread dripping down the handle where she’d been busy making breakfast before she had been called. 

He blinked back at her, unamused. 

“No. You cannot just scream at me whenever you want something from me. This relationship is toxic,” She huffed, turning back to butter her toast with the thick goodness. Sometimes she loathed living with three boys who had her wrapped around their fingers. 

The second piece of bread popped out of the toaster, which she quickly grabbed and began spreading, her fingers gripping onto the crusts gently as she did so. The squealing started again just as she readied herself to take the first bite, and she whirled around to see the two orange eyes that stared at her from on top of the counter. 

“Sergio, stop. You’ll get Niko all wound up-” She hadn’t even finished her sentence when Spencer shuffled into the kitchen, his hair mussed from sleep, his long plaid pyjama bottoms skirting high up his ankles where he’d impossibly hit another growth spurt and forgot to find better fitting clothes. Niko darted in between his legs, rushing to jump up on the breakfast bar, where Sergio was already interrogating Bugsy for more treats, a low yowl leaving his throat at the thought of being left out of feeding. “You boys are driving me crazy, no more biscuits for today-”

The yowl grew in decibels, a second one symphonying it, and she rolled her eyes, ignoring the whiney babies, turning to hand Spencer his piece of toast, crust already cut off and split into halves the way he liked it. 

“I warned you not to treat them when I’m not here, they’ve become spoiled brats,” She huffed, though she felt her entire body warm up when she looked at his doe eyes, still half idled with sleep as he watched her swan around his kitchen, their kitchen technically since she had all but moved in to his little apartment meant for two housemates. 

But they weren’t just house mates. They weren’t even dating. But she knew he wanted to. Because he loved her. 

“How could you expect me to say no, they’re so compelling,” He said, his voice gravelly where he’d lightly snored, as much as he always denied he did, fussing Niko behind the ear with long, gentle fingers. He took the plate out of her hand, his eyes swirling with a moved expression when he saw she’d cut his crusts off, his gaze snapping back up to where she’d sweeped her hair out her face, a large shirt and a pair of his clean boxers adorning her figure, “Thankyou,”

He hadn’t said the three magic words since, neither of them had. But they felt it. The weird static that had been thick in the air between them before was crackling along their skin with every glance, like they were both thinking the same thing.

I love you, and you love me.

He smiled at her warmly, the urge to grab her by her face and kiss her skin all over almost overwhelming him, because he counted himself lucky every single day. She loved him. She loved him. She loved him. He heard it in every heart beat, like a mantra that his chest clung to since the words had spilled from her soft lips. She was waiting for him, for his head to settle with the idea that Maeve was gone, and he could let her go and not feel terrible about it; waiting for him to make the first move. 

“Coffee?” He asked, watching her eyes soften as they trailed over his face, and he worried he looked a little worse for wear since he’d rolled out of bed and headed towards the source of the girl he loved arguing with someone in the kitchen even though that someone had turned out to be the greedy bastard they loved dearly.

He knew he was the luckiest guy in the world to have her waiting on him, and he never let himself forget it. 

“Yes, please,” She said, and he brushed past her, close enough for it to be on purpose when their arms touched, his hands busying themselves in between the plate and munching on the first bite of breakfast, because he didn’t know what he might do if they spent one more second looking at one another like that. 

She watched him move towards the kettle she’d sent him for Christmas when she was in London. After using one for two weeks she’d seen the light and realised he would love the nifty little invention. Her arm burned where he’d touched as if he’d taken a flame to her skin, her chest boiling up with every single thing she could think to tell him, like how good his hair looked when he didn’t do much with it, or how hot his voice sounded like that, or that she really really did love him the way she’d never even thought possible outside her silly romance novels, that she’d never believed Pip when he’d told Estella; “You are part of my existence, part of myself. You have been in every line I have ever read,” and yet when she thought of it now, watching Spencer busy himself shovelling sugar into two mugs, it made entire perfect sense. 

She couldn’t remember who she was before she knew him, and she didn’t ever want to know. 

She opened her mouth to say something, perhaps to say those three little words again, or just to tell him he smelled good even when he hadn’t put any deodorant or aftershave on, but her phone’s ringtone cut her off. 

Already knowing it was going to be Penelope with a new case, she flicked the call on to speaker phone, “What you got for me, baby girl?” She said, trying to make her voice as deep as it would go, and she heard Spencer snickering where he was stirring hot water into the instant coffee.

“Was that supposed to be Morgan?” Pen’s voice replied, a small chuckle of her own evident even through the digital tone.

“I thought that was pretty good,” Bugsy replied, stuffing the last of the toasted bread into her mouth.

“I thought he was right in the room with us for a moment there,” Spencer chimed in, humouring her, as he also took an enormous bite from his breakfast, knowing they were more than likely about to be called in and their game of house, one where they flustered every time they spoke, was going to be over, “I was like, woah, Morgan, when did you get here-”

“Alright, my little rascals. We have a case, Hotch wants everyone in,” Penelope said, no doubt already paging through JJ, “No more coffee for either of you, you’re both being weird enough as it is,” 

“Definitely not,” Spencer said, sliding the mug of milky, sweet caffeine over to Bugsy who smiled at him wickedly.

“Wheels up in twenty, Garcia,” The woman added in the same voice as before, Spencer laughing with a shake of his head and moving to stand behind her, his chest pressed against her back, his arm winding around her waist to give her a small, affectionate squeeze on the hip. 

Penelope sighed, already accepting that their mercurial attitudes weren’t going away any time soon, the sudden mood change entirely odd to the rest of the team who had no idea that they had almost kissed just one week ago. To everyone else, they just seemed to have bounced back to normal, reverted back to Bugsy and Spencer; attached at the hip, only the eye contact and secretive smiles had been dialled to a hundred. The line went dead, and her head shot to look at him, where his hand had yet to move, and it was scoldingly hot against the soft fat that gathered at her hips.

“I’ll get your good shirt, I put it out to dry yesterday,” She said, her voice suddenly much less brave than it had been when she saw his eyes crinkling with a small smile. 

He nodded, and she caught his gaze trailing down her nose, darting over her lips for a second in a way that made her chest rev like a Ferrarri out of gear. She felt her breath catch in her throat when he looked back up to her eyes, his forest hues entrancing like he was playing some silent flute song and she was a snake dancing under his orders. 

He took a second to realise they were standing in his kitchen, his body pressed against hers like he hadn’t even realised they were so close, like he’d just gravitated to her that way, like he couldn’t stop it even if he’d tried to. He’d had a taste of nectar, and he was a drunk man ever since. 

Spencer wrangled a hold of himself, allowing himself to stroke the back of her head lovingly, and pressing a kiss to her crown, before he stepped away from her, and the siren song dropped, the two of them dispersing to get ready for the case. 

Bugsy swore she could hear her heart pounding the entire drive to headquarters.

–

“I think the real question is why married couples?” Hotch mused, a steaming cup of black coffee sitting in front of him on the jet, his nose in the file on his lap. 

Bugsy scanned over the manilla folder in her hands, her legs swinging rhythmically beneath the table she sat on, Rossi to her left, her own second cup of coffee squeezed between her thighs. It was a heavy case for a weekend morning, three married couples found slashed and dumped together, the UnSub showing no signs of slowing or stopping.

“If he’s a sadist, having a witness to his torture heightens his pleasure,” Alex added, her lips pursed in contemplation, her hair primped surprisingly neat considering they’d been called in with little to no notice on a Sunday. 

“Israel Keyes kidnapped a husband and wife at gunpoint, got them in a car, took them to a remote location, and then killed the husband in front of the wife,” Spencer said, trying not to look straight at Bugsy when he felt her eyes on him.

He’d never been one to keep a good poker face, never been good at hiding how he felt especially when he was happy. And she made him happier than he deserved to be. He knew their little arrangement would become glaringly obvious to the rest of the team if he let himself look at her. he had no control of his face when it came to her, how he felt his eyes soften, his lips turn up into a dopey smile, his hands itching to touch her just to confirm she was real.

He saw her head tilt down, into her lap as she tried desperately to focus on the words on the page, but he caught the small smile that she kept for herself, and he had a feeling she was struggling just as much as he was. 

“Keyes was a sexual sadist, though,” Rossi interjected, his hands wrapped around a scolding cup of the green tea Penelope had bought them because she’d read of the stress relief benefits. They’d taken it, but David and Bugsy were the only ones who had tried it, “This guy, I don’t know,” 

“Cutting a husband and wife to death, it’s more like he’s mocking their marriage bond,” JJ said, her bluebell hues dancing to Bugsy when the girl chimed in.

“Mutilating both of them, killing them together, it’s like the idea of couples and happy marriage is a trigger for him; it’s personal. He wants to make them pay for their happiness, likely because something’s stopping him from having it too,” She said, taking a long sip of her coffee, Rossi nodding along with her. 

“That’s where my head’s at. ‘You took each other for better or worse, now I’m going to show you worse’,” He said, leaning back against the table, his shoulder nudging the younger girl. 

Derek stroked a hand over his stubbled beard, “His home life’s probably a wreck, at least one ex-wife, not to mention mom and dad,”  

“Alright we need to hit the ground,” Hotch said, flicking a glance at the youngest agent where she was all but inhaling her sweet beverage, “Prentiss and Reid, I want you mapping out a geographical profile,”

She nodded, her eyes slowly trailing to Spencer’s as Hotch distributed jobs around the team, but her head subconsciously tuned his stern voice out into static. Because when she looked up at his face, he was already staring at her, and the sound of her heartbeat racing crawled its way back into her ear, the thrumming so loud she was sure David could hear it too, she might as well have held a megaphone to her mouth and announced “Spencer Reid, you make me so nervous in the good kind of way,”

His hazel eyes trailed over her face, her expression unreadable as she scrambled to keep a lid on her feelings, and she wondered if this was where the phrase ‘Don’t shit where you eat,’ came from, because him so much as looking at her wiped her mind completely, which was not ideal for an agent working on a case. But she couldn’t help it, he was enchanting, and she guessed he was having just as much of an inner quarrel as he looked away from her, the apples of his cheeks and tips of his earlobes turning a strawberry ice cream pink. 

She had no idea how she was going to make it through the rest of the day so close to him. 

–

“First couple were last seen on the corner of Hill Avenue, Bella Mia Italian restaurant,” Bugsy read from her scrawled notes, as Spencer took a purple white board pen to the map of Detroit. Drawing a circle of a 5 centimetre radius around the little dot, he kept his eyes ahead of him. Hearing her pace behind him, he didn’t need to look up to know she was chewing her cuticles again. 

“Stop biting,” He chided lightly, hearing a guilty silence where he knew she’d caught herself with embarrassment. He tried not to show his amusement, knowing it would only make her feel worse, he bit down a smirk and raised his pen back to the map, “Next one?” 

She’d been on edge all day. He would have probably brushed it off as caffeine jitters seeing as she was on her fourth cup already, but Spencer knew her too well to know her tolerance was so high she had about two more mugs in her before she’d start to crash. 

He knew what it was, the memory of her skin beneath his lips burning his cheeks all over again, the look in her eyes when he’d been close enough they were sharing breath. He knew what it was because he felt it too. It was like their confession had set off a ticking time bomb, one that neither of them had the countdown to, and the clicking of every passing second sounded oddly like a pulse in their throats. To put it short, just the sound of her footsteps was making his skin pimpled with gooseflesh. 

“Uh, next one is Bowlarama, about ten stores down from there, Couple number two were seen getting milkshakes and heading towards the parking lot before they went missing,” She recited, her fingers firmly clutching the paper in her hand to resist the urge of gnawing at her nails again. Why was she so nervous? She lived with Spencer, ate breakfast, lunch and dinner with Spencer, spent almost all her evenings either playing chess or watching movies with Spencer, or on the odd occasion he found a book in reach he hadn’t read yet, he’d read out parts to her he found particularly engaging to those million, trillion, billion neurological pathways of his. 

The squealing of the pen against the board was the only thing keeping her head in the case, Spencer’s messy handwriting dotting around the map with points of interest, and she begged her brain to kick into gear the way it normally did, tried everything to yank herself out of the head fog she’d found herself lost in where thoughts of him emerged through like Mr Darcy strolling through those clouded moors, like how his voice sounded when he smiled, how his hand looked gripping that pen, how his body was lithe and handsome even from the back. 

She shook her head, jamming her face back into her files, to the gory images of couple number three, mutilated and bloody, and reminded herself she had a job to do. 

Get it together, Prentiss.

“Couple number three’s last known location was on the corner of Whittier Avenue, outside a wine bar named Blue Mates,” Bugsy read out, hoping her hot cheeks would dissipate before he noticed, “It seems couples out on date night really agitate this guy,” 

Spencer hummed, focused on his third circle, the three of them overlapping with almost precise measurements. It was hard not to notice the pattern to them. He heard her draw nearer with his profile complete, and they stood beside one another, so close they knocked hands when they leaned in to take a closer look at the rings.

“He hits the same street of stores every time, one after another,” Spencer said, his long forefinger trailing down the strip of shops and bars the UnSub seemed to have a taste for, “I mean, excluding retail and supermarkets, since they’re unlikely spots for a husband and wife to go out on a date, the pattern is really quite linear where he hits next,” 

Gently taking the pen out of his hands, Bugsy leaned up to colour in every single store that would be considered retail, crossing out a pet shop or two, leaving only the cafes, bars, restaurants, even a cinema. And sure enough, the three spots the victims had been last seen lined up perfectly as the first three ‘date night’ locations on the strip, the next being a steak restaurant named The Greasy Grill. 

“How much do you want to bet our UnSub is getting a craving for Sirloin right about now?” Bugsy said, putting the pen down onto the table and they exchanged a look of accomplishment, just as Hotch walked in with the Chief of Detroit police. 

“What did you find?” Hotch asked, his eyes falling to the asterisks drawn on the whiteboard, the rest of the known locations Penelope had sent dotted around the map. 

“Date night is very important to this UnSub,” Spencer said, the two of them turning to their boss, his shoulder bumping hers, and it was only then she’d realised she was all but pressing up into his side. 

“He goes on dates?” The chief of police asked, his brows furrowed. Taking a step away, her eyes darting to the map as a means of distracting herself, she pointed to the ink marks they’d squiggled on the paper.

“No, but the victims do and he knows that,” She explained, tracing a chewed fingertip down the street, “The UnSub hit here first, where our first couple went out for pizza. He then moved down here where the second victims had their date night in a bowling alley, and onto our newest victims, they were last seen having wine here, each kidnapping site along the same strip with the next possible location being right here,” She said, her finger slapping against the Greasy Grill, Hotch nodding in thought as the Chief got on the phone with his own team. 

“Good work, you two,” Hotch hummed, and he opened his mouth to speak again when Bugsy’s phone began to ring.

Snatching it out of her pocket, she caught sight of Alex’s name before swiping to answer, pressing it to her ear, “Hello?” 

“Fourth victim has just been found dumped in a car.” The woman said immediately, and Bugsy switched her mobile to speaker so the other two could hear her. Turning on her heels to face the white board, she grabbed the pen resting on the table beside her, yanking the lid off with her teeth.

“Where?” She asked, Spencer picking the plastic from between her lips to help her communicate, her eyes focused on the road names as she waited for Alex’s response. 

“Back alley between Warren and Forest Avenue, one woman found alone in a white Buick,” Alex said, and all three of their faces scrunched in confusion as she said it. 

“He’s changed his victimology,” Spencer murmured and Bugsy nodded, her lips pressed in a flat line, “Alex, is the woman married at least, or has the UnSub completely altered his preference?”

“We have her husband here right now,” Alex confirmed, and Hotch stepped over to where the two geniuses inspected the map, “He said he missed a dinner reservation they had two nights ago at a restaurant called-”

“The Greasy Grill?” Spencer and Bugsy spoke synchronously, and Alex paused audibly. 

“I take it you two have figured out his pattern already?” She asked, though she didn’t sound all too surprised. 

“See if the husband knows anything else, Blake. We’re going to figure out the next location that fits the pattern,” Hotch ordered, and they bid each other goodbye, as Bugsy and Spencer were already coordinating which plots of land were retail stores. 

By the time the line went dead, there was a big red mark circling a mini golf course slash cocktail bar, and the duo looked at him expectantly. 

“If the UnSub keeps his victims for around three days at a time, and the woman was found this morning, my guess is he’s going to head there tonight,” Bugsy said, capping the pen and dropping it back onto the desk, feeling Spencer nodding behind her, “And if the victim was supposed to be at the restaurant with her husband, it means he’s still looking for couples, he just happened to get unlucky. He’s going to want another happy-go-lucky husband and wife pairing,” 

Hotch’s face became unreadable for a moment, his gaze switching between the two of them, like he was assessing the risk factor of sending his two youngest agents undercover for the second time. But they seemed to have worked together seamlessly the first time, in that casino, so he didn’t see the qualms about asking them to work the same act this time.

“What?” Bugsy asked, the look in his eye unnerving her, and she flicked a glance behind her at Spencer’s equally lost expression, turning back to see Hotch dialling Dave’s number to update him on their plan, “Hotch, what is it?”

“He wants a happy couple,” Hotch said, his phone already up to his ear as he eyed the little to zero space between the two agents who swore blind they were just friends, “We’re going to give him one,” 

–

She had to admit, this was a little nicer than the red dress she’d been stuffed into last time. The sundress was flowy enough she could hide her gun strapped to her hip, and still compliment her figure nicely enough that she couldn’t complain. And best of all, it meant she could wear her ballet pumps instead of those god awful stilettos she’d pulled out last time they were undercover. 

She still remembered that evening in the casino, watching Spencer’s big brain tick faster than she’d thought possible even for him. The briefing of this even seemed much more relaxed, seeing as their aim was to look like the happiest couple alive. ‘You worry about playing your parts, we’ll worry about playing ours,’; was what Alex had said when she’d brought in a dress about Bugsy’s size, the woman already styling her hair to look like she was really going on a date. 

Because she was, sort of, not really, going on a date with Spencer. Except none of it was real, like someone up there had to have one final laugh at her luck, like that carrot on a string she’d been waiting patiently for the past week was looking a lot more delicious by the second as it dangled in front of her.  

There was a knock on the small hotel room Hotch had booked them in for the evening, seeing as they were going to be scoping out the area until late, and Bugsy headed for the door without pause, thinking it was JJ returning with the fake wedding rings they’d gotten from a cheap jewellers down the street. 

She swung the door open, only to be greeted by two dark eyes looking at her done up face, her primped hair, her floral dress. 

“Spence,” She said, picking over every inch of him, breathless already, because she always thought he looked hot in a button down shirt, his sleeves rolled to his elbows, “You look-”

“You look beautiful,” He rushed, like he might just burst if he held it in any longer, and she smiled sheepishly, her face flooding with heat all over again. Damn you, Reid, with your stupid charm and ridiculously good looking lips.

“You look beautiful too,” She complimented, noticing a gold band on his finger then and she realised he had something in his palm, “You run into JJ already?” 

He nodded, smiling with a stammered breath, “Yeah, I said I’d come check if you were ready. Hotch and Dave are already there scoping out the bar,” 

She simpered under the weight of his nervousness, “Well, I’m ready,” Holding out her left hand, she raised her ring finger, “Marry me, pretty boy,” 

He snickered, shaking his head at her clear diversion from the stifling tension in the air, and held her hand in his delicately, his skin warm as it encompassed hers entirely, and he was careful to slip the false engagement ring over her digits, following it with a gold band of her own. 

“You ready to get your ass kicked at miniature golf whilst our friends catch a criminal, Mr Reid?” She asked, and he had yet to let go of her hand as she shut the door behind her, slipping her hotel room key into her purse. 

“That’s a bold statement from such a sore loser, Mrs Reid,” He said back, a smile so wide he thought he might burst a vessel as she laughed, and tightened her fingers around his, interlacing them just like she had done a handful of times before, and his chest crackled with white hot excitement when she knocked her shoulder into his side in affection. 

His lips scorched with the words Mrs Reid the entire drive to the bar. 

–

“Any eyes on him, yet?” Bugsy whispered to the women in the stalls, touching up her lipstick as JJ and Alex hid in the women’s bathroom for the signal. 

“Not yet,” Blake said, sitting on the closed toilet seat in her kevlar and jacket, all but twiddling her thumbs and wishing she’d brought a sudoku, “Are you guys having fun at least?”

“Pretending to be married to my best friend while a serial killer eyes up my guts for the taking; yeah I’m peachy,” Bugsy replied, rubbing her lips together and making sure her gun was still strapped tight to her hip, “Besides, he really is kicking my ass at golf,”

“He’s going to let you win anyway, you know that right?” JJ said, tucking her feet up onto the seat in her own stall in case anyone who wasn’t on their team came in to the bathroom, “He always lets you win because he knows it makes you happy,”

Bugsy paused, the tissue that was collecting rogue lipstick smudges from her face almost falling in the sink, and she was quick to gather her voice with a clear of her throat.

“Maybe I just win because I’m good, Jennifer,” She said, a lilt of teasing in her tone, binning the scrap tissue paper and heading for the door, “Keep an eye out, kiddos. I’m going back in,”

They chirped a goodbye, the two of them sighing as they waited for Hotch’s message, and Bugsy walked back out to where Spencer was waiting by Hole Seven. It was a classic windmill on top of a hill, a small tunnel where the door was supposed to be leading to a lower level behind the plastic decor, where the hole lay waiting for them. 

“You ready, honey?” He said, holding out a purple putter they’d chosen at the start of the course, and she smiled genuinely at him. She had been telling somewhat of a lie when she’d been so unenthusiastic in the bathroom, though she thought telling the women just how much fun she was having being married to Spencer might just rub salt in the wound considering they were bored stiff sat in the bathroom.

That and she wanted to keep whatever it was they were feeling theirs and only theirs for just a little bit longer. 

“Ready, my love,” She sang in response and let him go first. He had to lean over a fair bit seeing as he was so tall he made everything on the course look particularly miniature, including the putter that seemed dwarfed by his height. Taking a quick look at the hill, no doubt calculating the angle and force he would need to hit it with, he gave the little, pink golf ball a generous tap and it raced up the slope, straight into the tunnel. They heard it knocking around a little in the chamber, before it came careering out the other end and rolled no closer than a yard away from the hole. 

Bugsy looked at him with wide eyes, to which he pretended not to look almost arrogant with how easy he’d made it seem, only when he looked back at her with a shit eating grin, she knew exactly how pleased with himself he was. 

“I bet it’s not that difficult, it’s all just a matter of force and drag and whatnot, right?” She said, strolling up to place her lilac ball on the inky dot marking the start. 

“Totally, although this is where, I don’t know, say a degree in Engineering would come in useful, I bet,” Spencer chimed in, and she didn’t need to look at him to know he had that smirk on his face. 

“Mr Reid, get ready to eat your words,” She replied over her shoulder, smacking the ball hard enough it flew up the slope, bouncing off the wall of the windmill and racing all the way back down the hill, rolling right back to where they stood, Spencer hiding a laugh behind his hand. She gaped, her face hot with annoyance, “Wait, wait! That was a practice run, I get another go,”

“Practice run, I see,” Spencer said with a chuckle, shoving his hands in his pockets, and watching her scramble to set the ball back on the marker, “So out of interest, how many of these practice runs are you getting,”

“Just the one,” She said, hitting the plastic globe again, though this time it barely made it half way up the incline before it rolled right back down again, “Two, I get two. This one’s the real one, starting now,” 

“The real one? So this one’s really the one that counts, right?” He teased, and she glared at him over her shoulder. He stepped closer to her, a look of the cat that got the cream smeared all across his face as he took a stance behind her, wrapping his arms around hers with the oldest trick in the book, “Why don’t you let your dearest husband help you out, huh?” 

“I have a masters and half a degree in medicine, I think I know what I’m doing,” She hummed, though the feeling of his hands resting over hers soone quietened down whatever fire was stoked in her belly from losing their game. Spencer was so close she could feel him breathing down her neck, feel his chest on her shoulder blades, and worst and most heinous of all, feel his crotch pressing against her tailbone. 

“Alright, alright. Just humour me,” He murmured, a new found confidence in him that he only seemed to get whenever they were playing the part of being other people. He gave her a salacious lick of his lips, smiling at her with a pink parted mouth, his eyes dark in this light like he knew what she was thinking as well, and he couldn’t help but think she looked so pretty when he flirted with her a little. He’d always thought that when she was stunned into that quiet tone, the mousy look she got on her face was rather cute. 

His hands engulfed hers with a mesh of pornographic veins and sadistically handsome knuckles, his mouth at her ear as they lined up the shot together. 

It was as if a murmuration of birds had flocked together in her chest, dipping and diving and creating all manner of shapes in her stomach as she felt it flip three or four times, his body so entirely pressed against hers she never wanted to move a muscle. She’d had the odd thought pop into her head about what sex with Spencer Reid might feel like, and yet all she could think about in the haze of the putter and fake grass beneath their feet was how delicious he felt pressing into her like that. 

He leaned in, his lips brushing against her ear as she looked forward again, and she could have sworn she held back a moan when he breathed out down her spine. 

“Hotch has eyes on a guy at the bar watching us,” He whispered, her back straightening as she was reminded with a slap to the face they were still working the case. That as much fun as they were having, as happy as they were supposed to seem, they still had a very real job to do, and she felt stupid for thinking the flirty glances and erotic embrace was for anything more than to sell the married couple act. 

But Bugsy was nothing if not committed to her job. So instead of worrying if Spencer had felt anything real in the last hour or so, she decided to double down and give their UnSub a real show. 

Sticking her ass out so she brushed against Spencer’s crotch more, she intertwined her fingers with his, and hit the dimpled sphere the direction he guided her; and sure enough it rolled straight into the tunnel with little qualms.

Spinning in his arms, the smile was nearly wiped off her face when she saw Spencer’s eyes had darkened to a rich espresso hue as he looked at her. But she hid it well, despite the fact she caught the way his pupils were blown wide, and simply leaned to kiss him smack dab on his cheek, a smirk on her face when she pulled away.

“I guess I just needed the correct motivation,” She said with a flirty undertone, and she revelled in the way his lips parted enough she saw the whites of his absurdly pretty teeth. 

“Remind me to not take you out to mini golf for our first date,” Spencer huffed, his ears red as a mushroom top as they both stepped over to where the hole was and she snickered, trying her best to ignore the wings hammering away at her ribcage when he said that. 

“Duly noted, Mr Reid,” She said, watching him lineup his next shot with a smirk, and she wondered just where exactly they would go on their first date. Her smile only got wider, a girlish glee to her eyes. “So, theoretically, where were you thinking of taking me?” 

“Theoretically,” He said, lining up his shot, the ball only a small tap away from the hole, his feet spreading a little wider so he could lean down to putt the pink sphere, “I was thinking of going to that book cafe out in Delaware, the one where they have a bunch of drinks inspired by different authors. We could play a game I used to with my mom, where we choose a book for each other we think the other would like,” He took the shot, his ball rolling into the cavity without much effort as she watched him meticulously, her entire body softening with his sentiment right down to her marrow, “And then I was going to say we build a sofa fort in the living room and watch whatever movie you like, maybe get some popcorn on the way home,” 

He looked up at her, and almost reeled back in surprise to see her looking at him with something so vastly emotional in her eyes, like he’d offered her a winning lottery ticket or a chance to go back in time in a flying police box, her expression a complete window into her soul because she’d never been too good at hiding how she felt when she was around him. 

Spencer opened his mouth to speak again, only for their earpieces to jump to life, Hotch’s voice out of breath as he reported down their ear. 

“We have the UnSub, we caught him trying to sneak into your car like we profiled.” He said, and she knew his brow was creased without even having to see his face, “We’re taking him in for questioning now, you kids wrap up and head to the station,”

Bugsy hummed in confirmation, fighting the disappointment that their show was over, and they’d have to go back to their usual act of pretending there wasn’t three little words hanging over both their heads, gnawing at the back of their brains. 

Clearing her throat, she set up her shot ready to finish their game, “Well, theoretically speaking, when you’re ready to ask me on that date, I’m there,”

He smiled to himself, perhaps ready to flirt with her just a little more before they went back to being Bugsy and Spence, not Mr and Mrs Reid, when she hit the golf ball just the tiniest bit too vigorously. It rolled straight past the hole, bouncing off the wall and heading further away from the end than when she’d started, and she groaned in frustration. 

“How are you so terrible at this-” Spencer burst out laughing as she stomped over to the lilac ball, lining up another shot with a grumpy expression. 

“Not another word, Lover boy,” 

2. The one with an old flame.

“I wonder what Hotch wants,” She mused, her head resting on the arm of the seat, her eyes shut for the duration of the flight. Rossi had called them into the office startlingly early for a Friday, the entire team sleepy eyed and annoyed as they’d strolled onto the sixth floor. 

Yet the minute that they’d heard Hotch needed them, they’d soon perked up in interest, seeing as it was Aaron’s only appointed week off to see Beth in New York, and they had quickly jumped in to help with whatever it was he needed. 

“Penelope’s still waiting for NYPD to send her the autopsy reports for the previous victims,” Rossi said, him, Strauss, JJ and Alex playing a few rounds of Shithead with a peeling deck of cards because for once they had no paperwork to be looking over while they travelled. Bugsy had laid on the couch, the one Spencer usually commandeered, except this time he let her take the comfy seat, instead letting her legs drape over his lap as he read from his book, another two sat next to him for when he finished that one. 

“He sounded panicked. DEA thinks we might have a bad batch of something making its way through the club scene causing the deaths,” Strauss added, putting down two sets of three on top of JJ’s ace, “Aaron’s brother just happened to have been caught in the crossfire,”

“Men are almost twice as likely to die from drug overdoses than women, just last year there were forty-one thousand, five hundred and two cases.” Spencer said without lifting his head from his pages, his thumb caressing over Bugsy’s ankle bone, “The fact that the majority of the victims are women suggests it’s more than likely is a date rape drug that has been laced since they tend to be targeted towards female victims more often than males.” 

“Ecstasy can be made in pill, powder or liquid form so it really wouldn’t be too difficult to slip it into someone’s drink,” The girl mused, her eyes squeezed shut tightly as she attempted to catch up on another half hour of sleep, “Or to convince people the drug they’re taking willingly is safe,”

“Even regular users might not know they're being dosed until it's too late,” JJ agreed, setting down a seven on top of Rossi’s two fives. 

“What about the two victims who were clean, Linda Heying and Eric Sullivan’s family claimed they never touched the stuff,” Alex questioned, as Morgan looked over the list of victims that they had been able to track down, despite the majority of the information waiting for them at New York. 

“Either the victims are good at hiding the truth or the UnSub is killing for another reason,” David said with a sigh, as Strauss set down the six of clubs, “We should take a closer look, see how they’re connected,”

“Well for now, let the princess get her beauty sleep,” Bugsy said, snuggling into the throw pillow Spencer had passed her as they’d sat down, “I’m feeling weird today,”

His head ripped from his book at that, the rest of the team going back to playing their cards, his hand skirting up to her calf to stroke her leg gently, “You okay?” 

She huffed, “Yeah, Penelope said it's because my Mercury is in Retrograde or something, I don’t know. I just feel strange,” She grumbled, resting a hand over her stomach, “Probably just coming on my period early,”

He frowned, moving her legs off his lap and standing up. Before she could ask where he was going, he stepped to the opposite end of the couch, picking her head up gently by the crook of her neck and sitting back down, resting her back onto his lap. 

His fingers were in her hair before she could say anything, scratching gently at her scalp the way he knew she turned to putty for, and she smiled, swearing blind she’d be purring if she could. 

“We’ll get you some breakfast when we land,” He murmured, and she snuggled her cheek into his thigh, his slender fingers massaging her skin kindly. 

“Thankyou, Spence,” She whispered back, all but slurring her words as sleep caught right back up to her, and before long she was drooling on his black trousers, the sight of it making him smile sweetly to himself. 

And it was for a moment like that he wondered what exact feeling he was waiting for in the first place. 

–

“Any updates?” Bugsy asked, as they entered the New York Police Department and saw Hotch waiting for them, his arms crossed in a casual shirt and jeans, clearly having had no intention of working this week, “How’s your brother?”

“A little shaken but then he never exactly made the best choices in life,” Hotch huffed, putting a hand on her back as she leaned in to give him a small hug because he seemed particularly stressed, “Emily always said you were bad, I’d take you over him any day,”

“Thanks,” She murmured into his shoulder, with a frown, “I think?”

He smiled, amused the way she had a knack for, though the worry in his mahogany eyes didn’t budge, and Spencer was all but a step behind her as the team filed into the building. 

“You guys have coffee?” Spencer asked, his eyes subconsciously trailing after Bugsy as she moved to talk to one of the detectives, and Hotch nodded, pointing him over to the small kitchenette at the back of the precinct. 

“Over there, I’ll get you guys set up with the lab reports now that you’re here. Autopsies came back for Linda and Eric,” Hotch said, and Spencer murmured in agreement, heading straight for the instant coffee and creamer, worrying about the girl who was already nose deep in a file by the time the machine had poured the first cup. 

He wondered whether there were any pharmacies nearby for anti-sickness tablets, or if she needed a heavy dose of water and sleep instead of the caffeine goodness he was whipping up for her, but then he knew she’d rather shrivell into a ball in the precinct bathroom than ask for a day off, would rather suffer in proud silence than make herself look weak. 

Bugsy remembered it happening in choppy intervals. One minute she was heading up the steps towards where Spencer stood patiently by the coffee machine, something already popping up as a point of interest in her overworked brain. Her head was down, muttering to herself the points of the victimology that conflicted with one another, when she felt herself slam right into a solid body, and she jumped back, steadying herself with an embarrassed expression. 

“Oh my god, I’m so, so sorry, I wasn’t watching where I was-” Her eyes snapped up to see a messy blonde sweep of hair, wide blue eyes she’d known ten years ago and a thick beard that happened to be the only thing new about him. Her gaze locked onto him, and she felt a fury she’d not thought about in over a decade rile up inside her, “Sean?” 

“Bugsy,” He breathed, the horror sweeping over his expression, a hand shooting up to slick his hair back nervously, “What are you- how are you-” 

She shoved him back with two firm hands, tossing the file onto the table beside her, and shoving at his chest again, his own hands coming up to defend himself lightly even though his expression read nothing but guilt. 

“Woah, woah, let’s just talk about this, I was just a dumb kid-”

“You left me, Sean. You left me in a foreign country alone with no boarding pass, no cell phone,” She snarled, and the sound of her tone rising turned a few heads, Spencer all but ditching the spoon into the sink when he saw her going nose to nose with some guy who looked purely terrified, “Your dumbass friends spent all my money on hookers, I’d still be in Italy if it wasn’t for the fact you graciously decided not to steal my bank card-” 

She shoved him again in between her growls, and it wasn’t until two hands came up to stop her did she realise Derek and Spencer had all but appeared behind her, the former’s arms wrapping around her waist to draw her back. 

“Woah, woah, talk to me, pretty girl. What’s with the aggression?” Derek asked, his eyes wide with concern as he looked between the youngest agent and their suspect. It seemed her volume had reached the other side of the room where Hotch had been talking with Strauss and Alex, and Spencer could practically see the steam coming out his ears as he whipped around to their trio. 

He could already hear the lecture coming, and the thought of it made him gulp.

“This is Sean,” She spat, and Derek and Spencer’s head snapped to the blonde man who looked like he wanted the ground to swallow him whole, “You know, the asshole that ditched me on another continent and stole my money,”

“I didn’t mean to steal your money, I thought you had it in your purse, I-I didn’t think to check before we left the hotel room,” He tried to interject, though the girl's glare intensified, unaware her boss's shoes were now thundering across the steps. 

“Where you left me to miss the flight I paid for, you inconsiderate prick-”

“You told me to leave you alone! You said you were sick of us waking you up-”

“I meant playing your music too loud, dumbass-”

“Well sorry, last time I checked I’m not a mind reader, Bugsy-”

“What in God’s name is going on here?” Hotch’s voice was a crack of lightning through the precinct, and the two of them shut up immediately, like two school children caught squabbling in the halls, Sean turning to his older brother with an exasperated expression. 

“Aaron, I swear, I don’t know what she’s doing here,” Sean pleaded, and Derek, Spencer and Bugsy turned to their boss in unison with bewildered faces. Hotch looked back at them, his own anger dissolving into utter, raw confusion. 

“Do you two know each other?” Hotch, Aaron, asked the girl in the middle, the other men all but positioned as bodyguards in the midst of their little spat, and he saw her cheeks hot with anger deflating as she drew a breath to answer. 

“Unfortunately,” She spat, scrutinising the familiar tone Sean had used when he’d said Aaron’s name, “Do you two know each other?” 

“He’s my brother,” The Hotchner’s replied in unison, their tone almost identical and she felt stupid for not seeing it sooner.

Bugsy felt her face drop, her eyes scanning between them for any signs of a lie, except all she found were the tiny details of their face that seemed to half match. Like their cheekbones, and the crease between their brows, the shape of their lips. 

Her face blanked, gobsmacked silence passing between the five of them as she digested exactly what that statement ment. 

Sean, her Sean, the Sean she’d been sleeping with on and off for six months straight, who used to make her tea way too milky and without sugar the way she hated it, but would bring it to her in bed and stroke her back when they were finished, the Sean who once tried to ask her to be his girlfriend when he was stoned and she’d laughed at him and snatched the blunt away, told him to get a hold of himself because that was the exact opposite of how friends with benefits worked. 

Sean, who she had trusted to keep her safe, who’d ditched her naked in a hotel room in a foreign country and made her feel stupid for ever believing a word a man said.  

She stuttered for a response, a wide eyes mix of terror and confusion and repulsion washing over her in stages. 

“I need-” She swallowed thickly, her mouth drier than sandpaper, gently pushing Derek’s arm from around her waist, “I think I need a walk- a walk sounds good- yeah-”

Rossi paced over to the five of them, his phone clutched tightly in his hands. He almost paused at the wall of awkward tension around the group, each participant seeming stuck for the right thing to say, the entire situation so bizarre that Spencer debated faking a migraine to get him and her out of the room for some air. 

“Hotch,” Both of the men turned to look at him, and the sight of it made Bugsy shudder, feeling almost completely out of her own body at the thought of her nude body on top of Sean’s because now all she could see was Aaron in his place, “Six new bodies found in a nightclub-”

“I’ll go!” She jumped, all but bolting past the men, trying her hardest not to touch either of them because her skin crawled with a sickening uncanny valley looking between the brothers, “I’ll go inspect the crime scene,” 

And no one stopped her, because they’d seen her be all manner of strange before, but never quite like that. Aaron nodded his head to Morgan, and the man took it as a sign to follow her. He quickly obeyed, hot on the girl's heels as she kept her head down with an odd, freaked out expression on her face like she was about to throw up and scream at the same time. 

Which left Sean alone as Spencer and Aaron whirled around on him, similar looks of annoyance on their face as the younger agent looked the man head to toe. 

He was handsome, handsome in a rugged way like he was used to bar fights and late nights and drinking until three am with pretty ladies like her. He was built wide like Aaron, his shoulders broad and muscles stocky, a few tattoos dotted around his arms that only added to his rough looking appeal, and Spencer wondered if she’d always liked the bad boys, wondered if he was an outlier in her dating history. 

Except they weren’t dating, not yet at least. 

“So I take it she’s one of your agents,” Sean said, wringing his hands together in anxiety as the two taller men looked down at him, equally unimpressed.

Though, Spencer hated to admit, his was more green faced jealousy than anything else. 

“Agent Prentiss is one of the best,” Reid corrected, his tone cold and stern, and Sean visibly shrunk in on himself, looking to his big brother for help, only he found Aaron was just as annoyed, glaring down at him. 

“You have some more explaining to do, Sean,” His brother snapped, and the two men diverted him into one of the interrogation rooms, Spencer’s jaw clenched so hard he felt his temples ache, “Or next time I’m not stopping her from handing your ass to you, and believe me when I say you’ll wish you’d told me sooner,”

Sean gulped, all too aware of the way eighteen year old Bugsy had never backed down from a fight, when men twice her age shoved her in clubs or girls bitched at her for dancing too close to their boyfriends. He didn’t imagine she was any different at twenty eight, except this time she was trained and licensed to handle a gun. 

The door slammed behind them, and Aaron pushed his little brother into the seat with a firm hand, the sight of his unit chief just as protective over her as he was making Spencer bite back glee. The image of Bugsy laying into the guy was burned into his memory, eidetic or not, and it seemed to be the only thing that stopped him blowing his top as Sean opened his mouth to explain what had happened between him and the younger Prentiss woman. 

–

“What did you do, Thane?” Sean’s voice crackled over the feed, the wire on his chest brushing against his shirt as he paced in the wine cellar. Aaron, Morgan, Spencer and Bugsy sat in the van, listening to the conversation through shared headphones, Spencer and Bugsy’s heads pressed together as they followed the voices as best as they could, waiting for a confession or anything they could tie to the victims' gory deaths. 

“I spiked the wine, you idiot,” Sean’s boss, Thane, snapped, his breathing laboured and Bugsy took a shot in the dark to say he was pacing, worrying now that there was concrete evidence linking his date rape drug to the deaths of atleast nine people so far, “Oh, God. Oh, god, Jim is going to kill me.”

“Why the hell would you do that?” Sean seethed, his patience wearing thin as the man all but confessed to killing his girlfriend. 

“For a laugh, I thought it was X. Girl’s love that crap,” Thane replied, his voice louder as Sean stepped closer to him, and she exchanged a look with Aaron.

“Yeah, but it wasn’t X, was it?” The younger Hotchner barked, and she quickly let go of the headphones to grab a kevlar and her gun. 

“He’s going off track, Aaron, he’d not going to keep his cool much longer,” She said, and Spencer’s eyes trailed up to her face, her brow furrowed as Aaron moved to slip his own bulletproof over his head, adjusting the straps at his side. 

“Tell SWAT to stand by, we’re going in to support, but we may need back up,” Aaron ordered, unholstering his gun and switching the trigger off safety, “You two stay here and see if Thane says any more about the wine,”

She drew her gun to her side just as he did, and Spencer made a move to stop her, even just to check where her head was at because he knew she had this tendency of throwing herself in harms way and asking questions later. He selfishly worried what that upset look in her eyes meant, like she loathed that Sean was in danger as much as she loathed him. 

But he wasn’t quite fast enough, because by the time he’d reached a hand out for hers to ask if she was feeling alright, she had slid the door to the van open, hopping out onto the tarmac as Aaron shadowed her. 

And something ugly and envious reared its head in Spencer’s gut as the doors slammed, so much so that his jaw feathered and he took a deep breath out, his lips pressing into a thin line.

The two agents moved as one, their footsteps pounding over the linoleum floor of the night club. They swept to the back of the building, where the door to the stock room was, and it became apparent almost immediately from the grunting and shuffling the other side of the door that the two men were much closer to brawling than they’d guessed. 

“FBI, drop your weapon!” Bugsy called, bracing herself as she felt Aaron’s domineering figure at her shoulder. She raised her leg to kick the door in, and it swung on its hinges, smacking into the rack of beer. They caught the two men in the middle of a fist fight, Sean with a split lip, Thane with a gash on his forehead, his head locked under the younger man’s arm with a deathly grip.

She holstered her gun, seeing that neither of them were carrying, and moved forward to break the two of them up.

“Alright, Sean- Sean, that’s enough,” She scolded, her fingers prying his muscled arm off his boss’s trachea, and Sean took a second to realise it was disappointment in her face, not the white hot anger it had been not even a few hours before, before he let the man go, some colour returning to his bluing lips.

“He killed Linda,” The blonde Hotchner said softly, and something wavered in her eyes, something close to pity, and she nodded at him while biting her cheek hard. Aaron holstered his gun, surging forward to grab Thane with rough hands as he fought against the taller man’s grip. “She was sober, she’d gotten clean and he killed her,” 

“I know,” Bugsy said lamentingly, and against her better judgement she patted his shoulder kindly, more kindly than he probably deserved, and the thought of it made Sean’s baby blue eyes turn away in sorrow. 

Before she could say anything else, Thane wretched his hand out of Hotch’s grip, grabbing for the sharp box cutter and lunging right for Bugsy where she turned away from him. 

Sean’s expression morphed into fear for a moment, grabbing for her to yank her out of reach, but it was too late. She felt the slash across the back of her arm, where her kevlar couldn’t cover up, and she yawped in pain the way a dog sounds when its tail gets crushed. Turning towards the source of the danger, Sean’s hand weaved around her waist to tug her backwards as Aaron scrambled to grab the suspect. 

Thane’s hand gripped the blade and slashed down again, across her cheek and only inches away from her eye, her hands too late to grab his wrists to stop his advances. By the time he drew back to swipe for her again Aaron had already tackled him to the ground, pinning him to the wine soaked floor and fumbling for his cuffs. 

“We have an agent injured and needing medical, repeat, medical unit required on scene,” Spencer was out of his seat before Hotch could even finish his sentence, forgoing his own vest as he darted from the van, his heart racing at the sound of the scuffle echoing through Sean’s wire, and he felt his chest seizing at just what kind of a state she’d be in when he saw her. 

She was the only other agent on the scene. That call had to be made for her, the voice in his gut told him, but the twisted part of him hoped that it was someone else, anyone else, that had gotten hurt, because he might just throw a punch of his own at Thane or Sean or maybe even both of them if she had so much as a single hair misplaced. 

Spencer had only just about reached the bar area when the four of them emerged from the stock room, Thane in cuffs, looking rattled and aggravated. Spencer let himself take a long, hard look at the man with a glare that soon made him cower away, though he found little luck elsewhere as Hotch’s hands gripped him so tight Spencer thought he might be trying to strangle him through his arms. 

But that wasn’t who he was looking for. And there, trailing behind his unit chief sheepishly, with Sean’s hand on her back as he watched her carefully, his eyes worriedly darting over her skin when he saw how fast the blood was pouring from the laceration on the apple of her cheek, was Bugsy. Her expression was shaken, no doubt from nearly having her corneas slashed open had Sean not pulled her away even a second earlier, and she seemed in some sort of a daze, until she spotted the sweater vest she’d shoved in the wash about a hundred times, and two supple hands reached for her shoulders, snapping her attention out of her head. 

“Are you okay?” Spencer asked, all but ignoring Sean as the man went to flag down medical, his own appearance dishevelled and stunned, and it irked Spencer something childish when her head snapped to the blonde, watching him head for the paramedics. 

“I’m okay, Spence, it’s just a superficial wound,” She said as a reflex, meeting his eyes finally. But she simpered when she saw just how terrified he seemed, a warm palm raising to cup his face affectionately, “He just nicked the skin, that’s all. It’s not as bad as it looks,” 

Which wasn’t exactly a lie. Her face stung like a bitch, but the feeling of her cheek dribbling with the ichor was worse than the actual pain, and made her feel queasy more than anything. 

He went to say something else, or perhaps even gently caress the clean side of her face with his own loving gesture, but he was quickly interrupted by the medical team all but grabbing Bugsy out of his grip and assessing her themselves. 

“It’s probably best if you come take a seat, Agent Prentiss,” The woman said, pointing to where Sean sat on the back of the ambulance getting his nose checked over, “We’ll be over with some stitches and glue,” 

And Spencer made a move to follow the two of them, only to be stopped by Hotch, who called his name with that direct tone he took when he was worried.

“Reid, I need you and Morgan to interview Thane about where he got the drugs he used to spike the wine,” Aaron ordered, even though he seemed to watch the girl go just as bothered as the younger agent, and Spencer seemed conflicted between rebelling against his boss’s instructions or keeping to his track record of following them to a tea. 

He paused for a second, his gaze flicking to the girl who sat with her old flame, Sean’s eyes roving over her head to toe worriedly, and he looked back to Aaron, “But-”

“Now, Reid. She’s going to be fine.” 

And Spencer was forced to listen, even if his face burned with annoyance at the sight of the man watching her so tentatively. 

–

“Would you quit fidgeting, the medic said it was a surface wound,” Bugsy snipped, feeling the ocean hues burning a hole into the side of her head. She dusted her knees off of invisible dirt, braving a look up at her ex-fling where she was met with a wall of guilt.

And it was like for a split second she remembered all the mornings she’d wake up to him twirling the tips of her hair between his fingers, or when he’d shake his head whenever he’d look over her shoulder at her lab reports she’d be writing and make a passing comment on how a hot girl like her could have brains and looks. 

Or how he could be kind to her, genuinely sweet when he wanted to be, when they toed a weird line between friends with benefits and something a little more, because at his core she knew he was a good guy, he was just incredibly dumb for an eighteen year old. 

“Listen, Bug,” Sean sighed, looking down at the ground where they were perched on the back on the ambulance, Bugsy’s face stitched up so tight she hoped it wouldn’t scar very deeply, “I really am sorry for how I treated you,” 

His voice shook with something remorseful, and she let her eyes cast over his face that had grown even more handsome in the ten years since she saw him. With the good memories came the bad ones in equal measure, and the arguments over stupid shit like leaving cupboard doors open and playing music late at night and the time he forgot to feed her gerbil for two days when she was out of town washed back to shore from the deepest crevices of her mind. 

She’d been with men after him, had flings and meaningless kisses with boys who’d treated her much less kindly than he had. And when she thought about it, the anger and resentment she’d felt when she thought about those few days she spent lost in Italy stemmed from the fact she’d been forced to confront what she’d always feared since she was little. 

That Bugsy was alone in the world, forgettable, someone you could leave behind and sleep soundly. 

But when she thought of that now, the first face she pictured was Spencer, and how he would tell her to knock it off if she ever said that out loud, because he would never leave her, in a foreign country or even at a gas station if she needed to get fuel. He always walked up to the pump with her because he knew exactly how many women got kidnapped in places like that every year, he'd told her so already. 

And she knew the person she was when she could have loved Sean, the person who was reminded just how easy it was to leave her behind, was gone. In its place was the girl who Spencer loved like it was as easy as breathing. And the thought of it made her feel just that little bit less bitter towards the blonde man who fiddled with his rough, bloodied hands. 

“I was a dumb kid, I did a lot of things that I’m not proud of,” He swallowed heavily, his frown looking strikingly similar to Aaron's as he did, but she would never remind him, “But I did always wonder whether I’d see your name in the news curing some disease I could never pronounce or being the first person to learn like every single language there is,” He smiled sadly, and the old her knew him just well enough to know he was being honest, because his nose turned red whenever he lied. 

The thought of it made her lips curve up, despite how annoyed she’d been to see him again, and there was something bashful about the way the slid a hand into his to give it a quick squeeze.

“We were eighteen, Sean. No one has themselves figured out at eighteen,” She said earnestly, her head dipping to meet his ashamed gaze.

He shook his head, “You deserved so much better than I could ever give you, we both knew that,” He pulled his hand away, and her expression contorted into confusion, “It’s probably why you're with that doctor, right? Aaron said he’s like a whizz kid,”

“He’s not-We’re-” She sighed, running a hand over where the EMTs had stitched the gash on the back of her arm, “It’s complicated,”

“Complicated like we were complicated?” He asked, her fingertip tracing every single nook where they had looped the suture through her skin. 

She smiled to herself and looked over at him, something weighty like closure passing between the two of him as he watched her take his tired face in, knowing they were nothing more than just passing ships in the night now. 

“You meant something to me once, Sean, no matter how much we drove each other up the wall,” She snickered, and something like an exhausted chuckle matched her, “But it’s different with him. It’s like everything I do means something to the world when I’m with him, you know?” 

Sean took in the wistful look in her eyes, the girl he’d known who had only gotten stronger, scrappier, wittier with age, and he thought he’d be lucky to ever get someone like her again.

“I hope I do,” He said, and she knocked her shoulder into his to dispel the bad memories of two teenagers figuring out what feelings and kisses and sex meant in the messiest of ways. 

“Do me a favour?” Sean hummed at her, and she looked surprisingly like herself again when she smiled at him wryly, “Call Aaron more. It’s difficult being the only disappointment child in his life,” 

Sean barked a laugh at her words, and she smiled into her lap. Who’d have thought closure would be so healing. 

–

She felt eyes on her even as she tried to nap on the jet, having returned back to their original position on the couch, her head on Spencer’s lap. She had a sixth sense to who it would be, the Spider Sense they’d been calling it despite the fact Spencer tried to tell her it was mere intuition, she glanced up to where something melancholic swirled inside his forest gaze, already watching over her despite his book being open in his lap. 

She hadn’t even opened her mouth to speak before his obscenely large hand had sneaked under her jawline, tilting her face up so he could take a better look at the messy cut. 

“Have they given you anything for the pain?” Spencer said quietly, because the other’s were already trying to sleep, and she blanked for a moment, before her hand came up to snake around his wrist gently. 

“They gave me Naproxen for two days. Spence, I’m fine, really,” 

His teeth ground together, his other hand placing his book down beside him and moving to smooth the back of her hair, the sealed wound staring daggers at him as his eyes darted over the rest of her face, just to be sure they hadn’t missed anything. 

He nodded to himself, as if to conclude his consultation and his thumb stroked down the curve of her jaw, his head whipping up to quickly make sure no one else was watching.

“What, uh,” Spencer cleared his throat nervously, her expectant eyes looking up at him, “What were you and Sean talking about?”

Her brow quirked in confusion, and it wasn’t until she felt his delicate strokes hesitate that she realised he seemed on edge, “Why?”

“N-No reason, I just was wondering, you looked like you were-” He coughed again, even though there was nothing tickling his windpipe, nothing except embarrassment, because he’d never thought he’d be the envious type. 

He braved a look at her again, worried she would be annoyed with his crass and intrusive questions, only to see her smiling at him wickedly. 

“We were what?” She asked, and Spencer went so quiet he could have heard a mouse knitting if he tried, his cheeks flushing with raspberry red heat, “Are you jealous, Spencer?” 

He shook his head fast, unable to formulate anything that wasn’t a stammer, and she sat up in her seat, throwing her legs onto the ground so she could scooch up into his side. 

“Because if you were, you know I’d find that wildly attractive right?” She murmured, his cheeks burning an even hotter shade, the sight of it all but a bone to a hound to Bugsy who loved teasing him. She snickered, leaning in close to his vermillion ear, and leaving a tiny kiss on his clenched jaw, “Don’t worry, Wonder Boy. He knows I’m all yours,” 

3. The one with the day of the dead.

“Thankyou, thankyou, my helpful little mice,” Penelope chirped as the three of them stepped into her apartment, their arms filled with shopping bags, “Set them down on the counter, I’ll unpack them later,” 

“Wow,” Bugsy gawped at the altar stood in the corner of the woman’s living room, an assortment of sweets and tissue paper flowers decorating the layers, “Oh it’s so pretty, they’re going to love it. We spent a Summer in Mexico when Mom was having talks with their President, but we moved out before October rolled around so I never got to see a Día de los Muertos,” 

Penny smiled, though she quickly looked around the rest of her apartment that had yet to be decorated, “There’s still a lot to do before the party next week and,” She huffed, the bags taking up the entirety of her kitchen table as Bugsy frowned at her, “I’m scared. I’ve never had the whole team here before,” 

“Relax, Pen, I can help you set up,” The younger woman reassured, helping unload the groceries that needed to go in the fridge as Spencer helped her carry the larger items. 

Penelope perked up watching her guests move towards the cooler, a devilish smirk twitching at her lips, “Hey, while you guys are there, can you see if I have enough hot sauce for the party?”

“Sure,” They replied in synchrony, Bugsy putting the milk and soda in the side drawers as Spencer shelved away some of the meat. They both looked at the top row, where some kind of jalapeno salsa was resting next to a jar of fake eyeballs, and the flicked a casual glance at the woman who was pouring vials of red viscous liquid made to look like blood down her cheeks for a Penelope version of a practical joke.

Bugsy blinked once, not quite surprised as she would have thought seeing Penelope attempting to scare them with something they’d seen a thousand times over for real. 

“Now, are the eyeballs marinating in anything spicy or is it just like a pickled onion type of thing because all you seem to have is the jalapeno sauce,” She said, and Penelope deflated at her bored tone, looking at the two agents in discontent. 

“You guys didn’t even flinch,” She said sadly, her dark eyes flicking between them, “My poor babies, what has the world done to you?” 

Bugsy smiled, shutting the fridge door and handing the bubbly woman a leaf of tissue paper. 

“JJ’s right, I told her I wanted to go scary this Halloween and she just laughed at me, and said that I don’t have a scary side,” Penelope whined, and Bugsy giggled. 

“Sorry, babygirl, you wouldn’t be Penelope Garcia if you were capable of scary,” She teased, waltzing around the kitchen to put away the rest of the shopping, even as the woman tried to shoo her away from helping, “I’ve seen puppies scarier than you, Pen,” 

“If it helps, you probably do,” Spencer interjected, helping Bugsy shelve something on one of the higher cabinets, his long arms weaselling over her own as he reached past her, “The building blocks of the human personality are complex, varied and multi-faceted. It’s essential to one’s mental health to want to express these hidden personalities and it’s just a fact of nature that everybody has one,”

“Everybody?” Penelope asked, ignoring the way the two of them bumbled around her kitchen, handing things between one another the way she imagined them putting away the groceries in their own kitchen, like they worked just as well in the home as they did in the field. Dare she say it, like a couple who had been married and knew each other's routines for years. “Even the two of you?” 

“Oh, absolutely, yeah,” Spencer agreed, and Bugsy flicked a smirk up at him as Pen turned to her expectantly.

"I mean, you can't tell me Bitch-Slapping our boss or fist fighting with my sister was exactly usual behaviour for me," She pointed out, and the two of them nodded in agreement, although they wouldn't have exactly called it out of character for her.

“Okay, okay, I want to see it. I want to see Dr Spencer Reid’s hidden personality,” Penelope said, a smile growing as thick and fast as a weed when he seemed thrown off by her request, and it only took one look at the younger Prentiss to know she wanted front row just as badly. 

“R-right here? Like right now you want to see it?” He stammered, all too aware of Bugsy’s amused lashes batting up at him, the innocent expression she knew made it difficult for him to say no to, and he wondered for a second if she understood the exact amount of control she had over him when she wanted to. 

“I wanna see this hidden personality, pretty boy,” She smiled with her teeth, and he felt his hands turn jittery in embarrassment. 

“Okay, alright,” Spencer shook his arms out, clearing his throat with a growling sort of husk that made her raise her brows, and in a single blink he’d locked stern eyes with her, pointing to her with a completely un-Spencer-like stance; completely rose to his full height, confident and domineering, “I know what you’re thinking,”

She really hoped he didn’t. Because what she was really thinking was just how hot he sounded with that deep sort of timbre, that cocksure attitude. 

“You’re thinking ‘Did that guy just fire five shots or did that guy just fire six shots?’” He went on, his tone deadly serious, as her lips parted in surprise, and what had started out as a game turned into some wildly lewd thoughts fast, “You’re going to have to ask yourself a question; Do you feel lucky, pun-k,”

She swallowed haughtily, as he squeezed his eyes shut and when he looked at her again he was entirely puppy like the way he usually looked, none the wiser to the way her stomach had coiled in want. 

“That was Clint Eastwood from Dirty Harry,” He explained, looking to Penelope because he had no idea what that strange look on Bugsy’s face was, only to see his techy friend just as in awe, “I mean I know it’s not as effective as my dominant personality, but I really think it’s there-”

Penelope’s phone sprung to life with a call from Hotch and she quickly spluttered an excuse that they needed to leave right away, grabbing for her keys and heading for the door. 

Spencer made a move to follow her, only to feel a hand grab his shirt and turn him right back around, Bugsy still staring at him with that look in her eye, like she’d had too much caffeine or been told there was a million dollars cash waiting for them at home.

“Is everything okay-”

“Is Clint Eastwood strictly a party trick or would I be able to have him on request, maybe?” She said, her hands oddly tight as they grabbed at his soft stomach, and it was like he heard the click in his brain when he realised what she meant. 

“R-request, I guess,” He stumbled for composure, finding his footing when he felt her palms were clammy, “You got a thing for cops?” 

“Just the one, I guess,” She said with a clenched jaw, and he laughed though it sounded more like a choke, as she darted right behind Penelope to avoid suspicion. 

–

By the time the party rolled around, Penelope had decked her apartment out to the nines, marigolds and tissue garlands and lights and food of all sorts spread out across the altar, a mix of alcohol and juices available in pitchers, because Penelope was nothing if not a people pleaser. 

The doorbell rang right as Alex and Bugsy poured themselves some margarita, complete with the eyeball ice cubes ofcourse, and Penelope fussed in her beautiful dress, muttering under her breath the way she did when she was nervous. 

“What, what, what,” She murmured, her blonde curls bouncing with her steps as she reached for the door, “I thought you said you couldn’t come!” 

Bugsy’s head whipped to the door, Aaron looking much more casual than they were used to seeing him as he entered the decorated home, his colleagues all dressed smartly and in some shade of black. 

“Jack got a last minute sleepover invitation so I hope it’s okay,” He said, a bottle of rosé in his hand he’d brought as a contribution. 

“Ofcourse, ofcourse,” Penelope sang, leading him over to the altar where everyone stood with their offerings, sipping on their glasses of liquor, “Okay, everybody, I guess it’s time to start, here you go sir,”

She handed him a freshly poured glass of wine, chilled courtesy of the eyeball, and Aaron thanked her kindly, taking a generous sip to catch up with the others. 

“I want to thank everybody for doing this with me, and our altar’s burning, and I just feel so blessed to have you all here,” Penelope started with a grateful smile on her painted lips, a handful of old photos between her fingertips, “I will start, um, this is my mom and dad,” She said, nostalgia idling her tone as she gently placed down a worn picture of a teen couple holding a beautiful, blonde girl, eyes bigger than moons and full of curiosity, just how Bugsy would have imagined Penny as a baby, “I miss them. And this is my cat, Simba with his usual bowl of soda pop. He was a weird cat,”  

The team chuckled, looking at the enormous ginger Tom that lapped at the bubbly liquid. Bugsy took a sip of her drink as JJ took a step forward with a smile, her own photo in hand. 

“This is my sister, Roselyn. Ros.” JJ said, placing down a photo of a fifteen year old with identical eyes and nose to her, sitting it next to a small statue of the eiffel tower, “She always dreamed she’d live is Paris so um,” She swallowed, looking at her sister laying in the grass of their childhood home, something girlish in her gaze, “It didn’t happen but I thought this would bring her some happiness,”

They took it in turns bringing their offerings and pictures: David bringing some Cubs tickets for a soldier he had lost in Vietnam, Alex bringing a crossword for her mother, Spencer sliding down a picture of Maeve silently, alongside a cut out picture of Nikola Tesla, Morgan bringing his father, Hitch putting down the picture of Haley he kept in his wallet. 

Which left them all to turn to the youngest agent, who seemed flustered.

“So, I fortunately have not lost anyone properly thus far, so bare with me here guys,” She said fishing out an old scrapbook photo of her as a seven year old, a small orange snake wrapped around the length of her arm, twenty two year old Emily standing right behind her, the pair of them with beaming smiles as the snake seemingly poked its tongue out for the camera. 

Penelope clutched her chest in horror, “Is that a-”

“This is Tigger, the corn snake Emily gave to me when she left home,” She explained, and Spencer couldn’t help but smile at the million dollar grin she had in the photo, three of her front teeth missing sweetly, “I had him until I was about twelve before he kicked the serpent bucket, but he was cute for a slithery little guy,” 

She drew another photo, an ultrasound showing two tiny embryos and she put it beside the picture of Tigger, and the group drew a shared breath. 

“Bug, I never knew you were…” Spencer started, his stomach flipping when he saw the outline of the foetuses, only for the girl’s eyes to widen. 

“No! No, it’s not like that, this is um,” She cleared her throat awkwardly, scratching the back of her hand with a guilty look, “This is the twin I absorbed in the womb,” She said, and she felt the rest of her team gawking at her without having to look, “I guess I’d like to say, uh, I’m sorry pal. It was nice while it lasted, I hope you can forgive me,” 

“You’re being serious?” Morgan asked, gawping at the girl, right as Hotch broke out into disbelieving snickers, probably spurred on by the wine, and Alex was quick to join him, her hand over her mouth.

Bugsy turned to him with a ‘duh’ kind of look on her face, “Oh, 100% serious, yeah,” 

“Is that why you’re a little…” Rossi started, only he found himself stuck for words when she looked at him betrayed. 

“A little, what?” She asked, looking to JJ who cracked into a chuckle, putting her head in her palm.

“What he means is you have a big personality,” Alex said, wrapping an arm around the girl’s shoulder and giving her a motherly squeeze, hoping they hadn’t offended her, “And we wouldn’t change it for the world,”

“I should hope so, she got a double helping.” Morgan cackled, and Bugsy smacked his arm with a smile. 

“Every time I think I know everything about you, you come out with something new,” Penelope said, her own snickering laugh meeting the girl’s ears, “You’re like Jason Bourne,” 

“God help us if there had been two of you, Prentiss,” David added, patting the girl on the head as they laughed, and Penelope raised a toast to their altar, the rest of the team doing the same before they sipped out their cups and allowed themselves to enjoy the rest of the party. 

–

“Oh, I have something for you!” Bugsy said, springing to her feet and almost tripping over Sergio who had curled up by her legs. 

She’d cut herself off after her third, and by the time midnight rolled around she’d almost completely sobered up enough to the point her and Alex had been playing hangman except with only Old English words.

Her and Spencer had gotten home twenty minutes later, the two of them exhausted from an evening well spent, the melancholy happiness in the room draining them to the point Bugsy had immediately changed into her pyjamas when she got into the house.

Her pyjamas being Spencer’s boxers and one of his shirts since he’d inadvertently been hiding all of the underwear-top combinations she’d gotten from other flings that she’d brought when she moved into his. 

“You didn’t have to get me anything,” He said earnestly, and she simply waved his humble attitude off, the two of them sat on the sofa in their nightwear, flicking through the late night TV. 

He smiled, watching her bustle into her room and root around her closet, before she emerged with a terracotta coloured pot of lilac flowers, whirling on her heel to head for him. 

“What’s this?” Spencer asked, standing to meet her and Bugsy simpered, because she’d felt silly for buying them in the first place. Perhaps it was some left over guilt considering she’d spent the majority of Maeve’s existence in her life hating the girl, or atleast hating what she had that Bugsy thought she could never be privy to. Perhaps it was because all things considered she wanted Spencer to know that it was okay for him to mourn, because she’d never force him to hurry up his process when he’d been there for every second of hers. 

She handed him the potted plant, the small purple petals in the shape of half moons lighting up at him, and his mind raced as to what species they were since he’d certainly never seen them around the East Coast before.

“Scaevola aemula,” She said, fiddling with the hem of his shirt around her waist as she spoke because his eyes were unnervingly doe-like when he looked at her in the dark lamp light, “It’s called the fairy fan flower. I thought-"

She paused, her expression morphing into embarrassment, "Wait, this is so stupid, I’ll send them back,” She shook her head, the worry overtaking the rational part of her as she grabbed for the pot to stash it back in her room, but he held it out of her reach, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her body against his hip, as the other stretched out to keep her from snatching back the plant. 

“Tell me. What?” He said, his lips stretching into a devious smile to see her so shy suddenly, and she buried her face into her hands as he watched her, “I'm not going to think it's stupid. Why did you get me these?”

“They’re not for you- well, they are, but I just thought,” She stumbled over her sentences, her heart thumping that this was entirely the wrong move, that she was poking at an open wound no matter how caring she was being. Clearing her throat, she let her forehead thump onto his shoulder, her eyes squeezing shut as she spoke, “I thought you could keep it so that you can think of Maeve every time you water it, since Maeve was the name of the fairy queen,” 

He was quiet. God, why was he so quiet? Her breath was thick as molasses as they sat in the silence for a second. She nearly jumped a foot in the air when two of his fingers ran delicately beneath her chin, tilting her head up enough that he could see her face and she drew a sigh of relief when she saw he didn’t seem angry or hurt at all. 

His eyes were soft as pools of honey as he looked at her, his brows stirring into a sad-happy mix. 

“I’m sorry if I’ve upset you,” She whispered, their faces so close they were sharing breath, and he shook his head, his fingers never leaving her skin where they forced her to stay near, gave her no choice but to keep her looking at him. She didn’t think she could stop even if she wanted to. Everything pretty about him was dialled to a thousand whenever she got close, and his thick lashes blinked at her like he was seeing a mirage, a daydream. 

“This is the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for me, Bug,” Spencer murmured back to her, his every word fanning over the bridge of her nose, and she sighed in content, melting back into his side as he pulled her into a hug, his own face burying into the crook of her neck, “Thankyou,” 

She smiled and hummed in happiness, wrapping her arms around his slender waist and drawing him so close she got a whiff of his shampoo. 

“I have a bigger pot in my room, if you like, then we can keep it in the kitchen sill, away from the boys,” She offered, beaming at him when he stroked over the back of her hair affectionately. She hopped out of the embrace, “I’ll go get it for you-”

“You’ve done enough, Bug,” Spencer reminded, something grateful in his tone as she paused and waited for whatever he was going to say, “I’ll go get the pot, you go decide what movie we should watch,”

“You’re sure?” Bugsy asked, her brows furrowed as she checked for signs of an escape in his movements. But he just smiled back at her tiredly, the purple flowers his accomplice as she gave in and headed back towards the sofa, “It’s by my dresser, where my paper bin used to be,”

He set the gift on the kitchen table, the lilac hues brightening up the kitchen already like they just knew how touched Spencer felt to have received them, like there really was some kind of fairy magic burrowed into the soil as they watched the two of them dance around one another, heading to opposite ends of the apartment with lingering glances and bashful smiles.

Spencer thought his chest couldn’t swell any bigger in size, his heart so inevitably full of her, it left room for no one else, not even Maeve, which was the first time he’d brought himself to think that in months. 

+1 The one with the book.

He opened the door to her bedroom, her duvet tossed everywhere because it was a rare occasion she made her bed before they left for work, her clothes strewn about the floor in the general direction of the bathroom, like she’d stripped on the way there, and the thought of it made his stomach seize with a heat, the idea of her undressing little more than a wall away from him knocking his every thought from his head.

The vase. He needed a bigger vase.

Quickly collecting her clothes up and shoving them into her laundry basket for her, he diverted his attention to her dresser, where the slightly roomier pot sat on the floor, a towel underneath it to catch any water remnants and he stepped over her various note pads and books she’d clearly tossed off the bed before she went to sleep. 

He tried to ignore them, he really did, but his scratching urge to keep things tidy for her wrestled with his conscience that said to leave her stuff alone. Before he could talk himself out of it, he found himself organising them into a neat pile in his hands and placing them on top of her dresser where one of her books had made it safely, or at least safe enough she wouldn’t trip over it. 

His gaze dropped to the book already on there, its leather cover entirely melting into the background of the dark chestnut dresser, yet it stared daggers up at him like it had been waiting to be noticed.

Great Expectations, Charles Dickens.

The book looked old enough to be easily from original 1900s, at least one of the first few hundred published. It was scuffed a little on the edges, the black lettering of the printed title choppy in places where it had been handled recklessly, and the leaves of paper were atom thin. The smell of dust and paper clouded his nose when he picked it up delicately.

Opening the front cover curiously to see its printed date, he was stopped in his tracks to see a little post it note on the title page, covering Mr Dickens’ name with a scrawled handwriting he’d known for six years. 

Six whole years. Nearly seven. He felt like he’d known her his whole life, when in startling reality he’d not even known her a third of it. 

And there it was, where he was expecting a list of notes or her thoughts on how David Copperfield had much more likeable characters, anything that she’d thought important enough to scratch down on the front page, instead was his name. 

Spencer,

He felt his breath catch the second he read it, contemplated slamming the book shut right then and there because this felt illicit to read whatever it was she’d scribbled out just for him even if it was dedicated to the stupid man who’d been asking her to wait on his stupid head and stupider heart to align so he could give her exactly everything she deserved. 

His gaze snapped away from the page, that voice in his head telling him this was wrong, that if she’d wanted him to see that book she would have given it to him already. And yet, like it did most days, the beating organ in his chest writhed in annoyance that he’d looked away, that he’d followed the rules one too many times for its liking. He bit his cheek, the two halves of himself arguing amongst themselves. 

After a second of debating, his eyes fell slowly to the note, a creeping guilt skirting down his spine that he was reading something private. How could something be private and yet meant for him? His brain scoffed at the dichotomy of it all, while his chest lurched when he caught a glimpse of more of her writing. 

‘Spencer,’ His heart trembled almost as much as his hand as he traced the writing with his forefinger, imagining her writing it out in a little ball point pen, her body slumped over the book with every intent of having him read her little note. He imaged her breath fanning across the page, her hand warm as her knuckles stroked over the paper, and it felt so much more intimate than a little post-it when he thought of her like that, ‘By the time you’re reading this I’ll be back home from London and we’ll probably be in your apartment doing that stupid thing we do when we pretend like I haven’t missed you more than anything in the whole world while I’ve been here in England,’

She wrote this in London, probably in that tiny apartment her and Emily had rented on a short lease, the one she’d said smelled like mildew and dust and wet wood but had a gorgeous view of Hyde Park when she looked out her bedroom window. 

She’d written it months ago, so why hadn’t she given it to him?

‘I miss you every day. You’re all I think about when I go for a run, and I think sometimes you’d really like it here. I’ve mapped out all the bookshops I’ve found and all the places that do really good coffee if you ever did want to visit England, but I think I’d be happy with you even if we lived in a little ditch on the side of the road like two drowning rats,’

His chest seized, tears lining his lashes when he thought about that day she’d yanked him into a hug the second she saw him, when he’d been too busy thinking about Maeve and burying whatever he felt for Bugsy entirely behind him. 

You should have called, Bug. He’d said, like his eidetic memory wanted to twist the knife in just that bit deeper, and he didn’t need his freaky brain to remember how her face had fallen when he’d said it like that. Like he didn’t even want to see her. 

He hated himself. He hated himself more than she’d ever had. Even if she had more rights than anyone to despise his selfish guts. 

‘Anyway, I know Dickens isn’t your favourite or anything, but I got you this because I know you like the original copies and because it made me think of you (but then again, what doesn’t?). 

I never truly enjoyed the living part of life until you were in mine. And so I guess that means I’ll love you until the life part stops too. 

All my heart,

Bug.’

He didn’t realise he was holding his breath until he finished the note, digesting every single word the average speed instead of his usual method of inhaling the letters faster than should be possible, like he wanted to savour every single one because they’d come from her. 

He heard her saying every single one, the thought striking him like someone had cracked him across the face with a paddle. She’d wanted to say all of this when she was in London, when he’d been too busy for her, when he’d been too busy with Maeve. 

I never truly enjoyed the living part of life until you were in mine. 

“Did you find it?” Her voice called from the other room, no doubt where she was settling down to flick the movie on, her heart so delicate and gracious because she was still waiting for him. 

Even now, even when she was in his clothes and under the blanket she’d brought from her apartment for them to use on movie nights because it got cold too fast in his house, when she was waiting for him to come back. 

Spencer felt knocked out of a dream, like someone had yanked the chord on his music, shaken him awake into the freezing realisation she was waiting for a reply. 

He’d made her wait long enough. 

He barely heard her footsteps entering her own room, probably worried when he hadn’t responded and she said his name, “Spence?” A shudder rolled over his neck when he heard it, a siren song he’d been hearing like a mantra for weeks and he felt something fat and full well in his chest when he turned to look at her, standing there in nothing but boxers and a shirt, just as she had when he’d first met her. 

Except she was his. She was waiting on his call, on his signal, on his word go. 

And it was like the idea of being with her for the rest of his life made his living part worth it too. Like it always had done. 

Her eyes fell down to where his hand rested on top of the book, the page splayed open where he’d delicately flicked it open, the yellow post-it catching in the light and making her expression fall. 

They looked at each other, the same thought channelling between them, their brains meshed together on some other kind of bluetooth the same way they’d always done, only this time it was a prickling hive mind that gave them both gooseflesh the second they locked eyes. 

“Why didn’t you give me this?” He asked, his voice small because he already knew the answer, not daring to move a muscle like she was some kind of deer ready to be spooked. 

“You were busy,” She said equally as sheepish, her thumb moving to pick the side of her nail when she saw his still stature. They went quiet again, neither of them daring so much as to breathe too loud because they both knew what was on that note. It was the closest she could ever come to splitting open her own chest and handing him that thumping wad of bloodied muscle herself, and it was only when he turned to look at her did she panic, words tumbling from her lips; anything to stop him from walking away because she’d been poking around a fresh wound, “You weren’t supposed to see- I mean you were but only when you wanted to, I didn’t want you to think-”

Except he wasn’t heading for the door like she’d thought, he was heading straight for her. 

“Spence, please, I wasn’t going to tell you until-” But she’d shut up, because instead of replying anything back to her, instead of telling her she could have his heart and his soul and everything in between if she’d ever ask for it again, instead of telling her she was the thing that had kept him alive, like she might as well be the blood that rushed through every one of his veins, he grabbed her face in his hands so hard her back hit the wall, her hands flying out to stop herself from falling. 

And he kissed her, so hard he thought he might cry because it was better than any high he’d ever had, any drug on the market, better than his wildest dreams. She froze for a second, worried she’d tripped and fallen on her way over, that this was a concussion spun wild, because there was no way he was kissing her with every inch of their available skin pressing against one another, his hands swallowing her cheeks whole, his body invading her space, his breath rushing through her nose that bumped against his clumsily. 

Bugsy woke up after a second, her hands gripping onto his slender waist like he was pulling her drowning out of water, like he was dragging her from a flame which she didn’t think sounded too far off since her skin had become molten, her cheeks hot, her chest wrenching for control like she’d inhaled black smoke. 

But he was there, kissing her like she was all he had left, and she kissed him back with equal fervour, whimpering when he bit her lip, a hand wrapping around her waist to tug her just that bit closer to his stomach. Any molecule of her that was left behind was stolen by the action, and all she could think was that every inch of her was his, entirely his, his forever if he wanted it. 

“I love you, I love you so much,” He gasped, drawing away for a split second of air before he took her lips to his own once more, twice, and a third for good luck, their teeth knocking together as he wanted to tell her that a million more times while still kissing her, “I love you, I love you. God, I don’t think I ever want to stop saying it,” 

He pulled her to him again, silencing his own stupid ramblings of a mad man, a whine dragging from his throat as his brows furrowed, his lips soft and plump as he kissed her like he was begging for honey after a hundred day fast. 

And she smiled into his mouth, because Spencer was finally hers. 

--

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[johnpriceslamb]

— 𝓙𝓐𝓝𝓤𝓐𝓡𝓨

You are to be wedded by the end of the year. Upon travelling, you’re met with a group of pesky bandits.

𝓑𝓔𝓕𝓞𝓡𝓔 𝓨𝓞𝓤 𝓟𝓡𝓞𝓒𝓔𝓔𝓓 : age gap . fem ! reader . afab ! reader . hyper feminine ! reader . reader is mentioned to be physically smaller than chars mentioned in story . reader is in early 20’s . arthur is in late 20’s - early 30’s . fighting scenes . gore . traditional gender stereotypes heavily mentioned .

At the end of the year, you’ll be married off to a man.

Someone strong, handsome, clever, and gentle in heart. You hope.

“Marriage is the ultimate goal for a woman.”

Your corset is tightened by your nanny from behind. The tightness of it makes your breath hitch slightly, hands curling up unconsciously.

In the late winters of 1892, the rolling plains of Lemoyne were no match for nobility. You were dragged along by daddy who was on a grand tour in the west, despite not being keen on the idea. He insisted on seeing the rails and trains he invested in, so you didn’t have much of a choice other than to tag along.

She ushers you to stand up so she could fit the petticoat around your hips. The bands of the voluptuous under-skirt were stretched, allowing you to titter in the large hole and shape your figure again. You’re thankful that it’s a lightweight cotton fabric, considering that all the other layers you adorned added a bit more unnecessary weight to your small frame. Then comes the underskirt, adding another layer of volume and structure.

“If a man stares at you, avoid direct eye contact by using the fan your grandmother has gifted you.” She instructs, remembering the lessons your governess taught you. Her frail hands place the soft, silk evening bodice over your tightened corset. A beautiful little thing which accentuated your curves even more so, kissed with ribbons and flares below the piece.

The burning wood which crackled near the fireplace left a smell around the changing room which you longed for. You’ll be leaving in just a few more minutes, having to face the harsh winter storms outside. You wonder to yourself if the amount of beauty products delicately touched on your face was really worth it, considering that the weather outside will most likely dishevel it. And of course, you’ll be spending most of the day travelling by carriage.

Finally, the skirt. The main part of your outfit. Nanny brushes off the remaining particles on the skirt with her wrinkled hands. You couldn’t help but admire the beautiful little thing, pleated with satin which ended with small bows. She repeats the steps like for the other underskirts, stretching the band, allowing you to step in, and lifting it up to shape your figure.

Upon the stool you sat, you squirm uncomfortably because of the amount of layers you had to wear. She notices, and kisses her tongue.

“A woman should not squirm uncontrollably in their seat.” She hisses, lightly tapping your hands with a ruler as a way to discipline you. “Repeat what I have said.”

A sigh escapes your tinted lips. You hold out your hands.

“Marriage is the ultimate goal for women,” You repeat, “I must not stare back at a man and avoid direct eye contact.”

“Why must you not stare back at a man?” She asks.

You hesitate. The ruler comes down to your skin and places a stinging kiss. You hiss at the pain.

“B-because—” Another hit.

“No stuttering.”

You take a shaky breath, enduring the soft whimper which begs to escape from the bottom of your throat, “Because returning a man’s gaze could interpret as an invitation or a sign of interest.”

“What must you do if they stare?”

“Avoid eye contact by using my grandmothers’ fan.”

“Good.” She nods her head in approval. You place your hands neatly on your lap, looking down to avoid eye contact.

You’re ready to leave as soon as she ties the delicate satin bonnet on your head, ensuring that your face is covered with enough shade provided by the head piece. With the helping hands of the maids in daddy’s manor, all of your luggage was carried to the boot of the carriage. You bid your goodbyes to a few of your selected favourite maids, lightly kissing their cheeks before tittering away.

As soon as you walked outside, you knew that the cold winters of ‘92 would affect you much more than you’d expect. Suddenly, you appreciate the amount of layers you adorned. You could hardly feel the cold winds blowing even if you stuck your head outside the carriage’s openings.

The old man who drives the carriage around hops out of that tall seat in front to open the door and lend a hand for you to enter in. Upon entering in, you can see that there was a small lit candle; your only source of warmth.

You feel really glad for all of the layers.

You vaguely remember daddy boasting about all of the railroads built all over this part of America. ‘The Central Union Railroad’, a camp made up by working men who were in charge of building all railroads— daddy owned that camp. Some parts of you feel grateful for being raised in wealth and comfort, while the remaining parts felt guilty for seeing others having to slave away just to get ends meet.

You’re not convinced that all the men in that camp were capable of working. You’ve seen a good litter of youths labouring here and there. You pitied them greatly but alas: you were a woman. The most you could do was provide them more food rations and safety gear.

But as time slowly passed by, you’ve noticed the laws overseeing the amount of child labour happening in businesses. Daddy wasn’t too happy seeing a slight decline of workers in his company, nevertheless it did make your lips curl up a bit.

You’re not particularly interested in watching the railroads daddy invests and funded in, only because your thoughts immediately go back to the amount of workers that barely get payed to slave away in building these roads.

On the other hand, it was also how you’re able to sleep in a large manor everyday.

The roads slowly turned more bumpy and rough when leaving Lemoyne territory. You’re quite surprised that your carriage hasn’t been robbed considering the amount of warnings of raiders being littered across this part of territory. Your beady eyes boredly peer out of the windows of the carriage, watching the distant white-tipped evergreen trees pass by.

There wasn’t much to do other than watch nature unfold or perhaps pester the driver. You’d rather the former since you don’t even know the drivers name.

You can still feel the stings from that stupid ruler your nanny punished you with. They catch onto the fabric, which makes you twitch a bit at the abrupt pain. The more bumpier the road was, the more it caught on.

It’s been a few hours since you’ve left home. If you remembered correctly, you’d be arriving to a town somewhere in Chicago. You peak out to the driver up front, politely asking him what the time was. You left during the early hours of the morning, and you could see the sun rise much more.

His warm, honey-dew tipped voice replies back with a frail ‘9 in the morning’. Just a few more hours until they’ve reach to Chicago. Maybe even another day is to be filled with travelling.

You can’t help but sigh, “Could we take a break and rest somewhere in a few hours time?”

The old man hums, “We may, if that is what you wish.”

You smile sweetly. Of course, being told no was quite foreign to you. “Thank you kindly.”

You rest back onto the velvety cushions, heaving out another deep sigh. You look out of the openings again, and for the first time in a few months you lay eyes upon a long stretch of natural snowy land. It’s a vast difference between the usual scenery you’d see back in Lemoyne. There was no puffs of dark grey smoke in the sky, the heavy scent of engines and oil running wasn’t to be smelt, the bellowing of officers directing a crowd, no city life around.

Sometimes you’d see a few run-down stables with a few animals. Other times you’d just see landmarks with just the never-ending cold covering in it. On one occasion around noon, you saw a dead animal with its bones protruding out. Your nose scrunches up at the sight before looking away to the other opening of the carriage. Not much of a difference in scenery.

You tinker your lashes out of boredom, now playing with the satin-tipped bows on your bodice. The travel becomes much slower and difficult because of the amount of snow which catches onto the wheels of the carriage. It’s excruciatingly difficult to be entertained in these types of situations, considering that you left your novels back at home. You scoot back to the front seat of the carriage, peaking out to the man who lead the vehicle.

“May we please take a stop over there?” You ask with a shy smile, gesturing towards the small town from afar. You wonder if there’s any pastry stores nearby. The last time you ate was a few hours ago, a bowl of porridge and a few thin slices of bread. The man acknowledges your polite request with a gruff.

There’s been a bit of a food problem because of the cold winter, more snow meant less crops being able to grow and lesser animals being produced. You’ve been stuck on porridge and bread for a while now, and you’re hoping that it’ll change.

Once the driver stopped near the town, you’re greeted with the wind yet again. You unconsciously curl inward to protect yourself from the cold, peering at the people who lived in this little area. It’s humble, isolated, quiet.

Cold. Too cold.

You take a few steps, the bottoms of your shoes caked with snow. The man beside you takes ahold of your arm in case of any danger which falls upon you. He coughs a bit when the air hits his lungs. You pity him, asking if he needed a hot cup of tea or anything of the sorts to get him to warm up again.

His old eyes light up at the mention of tea.

“You mustn’t fret over me, my lady.” He whispers lowly.

“I insist.”

He takes a slow breath before sighing. “ If you must.”

Another pause to take a deep breath, “Your attitude is nothing like your father’s.”

You quirk a brow, “Pardon?”

He grabs onto your arm for support, mindlessly dawdling. “It’s a shame that you’ll be married off soon. When you see potential candidates during this trip, take a look at his attributes rather than his looks.”

What?

You tilt your head, “I thought this trip was a tour around the West.”

He grunts slightly, flinching a bit. “Perhaps I’ve spoken too much.”

Before you utter out another word of disbelief, you’re met with a click of a gun.

“Another step from either one of ye’,” A hoarse voice from behind grumbles like a predator, “One of yer head’s gon’ be rollin’.”

You’ve never been in situations like these before. Your nerves are getting to you. A soft sob escapes from your mouth as the tip of the gun threatens to puncture the back of your head. Your hands are immediately up in defence, beady eyes staring back at the frail man who could not do anything but mimic your actions.

You croak, “Please, sir. We don’t have anything valuable for you—”

Many more of them pop up. As if a litter of ants come and pour, the man behind scoffs before kicking your knees to buckle and kneel on the floor.

“Bullshit,” He snarls, “Look at what yer wearing. Pretty lil’ thing like ye’ ought to have somethin’ hidin’ under that skirt of yers.”

“What do we do with this one, boss?” One of them knocks the nozzle of his gun into the old man’s head. An old wail of pain escapes him, and your eyes water even more as you helplessly look around.

“Get rid of ‘em.”

“Wait, please! Don’t harm him! He hasn’t done anything wrong!” You sob, trying to reach out for him— only to be held back by these bandits, “No- stop, stop!”

The man who holds you back cackles, mocking your high-pitched pleas and sobs. The old man is knocked out with another blow to the head with the end of the bandit’s gun. You could see the back of his head starting to bleed.

“I’m telling you, a pretty girl like ‘er would sell real well in the markets.”

“How much do you think we could make?”

Another tug on your bodice gets you to raggedly gasp. Before your eyes peer to the Heavens above and beg for mercy, bullets from afar ring past and alert the others. You can hear gallops of multiple horses coming your way, and a heap of other outlaws.

“Shit, ‘s the Van Der Linde Gang!” The leader of the group- who currently holds you captive in his arms, yells at his group to gun them down. A bullet zooms past and catches onto his shoulder which allows you wiggle away and squirm to hide.

With the remaining strength you had, you drag the driver’s unconscious body with you and behind a barrel. He’s cold, everything is cold, you’re cold.

He’s dead.

The impact of the gun’s end must of cracked his skull. Tears pour down your beauty-tinted face, mustering up quiet prayers for him. Bullets are the only thing you can hear, accompanied with loud bellows and curses.

You have never in your life witnessed anything like this before.

You peak from the barrel, watching the man who gunned your driver down drops dead to the floor from one bullet which hits his head. Another array of shots are fired, and soon enough the litter of bandits are all gone.

Your ears perk when you hear them converse lowly, “Who the hell were those guys?”

“I don’t know, son. John, you ‘n Bill find supplies ‘round this town. Rob, steal, or be law abiding citizens— I don’t care. Just get as much as you can.”

You stifle a soft sob at the rowdiness. The man who was recently talking hears your soft whimper, before wondering over to you and crouching down.

“Arthur,” He seems to be calling for one of his men. He looks like he was born from wealth like you were. His clothes are tinted with jewellery and his vest looked like red velvet fur, “Come over here ‘n escort this girl!”

He lends you a hand. He sees the hesitation in those eyes of yours which lead him to a more softer approach.

When his eyes focus onto your face, he squints. He sizes you up and down quickly, the clothing you adorned clearly catching his attention. “Oh, you poor thing.”

Your small hands are held firmly by his as he hoists you up. Burdened with trauma and shock, you could only hear him murmur soft words of encouragement. You see a younger man strolling towards him, only for him to blink in surprise when seeing you.

There was something about him which sparked your interest greatly.

He scratches at his light stubble, barely visible yet. His breath seemed to hitch at the first sight of you.

“Can she talk?”

The other man who holds you closely scoffs, “‘Course she can. She’s just shocked.”

“Huh. Okay. What do we do with her?”

The man looks at you, “Hm. What’s your name, miss?”

You sniffle a bit, shakily replying with a meek babble of your name.

“Lovely to meet you, my dear. Dutch. Dutch Van Der Linde.” He squeezes your shoulder a bit, “Where were you last heading to before.. all of this?”

“Ch— Chicago,” You stutter, either from the cold or from the scene which unfolded beneath your very eyes.

“Damn.. That’s a long way away.” The man who eyed you with interest mumbles, not taking his kind eyes away from you.

You stare back of course.

Some sort of spark in you flared up.

He could feel it too.

“We ought to take her back to camp. She doesn’t seem like she’s in good condition.” Dutch makes you step forward out to Arthur, who grabs you and hoists you in his arms and to his horse, a soft grumble of annoyance escaping his lips, before murmuring a low ‘up you go, girl.’

“When she’s settled enough, we’ll ride ‘er to Chicago. We’re headin’ north aren’t we?”

“Indeed we are.”

“Not much of a problem, then.”

You needily paw at him before he could settle you on the large saddle of his horse, “W-wait but my luggages..”

He quirks a brow at you, “What about it?”

You meekly look around, stammering. “I need it. ‘s— ‘s important, I just—”

He cuts you off, “Where is it?”

You gesture to the carriage from afar. You watch his built figure stroll down thataway to retrieve them. You’re still surprised that the bandits from earlier didn’t manage to spot it. But nevertheless, you profusely thanked him before he left to go grab it from the boot.

You watch Dutch’s other men grab your old driver’s body and sling it on the back of their horse, probably to bury it somewhere. You deeply thank them in your mind, only for a chuckle to interrupt your thoughts.

“The boy’s smitten, Hosea! Look at ‘im,” The man who found you nudged an older looking man’s shoulder, pointing to his bulky figure which held onto your absurdly large luggages, “Never did that with any of the other men we saved. Didn’t even protest when I said that we’re bringing her back to camp.”

Dutch titters to you with that beautiful stallion of his. You couldn’t help but envy at how gorgeous that mane was. You remember back home your horses were used for training and educating rather than for show. “You’ll be staying with us for a while until we can get you on your feet again.”

You slowly nod, sniffling a bit. You rub your arms for comfort, hoping that they won’t do anything funny to you, “Th—thank you..”

Hosea— if you recalled, only looked at you with eyes as warm as the fireplace back home. He pitied you too, but in a sense that wasn’t belittling like how Dutch pitied you.

Arthur grunts as he heaves the luggages on the back of his horse, securing it with some rope to not make it fall. He mounts from the left and settles behind you, before kicking his spurs gently which makes his horse start walking in a slow pace.

A comforting hand is placed on your shoulder. He leans in a bit and murmurs, “You’re safe with us.”

[solaiced]

CASE 2: HIS HIGHNESS, SUKUNA RYOMEN, DEMANDS AN HEIR!

!content!: breeding, canon typical violence, sukuna being kinda soft, mentions of pregnancy, canon divergence, implied multiple rounds, sukuna and strong language.

wc: 1,7k

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Being close to Sukuna wasn't easy. Being his wife, however, was hell. It's not violent, as everyone thinks. Well, not in that sense. He is demanding. And sometimes, it's hard to come through to his orders. For example, a servant was ordered to bring home mangoes at the end of the year, which was difficult, as it was not the season. Sukuna executed him in front of the whole court, including you and his concubines.

Said concubines' numbers having depleted after that event. They couldn't handle that kind of violence. Having gone from six to three then finally two. You? You stayed. You were quite literally obligated to, but you didn't really want to leave anyways. You were used to the violence, the blood and overall the gore that surrounded Sukuna. As a loyal combatant, you were not better than him, both of your kill counts being very close in numbers.

Anyways, that wasn't the point. First thing's first, kings had heirs. And an idiot from the near village had suggested to bring his daughter as his 'heir-bearer' as she had 'potential' and was a strong woman.

Now, no doubt she had potential, but there was no way he would accept to impregnate some woman. You, however, he would. So, when he randomly picked you up from a conversation, throwing you over his broad shoulder, leaving both ends of your body hanging, you didn't think it would be for this.

Thus, when he throws you on the bed, stares you down as he rips open your junihitoe, which took months to make, by the way, and flips you over.

"Wait, wait, what are you doing?!" You back up, crawling to the bed board before he drags you back by the ankle.

"Impregnating you. Breeding you. Fucking you. Making love to you. I don't care what the word is, I'm going to put my dick inside of you and make an heir for my kingdom." he says it so casually, you thought you misheard and he was actually talking about something inconspicuous.

"No, no, you didn't talk to me about this, why so suddenly? I thought you had, like, another thousand years in you!" You grab the sheets, trying to wrangle your foot out of his hold. Unfortunately, or rather fortunately for your kingdom, he was way too strong for you. His lower left hand comes to grab your other ankle and drags you back, ass resting near his half-hard crotch.

"Don't care. You wanna fuck?" He uses his upper left hand to grab your chin and nod for you, "Good, take off your kosode." He releases your chin and helps you out of the tattered pieces of junihitoe, not paying attention to your protests. "Wait!" You yell, digging your manicured nails into his hand. Sukuna looks up, annoyed, but still willing to listen. "Do you know how horrible pregnancy is? I need at least a month to prep-" He cuts you off with a weary sigh, almost groaning. "I'll get you accommodations, don't worry about that. You'll get the best doctors in the nation, I will make sure of that. You won't get any complications, I got doctors to analyse your physical things, whatever they are. It'll be completely safe." He sounds uncharacteristically... soft. You think he probably got drugged, yeah! He got drugged, now he wants a kid, because you know sober Sukuna would never want a brat running around the castle. Right?

"You're drunk, aren't you?" You turn around, sitting on your heels to reach a hand on his cheek. He leans into it lightly before grabbing your hand and pushing you onto the bed, lifting you legs so that they rest on his shoulders while he takes off your kosode. "No, I want an heir. Right here." His clawed (You've always tried to cut them) hand rests on where your womb would be, caressing it. "Sukuna..." You swallow nervously, worried for your cervix, mostly. Sukuna was unnaturally big, always knocking his tip against your womb, but he never forgot to pull out, afraid of having to take care of the consequences. "I'm serious, I want a kid. I can even alleviate the pain, if it hurts that much." He rolls his eyes, your undergarments finally coming off and revealing your most vulnerable form.

"Really? Then... at least be gentle, okay? Nice and slow, like making love." You smile, gaining new-found confidence as you place your hand on his forearm. Said forearm being the size of your thigh and more, maybe, you haven't had the chance to mesure it.

He barks out a laugh and shoves off his hakama, taking out his double cocks (which you could never take at once) and spitting on the upper one to jerk it. "You better get to work, if you don't want to hurt too much." He warns, getting his dick harder.

Instead of arguing back, you heed his words because you know he is serious, right now. Sliding your fingers inside of your own warmth, wincing when Sukuna's nails jabs into the flesh of your thighs as his pupils dilate at the sight of your cunt.

He instantly gets harder, almost painful as it leaks more pre than before. His lower cock, always the one neglected, rests against your ass cheeks, throbbing achingly.

You slide a third finger in, thumb rubbing your clit to help yourself out. Sukuna growls, retracts his claws and takes out your fingers and stabs a finger inside of you, making you cry out and arch your back at an almost unnatural angle.

"So weak. I can't believe you used to fight alongside of me." He snickers mockingly, teeth glinting in the dim light of the bedroom's candles. You open your eyes, narrowing them slightly before grunting out a low, "I can still fight, but if you hinder me with the smallest issue, I might have some trouble."

His laugh is cruel as he adds in a second one, those fingers totaling fours of yours, which was already hard to take in, but considering the sheer size of his erection, you didn't really mind, prep was still prep at the end of the day.

"The battlefield is empty... without you." He admits, spitting a glob of spit on your clit to rub it sloppily. You moan, clenching your hand in his hair, pink like the insides of your cunt.

''Rea-Really? I wonder why." Your mouth shapes an 'o' when he hits a particularly smooth surface in the depths of your pussy. Sukuna straightens, letting his abdominal mouth's tongue loll out to taste the delicacy that your slit produces, it moans lowly and he removes the digit stroking your clit as the appendage replaces it.

Your moans pitch higher, hands going behind his head to bring him closer. "What is it?" He raises an eyebrow at your open mouth.

You lift your head just a bit, sharing breaths with Sukuna, "Kiss." You demand, left hand coming to swipe across his spit-slicked lower lip.

He chuckles, shaking his head. "Kiss my hand, slut."

Lifting his hand, a slit opening on his palm as a tongue sprawls out of it, he places it on your mouth and immediately shuts you up, the tongue shoving itself down your throat. His stomach's tongue was big, but this one was long, almost reaching the uvula at the back of your larynx.

A squeak manages to slide past the appendage down your throat, making him bark out a laugh and rip his hand away. You whine almost pathetically, no sign of the past feared warrior, only a pitiful human in her place

He croons, pecking your lips demeaningly, but everyone knows Sukuna wouldn't do that wholeheartedly. It was mocking. Like every loving action he did to rile you up. You were friends, maybe. Probably. Okay, maybe not, but-

A mind shattering thrust breaks you out of your already messy thoughts, a loud scream, you didn't even register it as yours, echoes throughout the chamber, making him clasp his hand on your mouth to avoid waking every palace servant who were napping right now. He had hit your cervix, spot on. The mini orgasm you had wasn't even prepared, but now that he located it, he was determined to break it open and stuff his spunk inside.

Each thrust now reached your womb, little squeals and keens slipping through Sukuna's fingers. The King of Curses himself couldn't contain your mewls, so he did what he did. Kissed you, sloppily, yes but, still. The monster that everyone feared so much, pressed his lips to yours, tilting his head so that his nose wouldn't bump into yours. His lower right hand lifted your left leg so that he could press your knee against your chest, reaching impossibly deeper.

You sigh through your nose, wrapping your free leg around his hips, which were moving wildly, almost moving in sync with yours as both of your bodies strive to finally procreate.

Your orgasm builds up at the base of your spine, tingles, head to toe, which were curled to their maximum. Sukuna shudders, and you even hear him sniffling, but it's hard to hear over your ears ringing, and wet flesh hitting wet flesh. You listen to him mutter about how good of a mother you'd be, brats running away from you as you try to dress them, your round belly and dripping tits when it was feeding time.

Fuck, he was going to cum before you, that was completely unacceptable, he thought as he slid a hand down your body to pinch your clit maliciously, smirking against your lips as you gift him another sharp inhale. A few more thrusts and you would definitely cum.

Is what he thought before his eyes shoot open, widening as he climaxes, a muffled moan against your lips. His hips stutter as his mind blanks, eyes rolling to the back of his skull whilst he fills you up until your belly almost bulges with the amount of semen he just plugged you with. And that triggers you, back arching, toes curling, eyes rolling to the back of your head just like his did, hands clenching in his hair as the world feels like it stilled.

When you both finally come down from the high, Sukuna pulls away, panting heavily. But not as much as you, who was almost heaving. He stares at your tummy, said tummy slightly distended from the fluid inside.

"S'kuna..." You mumble, turning your head away in shame.

"One more." All four of his hands roaming the soft and coarse parts of your skin, making you shudder. "Once more, it didn't take. Trust me, I'd know." He snarks, that smug smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

Well, good luck!

[aciddrattboyy]

monster mash

scare!actor bachira appeared in a vision and i had to let it be known or after being stood up on a date, one scare actor meguru spots you and decides to try to fill the spot

bachira x f!reader 🕸 fluff 🕸 wc: 1.7k cw: nothing i dont think, nothing is too descriptive i think i literally use the word gore once, nvm i lied one mention of blood (its fake) a/n: this is me lil story for the poll i made but it prob wont be my only halloween fic cuz i love halloween

🕸

the cold fall breeze did nothing to help your already trembling body. as soon as you stepped out of your house you regretted wearing the tight black dress your date picked out for you. and when you got a message from said date saying he wasnt going anymore when you were already half way to the festival, you regretted it even more. 

you thought about turning back, going home and calling your friends. maybe try to see if there were any parties you all could go to. you wouldve felt bad asking your friends to buy tickets last minute. but you spent a good amount on your ticket and you weren’t about to waste it. 

here you were now, standing in line for a haunted house all by your lonesome. were you a huge fan of haunted houses? no not exactly. but were you about to get every pennys worth of what you paid for? yes of course. you kind of felt stupid about it, feeling a bit stubborn doing this all out of spite. but you weren’t exactly made of money and you had been excited to come here. so you’d persevere. 

meguru strolled out of the ‘crew only’ door, hands in the pockets oh his sweatpants while goosebumps trailed up his arms up until well his t-shirt sleeves ended. observing the ridiculously long line, he silently prayed for his coworkers and hoped their night went… decent.

rummaging through his pockets, meguru grabbed for his earbuds. but he stopped in his tracks when he saw you. arms crossed tightly over your chest as you fidgeted with the hem of your short dress. a smile twitched on the corner of his mouth as he smoothly changed his course, abandoning his walk towards the employee parking lot and making a bee line towards you. he seamlessly slid under the velvet rope, grinning as he stood behind you. 

“what’s a pretty girl like you doing out here by yourself?” 

your eye twitched, twisting around and fully prepared to tell the creep off. but your words faltered when you actually saw megurus face. his smile didnt seem to match what sounded like cat calling. so you relaxed a bit, hoping that continuing this conversation wouldnt end badly.

“being stood up on a date,” you watched as his eyes widened, his smile faltering for just a moment. 

“no shit really?” he barked out a laugh out of surprised. his eyes scanned over you, watching in amusement as you bounced on the balls of your shoes. “damn that sucks.” you scoffed, nodding your head with a less than enthused smile. 

“thanks,” 

“but-” meguru said quickly, taking a step forward when he saw you begin to turn away. “uh if you want i can help you through it, i know the place well,” he said, gesturing to the haunted house youve been waiting to get into for what felt like eons. your eyebrow cocked as you faced him fully, being amused by his attempt to salvage the conversation. 

“are you some kind of adrenaline junkie?” you asked lightly, wondering just how many times he’d gone through it. little did you know it was more than you couldve ever guessed. 

“yes- but im one of the actors here so it would be pretty inconvenient if i didnt know my way around- whats your name? im meguru,” meguru didnt usually tell people about his job. not finding it important enough to talk about most times. was the job fun? most of the time. but it was just an exciting side gig while he made his way through college. but seeing the way your eyes lit up at his words, he felt good about it. 

“you dont look… scary,” you teased, studying megurus features as you moved up the line with him in tow. if you were given a line up of people to guess who were scare actors you probably would’ve picked him last upon first glance. “and its y/n” you added on with a bubbly grin. 

“well yeah i dont have an ax through my chest right now,” he shrugged his shoulders, eyes never leaving yours with a goofy smile on his face. you laughed, a sweet smile settling on your face. you felt like your night was starting to look up just a bit. “but nice to meet you y/n,”

the two of you talked a lot about nothing going through the line. it was surprisingly easy to just chat with him and you hadnt even noticed you were moving with the line until you were basically at the entrance. you looked at meguru with wide eyes when an ear piercing scream could be heard of from inside. 

“dont worry pretty girl i’ll protect you,” he said with a wink, mirroring the smile on your face. as you guys moved towards the entrance, your heart was too busy beating in your ears for you to notice or hear meguru talking to one of his coworkers that were monitoring the line. you were only brought back to reality when meguru linked his arm with yours, rolling his neck. 

meguru usually didnt actually walk through the haunted houses he worked at. the thought of seeing a coworker in the makeup he’s seen been put on them before would probably ruin the mood. but now that he had you, clingly to his side oh so adorably, he was starting to think maybe it would be fun. 

as soon as you walked in you were immediately veiled in eery, cold darkness. adrenaline pumped through your veins as you tried to adjust your vision. you swerved your head, trying to look out for any possible jumpscares. meguru watched as you grew a bit frantic, not wanting to say too much and spoil the fun. there was a faint smile on his lips when he saw you notice the well lit door down the hall. 

while you were relieved, and started making your way to the door, meguru knew that it wasnt the exit. he knew someone was behind that door, patiently waiting for someone like you to open it to jump out and scream. he found your interest in the door amusing considering he was there just a couple hours ago. 

“you might not wanna open that door,” he leaned down to whisper in your ear. he felt bad for ruining the illusion, but you already looked like you were on the brink of collapse and the last thing he wanted was for you to faint. 

you shivered, his warm breath grazing your skin a stark contrast to the cold room you were in. holding on to his arm with both hands now, you let him lead the way, suddenly realizing you were not a fan of haunted houses. 

you got through the majority of the house with almost no incidents. having put your faith into meguru, you screwed your eyes shut. only getting scared by the ambience or someone else’s screams. 

meguru glanced down at you plenty of times as he walked you through. you just looked so cute leaning your head on his with your eyes closed. you had put all your trust in him to get you through and he was going to honor that. 

what meguru didnt know then, was that a bunch of the crew members had been plotting as the two of you walked through, staking out the exit for an impromptu jumpscare. they normally wouldnt do this, they have a job to do after all. but you guys were the last of your grouping so they would have to wait for you to leave before letting more people in anyway. it was sort of a gift to meguru, giving him a scare in a haunted house.

“we’re almost there,” meguru muttered close to your head, his smile growing as he made his way to the exit. your eyes had opened just a bit, relief washing through your body when you could clearly see outside of the haunted house. with a little pep in your step, you sped walked for the exit. 

but that was cut short when a body fell from the roof, almost landing on top of you but staying suspended in the air. you yelped, stumbling backwards into megurus chest. unfortunately for you, he was of no help. his eyes furrowed, his own heart rate starting to pick up. but just as he was about to make sense of it all, two actors jumped in front of you. the special effects were gorey and you thought you were going to vomit. with wide eyes you turned to meguru who was now laughing nervously. 

another body fell, this time hitting the ground with a thud right behind you. you both spun around towards the sound and you could feel a scream bubbling in your throat when you saw a dark liquid seep out from under it. 

under normal circumstances, meguru would laugh that stunt off, knowing exactly how it was done and having pulled it off himself. but having already been caught off guard, it did nothing to calm him down. 

quickly grabbing your wrist, he pulled you through the hallway, blood pumping through his veins as all of the sound effects and screams followed them out. your eyes were tightly shut, not daring to open until you knew you were out of there. 

the oh so slightly warmer autumn air hit you like a truck when you finally got out. your eyes were almost bugging out of your head as you looked at meguru who had the exact same expression. the both of you were breathing heavily, standing there in stunned silence.

“you said you knew-”

“i know i did-”

“so how-,” you took in megurus disheveled state, his genuine look of shock in his face made you giggle. with the adrenaline still flowing through you, you both became a laughing mess, rethinking that just happened in the past 3 minutes. and when you looked into his eyes once more, you werent able to stop yourself from pulling him into a kiss. meguru was quick to reciprocate, holding wrapping his arms around you as your soft lips pressed into his. 

the kiss only lasted mere seconds before you both stepped back in shock. you felt your face start to heat up as his smile only grew wider. 

“woah at least treat me to a caramel apple first,” you laughed softly and meguru could have sworn he felt his heart do a backflip into a split when he looked at you. you took your hand in his, squeezing it once before dragging him deeper into the festival. “i lied actually im more of a funnel cake typa guy,”

i hope you enjoyed !! reblogs/comments are very much appreciated <3

[srslyblvck]

the devil you know, avengers

pairing: avengers x fem!reader, bucky x fem!reader

synopsis: the avengers seem really desperate as they come to you—the person who went under their skin like no one else to help them win against hydra. while they are walking on eggshells around you, you are having fun causing chaos.

warnings: mentions of y/n (maybe), blood, violence, gore

word count: 2.1k

chapter: 2/?

author's note: i had so much fun while writing this chapter :)

series masterlist

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ THE QUINJET HUMMED AS it soared through the night sky, carrying you and the rest of the Avengers toward the Hydra base. You were seated across from Natasha, who had given you a black tactical suit to wear. The material was sleek, flexible, and perfect for slipping into shadows—fitting, considering your abilities. Still, you made sure to comment on it.

"Nice touch, Romanoff," you said with a teasing smile, adjusting the snug collar. "It’s almost like you dressed me yourself."

Natasha rolled her eyes but didn’t respond. She hadn’t spoken much since the briefing, and you could feel the tension in the air—more specifically, the tension around you.

The cuffs around your wrists clinked lightly every time you moved, and you'd spent the entire ride making sure everyone was reminded of your presence. You shifted, tapped, and stretched, leaning back with your arms out, just enough to get on everyone's nerves.

Tony groaned, eyes narrowing. “Would you knock it off? You’ve got five minutes left with those things—can’t you just sit still?”

You smirked. “You know me, Stark. Sitting still isn’t really my thing.”

Bucky, sitting near the door, watched you closely, his arms crossed. He hadn’t said much either, but his eyes never left you for long. You could feel the distrust radiating off him like heat from a fire.

When the quinjet finally touched down on a remote hillside just outside the Hydra base, the cargo doors hissed open, revealing a dense forest bathed in darkness. Everyone moved quickly, preparing for the mission. The Hydra base was hidden beneath the ground, concealed by a thin veil of technology and nature, but you could feel it—the faint flicker of light inside, fighting against the darkness you so easily commanded.

Bucky approached you as the others stepped off the jet. He didn’t say anything at first, just moved to unlock the cuffs on your wrists. His metal arm gleamed in the low light, the sound of the release mechanism echoing faintly in the night air.

“Don’t do anything stupid that you’ll regret,” Bucky said, his voice low and gravelly.

You tilted your head, giving him a sly smile as you felt the cuffs release. The rush hit you instantly—like blood returning to your veins, like slipping into an old coat that fit perfectly. Your power flowed back, and you felt the shadows around you flicker and shift, reacting to your presence. The darkness was yours again.

“Oh, Barnes,” you said, flexing your fingers, feeling the cold night air against your skin. “Stupid’s kind of my specialty. But regret? Never.”

He didn’t look amused, but then again, Bucky never looked amused. His eyes lingered on you for a moment longer before he turned to join the others.

You took a step forward, rolling your shoulders, testing your limbs now that you were free. It felt good, like stretching after a long sleep.

Natasha stood near the front of the team, her eyes on the base. You walked up to her with a casual stride, glancing at the weaponry strapped to her hips.

“Got a spare firearm?” you asked, nodding at her holsters.

Natasha turned, giving you a skeptical look. “You’ve got powers. Why would you need a gun?”

You let out an exaggerated sigh, shaking your head in mock disappointment. “Powers are great and all, but you know what really matters? Aesthetics.”

Before she could respond, Tony chimed in from behind you. “Romanoff, give her something. If this goes sideways, we might as well let her feel like she looks cool while screwing it up.”

Natasha hesitated, then, with visible reluctance, pulled a shotgun from her stash and handed it to you. “Try not to shoot yourself with it.”

You grinned, slinging the shotgun over your shoulder with a dramatic flourish. “Oh, Natasha, you do spoil me. Thanks, darling.”

She gave you a withering look but said nothing, turning back to focus on the mission.

Tony approached next, handing you a small earpiece. “Here,” he said, his tone exasperated but professional. “If you need backup, just call for it. Don’t try to play the hero.”

You took the earpiece, but instead of inserting it right away, you examined it like it was some sort of toy, twirling it between your fingers. Then you smiled up at him, that same teasing grin you’d perfected over the years. “How cute. I didn’t know you cared, Stark.”

Before Tony could reply, you slid the earpiece into your ear and turned on your heel, walking toward the treeline. “Don’t miss me too much, alright?”

You didn’t wait for a response. With a snap of your fingers, you let the shadows rise around you, blending into the darkness like it was second nature. The shadows welcomed you, embracing you like an old friend as you slipped into them, disappearing from sight in an instant.

The Hydra base lay ahead, hidden beneath layers of security, but you could already feel it pulsing in the distance—a flicker of light surrounded by the dark. And you? You were the storm coming for them. You let yourself smile as you moved through the trees, becoming one with the night.

Behind you, the Avengers might’ve been watching, ready for you to betray them at any second. But tonight wasn’t about them. Tonight was about you and the game. You were in control. And Hydra? They had no idea what was coming.

As you approached the perimeter, the lights from the base seemed dimmer, weaker. You reached out, letting your power flow through the air, extending your reach into the heart of the shadows. The guards posted around the base were oblivious to your presence as you slid past them, their own shadows swallowing them whole.

Inside the base, you could feel it—the pulse of energy Hydra was harnessing. The faint whisper of something dark and powerful hidden within their walls. It tugged at your senses, calling to you, daring you to dive deeper.

A shotgun over your shoulder, shadows at your command, and a grin on your face—you moved forward with purpose.

The Hydra base was dimly lit, cold, and sterile, like something out of a bad spy movie. You were barely inside when the first agent spotted you. He didn’t even get the chance to yell. The shadows wrapped around him, pulling him into the darkness, muffling his voice. By the time his partner turned to see what happened, it was already too late.

You stepped forward, emerging from the shadows like a nightmare come to life, and grinned at the remaining guard, his eyes widening in horror.

“Boo,”

He reached for his gun, but you were faster. A flick of your wrist sent the shadows curling around his legs, tripping him before he could fire a single shot. You stepped over him with a casual stride, hands in your pockets, barely breaking a sweat.

The base was crawling with more agents, but you didn’t mind. In fact, you were counting on it.

Two more Hydra goons rounded the corner, guns raised, but the lights above them flickered once—then went out. When the darkness swallowed them, you grinned, letting the shadows dance around their feet. They fired blindly into the void, but the bullets only hit walls and air.

“Really?” you called out, your voice echoing through the corridor. “Is that the best you’ve got?”

One of them screamed as you appeared behind him, yanking his feet out from under him with a tendril of shadow. He slammed into the floor with a satisfying thud.

“Seriously,” you continued, stepping over him, “I was expecting more from Hydra. What is this, amateur hour?”

The second agent started running, which only made it more fun. You sent a wave of darkness after him, snaking through the corridor like a living thing, wrapping around his ankles and dragging him back toward you. He struggled, but it was no use.

“Don’t worry,” you said, leaning down as he thrashed in the shadows. “I’ll make this quick.”

You knocked him out cold, giving him a pat on the head before continuing deeper into the base.

A few minutes later, you found the room you were looking for: a small, unassuming office with a row of computers humming softly. Hydra always made things so obvious. You slipped inside, closing the door behind you, and pulled out the little USB drive Tony had given you.

The computer’s interface glowed as you inserted the drive, and the transfer began. A small progress bar appeared on the screen, ticking upward at a frustratingly slow pace.

“Well, this is thrilling,” you muttered, leaning against the desk, tapping your fingers on the wood as you waited. You clicked on your earpiece. “So, what’s for dinner?”

“Focus,” Steve’s voice came through, clipped and serious.

You smirked. “I am focused, Rogers. I’m just multitasking. But I’m thinking Chinese takeout would be a good call. Just not Panda Express, okay? I know a better place.”

There was a long pause, then, faintly, you heard Tony mumble, “Yeah, I’m with them on that. Panda’s overrated.”

You grinned to yourself. “See? Stark knows what’s up.”

“You’re supposed to be downloading classified data, not planning dinner,” Steve’s voice cut in, clearly irritated.

“Right, right,” you replied, waving your hand even though no one could see you. The download bar hit 100%, and the drive ejected with a satisfying ping. “And, done. That was almost too easy. You guys could’ve handled this on your own. But, noooo, you had to drag me into it. Starting to think you’re all just being lazy.”

You pocketed the drive and headed for the door, feeling pretty good about yourself when you suddenly heard footsteps. Lots of footsteps.

Your grin widened.

“Oh, this is going to be fun.”

Clint’s voice came through your earpiece, a bit cautious. “What’s with that tone? What’s wrong?”

“Oh, nothing,” you said, your heart picking up pace with excitement. “There’s just more Hydra agents. A lot more. You know, enough to make it interesting.”

Steve’s voice was all business, as usual. “Get out. Now.”

You rolled your eyes, pushing the door open and stepping into the corridor. “Oh, come on, Capsicle. Don’t be such a buzzkill. I’ve been so good all night. Let me have a little fun.”

“Don’t push it!” Steve barked.

But you ignored him, slipping back into the shadows as the agents came barreling down the hallway toward you. This was what you lived for. The thrill, the chaos, the rush of power as the darkness around you stirred like it was alive.

Cut to the quinjet, where the rest of the Avengers were waiting. Clint sat in his usual seat, casually spinning an arrow between his fingers, while Sam and Tony stood near the back, discussing strategy—or at least pretending to. Steve paced near the front, arms crossed, clearly agitated that you hadn’t followed his orders.

“I told her to get out,” Steve muttered, glancing at Tony. “Why won’t she ever listen?”

“Because she's a pain in the ass,” Tony replied with a shrug, leaning against the wall. “We all knew that when we brought her in.”

Before anyone could respond, you suddenly appeared out of nowhere, materializing from the shadows in the corner of the quinjet, covered head to toe in blood.

Clint jumped, nearly falling off his seat. “What the hell?!”

Sam, startled, took a step back. “Jeez! A little warning next time, maybe?”

Even Tony, who prided himself on being unflappable, blinked in surprise, his eyes widening for just a split second before he regained his composure. “Well, that’s one way to make an entrance.”

You grinned, casually wiping some blood from your cheek as you tossed the shotgun over to Natasha, who caught it without a word. “Thanks for the loaner. Worked like a charm.”

Then, with a smirk, you pulled the USB drive from your pocket and handed it to Tony. “Here’s your data. Told you it was easy. Seriously, you guys need to stop being so lazy.”

Tony took the drive but didn’t respond right away. The rest of the team was still staring at you, processing the sight of you standing there, nonchalant, drenched in blood, like you’d just walked out of an action movie.

You plopped down in one of the seats, kicking your feet up onto the table in front of you, clearly satisfied with yourself. “So… about that Chinese takeout?”

No one said a word. The quinjet was silent as the team tried to wrap their heads around what just happened.

You just smiled, closing your eyes as you leaned back, perfectly at ease.

Mission accomplished.

dividers by @dollywons

[alreadyblondenow]

F*CK, MARRY, K*LL: VOLUME I | Jeong Jaehyun (MOOD SAMPLER)

▸ Assassin Jaehyun x Assassin Female reader ▸ Smut, Smut, Smut, Fluff, Angst, Gore, MATURE ▸ JAEHYUN SMUT SERIES: FUCK, MARRY, KILL ▸ Teaser/ Mood sampler for VOLUME I

Summary: The start of a new life. Training to be an assassin and a chance to experience true love. The son of the leader of the Jeong clan fell in love with you while you two live your lives as assassins. He promised a quiet life, but when things went south. You decided to leave Jaehyun… and hide your daughter from him.

Warnings: Smut, smut, smut, MATURE THEMES, Heavy description of killings because most of the characters are assassins, mentions of blood, character death, unprotected sex, mentions of condoms, mentions of pill, pregnancy, swearing, mentions of alcohol. I hope I did not forget anything.

A/N: I will try to put warnings on every part of the story that has gory details. This will still focus on the love story but still I wanted to write again so this may be long. I hope everyone will enjoy every word of VOLUME I.

SMUT AFTER THE CUT

Dreaming.

He was aware that he’s dreaming.

“Good morning,” he hugged you from behind in this cold morning. You were happy he’s back to his normal self and gave him kisses that are long overdue. Innocent kisses that are sweet but wet, you can tell by the way his tongue moves that he missed you too. The way his kisses are soft but you know he’s up to something even more.

His hands were swift to remove your sleep wear until you’re naked beneath him as the morning sun hits you perfectly. You watch him remove his sweatpants and underwear and he was excited to go back to your lips again. He missed being on top of you, being able to see the woman that he loves like this again.

“I’m sorry if being like a horny teenager this morning. I really missed you” he apologized and kissed you again, hands reaching both of your legs and spreading them wide while you check your slit with your right hand if you’re wet already and you’re ready for that cock of his.

“Don’t apologies, you’re not a stranger” you whispered sweetly while you pump his cock and kiss his lips. He didn’t wait for another second to push in. He couldn’t wait anymore.

He missed your warm walls. He missed your lips. He missed hearing your moans beside his ears he missed your touch. Your hands are around his neck. Never leaving his skin and continuously pulling him back closer to you whenever he tries to pull away for a different sex position. He let out a soft laugh, kissing the shell of your ear and making you weak. The way he fucks you this morning is soft, as if he’s really telling you he missed you.

The way his cock goes in and out of your hole, slowly but deep. It was addicting. Then he flips you around, putting you on your stomach but never leaving your lips. He pushed in again while your legs are still closed, making your hole tighter to Jaehyun’s liking. This is how he wanted it. Tight and slow, but giving you hard thrust while hitting the right spot. “Fuck,” you said and catch your breath. You felt your high come down already but Jaehyun is still building his. What the fuck you thought with a smile. You feel his lips travel around your back, his strong arms wrapped around your body, touching, pinching and even smacking your skin oh so lightly it tickles you.

“Marry me”

He suddenly said.

“Marry me,” he repeated it while thrusting deep inside you. You tried looking back at him to see his eyes but he was quick to catch your lips and fuck you faster. He was near.

He flips you again so he could see your eyes and beautiful face, still waiting for the sweet answer. Hopefully. He was working hard for it, as you can see.

Rubbing his hand on your hard nipples as he fucks you slow and deep. His lips never leave your lips, telling you how much he loves you. He reached for you hand and intertwined it with your yours, “Marry me,” he asked again, this time looking at your eyes and left a kiss your lips which made you completely stunned… and all you did was nod your head with a smile as an answer.

You saw how Jaehyun’s face lit up the moment you answered him. How he was genuinely happy. That you finally said ‘yes’.

He let go of your hand and put on your legs, spreading then wide while he pushes deeper. You watch Jaehyun moan on top of you, eyes closed, eyebrows furrowed. He was really hard and you feel it stretch you every time he push right back in.

Faster he fucks you, making your boobs bounce and making you moan so loud. By the time he reaches his high his thrust were harder than before almost hurting you with the impact. But the hurt was so good it’s addicting.

He rested his head beside your ear, putting all of his weight on top of you. Oh you love it when he do this…

“I love you. Thank you for saying ‘yes’ I will make you the happiest girl in the world-“

“You already did Jae,”

He smiled and caged you with his strong arms. It was a good day. A good day to start together.

But again, Jaehyun was only dreaming of this memory.

It was the last time you two made love. The last time he showed you how much he loves you before he fucked up.

As he opens his eyes… todays marks a day that he will never forget.

It’s been three years. It’s been three years since he started waking up alone. Three years since everyone from the squad stopped working for the Jeongs. Three years since you, Taeyong and Yuta left Jaehyun. Three years since Mark’s passing. Three years since you and Jaehyun broke up.

It was the slowest year for everyone. Adjusting to your new life, adopting to the way of living in the real world, and finally tasting the peace that you’ve been working for your whole life. For three years… you haven’t killed anyone. But living in a peaceful place with your friends doesn’t mean that your life is happy. There are still dark moments that will last only a few second or a few minutes. Dark moments that you carry as burden and still punish you the moment you close your eyes and remember the day when you left Jaehyun. The day when he chose power over you.

It wasn’t chaotic as you thought it would be. You and the others thought that leaving would be so difficult that it could turn into a blood bath. But no. Jaehyun let everyone go peacefully.

During the years of living without him, he kept on calling you. Day and night, asking if you’re okay and if the others are well.

“Do you guys need anything? Monthly groceries?” You chuckled at his offer, which made Jaehyun smile through the phone because he miss hearing you laugh, “protection maybe? I’ve been training new guys”

“No Jaehyun, were fine. Everyone’s fine” you said calmly. Hoping that Jaehyun wont get hurt knowing that everyone is completely fine without him. Of course he was hurt, he couldn’t even accept the fact that you and the others left him. He’s still in the process of acceptance, even though it’s been 8 months already.

“How about I visit? Before I leave for Japan-“

“Japan? Why?” Your heart was beating so fast… he can’t know where you and the others are located. He cannot know that the Nakamoto clan took you and the others in. Jaehyun will definitely get mad and jealous.

“I have business with a few gangs.. well you know how this works already no need for details” he faked a laugh. “Why don’t you want me to visit you? Are you hiding something?” Jaehyun said. You will never get used to this new Jaehyun. It was as if the Jaehyun you fell in love with is completely gone. This new Jaehyun is scary, straightforward and dangerous.

“No, Jae. We are still adjusting to this new life it’s a total mess here” you laughed, “Taeyong is baking everyday because he sells breakfast breads, Yuta sells sushi, I can’t even do laundry- I mean come on, do you really want to witness us struggling?”

You both laughed at what you said. Of course you answer him truthfully, everyone is still adjusting… but you’re the one who’s adjusting the most. He cannot know about your daughter. He cannot know that after you left him, you found out that you’re pregnant and he’s the father.

Of course you don’t want your daughter to grow in the same environment that you grew in. No way. And that is why you try your best to stay away from Jaehyun. For your daughter’s sake.

But after three years of hiding… after three years of lying, you are finally ready to meet Jaehyun again.

It was a cold morning, and today is the day that he get to see the love of his life again after three years. A lot has change. He changed. You changed. The world changed. But the only thing that did not change and cannot change is his feelings and love for you.

Today he’s exhausted. It was a bloodbath last night. His hands smells like blood and his body was really sore. Over the years of being far from you, he cannot be happy, he haven’t been laughing or enjoying life now that he’s the second most powerful man in the business world. No one dares to touch him. But still… Everything feels wrong he thought.

Over the years he developed this anger towards you but still he loves you very much. He hated himself whenever he thinks that he hated you… and this meeting, this reunion, he will ask you- no, he will beg you to stay with him and come back to him. Even though he finally found out about your kid. The father? He’s still clueless.

Just before you invited him over, he found out about you and your daughter. He was furious. How could you do this to him. He has his thoughts, his imagination gone wild. Maybe you sold yourself because you became poor and got pregnant, maybe Yuta was the father, maybe you adopted the kid. But it never crossed his mind that it was his. That he was the father.

Not until after he saw the kid in person.

Today, he was planning to watch you lie to his face and give you credit for your acting.

Now that Jaehyun is in front of you again. He looked scarier than ever. Still handsome. But scarier. Your home became cold the moment Jaehyun stepped inside it. It was like darkness was following him always. There’s no sign of the Jaehyun you fell in love with anymore. Whose presence is always warm… he’s gone. Completely.

“You look tired,” you gave him a hug which he missed the most. You on the other hand, smelled the blood immediately.

“Were sorry if it took us so long to invite you over— it’s my baking skills, I finally mastered baking and I’m officially an owner of a pastry shop” Taeyong was happy so announce. Everyone was happy for him, even Jaehyun, deep inside.

But all he could show is a small smile while looking at the floor. Legs crossed, and looking like the boss the powerful boss that he is. Truth be told he has no interest with Yuta or Taeyong anymore. He only cared about you. And your lie.

“It’s peaceful here,” he finally talked. His first words. “I see why you would rather live here with the Nakamotos instead of me. You would rather embrace the simple life instead of being grateful to the mercy that my family gave you”

Hearing that, Yuta was quick with his katana and pointed it towards Jaehyun’s neck without hesitation. The blade was still covered… because Yuta still… cannot disrespect their friendship. Unlike Jaehyun, who threw everything away already.

Jaehyun didn’t even flinch, he just move the sword away from him before he continued talking again, “Please come back to me Y/n, while im still asking nicely” he said with cold eyes.

And those words ruined your peace already. The peace that you and the others build for three years, the freedom, the happiness. You of all people in this room knew that Jaehyun will not stop until he gets what he wants.

“Jaehyun leave” Taeyong asked nicely. Trying so hard not to push Jaehyun and start a fight.

But Jaehyun still hasn’t removed his gaze towards you. Maybe because he just missed you. Maybe because it’s because he hasn’t seen your face in a very long time. You’re still lovely as ever. Motherhood looks good on you but he cannot accept that yet.

At this time… he was lost in your eyes.. but then, he heard someone… someone who called you ‘mom’

Jaehyun almost lost it when he saw the kid. When he saw you carry your daughter and protect her with your strong arms from her own father. Jaehyun knew right then and there that… the kid is his. He almost teared up, hand shaking as he tries to reach for his daughters hand and say,

“Hello beautiful princess,” his ice cold heart instantly melted when he saw her. He smiled genuinely.

“Jaehyun I want you to meet my daughter,” you said bravely. You didn’t even lie to him, Jaehyun thought. It would be better and easier for him if you did. And that’s what made Jaehyun furious.

You’re shameless.

And just like that Jaehyun’s scary aura came back, scaring the clueless kid with his gaze, “hey princess, can you help me know who’s your dad?”

“Jaehyun- you’re scaring her. Taeyong can you step out for a bit with her?” You handed your daughter safely to Taeyong in which you have nothing to be afraid of.

“I’m the father Jaehyun-“ Yuta said but Jaehyun did not let him finish.

“Bullshit,” Jaehyun said with a smirk, “she has my dimple. My lips, my eyes… how could you do this to me Y/n? Hide my own daughter from me?”

“She’s not yours!” You tried to lied again. But he’s not buying it.

“It’s been over three years since you left me Y/n, but you… you can still break my heart over and over again” he chuckled and prepared himself to leave, “I’ll give you a month to come to me. Come back to me with my daughter. Come back now, while I’m still asking nicely”

[ilguna]

☼ perfectly timed pt1 (Finnick Odair) ☼

summary; when you figure out that the arena's a clock, Finnick promises that he'll be your bodyguard from then on, and he doesn't take that responsibility lightly.

warnings; swearing, death, death mention, murder, gore, blood.

wc; 10.7k

part two.

–

See, after you won your Games, you should’ve learned your lesson regarding how to properly wield a weapon in order to defend yourself. At the time, you’d decided that your effort would be wasted. You dipped your toes in the water when it came to combat techniques, and quickly discovered that you needed to have a little foundation of fighting experience in order for the new information to mean anything.

So, you spent your time learning other useful skills, ones that would help if you took a lighter approach. It had been done plenty of times before with the tributes that came from less fortunate districts. They hid the entirety of the Games, waited out every mutt attack, survived every storm, dodged tributes, and ended up being pronounced as the Victor when the other final tribute finally went down.

You went to all the stations that the gymnasium had to offer. How to identify berries, first aid, tying knots, making weapons and tools from nothing, how to build shelter, weave nets, starting fires, cleaning water, snares, fish hooks, sewing. It was an endless list that you eagerly spent your time going through.

Yet, it didn’t matter when it came down to you and the career girl from Two. She tracked you down, followed you from hiding spot to hiding spot, watching your routine. The one skill you needed to know was how to defend yourself in a fight, and you had no idea how to. It’s what almost got you killed.

And it’s what might get you killed this time around.

You made the same mistake, only worse. You didn’t learn anything during your three training days. They were spent trying to figure out what the hell was going on between the tributes. With Beetee not telling you anything, you were left to your own devices.

You caught on pretty quickly to the looks that were being shared, it was the districts that had you stumped. Four, Six, Seven, Eight and Eleven. As far as you knew at the beginning, you and Beetee weren’t involved at all. You’d find out later that he’d signed you up for the alliance, he was just letting you sort out the situation on your own, waiting for you to come to him.

In the meantime, you watched as the victors you’ve known for years attracted like magnets to the Twelve tributes. On the other hand, Katniss and Peeta didn’t seem to be owned by anybody. They dabbled in a little bit of everybody, which you figured was because they were trying to find who would be the greatest allies in the arena.

Katniss is a smart girl, you saw that when you briefly talked between her and Beetee at the fire starting station. Beyond that, you never spoke to her again. You knew that she was the center of the odd behavior.

When you’d had enough by the time the scores came around, you finally asked Beetee what was going on. He informed you that because of the possibility of a rebellion, some of the districts are coming together to become one big alliance for the sake of the Twelve tributes inside of the arena. It wasn’t until he told you that you were both invited into said alliance, did it all fall into place.

By then, you were too fixated on figuring out every detail you could before the arena came around. You’d missed your opportunity yet again on how to defend yourself with a weapon. The one good thing that came out of it was Katniss taking a liking to you and Beetee at the station, causing her to request for you two to be her allies.

Which has, for some odd reason, landed you right in the middle of an alliance with Johanna and Beetee. This is not something you would’ve chosen on your own, for several reasons. There’s a part of you that knows you should be grateful that you have them here, because they really are your only source of protection from the other tributes in the arena for the time being.

You’d offer up Beetee, except he can’t fight in the first place, and especially can’t now that he’s been stabbed in the back after he went into the Cornucopia during the bloodbath. He was seeking to find his wire, the one that he used to win his games. Luckily, he found it. Although, you’re not entirely sure what he’s going to use it for quite yet.

Anyway, the Seven tributes are a bitter pill to swallow when they’re making it extremely difficult for you to continue being an easy ally for them. They might have saved you from the Cornucopia, but the way they’re talking to you two is wearing on your patience. Between Blight’s judgemental looks and Johanna’s short and rude attitude, you’re about to run off with Beetee to find a better spot to hide and strategize on how to blow this arena wide open.

“I’m done.” Johanna finally says, throwing her axe down in the grass. “We can make shelter here and find water in the morning. I’m not going to run around for the rest of the night looking for it.”

You take in a breath, turning to look at the area she’s picked out. It’s clear enough for the four of you to stay in. Beetee sets his wire down on the ground next to a tree, and slowly lowers himself to sit down, wincing when his back hurts.

Blight nods, fixing his own axe in his hand. “I’ll go find something for us to eat.”

Your lips twitch, you bite down on your tongue, wanting to offer to go with, because you’re sure that your knowledge will help some. The words die in your mouth, deciding to leave it be. If he finds an animal or nuts, fine. If he doesn’t, then you’ll sit here and wait for him to ask for help. You’re tired of him brushing you off. Besides, you can go without food for a couple of days. It won’t kill you.

Blight walks off, disappearing into the large jungle. The trees are tall, easily stretching over thirty feet into the air. Not to mention, the leaves act as a canopy, hiding the sun in the daytime. It’s been an hour since sunset, meaning you’re left to the moonlight to help guide you. Which is impossible to see through the greenery, as well.

You wander around the small area, picking at the plastic on the belt around your waist. Beetee was the one that popped it open, the liquid inside working as a floatation device when in water. Whoever developed it and decided it would appear as a belt is brilliant. You had no need to use yours, you learned how to swim when you were young.

Speaking of water, there is none in the arena. You came to that conclusion fairly quickly. You’ve covered at least five wedges walking diagonally, looking for any sign of it. There isn’t a single running stream or the sound of a waterfall. The only water in this arena is in the middle, and it’s undrinkable. 

The Gamemakers could be wanting the sponsors to get more involved and branch out by helping more than their usual bets. In that case, water could never come. Unless they’re planning something else, like a great storm that’ll provide enough water for the next few days before it rains again.

It would make sense for them to engineer something like that. The humidity proves that, you think. Then again, this is one giant terrarium. They’ve got you under a glass bowl like you’re some sort of science project. That could be said about every arena, though. That’s not what’s special about this one.

It appears ordinary, with the last Quarter Quell, it was fairly obvious that there was something going on. You watched the recap for the first time on the train just a couple days ago. The arena was perfect, too perfect. A healthy green meadow, blue skies with fluffy white clouds, a thick forest to hide inside of, and in the distance, a snow-capped mountain.

It was too good to be true.

Here, all the cards seem to be laid out on the table. It’s miserable. The idea of victors fighting each other, the sun glaring down on you, the humidity making you sticky and irritated, the elevated jungle floor, and not a single sight of water or food the entirety of the climb. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say that this is it. It can’t get any worse than this.

You know better, it’s the Capitol. You’re always waiting for the catch.

“Will you stop pacing?” Johanna asks.

You stop, pressing your lips together, looking at her. She’s got her eyes on you, leaned against a tree. She’s moved her axe to be against the tree, too. The handle in arm’s reach.

“Sure,” You say, annoyed. You can’t do anything with her. If you walk too loudly, she glares at you. If you try talking to Beetee, she hushes you. Now, you can’t even pace without her freaking out.

So, you turn to face away from her, staring off into the jungle, taking deep breaths to calm yourself. You hate working inside of a box that belongs to someone else. This is going to be a very long night.

—

A bright light appears from behind the jungle leaves. You squint, looking up to find the Capitol seal, the beginning notes of the anthem interrupting the silence. You push yourself up from where you’re resting next to Beetee, wanting to get a better look into the sky. 

You find a spot that allows you a clear view into the sky, right on time for the first face to appear: the man from District Five. This means that all the careers survived the bloodbath. Finnick Odair is out there somewhere with his mentor, and they will undoubtedly be tomorrow’s target to find. 

The next to show is the man from District Six, both Cecelia and Woof from Eight, both from Nine, the woman from Ten, and Seeder from Eleven. You pull on your fingers, eyes wandering off as the seal reppears and the music comes to an end, doing the math on how many allies are left.

With eight victors being dead, that leaves sixteen of you alive. Of those eight victors, four of them are allies. There’s still ten of you, more than half of the tributes left in the arena are part of the alliance. This leaves great odds still, nothing for you to worry about quite yet.

You wander back next to Beetee once the seal is gone.

“Finnick and Mags have to be around here somewhere.” Johanna mutters, her and Blight are gathered around a small fire. It’s not for warmth, but to cook the bird that was caught.

“We’ll run across them tomorrow. They’re looking for us, too.” Blight says to her.

At the very least, if you don’t find them tomorrow, you have the chance to find the other two allies that are left. The girl from Six, and Chaff from Eleven. As for Katniss and Peeta, you remember seeing Finnick get them out before you were attacked by Gloss. Johanna saved you seconds later.

You think that a meeting spot should’ve been established. You tried to suggest one, and you were drowned out by the many other ideas that were floating around in Haymitch’s head. If it had been up to you, you would’ve told him that you should all meet back at the Cornucopia on the second day. That way, you wouldn’t struggle with stupid directions. You’d just have to find your way back to the place you started.

Once the bird is ready, it’s split evenly between the four of you. You pick yours apart, down to the very last bone, not wasting a single piece of meat. You throw the bones over your shoulder, they land behind you somewhere in the bushes. At home, you’d boil the bones to make broth, here you don’t have any use to.

Beetee opts to lay down, tired. He keeps the spool of wire closeby, right between the two of you. He trusts that you’ll keep an eye on it, put your life on the line for it. You know better than anyone that he has a method to his madness, the same as you. If he believes that it’s important to have, who are you to say otherwise? You’ve listened to him for less.

“I’ll take first watch, Blight.” Johanna says, pulling the axe into her hand. “Go ahead and gather with Nuts and Volts.”

You press your lips together, glaring at Johanna. She catches this, giving you a taunting smile. Blight brings his axe with, creating a bed in the grass, and laying down a few feet from Beetee. You don’t move from where you sit.

If this bothers Johanna, she chooses not to mention it. She patrols, walking in a certain direction, and then turning around and going the other way without completing a full lap. It makes her moves unpredictable for the first fifteen minutes. A pattern develops, whether she intends it to or not.

You cross your arms, letting your head fall back against the tree, closing your eyes. The drowsiness doesn’t come immediately, leading you to believe that you’re too awake to fall asleep. In your Games, all you did was sleep, but that was because there wasn’t a constant threat hanging over your head the same way there is now. 

You’re in an arena full of experienced killers. The stakes are higher than they’ve ever been before.

Still, you fall asleep to the sound of Johanna shuffling through the underbrush.

And wake to the sound of a bell tolling. You jerk forward, face twisted as you work through the haziness. You count each one, the number growing higher, until it stops. There is no announcement that follows.

Twelve.

You look up from where you’re staring at the grass, to where Johanna had been walking around earlier. You see that she’s gathered with Blight, frozen and staring at the night sky, waiting. She must’ve just woken him up so he can take over. If you were paranoid, you’d say that they’re plotting to kill you in your sleep. Which you’re not worried about, at all. Johanna’s desperate to get Katniss to like her; you and Beetee are her only ticket. 

“Twelve.” Johanna echoes your thoughts. “Huh.”

“Could be signifying the end of the first day.” Blight theorizes, “It’s late, it has to be around midnight by now. They play the fallen right around eight.”

“Yeah, but why should we care that it’s the end of the first day?”

Blight shrugs. “Go ahead and sleep, I’ll take over from here.”

“Thanks.” She makes her way to where he made his bed, claiming it as her own now.

Blight could be onto something. It should be somewhere around midnight, meaning you’re officially in the second day of the arena. This could mean a number of things, but most importantly, the twelve bells can’t be a coincidence. The Capitol is far too smart to choose any random number, especially when it’s the exact amount of districts.

You almost stuff this in the back of your mind to go back to sleep, when a bright and strong bolt of electricity strikes a couple miles away. It continues into a lightning storm, shaking the ground and making it impossible for you to consider the idea of sleep.

You get to your feet, Blight whips around at the sound of movement. He lets out a loud sigh, “What are you doing?”

You walk right past him, ignoring him because you’re not really in the mood for what he has to say. You keep your eyes on the storm the best you can, trying to find a large enough clearing that’ll allow you to look at the sky. Blight calls after you, but you’re only twenty feet away when you stop.

The night sky is clear of any clouds. This means the lightning has to be engineered. Of course, you’ve seen storms with no clouds but for it to happen here, right after the twelve bells—it leads you to believe that this is far from a coincidence. This is just another piece of the puzzle.

Blight is waiting for you when you get back to camp. You shake your head, going back to where you’d been before with Beetee. You pick at your nails, watching Blight wander around the small area for a while. The storm doesn’t let up, persistent and angry.

With it carrying on for so long, you begin to relax next to the tree. Johanna and Beetee have no issue sleeping through it, so you should be able to sleep, too. You glance at Blight a final time, making sure that he’s still awake and moving, and then you rest the back of your head against the tree.

You don’t fall asleep, not fully. Too many ideas surface the moment your eyes have closed. Blight’s idea doesn’t sound too far off. It is something that the Gamemakers would do, but not without reason. For a second, you think that the twelve bells could be more than just for the amount of districts. It could be the number of allies in the alliance you’re in, minus two. 

Then again, you’re not entirely sure how the Gamemakers would’ve been able to figure that out on their own. Everyone has done their best to be subtle about who belongs inside of it, and with the stunt that you all pulled at the end of the interviews; holding hands, showing unification. It would lead them to believe that you’re in this together, until the beginning of the bloodbath, when all of it had been forgotten. 

Twelve.

It’s a specific number. The more you think, the more frustrated you get. There’s twelve sections in the arena, but you’re not sure how that helps. You picked up on that before you left the center rock with your allies. With two tributes to every wedge, it meant that there were twelve spokes.

That can be passed off as anything, though.

Right as you begin to think about how distracting the lightning is, and you can’t think straight, it ceases. The arena falls back into darkness, silence taking over the thunder. It’s eerily quiet for a few seconds, and then the nearby sound of gentle pattering against leaves begins.

You open your eyes.

It’s raining. For a long moment, you’re relieved; you have a chance at drinkable water, after all. And then you remember that there wasn’t a cloud in sight for the lightning. You press your lips together, eyebrows drawing in as you get to your feet for the third time tonight.

“Get Johanna up.” Blight orders, “We’ve got to catch the water with something.”

“Maybe a leaf?” You snark, walking right by a sleeping Johanna. 

He must take you for some type of moron if he thinks that you’re going to wake her up on your own. You’re on her bad side enough as it is, if you stick your face in hers, you’ll be lucky if you don’t get your head cut off in the process. She can wake on her own when she figures out that it’s raining, or Blight can do it himself.

You walk in the same direction you had for the lightning storm, tilting your head back to try and find any clouds. A droplet lands on your forehead, it’s warm, leaving you no hope that you’ll get a chance to cool down from the heat. Another drop lands on your cheek, running down your chin.

You’re surprised to see clouds, and even more so that they’re dark storm clouds, the type that should’ve accompanied the lightning. You watch, bewildered because you can almost see each individual drop of water coming down at you. They’re darker than the clouds they’re coming from.

The rain starts slow, mostly catching on the trees above, maybe a drop here or there on your skin and jumpsuit. It begins to pick up, growing intense, as the leaves above can’t even protect you from the assault. You watch as the water lands on your palms, darkening the color.

That’s not right.

You shake your head, starting back to camp. This too, is Gamemaker engineered. It’s perfectly planned, right after a storm to make it seem innocent enough. If they’re trying to trick you into a false sense of security, it worked.

In the time it takes for you to join the others, the rain has reached its peak. You’re drenched, hair sticking to your face, jumpsuit becoming a second layer of skin, shoes squishing with every step. And the smell is overwhelmingly familiar. You can’t place your finger on it immediately.

“It’s not water!” You hear Johanna shout, “Beetee, get up!”

You wipe the thick liquid from your eyes, struggling to see through it. Even with your vision being clear, it doesn’t help much. You can hardly see a few feet in front of you at a single time. You follow the voices of your allies, who are beginning to panic.

“Where’s (Y/n)?” Beetee asks.

“I’m here!” You tell them, struggling to stay upright. The greenery has grown slick from the wetness.

“It’s blood!” Johanna shouts at you. “It’s not water, it’s blood!”

That’s what that nauseating smell is. 

“We need to go, now!” Blight says.

You manage to stumble into the three of them, Johanna grabs a tight hold of you, dragging you to follow Blight. He heads uphill diagonally, you have to cover your eyes with your free hand in order to see him. With every swipe at your eyes, a stinging pain surfaces.

“Blight—?” Johanna calls, looking up. She gags a second later, stopping dead in her tracks to lean over and heave. She coughs out a mouthful of the blood. 

You decide very quickly that your lips will be sealed from this moment forward. Johanna continues to pull you and Beetee in the direction that Blight had gone. You’ve lost him completely. It’s almost ten minutes later when a cannon blasts, and another five when you find Blight’s body, face down in the grass, unmoving.

The Gamemakers haven’t collected him yet because you three are too close. Your eyes dart around the scene, trying to find the source of his death. You can’t see any outward injuries, which is even more difficult to identify with the amount of blood being dumped from the clouds.

He was climbing the incline like you are now. Where he’s lying isn’t that far from the top of the hill. In the daylight, you’d agreed not to go down into the valley, wanting to keep fairly close to the Cornucopia. That was assuming there was a valley to explore, but now that you’re looking at it…

You yank Johanna by her own grasp, almost throwing her from the amount of force behind the move. She stumbles a step or two, taking Beetee down to the ground. You shake your head at her quickly, eyes wide. 

There’s one more thing you found out during your training days, and it wasn’t anything about the tributes around you. It was about the Capitol, and how they found a much better way to hide things in plain sight. Beetee was the one to show it to you in the gymnasium, and it came with a warning.

Nothing is ever what it seems. 

Blight ran into a force field, the force field that surrounds the entire arena. If you had to guess now, it’s in the shape of a dome. There is no valley, the force field just gives the appearance that there is one to fool tributes into walking into it. That’s exactly what happened here, with Blight trying to lead you to safety.

“What the—” Johanna begins, gagging.

“Force field!” You manage to yell at her through the drumming noise of blood on leaves.

Beetee raises his head, squinting through his glasses to see what you mean.

Johanna throws her head back, eyes closed, unmoving. You watch the blood run down her neck, maybe she’s trying to compose herself. She suddenly yanks Beetee to his feet, pulling you back down the way you came.

You think she’s trying to lead you to the beach, but at the pace you’re going, it could take all night. You keep getting your foot caught in roots, branches appearing out of thin air to make tiny cuts in your skin.

Right when it’s beginning to get hard to breathe, the rain stops suddenly.

Johanna lets go of you, letting you stumble a few steps before collapsing. You lean over your knees, taking deep breaths to resist the urge to vomit in the grass. You wipe the blood from your face the best you can, gathering handfuls and flinging it into the trees.

“Fuck.” Johanna says, her fingers are laced, hands on top of her head. She looks between you and Beetee.

“We should go down to the beach.” You tell her.

She scoffs, “That’s not happening.” She shakes her head, walking a couple steps away. You’re able to see Beetee, he’s more concerned about the wire than himself. “If the careers are down there, I won’t be able to protect all three of us against the four of them. That’s a stupid idea.”

“It’s stupid to stay here, too.” You tell her, “The Gamemakers did this.”

“So?” Johanna asks.

“They did the lightning too. Who’s to say they won’t do another?”

She’s not listening to you anymore. “I’ll take watch.”

—

The sound of distant screaming stops the three of you momentarily, peering to the right, as if you’ll be able to see through the trees to find the danger. The ground begins to tremble, Johanna has to grab Beetee with both of her hands to keep him from sinking to the floor.

He grew worse overnight, nothing the beach could’ve helped. He needs to have the wound on his back cleaned out, the blood rain from early this morning could carry a number of nasty diseases. 

That’s why you’re heading there now. Johanna came to her senses, as soon as you woke up, she questioned you about your thoughts on the jungle versus the beach. You told her that the jungle offers concealment, of course, but no one’s going to be on the beach because everyone can see them, no matter where they stand.

And, once again, there’s a chance you could run across the other half of your allies on the beach. It’s worth the try.

“Come on, Volts.” Johanna grunts, jerking him. He follows her directions, but he’s dragging his feet. “I will drag you out of here by your feet.” She threatens.

“Don’t talk to him like that.” You snap at her. “He’s hurt, he can’t help it.”

“He wouldn’t be hurt if he didn’t go into the Cornucopia for that stupid wire.” She tells you, “So yes, he could help it. Either help me carry him or shut up.”

You glare at her, taking the other side of Beetee to help her bring him through the last bit of the jungle. You glance off to the right again, curious, and find a large wave cresting over the trees. Your heart skips a beat at the sight, wanting to turn and run in the other direction.

It doesn’t break its uniform shape, heading straight for the Cornucopia. You can kinda see the wave through the trees, joining the water in the center, and then skyrocketing. You throw your head back, watching it reach for the top of the dome, the force field, and then falling all at once.

“Gamemakers…” You murmur, eyebrows twitching in.

A cannon fires.

The beach is close enough for you to pick up the pace with Johanna, pulling Beetee with all the strength you have left. Once your feet hit the sand, it’s harder to pull him along. Beetee stops working with you altogether, falling forward, taking you and Johanna down with him.

Your hands and knees hit the sand, sticking to the bloody sweat on your hands. Johanna springs up, stomping her foot into the sand, letting out a frustrated scream through her teeth. You reach to touch Beetee���s temple, and find it warm.

“Johanna!” A voice shouts, you turn to look over your left shoulder, finding a figure running your way.

“Finnick!” Johanna laughs, relieved, “Finally!” She sends you a look, half a smile, “I guess you were right.”

You tilt your head. You want to tell her that you have a tendency to be right, but you decide to savor the moment. Maybe you and Johanna can end up being friends after this, no matter how unlikable her personality can be sometimes.

You get to your feet, brushing the sand from your knees. You take a step toward Beetee, prying the wire from his fingers to make it easier to flip him onto his back so he’s not breathing in the sand. 

“Johanna.” Finnick breathes. He’s in nothing but his underwear, trident in hand. “We didn’t recognize you at first, covered in…” He swipes his finger across the skin on her arm, face scrunching when he finds out that it’s not liquid, it’s dried. 

“It’s blood.” Johanna says, Finnick glances at you to see that you’re just as gross.

“Did you get into a fight?”

“No, it happened last night. We thought it was rain, you know, because of the lightning, and we were all so thirsty. But when it started coming down, turned out to be blood.” Johanna’s words are a blur, you didn’t realize she could talk so fast. “Thick, hot blood. You couldn’t see, you couldn’t speak without getting a mouthful. We just staggered around, trying to get out of it. That’s when Blight hit the force field.”

Katniss and Peeta have joined you, not dressed in anything but their underwear, either. Katniss is on guard with the bow in her hand, she must not feel threatened enough to need an arrow. You briefly meet Peeta’s eyes, he gives you a smile. The last time you talked to him was in the gymnasium, he came around while you were talking to the first aid specialist. He didn’t stay with you for long.

“I’m sorry, Johanna.” Finnick shakes his head.

“Yeah, well, he wasn’t much, but he was from home.” Her eyes land on you and Beetee. “And he left me alone with these two.” She nudges Beetee with the top of her shoe. “He got a knife in the back at the Cornucopia. And her—”

“Johanna.” You warn.

“She can’t stop talking about what happened with the twelve bongs last night.” She says, “Turns out that Nuts is nuts.”

You let out a breath, shaking your head. You’re not going to respond to her, you’re not going to let her antagonize you. You turn away, grabbing Beetee’s wire to move it into the treeline.

“Lay off her.” Katniss snaps.

You pause, turning to find Johanna glaring at Katniss. “Lay off her?” She hisses, stepping forward and slapping Katniss. Your mouth opens, and before you can speak, “Who do you think got them out of that bleeding jungle for you? You—”

Finnick strides toward Johanna, picking her up and tossing her over his shoulder. She squirms, still calling Katniss names, even after Finnick’s dropped her in the water, dunking her repeatedly beneath the surface. 

“I’m sorry, Katniss.” You murmur, “She’s been on edge since Blight died last night.” 

“It’s not your fault.” She tells you.

“I’m um, I’m going to clean up.” 

You wade into the saltwater, watching the way it turns pink as the dried blood saturates. You dip your hands into the warm water, rubbing your hands free of the blood that you’ve had to deal with for the past couple of hours. The cuts on your hands begin to swing, but you don’t care.

You lower yourself into the water, using your nails to get it off better. It’s laid on so thickly in places, it comes off in chunks that you have to pick out. You scratch at your scalp, the blood turning into goop you squeeze out. Every time you think you come close to being done, you find more.

You pull off the purple belt, throwing it into the sand. You shed the jumpsuit, which has been stained from the blood as well. Here, you can see where the red is coming from. You rub the last of it off your skin, before making your way back to the beach. You’ll hang it up to dry.

You throw the jumpsuit onto a branch, and then turn around to see what the others are doing. Finnick and Johanna are still in the water, and it seems he’s managed to calm Johanna down. As for Katniss and Peeta, they’re bathing Beetee in the water, hopefully looking at his wound while they’re at it. 

You start back to the water to join them, but not to help. They’ve got it handled so far, all you’ll do is get in the way. What you want to do is pick their brains about the jungle and what they experienced last night.

Peeta looks at you as you approach, once more offering a smile. “He’s in good hands.”

“I know.” You say, stopping a few feet behind them. “You’d never hurt him. I’ve actually got a few questions.”

What you need is for them to confirm the theory that you’ve had working since last night. You said that there is no coincidence when it comes to the Gamemakers, and that got you thinking after the blood rain. A sequence of events like that last night, one after the other… it’s not something they usually do.

First, it was the twelve bells, Blight said it was the beginning of the second day. What if it was for something else, though? The Capitol never exhausts all their tricks so quickly, because they want to keep unpredictability on their side. And that’s what happened, you didn’t think that they’d cause the lightning, and then the blood rain, and then presumably another event after.

There was another death last night, you were awake to hear the cannon. If you had to make an estimated time on when it happened, you’d say an hour after Blight’s death. You could chalk that all up to coincidence, or maybe the careers found a tribute, but that’s not what you’re considering.

“Sure.” Peeta says, Katniss gives you an apprehensive look.

“You three had Mags, didn’t you?” You ask. “Did you lose her sometime during the night?”

Peeta nods, “Yeah, we lost her during the fog.”

Your eyebrows raise, “The fog? What time did that happen?”

He shakes his head, “I don’t know. It was after that first cannon.”

You look at Katniss, “Were you awake?”

“Yes, I was watching the trees.” 

You press your lips together, looking up and at the cornucopia. They’re not giving you much to work with. You clear your throat, “Katniss, how far away would you say you were to the lightning?” 

When you look down at her, she’s thinking.

You motion to one of the wedges. “One of these sections over, two…?”

“Two, I guess.”

“And did you hear rain?” 

Katniss nods, “Yeah, I was waiting for it to come to us, but it never did.”

“Did anything happen after the rain stopped?”

“The fog started.”

Your lips twitch, corners of your mouth turning up into a smile. You look up at the wedge you came from this afternoon, and then one over to the left to see the tree the lightning struck last night. 

Lightning, rain, fog. 

“The section you were just in, did anything happen?” You look between Katniss and Peeta.

“Monkey mutts.” Peeta says, “They appeared out of nowhere and kept multiplying. They um… they killed the woman from Six.”

You nod, backing away from them. “Thanks.”

The moment you have your back to them, you let out a quiet laugh. You’ve figured it out. It was fairly obvious last night, but with Katniss and Peeta’s help, it’s put the pieces together.

The arena works like a clock.

That’s the importance of the twelve, why the cornucopia is divided up so specifically. The bells last night were because it was midnight. The lightning started, lasted the entirety of the hour, and then the rain started. It didn’t reach you right away because it started off at the top of the hill and made its way down. When the hour was up, that’s when the fog started. And then the mutts in the section over when your allies successfully escaped the fog.

You should say something to them, but not before your suspicions are confirmed. If you’re right, then the lightning should happen again at noon. The tidal wave that killed the girl a few sections over wasn’t too long ago. It’s gotta be anywhere between ten to eleven right now. You have an hour to go.

You sit in the treeline next to Beetee’s wire, watching as Johanna and Finnick wade out, coming in your direction.

“Are you thirsty?” Finnick asks, “Hungry?”

“Sure.” You smile, “I’ll take some water, more than anything.”

“Not before me.” Johanna says, coming to sit nearby.

“I’ll be back.” Finnick laughs, heading down the beach.

When you officially agreed to join the alliance that Haymitch organized, you were surprised to find out that Finnick was part of it. In all honesty, you thought that he might have been more inclined to stay with Cashmere, Gloss, Enobaria and Brutus, considering they hold the same status.

They’re very popular victors. Well, not so much Brutus anymore, but the other three won a little more than ten years ago. With them being back-to-back career wins, it was easy to see why the Capitol took such a good liking to them. Finnick was probably the best victor to end that streak on, since he set a new record for the youngest tribute to ever win. That, and the trident he received in the arena was expensive.

In a way, though, Finnick has never been on the same page as Gloss and Enobaria. You picked up on it when you started mentoring for Wiress after your victory. At first glance, he seems like he fits in. He does go out with them to have drinks often, it just takes some convincing. 

You’ve heard him talk about his riches, how it started with clothes, gifts, gems, money, and turned into something more. He never elaborates beyond that point, leading you to believe that either there isn’t anything more, or it’s so important that he can’t afford to give it away.

It’s obvious that he prefers people that are more down to earth and sensible—like Johanna, his best friend.. Cashmere, Gloss and Enobaria feed into the Capitol, they wholeheartedly embrace every aspect of it. They let the Capitol change and shape them into the figure they want, because it’ll keep them in the spotlight longer.

As for Finnick, you think he’s been trying to escape it since they latched onto him. It’s hard for them to let go. They thought he was attractive when he was young, and he’s grown into his face over time. He’s a fly stuck in a spiderweb, he’ll be lucky if he wiggles out before his looks wear out.

This is why he joined the alliance, you’re sure. It’s the same conclusion you came to before. If there are no Hunger Games, there is no reason to return to the Capitol every summer, then that means he’s finally set free. It’s the same reason the rest of you were sucked in. It’s a shame that he had to lose his mentor in the process too, though.

Finnick comes back down the beach, bearing several items in his hands. He throws down a woven mat, which Katniss and Peeta immediately work to get Beetee onto to rest. He carefully works a metal object into a tree, and with gentle tweaking, it begins to pour water, which he collects into a bowl he seems to have made, too.

Johanna drinks two full bowls before allowing you to have one. The two of you split the rest of the shellfish, which Finnick insists for you to finish, because they’re done eating. When he can’t stand the silence any longer, he begins to tell you about the long night they experienced last night.

They woke up in the middle of the night, alarmed at Katniss’ tone. Finnick carried Mags down the hill most of the way. The fog was sweet smelling and corrosive, that’s why they don’t have jumpsuits anymore. When it touched their skin, it had a paralyzing effect. 

Finnick doesn’t explicitly say what happened to Mags, but you read between the lines, and Johanna doesn’t ask either. When he stops speaking about her, you catch on. Finnick and Katniss had to bring Peeta down the rest of the hill, because Peeta wasn’t at his best. He ran into the forcefield earlier in the day, and Finnick was able to bring him back.

Apparently, the fog corralled them to the bottom, where they tripped and tumbled down the rest of the way. They were sure the fog was going to kill them, until it stopped, creeping upward into the air, as if it had hit the wall.

“What do you mean?” You ask, sitting up.

Finnick shakes his head, Katniss speaks. “It was like we were out of reach.”

You hum.

This follows your theory; the threats have to stay within their wedges. If it goes out, then it breaks the rules that the Gamemakers created for the Quell. It wouldn’t work like a clock anymore. That’s why the wave an hour ago didn’t come in your direction, it hit the cornucopia and evenly dispersed into each section. Effectively resetting the beach.

Finnick goes on to tell you how the monkey mutts were orange, and didn’t seem to be worried about him and Katniss. However, the moment that Peeta made eye contact with one of them, they went berserk. They kept attacking, and appeared never-ending. They didn’t stop until the woman from Six got injured. Katniss and Peeta brought her out to the water, where they kept her company while she passed. 

Finnick tells you that the mutts vanished into the vines and bushes, like they were being pulled in. When he tried to investigate, he didn’t find any evidence that they were ever there. Just their weapons left behind.

“Interesting.” You murmur.

This makes you wonder if the blood from the rain last night is also gone.

“Interesting how?” Finnick asks, watching you carefully.

You meet his eyes, shaking your head. “Nothing.”

He squints at you, letting you know that he’s not going to forget. “Well, if any of you want to sleep, I can take watch.”

“Or I could.” Katniss says, “I’m rested.”

“Well, I’m not going to sleep.” Johanna says.

You and Peeta look at each other. He shrugs.

“I’ll sleep.” He says, moving to lay in the shade.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Finnick asks Katniss, she nods. “Then I guess I’ll sleep too. Wake me if either of you get tired.”

“What about you?” Johanna asks you.

You press your lips together, “I’m going to stay awake, I’ll just sit back here.”

“You should sleep.” Johanna tells you.

You get up, ignoring what she has to say. You find a place next to Finnick and Beetee, pluck a large leaf off of a fern, and begin to pick it apart. You all sit in silence, allowing Finnick and Peeta to settle enough to fall asleep. 

It’s got to be thirty minutes before Johanna turns her head to look at Finnick, and then back at Katniss. “How’d you lose Mags?”

“In the fog. Finnick had Peeta. I had Mags for a while. Then I couldn’t lift her. Finnick said he couldn’t take them both. She kissed him and walked right into the poison.” Katniss says.

“She was Finnick’s mentor, you know,” Johanna says.

“No, I didn’t.”

Johanna doesn’t say anything for a few moments, “She was half his family.”

When Katniss doesn’t respond, Johanna finally agrees to lay down to try and get herself some sleep. She picks the open spot between you and Finnick, and doesn’t speak another word. You can pinpoint the exact second she slips into unconsciousness, because her whole body relaxes and she lets out a content sigh.

“Did you sleep last night?” Katniss asks, looking over her shoulder slightly to see you.

“Some.” You murmur. 

“Aren’t you tired?”

“Not enough.”

She catches the hint with your short replies, not pushing it any further. Neither of you speak, watching the sun rise higher in the sky. You pick at your nails, unable to sit still while the anticipation builds. If you’re right, this could change everything. This will give you the advantage, a step in the right direction on how to get out of here.

And then, a flash of light as the lightning hits the same tree it repeatedly struck last night.

You get to your feet, a smile spreading over your face as you inch forward into the sun. You can’t contain the laughter that spills from your lips, hand covering your mouth to keep from being too loud.

“Twelve.” You say.

“What?” Katniss asks, “What are you laughing at?”

“It’s noon.” You giggle, turning around to look at her. “Get the others up, I have something to tell them.”

There must be something about your demeanor that keeps her from questioning you any further. She takes her time shaking Peeta, Finnick and Johanna awake. The entire time, you don’t move your eyes from the lightning tree. Your allies are not very happy when they wake and see that there’s no danger. 

You don’t care, turning to look at them. “I figured it out. I would’ve told you sooner, but I had to be sure.”

“Be sure about what?’ Peeta asks, rubbing the sand from his face.

“The arena,” you say, “It works like a clock.”

For the first few minutes, you’re met with skepticism, which you were heavily prepared for. As you meet their questions with answers and more information, they begin to open up to the idea.

“You told me all I needed to know.” You look between Katniss and Peeta. “I just had to be sure that the lightning struck again before I presented the facts.”

Finnick’s on his feet, collecting his belongings, “You are a genius, (Y/n). I would never have thought about that.”

“Well…”

“Seriously.” He says. “You got that all from a couple of hours? It could’ve taken us days.”

You press your lips together into a smile, “Thanks.”

“We have to move.” Katniss says, “If she’s right, then we’re way too close to the fog and monkeys. We should move further down the beach.”

“Works for me.” Peeta agrees.

While they make sure they have everything, you grab your jumpsuit down from the branch, finding that it's almost entirely dry by now. You pull it on, Finnick zips up the back. As for the belt, you offer it to Peeta, who has turned his attention to Beetee.

“He needs it more than I do in the water.”

“Are you sure?” Peeta asks, taking it from you.

“I can swim.”

You watch as Peeta tries to get Beetee up, but he objects. “Wire.”

Peeta looks over his shoulder, shaking his head at you, “I don’t…”

“Wire.” Beetee insists.

“Oh, I know what he wants,” Johanna says. She fishes the cylinder of wire out of the sand. It’s still covered in a thick layer of blood, no one has bothered to wash it since you got here. “This worthless thing. It’s some kind of wire or something. That’s how he got cut. Running up to the Cornucopia to get this. I don’t know what kind of weapon it’s supposed to be. I guess you could pull off a piece and use it as a garrote or something. But really, can you imagine Beetee garroting somebody?”

“He won his Games with wire. Setting up that electrical trap.” Peeta says. They must have done their research, trying to prepare ahead of time for the victor’s they’ll be facing. “It’s the best weapon he could have.”

Katniss turns her head to the side slightly. “Seems like you’d have that figured out,” she says, “Since you nicknamed him Volts and all.”

Johanna’s eyes narrow. “Yeah, that was really stupid of me, wasn’t it?” She asks, “I guess I must have been distracted by keeping your little friends alive. While you were… what, again? Getting Mags killed off?”

Katniss reaches for the knife on her belt.

“Go ahead. Try it. I don’t care if you are knocked up, I’ll rip your throat out.”

You shuffle away from them, sharing a look with Finnick. You clear your throat to speak, but he beats you to it. “Maybe we all had better be careful where we step.” Finnick looks at Katniss. He then takes the coil of wire and sets it on Beetee’s chest. “There’s your wire, Volts. Watch where you plug it.”

When Peeta goes to lift Beetee, he doesn’t resist. “Where to?”

“I’d like to go to the Cornucopia and watch. Just to make sure we’re right about the clock.” Finnick says. “No offense, of course, (Y/n).”

“Better safe than sorry.” You agree.

“Right. And that’s why I won’t be taking my eyes off of you, either,” He tells you, raising his eyebrows. “With Beetee being down, you’ve got to figure out a way to take out the careers. Are you up to it?”

You nod, pulling on the tips of your fingers. This shouldn’t be very hard. The four of them could put up a pretty good fight against the careers all on their own. Johanna and Finnick would want to play it closer to the safe side, to not put Katniss and Peeta directly in the path of the careers. You need the Twelve tributes to come out of this arena alive.

“I can see the gears turning already.” Finnick laughs.

Johanna starts her way down the beach and onto the nearest sand strip that’ll lead you to the Cornucopia. Finnick is the next to go up, insisting to stay in front of you in case the careers are hiding inside and haven’t shown themselves quite yet. Peeta and Katniss follow behind you.

“If you could figure this out, what other tricks do you have up your sleeve?” Finnick asks, glancing at you.

You let out a laugh, shaking your head. “Not much.”

“I don’t believe that.” 

The golden Cornucopia shines brightly in the sun, as you get closer, you see that it provides a good amount of shade for you to rest in. It’s empty, no sign of the careers, or that they’ve been here recently. The weapons that lie around on the black rock are picked over, only the unusual ones are left. 

“Set me by the water, will you?” Beetee asks Peeta, “I’d like to clean it.”

As he begins to dunk the wire into the water to clear it of blood, you wander around the side of the Cornucopia. The lightning stopped almost an hour ago, which means that at any moment…

“What are you doing?” Finnick asks, appearing beside you.

“Looking for signs.” You tell him.

“What time do you think it is?” He asks, leaning over your shoulder. “Blood rain?”

You squint at him, “No, we’re past that. It should be fog.” You take a step away from him. “Do you always stand this close?”

“I can’t let you out of my sight.”

“I guess an arm’s length distance is too much to ask for?” You muse.

“Entirely.” He agrees.

You grind your teeth, trying to seem annoyed while you wait for the warmth to leave your face. It doesn’t help that he’s half-naked, like he was during the Tribute Parade this year. You’re sure the Capitol is enjoying every second of this, and he is too.

Your eyes find the jungle again, and you straighten, “There.”

This seems to catch the other’s attention. “Yes, look, (Y/n) is right. It’s two o’clock and the fog has started.” Katniss says.

“Like clockwork.” Peeta says, “You’re amazing to have figured that out, (Y/n).”

“It’s really—”

“No, he’s right.” Katniss agrees. 

Finnick nudges your shoulder.

“Oh, she’s more than smart.” Beetee says, pausing what he’s doing with the wire. “She’s intuitive. She can sense things before anyone else. Like a canary in one of your coal mines.”

You can feel your face begin to grow warm again.

“What’s that?” Finnick asks Katniss.

“It’s a bird that we take down into the mines to warn us if there’s bad air.” 

“What’s it do, die?” Johanna asks.

“It stops singing first. That’s when you should get out. But if the air’s too bad, it dies, yes. And so do you.” Katniss says.

“So, you have been lying to me.” Finnick murmurs in your ear.

You push him off of you. “I’m not sure Beetee’s right. He’s just saying that.”

“Whatever you say.”

Johanna goes inside of the Cornucopia, throwing the axe that she’s been using since yesterday. Your eyebrows twitch, curious on why she’d abandon the one weapon that she knows like the back of her hand, until she emerges with a pair of better looking axes. The one she had before must’ve been nothing more than a hatchet. 

Finnick leaves your side to briefly join Katniss, who’s reloading on her stock of arrows, which is a good idea. Finnick goes all the way to the back, before coming out with a knife. He turns it in his hand, blade in his palm, handle in your direction.

“You need something to defend yourself with.” He motions for you to take it. You carefully pull it out of his hand. 

“I thought you were keeping a close eye on me.”

“In the case of an emergency.” He tells you.

While the rest of you have been wandering around, Peeta has begun to draw a map of the arena onto a large leaf from the jungle with his knife. In the center is the Cornucopia, with the twelve strips of sand branching out from it. There’s another outer circle representing the waterline, and a slightly bigger one indicating the edge of the jungle.

“Look how the Cornucopia’s positioned.” Peeta says to Katniss.

She examines the map to see what he means. “The tail points toward twelve o’clock.”

“Right, so this is the top of our clock.” He says, and then scratches the numbers one through twelve around the map in the order of a clock. “Twelve to one is the lightning zone.” He then goes on to write lightning in the corresponding wedge, working clockwise adding blood, fog, and monkeys in the appropriate sections.

“And ten to eleven is the wave.” Katniss says, he adds it.

Finnick and Johanna come to join the three of you, fully armed with tridents, axes and knives.

“Did you notice anything unusual in the others?” Katniss asks you and Johanna. You shake your head. “I guess they could hold anything.”

“I’m going to make the ones where we know the Gamemakers’ weapon follows us out past the jungle, so we’ll stay clear of those.” Peeta says, drawing diagonal lines on the fog and wave beaches. He then sits back. “Well, it’s a lot more than we knew this morning, anyway.”

You look up, going to check on Beetee to see if he’s made any progress on the wire. Your heart drops in your chest at the sight of a dripping-wet Gloss behind him, Beetee slipping out of his hands, his throat slit wide open.

Katniss sees this too, working quickly to kill him. The tip of her arrow lodges into his right temple.

“No!” You scream, jerking toward him.

A pair of arms grabs you from behind, turning and throwing you into the cornucopia, making you scratch the palms of your hands and your knees on the black rock. When you turn around, Johanna has buried an axe blade in Cashmere’s chest. Finnick has just blocked a spear from hitting Peeta, taking the knife that was aimed your way from Enobaria, into his thigh as well.

Three cannons sound, one after the other. The Two tributes have begun to retreat, realizing that half their alliance is dead. Katniss starts to run after them, not letting this go. Johanna follows after her, and you struggle to get to your feet.

The wire, you need it. You have an idea.

Finnick has turned his attention to the knife, letting you slip past him and begin to wobble to the edge of the island, when the ground suddenly moves to the right. You slam into the rock, as it begins to spin, slowly at first but picking up speed with no sign of slowing.

“(Y/n)!” Finnick shouts at you.

You stick your fingers and toes into the crevices in the rock, hiding your face in your shoulder as the sand on the island flies down from the top, to the water below. You grit your teeth, fighting the nausea that begins to arise.

The weapons are just starting to fly out of the Cornucopia, when the land slams to a stop without slowing. You lift your head, finding that Finnick has a tight grip on your wrist, wide-eyed.

“Are you okay?”

You nod, he helps you get to your feet. The knife that was in his thigh is now gone, and he’s bleeding. If it hurts, he doesn’t show it, limping to get Peeta to his feet, as well. Katniss is coughing, Johanna spitting the sand out of her mouth.

They sit to catch their breath, but you can’t. The bodies have been tossed into the water, and if that’s the case, the wire is out there too. Beetee might have it, or it might have sunk to the bottom already. 

“(Y/n), sit.” Finnick tells you.

“I need the wire.” Your eyes searching the water.

“Oh good, Beetee’s spirit lives on in Nuts.” Johanna mutters.

You find Beetee floating on his back, the wire sitting directly on his chest. You point at it, and when no one comes, you drop the knife that Finnick gave you, preparing to jump into the water.

“Stop.” Finnick pushes you back, “Stay here.”

The water begins to dip and spray, the two of you look up to see the hovercraft. Finnick drops the trident in his hand, racing down the strip of sand nearest to Beetee’s body. You watch as he dives, and cuts through the water in the matter of seconds. The claw has been released to collect his body, when Finnick pulls the wire from his hands.

Finnick swims back to the sand, and as he’s pulling himself up, the hovercraft is fading into thin air, blending in with the sky. He walks toward you, the spool of wire is as clean as it was yesterday, before the rain had come. You hold your hands out for the wire, and he drops it in your hands.

“Thank you.” You look at him.

He collects the trident and your knife from the rock. “I’m sorry about Beetee.”

You nod, “I am too.”

The two of you go back to the others, where Johanna gets to her feet almost instantly. “Let’s get off this stinking island.”

“Let me patch Finnick’s leg first.” You tell her, “And then we can go.”

You spend the next ten minutes looking through boxes with Peeta and Katniss, where you find limited supplies. It’s better than nothing, and Katniss offers her ointment for you to use.

You place Finnick on a box, while you crouch in front of him. His leg had been washed out from the seawater when he jumped in, you’re sure that had to hurt. You finger the ointment into the wound. He grunts, gripping onto the sides of the box, refusing to take his eyes off of you for a second. 

You place the bandage on top, having him lift his leg high enough for you to wrap it tightly to keep it from coming loose. It’s not your best work, but it’s what you had to work with.

“You should be good, now.” 

It’s decided that you’ll go to the beach at twelve, since that hour won’t come around again for a while. Peeta, Johanna and Finnick head off in three different directions.

“Twelve o’clock, right?” Peeta asks. “The tail points at twelve.”

“Before they spun us,” Finnick says. “I was judging by the sun.”

“The sun only tells you it’s going on four, Finnick.” Katniss tells him.

A few eyes slide onto you. You swallow, looking into the jungle. “I hate to say it, but there’s a good possibility they shifted the outer ring of the jungle, too. What’s stopping them?”

Katniss nods. “So any one of these paths could lead to twelve o’clock.”

They wander around the Cornucopia, trying to see if there’s anything that’s out of place. This is when you see that each section of the jungle has their own giant tree. Johanna suggests to follow the Two tribute’s tracks, except they have been blown or washed away. There is nothing to go off of anymore.

“Maybe we should’ve kept quiet about the clock.” Katniss says. “Now they’ve taken that advantage away.”

“Only temporarily.” You tell her. “At ten, we’ll see the wave again and be back on track.”

“Yes, they can’t redesign the whole arena.” Peeta agrees.

“It doesn’t matter,” Johanna sighs impatiently. “Nuts had to tell us or we never would have moved our camp in the first place, brainless.” She squints at you briefly. “Come on, I need water. Anyone have a good gut feeling?”

You let them randomly decide a path. You follow Finnick quietly, adjusting the spool in your hand, looking out into the water. Beetee must have had some idea with this, too. If only he had let you in on his thoughts, they were likely better than anything that you’re coming up with right now. 

The most obvious is that you use it the same way he had, by leading the careers to the center somehow and electrocuting them to death. The only way that would be possible is if the wire were wet on one end and the other had something to jumpstart it. There’s not many options for that, beside the metal plates you came up to the surface on. 

To get inside of those could take forever, and you’d be exposed. You’d have to get out into the water and on a plate to remove it. That’s assuming it’s possible and you don’t blow yourself sky-high. Then what? You’d have to lure the careers down to the beach, which still isn’t wet… you could use the explosives from the plates, but you don’t know how much damage that’d do anyway.

You guess you could just set a plate beneath the sand, and when the careers step on it, it’ll kill them. That’s if they step on it if they go for the trap, which would have to be the group of you, or better yet, Katniss and Peeta, because they’re the main concern after their scores.

It’d have to be timed perfectly, too. If you set the explosives up before ten, but the careers don’t fall for it until after, it’ll be set off by the tidal wave. Then the beach’s sand won’t be able to hide the plates because it’ll be wet…

You gasp.

“What?” Finnick asks, “You can’t just do that.”

“I have an idea.” You tell him. “I think I know how we can kill the Two tributes.”

Finnick grins, throwing his arm around your shoulders as soon as your feet hit the sandy beach. “I knew you’d figure something out!”

[listofwhyyouloveher]

I'm in love with a dying man. Summary: Dally was someone you would risk it all for, and he doesn't have much time left. Warnings: brief mentions of gore, toxic relationships, angst, fluff if you squiny supa hard. Author's note: Doing a new serious of writing the gang to songs on my playlist! Today's song is Kill Kill by Lana Del Rey! (note, some of these stories will not be a happy read) tomorrow's is everybody loves somebody! (steve)

Slowly, Dallas descended the stairs from his room. You watched him leave, eyes settling on the clock after his bare back disappeared from view. Buck had called him down, a hint of wild panic that could both be attributed to the alcohol or the fact that Ponyboy just came by begging for help. He interrupted your intimately silent night, laying on his chest, listening to old records spin as he smoked a cigarette. You sat patiently, slumped under the covers of the comfortable blankets, and then straighter, hearing multiple footsteps returning. “Doll, gonna need you to leave,” Dallas murmured, rubbing a hand over his face. “What? B,but we haven’t seen each other in so long,” You trailed off, deep desperation inscribed itself on your face but vanished as soon as Pony and Johnny were in view. “Babe, just get’outa here.” He opened the door and lightly pushed you out. The scratched and worn door stared back at you and you let out a shocked laugh. You hurried home, ready to bury your embarrassment under heaps of blankets and self-care. It was only 2 weeks later when you heard he was in the hospital. You rushed into the infirmiary, only to find Dallas’s bed abandoned. The door creaked open and the soft patting of hospital slippers approached you. “Hey doll.” He whispered, his usual gusto there, just hidden under deep worry. “Hi, why weren’t you resting,” You asked, quietly. “Checking on Johnny. Look, I’m a little tired, can we talk tomorrow or something?” He looked at the clock before flopping back down on the hospital bed. You looked down at your shoes, eyes welling with emotions. Dallas was your boyfriend, but god he was so much more to you. He was your love, your man. You spent every day with him, but he tossed your heart around like a ball. He would never pick you over his friends, even if it was something as simple as being there for you. You nodded harshly and took a quick inhale before looking up. He was looking at you expectantly. “Alright, goodbye” You said, turning on your heels to leave. “There’s going to be a rumble tonight,” He said, after a pause. You stopped, was he too tired to talk to you but not to fight? Your head drooped and your eyebrows lifted sadly. “I’ll be there tonight.” You reassured him. You were never a fan of rumbles, some soc girls brought lawn chairs one time but you just stood in the corner and prayed for your lover as he ripped apart any soc that stood in his way. Sometimes you would watch with disgust, he was everything to you, a Greek god and his follower, and he would waste his life away doing terrible things. Sometimes you would watch with adoration, and then, following suit, another nasty gash would appear against his pale skin, blood red against snow, and you would grit your teeth in anguish again. 

You looked away as the fight ensued, wishing the night over so you and Dally could return to your normal regime. But how quickly he left left you dizzy. He ran off with Pony, something about Johnny. You bit the inside of your cheek harshly, tears spilling out of your eyes as you started your car and drove to the hospital. You could only unbuckle your seat belt before Dallas came running out of the double doors, eyes wild and crazed. Fear tingled at the hairs on the back of your neck and you ran out after him.

“DALLY!” You cried, and he slowed turning to you, fist balled in rage, and hair awry.

“Dally, get in car, please. We just.. I'm worried. Please,” you grasped his jacket lightly, but he shook you off.

“I'm fine!” He shouted, stepping away from you. You sobbed harder and he walked off. You tried to follow, but your tears blurred your vision. 

Darry found you not 10 minutes later, holding the wall to control yourself as you sobbed. He gently coaxed you into his car with the promises of hot tea at the Curtiss' place and the safety of Dally. You sipped your tea slowly, still shaking from the overwhelming loss of both Johnny buy also your boyfriend. You realized how little of a place you had in his heart and although you looked at him, he looked straight through you. He’d never be the same after the loss of Johnny, and you were waiting for the storm. The phone rang, cutting through the silence and your heart jumped frantically. Darry picked it up quickly, chewing on his nails as he listened. You heard the distorted version of Dally’s voice through quick tidbits of the conversation and you clung to it helplessly. “He’s gonna meet us at the park, but hurry, I think he’s in trouble,” Darry said, a hint of nervousness peeking out of his tone. You jumped to your feet, already rushing through the door not bothering to change out of your nightgown or put on shoes. The gang followed behind you but at quite a distance. Pure adrenaline was pushing through the cold dark night, droplets of rain landing on you like the sky was crying. You only stopped running when you saw Dallas, he was running towards you, and your eyes brightened. Sometimes, you think about Anteros, the Greek god of unrequited love. You wonder, did he ever feel as disheartened as you did? What terrible thing have you done to require this kind of tragedy? It struck you as he toppled over, hitting the ground helplessly, how unfair life was. You dropped to your knees in front of him, interlacing fingers with his as your body racked with uncomfortable sobs. “Dallas,” You cried, pressing a hand over the bullet wound in his chest, trying to stop the bleeding. He looked up at you, at suprisingly not through you, but this time he saw you, drenched in rainwater, fresh tears, hair crazy wearing her nightgown for him, his girl. He opened his mouth slightly, but no words left his parted lips. He slipped cool metal into your hand, and you gripped it tightly, eyes not leaving his face even as his slowly faded. Sometimes you hear the boys talk about the accident, how it follwos them, how horrified they were, how your scream shook their soul and haunted them. And sometimes you lock your doors and sit on your bed and examine the thing he gave you before he left. A promise, a symbol. A ring. 

[famwhy]

Right Way Up (04)

Stranger Things

Yandere! Steve Harrington X F!Reader, Yandere! Eddie Munson X F!Reader, Yandere! Billy Hargrove X F!Reader

Synopsis: You always hated when your favourite characters died in shows or movies; always longed to have the opportunity to save them. So when you're transported into one of your favourite shows of all time, what else are you supposed to do besides save your beloved characters?

Warnings: Threat/violence, Gore, Mentions of sexual content (implicit), Death, Manipulation, Depictions of toxic relationships, Drugs and alcohol abuse

Note: omg guys, I came across an account that said their current favourite fic was this one in their bio. I'm acc so happy, tysm

prev part. masterlist.

04. bring unto me peculiarity

trait: e.m.

YOU blinked, jaw hung open and muscles tense as her grip around you tightened—constricting your movements and clogging your airways. Though, breathing was the least of your concerns when it came to tight hugs at the moment, not when you had your dumb arm to worry about.

As if on cue, a sharp rupture of pain spiked your side, and you winced, grunting a little before sucking a breath in through your teeth and asking—albeit with scrunched up features—"...sorry, do I know you?"

"Wha—?" She pulled away at that, and the look she gave you—oh, the look she gave you—it was full of heartbreak, emotional turmoil spanning as far as the eye could see. "It's me, baby, it's mommy."

"Mom?"

You thought you didn't have a mother. 

"Yes, baby, it's me. It's mom." She smiled, pupils shaking in—and you could be wrong about this, but—what seemed like... desperation?

What's up with that?

And, if this lady really was your mother, where the hell had she been all these days?

"Y/N? The hell is taking so—?"

A strange sense of déjà vu drenched your form as your eyes followed the new voice, landing on the slightly-parted lips and wide, almost-disbelieving eyes of your second oldest brother—hands still covered by the huge, red gloves he often adorned.

Then, his features scrunched up—though, it wasn't like yours had just done—no—his were harder, more purposeful; his were clouded in a storm consisting purely of loathing so unadulterated, you had half a mind to think he was staring—no, glaring—into the form of his worst enemy.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" And as he spoke, venom spat out of his mouth, launching itself straight onto the woman still loosely holding you and causing her face to scrunch up in a pained wince. "Shouldn't you be on one of your fucking five-year-long business trips?"

"Oh honey—"

His glare grew sharper. "Don't call me that."

"I..." she trailed off and you blinked, helpless to the scene that was playing out right before your very eyes.

"I don't know what the fuck got into you but you can't just waltz in here like..." his face scrunched up, brows furrowing as he paused the sentence for one... two... three seconds before continuing, spite still as prevalent as ever, "like you belong!"

You watched as her face dropped even further at that—the barely visible bags under her eyes looking about ten times worse than they did before.

Now, you had no idea what type of past you were meant to have shared with this woman—how horrible it truly was—but surely someone who greeted you so warmly at the door couldn't be too bad?

So with that thought in mind, you narrowed your eyes by the slightest amount—a little... hesitantly—before lightly scolding, "Hey. Curt, maybe tone it down a little?"

His attention averted from the woman—hateful, dark eyes that were once throwing daggers her way, now unapologetically directed towards you. "'Tone it down a little'? Do you hear yourself, Y/N? That woman missed almost every single birthday of yours! Every. Single. One!"

Alright, so, you didn't usually consider yourself to be much of a coward, but being the recipient of that deadly gaze was enough to make you yield just this once—both of your hands flying up to rest in the air beside your head. Hey, you tried, he just didn't listen.

Besides, you were only a mere bystander in this squabble anyway. Sure, you felt bad for the woman, but not bad enough to get socked in the face by a boxer for her.

...okay, now you just sounded like a jerk. 

Feeling your heart tighten slightly, you shook your head to rid yourself of those awful, intrusive thoughts and parted your lips in an attempt to redeem yourself.

Keyword: attempt.

Before even a word could breeze past your tongue, another voice entered the fray—one a lot more grounded than any other you'd heard since you opened the door—"What the hell is with all this—? Mom?"

You tilted your head just enough to catch the approaching form of your oldest brother—his figure growing with each step he took—and the closer he grew, the clearer his facial expression became.

His brows were furrowed, but instead of the hostile way that Curt's were, his were more... well, confused?—shocked, perhaps?—or maybe a better word for it would be baffled? Either/or, he didn't look like he was terribly upset with her appearance, further grinding your theory of her not being that bad into reality.

"What are you doing here?"

"I just thought that—" the sudden lack of warmth around your arms had your head whipping back, eyes watching as the same fingers that were once wrapped around you, now awkwardly rubbed the woman's other limb, "—maybe it was about time I spent some quality time with you all?"

Before you could even register what she had said—Curt's voice hastily cut through the air; a tone of finality you hadn't heard him use before laced so deeply within it, "Too little too late."

Though—if you were being entirely honest—you were starting to tune it out—all of it: the apologies, the confusion, the arguing; all of it. A familiar sense of surrealism washed over you as you witnessed the events unfold; as you watched their mouths move soundlessly—your new brothers seemingly arguing with a woman who held the looks of your mother but seemed to act nothing like her.

It was weird, strange. You weren't even sure how to feel. From the looks of things, this... mother of yours seemed to not be around much—and one of your brothers hated her for it, while the other merely seemed to... well, you weren't entirely sure what he felt yet. Hell, you didn't even know what you were supposed to feel.

Should you be sad? Mad? Indifferent?—'cause that's what you felt right now. This world wasn't even meant to have you in it at all. There was no character named Y/N who looked exactly like you and had two older brothers with a seemingly neglectful mother and who-knows-what-happened-to-him father.

Even if you wanted to copy the mannerisms of the Y/N belonging to this world, you couldn't because there wasn't one. She didn't exist.

How the hell were you supposed to react?

You could've asked yourself that question a billion more times, but the sudden rush of air that hit your face crashed you straight back to reality—just in time too, for not even moments later, an abrupt 'slam!' echoed from behind.

Confused, your gaze found Cain's.

"Give him some time. He's probably off to go fuck some chick and get his mind off this."

Slowly, you nodded.

Then, you heard it; the sound of her voice continuing to speak behind you with that broken lilt—the one she just couldn't seem to drop—laced so deeply in her tone.

"I'm so sorry, babies." The woman—your mother—reached out, and you felt her fingers graze you again, "I'm so so sorry."

"It's... alright, mom," Cain responded before you could—voice seeming almost... hesitant, "It's all good."

There was no chatter after that—not a single sound escaped their lips. That was your cue; your cue to either condemn her down to hell or forgive her for this supposed neglect you weren't even around to experience.

"Sweetie..." her voice was shaky—desperate, no doubt, and seeking the forgiveness of a daughter that didn't even belong to her, "please..."

"Uh..." you weren't sure what it was, but something was holding you back from saying anything; from doing something—

—and it looked like she noticed that too. 

"It's okay, I understand..." 

She seems a bit... what's the word?

With hands that were once hopefully clasped around one another, now pitifully falling by her sides, and eyes that seemed to droop just a tad bit more despite the small, ingenuine quirk of her lips upwards; her whole demeanour almost screamed...

Ah. Forlorn. 

Your chest felt heavy at the sight—tight and weighed down. Some type of... guilt was it? ebbed away at you. Though you didn't know why—it wasn't like she was your real mother, after all. In fact, she was a complete stranger to you; someone who you wouldn't even bother sondering over if you passed her by on the street.

How strange.

"Y/N," the soft call of your name caused your ears to perk up, and you turned to your remaining brother, "C'mon, you're due for a change."

"A change?" You tilted your head, eyes still not all there—at least, not until—

"Your bandages."

"Ohhh." 

To be honest, you completely forgot about that.

"Bandages?" From the looks of things, though, your mother couldn't pass it off as easily as you. "For what?" 

Immediately, Cain's eyes locked with yours—his hues swirling with a query you were able to decipher pretty easily: 'Should we tell her?'

Should you? Well, the fact that he had to ask that question in the first place was concerning, to say the least. Maybe you'd hold off on telling her for now. Just for now. Nothing permanent.

Mind made up and eyes stopping at nothing to avoid her own, you told your mother, "Don't worry about it, it's all good."

Her lips turned down, shoulders sagging and gaze falling to the floor like a glossy river over the edge of a cliff; swift and hopeless to anything wishing to stop it.

She looked so... so...

Defeated.

"Ah, okay."

You wished you could say you forgave her—you desperately prayed to—but how could you when the words refused to come out of your throat?—when they relentlessly fought with your tongue to the point they immobilised it and unfairly rendered you incapable of speech?

You could have stood there hopelessly staring at her for hours if you so wished, but the small tug on your wrist averted your gaze, and you found yourself staring at the loosened expression of your other kin.

"Let's get you wrapped up, Y/N."

You nodded.

He then took to guiding you towards the kitchen, and the whole way there, your gaze didn't leave your mother's form—watching as her figure grew smaller with each step—shorter with each breath—before completely disappearing around the corner.

"Don't feel bad."

Your ears perked up—head turning to face your older brother. 

"'Bout mom," he continued, not particularly looking your way, "She hasn't been around for most of our lives, you're allowed to not forgive her."

"What about you?" You asked, "You didn't sound too sure of forgiving her yourself."

He paused. 

"I..."—a rough 'ahem'—"I'm trying to."

You tilted your head. "Trying to?"

"It's..." He trailed off and furrowed his brows, as if searching for something in his mind, before continuing, "hard. Really hard. To look after people—I mean. Especially on your own."

It was your turn to furrow your brows, lips tugging down as you took in his words and really—well—thought for a good second.

It was clear that he was trying his best to be empathetic; to sympathise with her situation. And who better than him? You didn't have to be a genius to decipher the fact that he had been the one to take care of both you and Curt for pretty much the majority of your—supposed—'life'. He probably had to grow up a lot faster than 'you' would've. In that case, he could relate to her.

But, on the other hand...

"It's not fair."

"Huh?" He turned your way, blinking twice.

"To compare yourself to her," you continued, lips still curved down, "You're completely different. While she never bothered to be around, you did. You learned how to cook, clean—hell, maybe even change diapers—"

"Maybe even? You were a little shit and you know it—"

Shit, he changed your diapers too? You were just trying to be dramatic but damn.

"Okay—" that came off a little more exasperated than you wanted and clearly he could sense it too, judging by the way he snickered right after, little shit, "—my point is, you were there and she wasn't. And it's not even your responsibility to take care of us. I get that she has her supposed 'five-year-long' business trips, but she could've made time for us. You're her son too, you're allowed to be mad that she wasn't there."

He stayed silent for a few moments, and you found your hands naturally drifting down—fingers digging into your skirt harshly; anxiously. Sweat gathered on your brow and anticipation ate at your insides, chipping away at your organs and clogging your brain with worry; worry for the elongated silence that greeted your words.

Had you said something wrong? Was he going to snap at you?

Goodbye, cruel world, remember—

A chuckle.

Your ears perked up and your eyes widened in disbelief.

"And here I thought I was the one meant to be cheering you up." His shoulders bounced in a pattern you could only describe as uneven, one hand rising up to swipe at his eye.

The sight caused your muscles to loosen up, fingers losing their grip on your skirt and eyes crinkling fondly as you watched him reach up into an open cupboard—arm disappearing within the confines before reappearing not long after with a red, rectangular bag.

The sound of a zip was the next thing you heard—accompanied by his voice as he said, "Alright, let's get you all patched up, worm."

You scrunched up your nose. "Worm?" 

"Yeah, annoying little things, aren't they?"

"Rude."

Another snicker had your lips quirking up again, a swirl of warmth gathering in your chest; a hint of fondness and pride. Was this how sibling banter felt?

It's... nice.

Before you could enjoy the moment any longer though, your brain just had to ruin it, giving you a thought that had your ears falling again—stomach dropping into a bottomless pit within the confines of your body.

"Is..." you started, and his ears perked up from behind the arm that slowly tugged at the grey gauze, "Is Curt gonna be okay?"

A scoff. "Yeah. You know him, he'll be super bitchy about it but he'll come running back tomorrow morning so don't worry."

You smiled. "So long as he's—ow! Watch it!"

"My bad."

"You did that on purpose."

"I did that on purpose."

"Asshole."

"D'aww, is wittle sissy's feewings hurt?"

"Shut up, you dick!"

You took it back, sibling banter was so not nice.

But, at least it was somewhat fun—unlike what happened next.

"Sweeties?" You tensed, head turning as Cain backed away—the warmth of his hand leaving you with new, pure white gauze around your arm—and turned with you. "I'm gonna head out for the night and go meet up with some old friends. Are you two going to be okay?"

Maybe if you were actually part of this world, you would've said something petty like 'nothing new there' or 'you've already not been around for most of my life, what's one more night?'—but, you weren't, and so settled with a good old fashioned—"We'll be fine,"—instead.

She was out the door in no less than two seconds.

It quickly grew dark following that—night approaching faster than you could register—and there had yet to be any sign of Curt. Guess Cain was right when he said the younger of the two would be back in the morning.

Speaking of Cain, he had some last minute call from a client regarding car troubles. Apparently, they were stranded and in dire need of assistance, so Cain was required to go to them in order to help—though, he was quite reluctant as he, no doubt, voiced to you.

"Oh my god, Cain, I'll be fine." You rolled your eyes.

"Are you sure? This street isn't exactly known for safety," he responded, expression scrunched up with what you recognised as pure worry.

"God, you're just like Steve. Nothing will happen, don't worry."

When the corner of his lips quirked up in response to your words, you felt something akin to dread claw at your innards. "Oh, I'm just like Steve, am I?"

"Shut up, he has a girlfriend," you were saying that more to yourself than him, to be honest.

"Yeah, that he drops anytime you're within two feet of him."

"I swear to god, Cain."

He snickered.

"Just go! I know you're doing this just to stall, go find that poor person stranded by the phone booth!"

"Okay, okay, I'm going."

And as his shoulders kept jerking up and down, your hand found purchase against the bumpy texture of your wooden door before pushing at full force; a 'slam!' echoing not long after.

"Stupid piece of shit," you grumbled, though, not genuinely.

...okay, maybe just a little genuinely actually, 'cause now he put the stupid thought in your head; the stupid thought of Steve Harrington actually liking you.

Preposterous.

He probably just thought of you as a really close friend—he supposedly knew you since childhood, after all, of course he would value you over Nancy sometimes.

But... theoretically, say he felt more, what would it be like?

Would he hold your hand and pull you in close? Whisper sweet nothings into your ear as you lay against him in the dead of night?—sinking into his warmth and stuffing your face in his sturdy chest. Would his lips feel soft against the bare skin of your neck?—passionate and sublime as he marked you up as his own, going lower and lower and—

Three knocks against your door.

Ugh.

"Oh my god, Cain, how many times—? Nancy?"

Lo and behold, there stood the very girlfriend of the guy you were just fantasising about.

Honestly, you would've thought it awkward had you not caught a glimpse of her expression; just a glance long enough to bleed you dry of all your previous thoughts and scrunch your face up as a whole new set rushed in—worrisome ones.

Her eyes were bloodshot, red veins visible and bringing out the puffiness to a degree that had your heart clenching and your lips subconsciously parting open to ask, "Are you alright?"

She gulped, voice shaky as she responded with, "Can I come in?" 

Slowly, you nodded—palm pushing against the door just enough to allow it to fall slightly more ajar.

"Here, come sit." You gestured to the couch, hands hesitantly ghosting over her shoulders as you guided her there—watching as she gently sat down, the cotton shifting under her weight. "Can I get you anything?"

She didn't respond: head tilted down, shoulders drooped, and overall demeanour looking to be completely put-off. The poor thing.

You figured a cup of water would be fine, she looked like she needed it.

What was she doing here, anyway? From what you gathered based on the very few interactions you'd had with her, the two of you weren't very close. Why, then, would she suddenly show up at your door so late at night?

Those thoughts plagued your mind as you made your way over to the kitchen—bare feet numb to the cool of the floor. They haunted you as you reached for a cup with one hand and twisted the tap with the other—fingers unfeeling of the pressure that rained upon them. They consumed your entire being until you were left with nothing but the husk of a person on autopilot—quietly making your way back to the living room.

It was only when your eyes landed on her form again, that you snapped out of it in a small burst of surprise.

Gone was the once sat-down figure with an air of dismay clouding her form—replaced, instead, by one that stood up straight, brows furrowed and shoulders tensed as she paced back and forth vigorously. Keyword: paced—she stopped as soon as you arrived, much to your own confusion.

"Nancy, what are you—?" 

"You're thinking about Barb too, right?"

She looked you dead in the eyes, and you almost found yourself growing fidgety under her intense gaze.

"What?"

"It's just that..." she trailed off, faltering for a moment, "well, Steve mentioned you've been acting off lately—"

Shit. Steve was catching on.

"��and I was wondering if... it was bothering you too." 

You blinked, parting your lips to ask for a little more—for some sort of elaboration—but her voice continued before you even had a chance.

"I mean, it's dumb that we have to keep this whole thing a secret!" She exclaimed, hands making wild gestures now. "Her family deserves to know." 

You stood there, blinking in a daze that hadn't quite passed since the moment she arrived. It felt like you had just wandered into a confusing maze, with twists and turns spanning as far as the eye could see; each one riddled with its own set of confusing obstacles you couldn't quite wrap your head around.

On one hand, Nancy's words made sense, you saw why she felt that way—you heard her—and it was so much more prominent in person than over a screen.

On the other hand, as a viewer of the show and a victim of unfortunate circumstance, you hadn't a clue where she was going with this. You knew why she was telling you all of this (you were acting strange and she was feeling off so duh she would try and see if you related) but, where was she going with it? What did she want with you? Surely it wasn't just comfort.

"Do you... want to come with me to tell her parents?"

Ah. There it was.

She wanted you to join her. This was certainly quite the twist. Everything that had happened up until now had alluded to the fact that you were going to join Steve for this season—and to be honest, you preferred that over this.

Besides, she was meant to do all of this with Jonathan—if you said yes, you'd just be getting in the way of their romance and, ergo, the plot itself.

"I don't know..." you started, mind already made up but heart trying its best to ease her into it, "the government wouldn't really like that and we could get in a ton of trouble."

She scoffed. "Who gives a fuck what they think?"

You deadpanned. "Well, Nance, they are kinda the government so..."

"There's this guy," she started, cutting you off and handing you a card, "Barb's parents told me about him—if things don't work out, we can go to him."

Sure enough, you recognised the character as soon as she mentioned him—another prominent adult within the series, quite the funny one too. But, not funny enough for you to pass up spending this season helping out Steve instead.

"Look, Nancy, I—"

You were cut off when her gaze hardened, fists clenching and head shaking from side-to-side—almost seeming disappointed.

"God, you're just like him." And when she spoke, it was bitter—plagued with an icky green—"You two are perfect for each other."

The following events happened too quickly for you to register; one second, she was standing before you with desperation clear on her visage—the next?—she had snatched the card right out from your hands and stormed over to your front door, steps heavy and quaking and loud.

"Nance, wait! Nancy!"

A slam.

Well shit.

You bit your lip, brain replaying the events that had just occurred in too rapid of a succession for you to be able to even respond to them.

A small voice prodded at the back of your mind, lulling you into following after her and clearing up... whatever the hell that was.

However, a much larger, more prominent voice said, fuck it. Because—well, you were in Stranger Things for god's sake! Who the hell cared about some teen drama when there were fucking monsters to worry about?—monsters that you sure as hell weren't about to face weaponless.

Nancy could get over whatever was bothering her so much on her own, you had bigger issues to worry about.

Come on, Y/N, get your head out of the clouds and into the game.

Resolve strengthened and distractions now temporarily at the back of your mind, your feet bounded towards a familiar box mounted onto the wall, fingers wrapping around the cool metal before you punched in a number you had long since memorised over your time in this world.

Turned out, this drama was just the push you needed.

"Harrington residence."

"Steve."

It was silent for a few seconds before you were graced with a response. "Y/N? If you're calling about the dinner at Barb's, I swear—"

"No, no. It's not that, don't worry."

Another pause.

"Are you... okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Don't worry about me."

"You sure? You sound a little... tense."

Your lips quirked up. "You can tell?"

"Well, yeah. I've known you since like, birth."

Leave it to Steve Harrington to put a smile on your face where there wasn't one before.

Seriously though, you might not have actually known him since birth but... something about him noticing how you felt from just the sound of your voice made you feel all... tingly inside—like a warm cloud of pure pink coated you within its comfy confines.

 "Y/N? You there?"

"Oh." You jolted, fingers halting in their ministrations with the phone wire, since when did you start twirling it around? "Uh, yeah. I just called to let you know I'm skipping tomorrow so don't bother picking me up, okay?"

"You're skipping? What? Why?"

"Just—uh, don't feel like it."

"You know you've already missed seven days, right?" 

"Yeah—" you shrugged as though he could see you, "—what's a couple more?"

"...alright, if that's what you want."

"Thanks Stevie, you're the best, love you!"

You slammed the phone back into the wall before he could respond, but you imagined he released quite the long sigh after your words.

Nevermind that though, you should probably head to bed—you had a long day ahead of you tomorrow; one consisting of many preparations for the challenges that lay ahead.

First things first, you needed yourself a weapon—and no, a wrench was not ideal. You got lucky the first time, you'd rather not risk it the second.

A gun; long reach, high chances of actually killing, probably easy to use—it sounded perfect. Just the thing you'd need. The only problem you could possibly see was...

...how would you get one?

You weren't terribly familiar with gun laws—never had the need to look into them—but even if you were, they definitely changed since the 80s so you were pretty much clueless in that regard. 

You could ask one of your brothers if they had one, they certainly seemed like the type—at least, Curt definitely did. 

Or maybe he's the type to only fight with his fists?

Tricky—that's what this all was. So tricky, in fact, that the rest of the night was spent contemplating how you would go about obtaining the lethal weapon—

—actually, that wasn't entirely true; you sure wished it was though. Unfortunately for you however, your brain rather stupidly refused to focus on the task at hand, randomly flushing you with thoughts of both your... mother and Nancy whenever you least expected it, two huge pieces of drama that you—quite frankly—didn't feel like dealing with.

But apparently, pushing them to the back of your mind was easier said than done.

Come next morning, you figured indulging in those thoughts wouldn't be too big of a headache after being well-rested with a nice cup of coffee to aid you through your day.

Okay, so, Nancy's behaviour last night wasn't too strange; she had that dinner at Barb's—one you knew she cried at since they dedicated a whole scene to her sobbing in the bathroom. That explained why she was quick to jump to aggression you guessed.

Still, it was strange how she snapped at you (basically her acquaintance) like how she had done Steve (her literal boyfriend) in the show. Did you get something wrong? Were you two closer than you thought you were? Perhaps you had some history with her you weren't aware of.

Unfortunately, until you had more information, you were gonna have to leave that trail of thought.

Now, about your mother...

"Morning, sis."

You nodded—eyes clouded—before responding with, "Morning Cain," and then, as if just registering who you were talking to after their name spilled from your lips, your eyes cleared up and you turned to continue with a much more firm voice, "Hey, do you know if we have any guns at home?"

He paused, one hand rested against the handle of the fridge, one floating mid-air. "Guns?"

"Yeah, guns."

He turned to you fully now, eyes narrowing and sturdy arms folding over his chest as the door shut behind him. "Why would you need to know where the guns are?"

The lie was quick to form on your tongue. "For self-defence, duh."

"Uh-huh."

"Please Cain—" you clasped both hands over each other, "—I promise I won't hurt anyone with them."

Not anyone human, at least.

"You do realise they're made for hurting people, right?"

"Yeah, but I won't use them that way."

He deadpanned. "You're not getting a gun."

"Dammit." 

Okay, this was fine. You could work with this. He just confirmed to you that you did, in fact, have guns in this house. All you had to do was look for them. And you knew just where to start.

"Uh, where the hell are you going?"

You paused, hand grazing the bumpy, wooden rail as you tilted your head just enough to peek into the kitchen again. "To my room, where else?"

"Don't you have school?"

"Don't you have a job?"

He crossed his arms again. "You're not skipping, shitbird."

"What?" 

"I said: you aren't skipping."

Your eyes widened, jaw dropping open and stomach falling with the spoilt remains of your plan—the ashes and dust piling up enough to cause you to splutter and ask, "You serious?"

His gaze was stern, holding no hint of that playful demeanour you acquainted yourself with last night, "Completely. No playing hooky. You've already got enough absents from that injury of yours."

As if suddenly reminded of its own existence, said wound sent a shock down your arm—trailing through your veins to usher a visible wince on your face.

Before you could say anything else though—plead your case and hope to god he'd let you off—his eyes widened a little, mouth forming a circle before he spoke again, saying, "That's why Harrington ain't here, right? You told him you were skipping?"

You said nothing.

A long, highly exasperated sigh. "Just go get ready, I'll drop you off."

He didn't have to tell you twice.

You rushed up the stairs, wasting no time to burst into a room flooded with posters—all holding different expressions with one, huge thing in common; a pair of bright red gloves.

If anyone had a gun, it was definitely Curt.

Tick. Tock. You were on a time constraint so you had to be quick with this. Anything that even remotely seemed to have enough space to hold a gun inside was instantly ripped open—hinges jingling and wood slamming against wood as your hands scurried the area—rummaged through the masses—desperately seeking what they had yet to find.

That was—until, now.

In the midst of multiple hung up pieces of soft materials shrouded in darkness, your fingers grazed something cold and solid; rough and bumpy. Slowly they wound around the thing, noting its shape, before exerting a force—a tug.

Nothing. It didn't budge.

You tried again, pushing this time.

Again. Nothing.

Third time's the charm.

This time, you pushed upwards.

Bingo.

As if by magic, it fell straight into your hands, and you wasted no time to pull it into the light.

Dark, L-shaped, and a lever poking out from one side—yup, there was no doubt about it. Though, it was one of the weaker variants of the lethal weapon—it would have to do.

Now you could—

"What are you doing in my room?"

Curt. Shit.

"Scratch that—what are you doing with a gun?!"

Your wrist was seized at the entrance before you could even attempt to sneak past—his E/C eyes trained on the object in your hand, not at all paying attention to the way your expression shifted into one of unease, smile twitching a little.

"Curt, hey! When did you come in..?"

"Doesn't matter," he dismissed, "Why do you have a gun? Is someone bothering you at school? You know you can say the word and I'll take care of it, right? Like in Freshman year?"

"Freshman year?" What happened in Freshman year?

"That dickhead Senior who kept picking on you? How did you forget that already?"

You parted your lips, an excuse practically begging to be released from your tongue, but he beat you to it.

"Nevermind, just tell me who it is and I'll take care of it. There's no need to bring a gun into it."

There's no need to bring a gun but it's totally okay beating them up? Some scuffed logic there.

"No one's bothering me, Curt. I uh, I just need it to kill the wolf that attacked me the other day."

He rose a brow. "Kill the wolf that attacked you the other day?"

"Uh... yup."

God, this was so stupid. What kind of excuse was that? 'Kill the wolf that attacked you the other day'? Yeah right.

"Atta girl. That's my sister."

A good excuse apparently—it was a good excuse.

You almost couldn't believe it—the way he pulled you in, wrapping his arm around your neck in a half-hug that almost made it seem as though he was proud of you.

Surely he had taken way too many hits to the head in his profession because you had no clue how he bought that.

But, you weren't complaining.

"Hey, uh, do me a favour?" 

He rose a brow. "What?"

"Don't tell Cain, yeah?" 

He rolled his eyes. "Of course not, he'd have my head in a heartbeat if he knew I was condoning this."

You grinned, just about ready to give him two thumbs up leaking gratitude and appreciation—when a voice called from downstairs.

"Y/N! Hurry up!"

"A few more minutes!"

That was your cue to go to your room.

Cool air hit your skin as soon as the cotton of your sleepwear was removed—the slight buzz of pain on your arm making itself known once more with another prick, annoying but not unbearable; not like before.

The new bandages looked better than the previous ones; cleaner. Some spots seemed to have given in—allowing red to seep through their snow-white sheets; stain their pure surface. Those parts were stickier than the others, but also, few and far between.

Damn, kinda looks badass.

"I'm not getting any younger here, Y/N!"

"I'm coming! Gheez."

What was that? His catchphrase or something?

With a roll of your eyes, you threw on a top, slipped into a skirt, very quickly touched up on your make-up, and ran down the steps. Nothing too elaborate—you didn't plan on actually going into school anyway.

What? You said you'd skip, so you were gonna skip. You'd just wait 'till he drove off or something.

Actually... this could work out better than you thought.

He was bringing you to school; where one Steve Harrington currently was. And you know what else was at school? Steve's BMW—AKA, the perfect place to store your gun until it was needed.

Yeah, this could work out perfectly.

"Get in, shitbird."

You said nothing, seizing the frigid handle like you had done many a time before, and climbing straight in.

The sky was bleak—the sun invisible; covered by the vast curtain of grey clouds that seemed uninteresting but, for some reason, you couldn't stop looking at. 

The pistol you held was tucked under you—out of sight; though not of mind. It felt cool against your skin, sent a shudder through you, up your spine and through your nerves. It kept you rigid.

"I would've let you skip."

You turned, observing the way Cain's gaze stayed trained onto the road ahead, one hand on the wheel, one resting on his lap.

"On any normal circumstance," he continued, shrugging, "but y'know, mom's home and—I don't know if you wanna stick around for that."

"Okay."

"You good?" Now he gave you a bit of a side-eye, one brow raised.

"Yeah, just... thinking about what I'm gonna wear for the Halloween bash at Tina's."

That was a lie, you honestly couldn't care less.

"Party, huh?" He turned his gaze back ahead. "I remember the ragers I used to go to way back when."

"Must've been fun, huh fossil?"

"Watch it, worm."

You snickered.

"Alright, we're here. Get out before I make you."

Older brothers are a piece of work.

You shimmied in your seat, swinging both legs over to the open door, hand firmly around the handle of the weapon beneath your thighs, when—

"What are you doing?"

You froze. "Uh, I don't... I don't know what you're talking about."

"You're getting out of the car weirdly." His tone was pointed—suspicious—and even without having to turn around, you could tell his brow was raised in question.

"No I'm not."

"Uh, yeah you are."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes."

Slowly, you found yourself able to move your limbs again—annoyance bringing both them and your own brow to life, filtering out any previous fear within an instant. "Don't you have work or something?" 

You heard nothing for a few tense moments—though soon, a curt—"Just go,"—made its way to your ears, and the weight on your shoulders was relieved of you.

Once again, you found yourself thinking, he didn't have to tell you twice.

The cool air almost felt relieving against your skin when you finally jumped out—the 'crunch!' of pebbles echoing beneath you—but nothing could compare to the pure amount of genuine solace you were graced with when the sound of the engine starting up again behind you danced into your ears; the sound of wheels skidding across the ground slowly growing farther.

That was a little too close for your liking.

No matter, it was time to find Steve's BMW. While looking for it, though, you might as well review your thoughts.

The events of Season 2 had already kicked off the moment you saw Billy, which meant that while you waited for the next canonical event to occur with the teens, the main group of kids were having their own scenes play out. You were sure by now they were off trying to befriend Billy's stepsister. But, quite frankly, that was irrelevant information to you.

What was relevant, however, was the fact that one of the kids—Dustin Henderson—would end up dragging Steve into quite the predicament. That predicament being one wherein he would end up being surrounded by a bunch of grotesque, man-eating monsters with nothing but a bat to defend himself with—granted, it had nails on the end but it was still not a weapon you'd use.

Now, more likely than not, you would be by his side while it all went down—and you already established that you weren't about to die in this world, so, really, your only option was getting that gun to use in case those demon dogs changed their minds and decided they wanted a taste of fresh, alternative dimension meat.

You had seen first-hand what they were like—held scars they forced onto you on your first day. You felt that chilling fear grip you at the sight of them—chain your limbs up and strangle you enough to almost render you immovable; immobile. Their boney structure, their razor-sharp teeth, their—

"N/N? What are you doing here?"

You jumped, startled out of your thoughts to meet with two pools of brown—familiar in their warmth and softened edges.

"I thought you were playing hooky today."

"Oh, uh—" you cleared your throat, patting down the ruffles of your skirt and avoiding any eye-contact, "—I still am but, Cain caught me and drove me to school so."

He didn't say anything after that, so you took to peering up again. This time, however, you were met with a different set of eyes, ones looking a little bloodshot and inflamed—barely noticeable if you hadn't already seen it the previous night. 

They were looking at you through narrowed lenses, pupils shrunk in and gaze heavy with the events of the other night—the distaste of that fateful encounter.

You looked away.

"Oh, uh, Steve?"

"Yeah?"

"I uh, left some of my lipstick in your car, do you mind if I go grab it?"

You returned your gaze to him just in time to catch the pointed look on his face, hands on his hips in that 'mom' way that just screamed Steve Harrington.

"Really, N/N? This is—what?—like the tenth time already?"

You forced a sheepish look, turning your lips up with nerves that weren't triggered by the sentence you'd just heard, per se—but rather, the pair of eyes still burning a hole through your head.

You ignored them when Steve tossed you the keys with a playful roll of his eyes; when you half-entered the car, stuffing the gun into a compartment you knew he wouldn't open anytime soon; you even ignored them as you made your way back to the duo, handing Steve his keys back and quickly denying his offer to cut class with you.

"You sure?" He pushed, brows scrunched up and lips tugged down.

"Yup!" You rose both thumbs. "Hundred percent!"

He parted his mouth open but you didn't wait for a response, turning around quickly to scurry off with those eyes still refusing to leave your backside.

Why the hell did she have to be there?

You couldn't even enjoy your successful little quest, too tense from Nancy's heavy gaze to do anything. It was as though the moment you saw her, your brain instantly replayed the events of last night—the disdain in her voice—and from the looks of her glare, she had the same problem.

Man, this sucked.

You just wanted to experience the world of Stranger Things as safely and non-dramatically as possible but noooo, you had to deal with freaking monsters and teenage girls who—

"Woah, we have got to stop bumping into each other like this."

Your lashes fluttered, eyes training onto a familiar battle jacket littered with logos a plenty—all of which belonged to heavy metal bands. 

"Eddie." 

"Hey, sweetheart." His lips quirked up—smile reaching his eyes so much so that they crinkled. "What are you doing here? I thought you were playing hooky?"

You deadpanned. "Does everyone know I'm skipping?"

"Well, you are kinda the Queen Bee, sweetheart." His hair bounced as he shrugged.

A thought occurred to you just then, and you found your eyes widening slightly in alarm. "Even the teachers?!"

"Well, no wastoid is exactly going to tell any teachers that the Queen of Hawkins High is skipping." 

Wastoid? Wha—?

"Hey, uh—" you blinked, watching as Eddie took to throwing a hand behind his neck, rubbing against the skin as he continued, tone feigning confidence, "—I was actually planning on skipping too so, if you want, we could hotbox in my car?"

Tempting. With all this stress from Nancy, your mom, and the demodogs—weed seemed like the perfect thing to kick back to.

You deserved some time to relax, no? 

"Yeah, sure, let's do it."

He perked up, excitement seeping through the grin on his lips as he dramatically bowed with one hand stretched out. "Right this way, milady."

You giggled, your own hand rising up to rest gently against his as you tried your damndest to keep from squealing because—holy shit, you were holding Eddie Munson's hand. You knew girls who would fucking kill to be in your position right now.

His skin was hot against your own; or maybe that was just your whole body heating up in general. You couldn't deny your attraction to the man—hell, you got literal heart eyes whenever you watched him on TV.

Eddie Munson—the guy who got held back in high-school for two years (well—one year as of right now). Eddie Munson—the guy who held the personality of a fun, playful ray of sunshine despite the way he dressed. Eddie Munson—the guy who sacrificed himself to save a whole town of people who abhorred him.

Yeah, you had a big, fat crush on the man.

He could literally be leading you to your death right now and you'd thank him.

"Alright," the sound of a car door sliding open perked your ears up, "I just got a new batch rolling in from Cali so—"

He cut himself off when he turned back around, jaw falling slack as a streak of red slowly crawled across his face, tinging the tips of his ears and ushering a cough straight out of his mouth.

Now, you would normally wonder why he'd reacted that way but you were too distracted by the ache of your own cheeks to—

Ohhh. The ache of your own cheeks.

You quickly cleared your throat, steeling your expression and cursing yourself for being so obvious. Gushing so blatantly in front of characters was going to get you killed in this world, you really had to get rid of that habit.

Lord knew what type of ridiculous expression you had on your face just then.

"Right, uh, you were saying?" You asked as you climbed in, willing yourself to ignore what had just happened.

"Oh, uh, I just had a new batch come in from Cali."

You perked up, interest piqued. "From Cali?! They have the best stuff."

He grinned with you, blush calming down as he rummaged around, hands digging through the many different boxes that scattered the floor.

Meanwhile, you took to shutting the door of the vehicle. Come to think of it, this van kinda looked a bit like the mystery van from scooby doo, except, without the colour. 

It was a mess on the inside; if there weren't boxes of who-knows-what substances lying around, then there were various different instruments instead, nothing differing from the norm associated with a band; and yet, just the fact that Eddie was here—that all of this belonged to him—was enough to make it feel special.

You should really ask Eddie if you could sit in on one of his practices one day.

Speaking of the drug dealer, he finally emerged from the pile of boxes hidden in the corner—a plastic zip bag containing a crushed substance within one of his ring-clad hands.

He flicked it with a grin on his face, head turning up as a pair of excited pools met with your own. "Bag of peaceful bliss right here."

You watched with intrigue as his fingers got to work, rolling up the substance effortlessly, as if he'd done it a million times before—which, granted, he probably had.

"Ladies first."

Your lips quirked up, fingers winding around the roll and, in turn, brushing against his own. It was a light touch—a feathery brush—still, it was enough to run tingles down your arm.

The stick was placed to your mouth with one hand, the other curling in on itself in a gesture that asked Eddie to pass over the lighter.

His large hand slowly came to cup your own, fingers engulfing yours—sending warmth to circulate in your blood; to flood your vision in pink—before lightly moving it away. "Allow me, sweetheart."

You didn't move, staying still as he pulled the metallic box up to your face, thumb flicking against the open lid a few times before the flame jumped to life.

It was hot; unbearably so—his breath across your face. The flame was practically nothing compared to him and his proximity. And it only got hotter as you continued staring at him.

It was because you were staring at him so intensely, in fact, that you caught the way his eyes briefly flickered. It was quick, barely noticeable—but you had noticed, and you had seen where they looked.

Your lips quirked up and you took the roll out of your mouth, puffing smoke straight into his face. "Staring at my lips, huh, pretty boy?"

Your grin only grew when he spluttered. 

Before he could respond, though, you had lightly shoved the roll into his mouth—lips still quirked up.

You only withdrew when he rose two fingers to rest the cigar against. 

"Hey, Eddie?"

He blinked.

"You're not gonna make me pay for this, are you?"

The roll left his mouth with a puff. "Depends."

As he placed it back inside, you rose a brow. "Oh?"

"Yeah, oh."

"Well..." you trailed off, slowly shifting your hips up before plopping them back down—

—straight. onto. his. lap.

His breath audibly hitched; a series of coughs following not long after.

"Careful," you hissed out, plucking the roll from his lips and shifting in your seat—about to climb off—when a warmth snaked its way around your waist, rendering you motionless.

"Where do you think you're going?"

Heat crawled up your spine, invading your senses and hyperfixating your attention on Eddie and the way his lips grazed the lobe of your ear. Any and all previous thoughts were washed away; taking with them your breath.

His hand fell over your own again, ushering the substance back into your mouth and your eyes grew heavy as you took another puff, melting into putty in the arms of the school freak.

The car was quickly fogging up—everywhere you breathed was starting to have that strong, earthy taste to it.

Trippy.

You pulled away, mind hazy and barely able to register the way his lips tugged down. 

With just a little wiggle of your hips, his arms fell and his brows scrunched up with worry. You didn't let him voice it though, quickly turning around to lay down and prop your elbows up on his thighs—arms almost immediately going lax once you got comfortable.

Your head now rested on his lap, and you peered up at him through hooded eyes. "Much better."

He smiled down at you again, finger moving to trace your cheek with that same feathery touch from before—the one that elicited a flurry of tingles through your skin.

"Tell me about yourself, Eds."

"Hm?"

"I wanna know you better."

Better than you already did, that was.

"What d'you wanna know?" He asked.

"Anything." You threw your hands up, puffing once more. "I wanna know more 'bout Super Senior Eddie Munson."

He hummed. "I plan to make it big one day."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Groupies 'n everything."

You reached up, placing the blunt against his lips as you proclaimed loudly, "I bet they would trip over 'emselves to get a taste of you."

He winked. "That's what 'm planning." Then, he paused for a minute, expression softening before another inquiry left his mouth. "What about you?"

"Me?"

What were you planning? Survival, really. But, to be honest—and this wasn't just the weed speaking (or was it? You couldn't really tell)—you just wanted to experience the show; meet the characters and bond over little things. Kinda like what you were doing right now.

"I plan on..."

The characters from this show were precious, and you loved them all to bits. They didn't deserve any of what happened to them, that was why you planned on...

"...protecting those I love."

Yeah, perfect.

His eyes widened a little—startled, no doubt, and not expecting that kind of response from you. The perfect opportunity to trip him up more.

"Wanna be one of them?" 

He already was one but—he didn't know that.

You assumed he must've been too flustered to talk, because he didn't respond to that—only choosing to continuously blink at you.

This weed was sure making your confidence sky rocket.

Speaking of things the weed was doing for you—your vision was tripping majorly.

The ceiling seemed to zoom in, but also zoom out at the same time, and sometimes you swore you could see the detailed wisps of the smoke that flooded the car's inside; the very atoms that made them up. 

Colours were hard to register in your mind; their names even harder—but, with how relaxed the fumes were making you and your tensed muscles, you couldn't really bring yourself to care.

And Eddie—oh Eddie—he just looked so pretty to you right now; so jaw-dropping and mesmerising. Even with how red his eyes were and the extent at which his pupils dilated, they still looked tremendously pretty. His lips were so cute, pink and begging for attention.

You couldn't help it; the way your hand reached out to cup his cheek and guide his head down. Luckily, though, you still had enough sense to tilt his head enough so that instead of your lips touching, your noses did.

If you were going to kiss Eddie, it sure as hell wasn't happening while you were high.

"Y'know," Eddie breathed into your eyes, causing them to flutter shut as you hummed, "I used to think you were a huge bitch."

That shot your eyes open.

"I mean, when you stuck around with people like Tommy H and Carol, it was kinda hard not to."

Ah. Steve's former friends.

"Not to mention King Steve. Though, I don't know if I should call him that anymore."

"'Cause of Billy?"

"Yeah." He chuckled. "Have you seen him? It's only, like, his second day and he's got girls wrapped around his finger like it's nothing."

"I'm sure it'll stay that way permanently too."

"Yeah, he seems like the type to like it."

"Hm?"

"The attention."

Your lips tugged down. "Are you implying something, Eddie?"

"...maybe a little."

Your frown grew deeper. "Y'know, Eds, you shouldn't judge people without getting to know them first."

"Oh? And I suppose you know a ton about Hargrove, huh?"

You narrowed your eyes before you spoke again—tone laced in warning—"Eddie."

He rose both hands, and you let out a breath you didn't even know you were holding in.

"My bad."

"It's okay, let's just forget about it," you said, "I came here to relax and enjoy some time away from stress."

"Stress?"

Well, you supposed it wouldn't be the end of the world if you shared a little with the class. 

"Nancy said something... weird to me the other night." 

"Harrington's girl?"

"Yeah... she sounded bitter."

"Maybe she was jealous."

You moved to sit up but Eddie was quick to push you back down, both hands placed firmly—yet gently—on your shoulders. "Jealous?"

"Yeah."

"Why would she be jealous for?"

He scoffed. "Oh please, you and Harrington are attached at the hip—if I were your boyfriend, I would be jealous."

For a moment, you allowed yourself to ignore the hypothetical scenario of Eddie being your boyfriend, if only to pay more attention to the apparent green creature that held Nancy by the neck.

Could it be? Was she jealous? Was that why she reacted as strongly as she did when you tried to let her down slowly?

"Hey now, whatever you're thinking, stop thinking it." Eddie's finger tapped against your cheek, sending tiny ripples through your skin. "You said it yourself, you're here to relax, not to stress."

He couldn't be more right.

And with that thought in mind, you sank deeper into the warmth of Eddie's lap, pure safety and comfort shrouding your form—blanketing you so nicely in the soothing presence that was Eddie Munson.

And as your eyes fluttered shut, you whispered one last thing with a warm smile, "This was nice. Thank you, Eddie."

@bdudette, @tanyaherondale, @killerqueenfan, @l3xiluve, @thedoubleexposurephotography, @xxqueenofdemonsxx, @briarsheart, @nickey-diano, @uselessbutinteresting, @steeldaisies, @thesebitcheslovesosadotcom, @patheticreative, @majestichugs, @eddiesbitch83, @secretdryrose, @bloodywickedvamp, @charlizekkelly, @sophiaj650, @mfnqueen1, @axionn, @harrysgoldenwatermelon, @simpfo, @adrienette715, @tippyeddy

I've been watching a lot of zombie stuff recently so I was wondering how Steve, Eddie, and Billy would react to a zombie apocalypse. I'm tempted to write an au but I need to focus on the next part 😭

Tell you what, if the masterlist to this series ever reaches 500 notes, I'll write a zombie apocalypse AU (Edit: Holy shit, it's at 400, wtf?)

[localkiss]

Zombie Leon would eat pussy so sloppily. I said it.

He would probably nibble on the clit like candy 😭 and lightly bite into your thighs. Letting out soft whines and moans as he tastes your blood and skin.

"Promise, I won't bite hard baby. Please let me, it's so hard to hold back, please," he snarls mid sentence. His eyes stare up at you pitifully as he pants into your thighs. Drool dripping down from the openings of his mouth.

I think he's a bit of a freak :33 licking and slobbering all over you. Like you're not a dog, zombified Leon!!

tw: gore / zombie shtuff 4 the pic ! Plus mentions of bodily fluids!

"I'm sorry, you just look so delicious baby. Please don't hate me, please," he sobs as he takes a small bite out of your thigh. Almost throwing up as his human side tries to force it out, knowing it's human flesh. But the zombified part of his brain wants and needs more. He needs you.

Leon's so afraid of waking up and finding himself feasting on your supple body. So he stays up when you sleep and has you restrain him to the bed in the day, so he can rest peacefully.

Leon then makes it up to you by eating you out like it's his last meal. It very well could be though, if you think about it. Pussy as his last meal. Wow. What a way to go, doing his favorite thing to his favorite person.

Thrusting his tongue into your quivering hole and coming back up to suckle on your clit. Slobbering all over your folds. Panting and groaning as he dives deeper and deeper, making sure every drop of your cum doesn't go to waste.

His dick still works, surprisingly. Leon doesn't even stop fucking you, even if he came already. It feels too good to even stop. Like it's a remedy for the pain he feels from the virus slowly turning his flesh into mush.

Maybe if you turn into a zombie like him, you guys can chew each other apart. Have matching shaped marks into your thighs. <3

[hihomeghere]

Baptized by Fire : Chapter two

Summary : A view into Charles and Arthur's relationship before you arrived at the cabin. You start to settle in to the cabin, still wary of the two men after eavesdropping on their conversation the previous night. Both take time to teach you a new skill. Your past rears it's ugly head, and you aren't sure what to do with all these feelings. Word count : 4.5k Warnings/Tags : Mentions of death, mentions of abuse, nudity, allusions to sex, skinning animals for meat, reader has female genitalia and is referred to as ‘she’, cursing, Arthur had TB but survived and now has chronic issues because of it, mention of hanging, barely there gore, Charles Smith x Arthur Morgan, let me know if I missed any

Previous/Next

It wasn’t the normal glaring sunlight that woke Charles up that morning as he blinked awake. It was the howling of the wind, damn near rattling the windows. The storm was only getting worse, the snow piling up outside their small cabin. He let out a small groan, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Arthur was curled around him, his arm wrapped lazily around Charles waist. His lips parted like two rose petals as a snore left them. He chuckled softly, partaking in his favorite pastime, studying Arthur. How his skin was weathered by the sun, his cheeks lightly dusted with freckles. How hair never grew over his scar on his chin. Trailing his eyes over the crooked bridge of his nose, never set right after being broken more times than he wanted to know.

Charles’ heart warmed in his chest, caught aflame by the sight of his lover. He ran his thumb over Arthur’s lip, smirking as his brows furrowed in his sleep. Arthur let out a small groan of protest as he turned his face into Charles’ chest. 

“C’mon now.” Charles said, chuckling softly, “We ought to get up.”

“Who says?” Arthur mumbled, his words muffled against Charles’ bare chest

“I do.” He laughed

“When’d you become such a hard ass.” Arthur teased, smirking as his bright blue eyes found Charles.

“When did I meet you again?” He asked, pretending to ponder the question. Arthur rolled his eyes, moving his hand from Charles' waist up his chest. Lightly brushing against his nipple. “You start that again and we’re never gonna leave this damn bed.” He warned.

“That’d be quite a shame.” Arthur smirked, leaning in to nip at Charles’ earlobe. “Why don’t you ride me this morning, partner.” He hummed, pressing open mouthed kisses down Charles’ throat. 

A pleased hum rumbled through Charles' chest, his large hands gripping Arthur’s bare waist. He could feel Arthur’s growing erection, hot and heavy against his thigh. The soft velvety skin seeking friction against his body. 

“Damn it,” He sighed, leaning his head back against the pillow. “Later.” He growled, grabbing a handful of Arthur’s ass. Arthur’s brows pinched together in a small wince, something Charles picked up on immediately. “Was I too rough last night?” He asked, his playful tone replaced by concern as his brows pinched together. 

“You know I liked it.” Arthur grinned, “Just sore s’all.” He shrugged, kissing Charles' collarbone. 

“Arthur-“

“Oh don’t you ‘Arthur’ me.” He huffed, rolling his eyes, “I ain’t some damn porcelain doll.”

“I know you aren’t, you stubborn fool.” Charles said, rolling his eyes, “Doesn’t mean I can’t be concerned.”

“There ain’t nothin’ to be concerned about! I’m fine, I swear it!” Arthur said, a small smile tugging on his lips. “Now get going big fella or we won’t get nothin’ done today.” Arthur said, shooing him out of bed. 

-

“I shouldn’t be gone long.” Charles said as he put on his gloves, feeling Arthur’s eyes.

“I’ll be here.” Arthur sighed. If his gruff voice wasn’t an indication of his displeasure of being left, yet again, the not so subtle pout of his definitely was. His journal sat open on his lap, his fingertips darkened by the charcoal as he sketched away at the paper. Charles nodded, pulling his hat down as he braced himself for the cutting wind. Opening up the door, his hand shielded his eyes as he trudged through the snow. With each step he sank further into the white powder, his legs already aching. The wind biting at his cheeks and nose as he made his way to the barn. 

His stomach dropped as he saw the open door. He picked up his feet, rushing inside the barn. He counted the cattle even though he knew that damn bull was long gone.

In his haste to sink into Arthur’s body last night he must not have shut the barn door all the way. They had been having trouble with this damn beast ever since they purchased him. Constantly plowing through fences and running off. Arthur had got so damn angry last time he had threatened to kill the bastard.

Charles made sure the rest of the cows were there and fed before he trekked back to the house. 

“Damn bull got out again.” Charles huffed as he closed the door to the main cabin. The heat from the cabin burned his face and hands.

“You shittin’ me?” Arthur asked, letting out a frustrated huff. 

“Wish I was.” Charles said, shaking his head.

“You gonna go after ‘im?” Arthur asked, getting to his feet, “Want me to ride with ya?” Charles could tell how bad he was itching to get out of the cabin. Arthur couldn’t stand to be cooped up for too long, something ingrained in him with how often the gang used to move around. 

Although Charles had put his foot down about Arthur going out when the weather got bad. Last time Arthur had ventured out to tend to the livestock he came down with something. Not as bad as the tuberculosis, but it scared Charles all the same. 

He was holed up in bed for a week, a fever burning through him and coughing up a lung. By the time his fever broke, Arthur had soaked all the sheets they owned with his sweat.

He didn’t give a damn how much he pouted, there was no way Arthur was going out in this storm.

“Don’t know if it’s worth it.” He said crossing his arms, “Only thing that damn animal has brought us is a headache.” He ran his hand through his hair. 

“We could always just butcher him, find that little bastard and make a new rug.” He shrugged, a small smirk tugging at his lips.

“Suppose we could.” Charles chuckled, shaking his head. “I’m gonna head out, see if I can pick up his tracks.”

“Take Buell, poor boy could use the exercise.” Arthur called over his shoulder. Charles nodded, walking over to Arthur. He bent down, cupping his cheek before pressing his lips against his. It didn’t matter how many times they collided like this. Charles always managed to steal his breath away, leaving him gasping for more. He wondered if Charles was his ruin and cure all at the same time. 

Arthur smirked as he pulled away, “I haven’t forgotten about your promise from this morning.” He said, gently tugging at his hair.

“I won’t be long.” Charles promised, his own smirk stretching across his face.

He had picked up somewhat of a trail. He supposed that that damn bull had gotten out shortly after he and Arthur went to bed. The snow had covered most of the tracks, and what it didn’t, the wind washed away. 

Buell snorted, pawing at the powdered snow as Charles urged him forward. 

“C’mon boy.” He said softly, patting the steeds' thick neck. His hands ached in his gloves, but at least he hadn’t lost feeling in them yet. He narrowed his gaze, his eyes watering as he looked across the frozen countryside. 

He caught sight of something, something much smaller than a bull. His heart leapt into his throat as the small being collapsed in the snow. He dug his heels into Buell’s side, the horse instantly picking up speed as they raced towards whoever was stupid enough to be walking around in a blizzard.

He jumped off, gathering the person in his arms. A woman, whose clothes were covered in icicles. Her eyelashes nearly frozen together with tears. 

He tore his coat off, a shiver running down his spine as he wrapped it around her. If he didn’t get her out of this cold, and fast, she’d die. 

He slung her over his shoulder as he mounted Buell. Maneuvering her into a bridal style carry as he rode back towards the cabin. 

“You find ‘im?” Arthur asked, not raising his head from his journal as the cabin door swung open. Still not over getting left behind, again.

“Not exactly.” Charles huffed, rushing towards the roaring fire. He laid the woman down on the rug, biting the fingers of his glove as he tore them off.

“Jesus Charles!” Arthur exclaimed, his journal clattering to the floor as he stood. 

“Help me get her clothes off.” Charles ordered, working the buttons of her blouse through the eyelets. 

“Oh dammit.” He sighed, frozen as he stared at the woman.

“You want a dead body on our hands!” Charles barked, shooting Arthur a glare. “Help me god dammit.” Arthur sank to his knees, pulling the woman’s frozen skirt off her body. 

“Furs, she needs furs.” He mumbled, stumbling to his feet as he raced to their bedroom. Charles’ heart sank as he bared her upper body. 

“Shit.” He mumbled, tracing his finger against the dark purple mark.

“Oh hell.” Arthur said as he returned, his eyes falling on the young woman. “Now who would…” He clenched his jaw, rushing over to the woman. Wrapping her in the furs and blankets, trying to avoid glancing at her naked body.

“Poor girl.” Charles sighed, shaking his head as he ran his hand through his hair. 

Arthur cursed under his breath, rubbing a hand over his chin. 

“I’m guessin’ you didn’t find the bull.”

“You’d be right.”

-

You ran the brush through your hair, knowing you couldn’t hide away in your room all day. Although you had no idea how you were supposed to face Arthur and Charles. Not after what you had heard last night. 

The two men were killers…but so were you. They didn’t know you knew, and they didn’t know about your sins.

But if they were bad men, why did they treat you, a vulnerable woman, with so much care? Why did they respect you and your anatomy when they could have taken advantage of you time after time?

It didn’t matter, you would just ride it out until the snow melted. You would just have to try and keep your distance. Although that seemed impossible, especially when there was nowhere to escape from them other than this room. And it didn’t help that you were completely engulfed by Charles' scent. If only you had some other clothes to wear.

You cinched the belt tighter around your waist, cuffing the pants at your ankles. It would have to do for now.

You opened the door, feeling like an absolute fool as you stepped into the main room. 

“Morning sleeping beauty.” Charles chuckled, his lip twitching upwards as he glanced over at you. 

“Funny.” You said, heat flooding your cheeks as you looked down. 

“Don’t tease the poor girl Charles.” Arthur said with a small smile, one of the first ones that actually seemed genuine from him.

What had happened between last night and this morning? 

“So, you still wanna learn to read?” Arthur asked, setting his journal to the side. 

Right! You had almost forgotten.

“Yes.” You nodded, unable to stop the grin that spread across your lips. Your worries melting like warm butter the longer you were around them.

“Well, first thing you gotta learn is the alphabet, all the letters.” He said, leaning against the table, his hand resting on his hip.

“You two have fun.” Charles chuckled, shaking his head as he left to tend to the animals.

“Now, there are twenty six letters.” Arthur said, turning your attention to the paper spread out on the table. “I’ve put them all in order.”

“There’s an order?” You asked, looking up from the papers.

“Yeah, course there’s an order.”

“But why?”

“Well cause-“ He paused, his brows furrowed as he looked down, “cause that’s just the way it is. Now it starts with the letter a.”

-

“Alright, which one is b?” Arthur asked, leaning forward as he quizzed you. Your eyes moved over the letters until you found it, tapping it with your finger. “Good! Now point to the letter r.”

You smiled at his praise, pointing to ‘r’. “Well ain’t you quick.” He chuckled, shaking his head, “God, it took almost a week for Dutch to teach me.”

“Was he your teacher?” You asked, your elbows resting on the table as you leaned forward. He faltered, his shoulders tensing before he nodded. 

“Sort of.” He said, clearing his throat, “Guess I was probably about ten years younger than you. Too bullheaded to actually pay attention to anything he had to say.” His voice softened, an almost melancholy sense to it. “You’ll probably be reading in another week or so.” He said.

“You think so?” You asked, unable to hide the excitement in your tone.

“Sure.” He nodded, “You’re a natural.” You beamed looking up into his eyes. He stared back, an expression you couldn’t quite place on his face.

Charles opened the door, returning from doing the chores. Arthur looked away, ending watever moment the two of you had.

“How was class today Mr. Morgan?” Charles teased as he took off his winter coat.

“Well she’s a hell of a lot smarter than me, that’s for sure.” He said giving you a small smile as he shook his head.

“I have a good teacher.” You smiled, looking from Arthur to Charles.

“Yeah?” Charles asked, his own smile spreading across his lips. “We got a scholar on our hands, Arthur.” Heat blooms in your cheeks as you bashfully lower your head. 

“Did ya make sure the barn door was closed?” Arthur teased, smirking up at Charles. 

“That mouth of yours is gonna get you in trouble one day.” Charles chides, his words lacking any edge as he rolled his eyes. “Do you think you’re too tired for a different kind of lesson?” Charles asked, turning his attention to you.

“What kind?” You asked, straightening your back.

“Picked up a rabbit's tracks back near the barn, you ever skinned an animal?” He asked, a glint in his eye. You shook your head, your stomach flip-flopping.

“Oh come on girl, it ain’t that bad.” Arthur chuckled, his hand squeezing your shoulder as he passed you. Arthur’s touch did little to ease your nerves. “You gonna go get it?” Arthur said, crossing his arms as he leaned up against the table. Trying, and failing, to act nonchalant.

“Was thinking about it.” Charles hummed, “Would you go with me?” He asked, taking Arthur’s bait.

“Always.” Arthur grinned, grabbing his blue coat off the hook. “We’ll be back.” He nodded to you before the two of them headed out the door. 

It was the first time you had been left alone in their home. They trusted you enough to leave you alone in their home. You bit your lip, trying to stop your giddy smile from spreading. You piled up the papers, in alphabetical order, before setting them off to the side. 

-

You had successfully tidied up the cabin by the time they came back. Laughing as they opened the door, their cheeks flushed from the cold.

Arthur tossed the rabbit carcass onto the table, shrugging off his coat. 

The thought of learning a new… skill. Had been exciting at first, but now that the dead animal was in front of you, the only thing you wanted to do was cringe. 

“Oh it ain’t that bad.” Arthur chuckled, walking past you. In a better mood than you had seen him in all week. Spending an hour or two chasing down a small animal in the freezing cold would have had the opposite effect on you.

Charles sat down across from you, “It really isn’t that bad.” He smiled, handing you a hunting knife. You hesitantly took it, staring down at the unmoving animal. 

“Is this a skill I really need?” You asked, looking back up at Charles. 

“You don’t have to.” He said with a small shrug. 

“No- no I need to.” You said, shaking your head. You didn’t want to let either of them down, “What do I do first?” 

“Pinch the hide and make a cut near the base of its neck.” He instructed, nodding towards the rabbit. You swallowed thickly, pinching the back of the rabbits back. You sliced through its skin, grimacing. 

“Now what?” You asked, swallowing thickly as you looked down at the unmoving rabbit. 

“You’ll want to tear the opening- no not with the knife.”

“Well what else would I tear it open with then?” You huffed, setting the knife down on the table. Your breath coming quicker, your chest pounding against your ribcage.

“He means with your fingers.” Arthur called over his shoulders, a dry cough leaving his lips.

“You’re joking!“ You gasped, gawking at Charles. He barked out a laugh, shaking his head.

“Come on now sweetheart it isn’t that bad.” He grinned, quirking his brow. “Just put your fingers in the cut and pull.”

“And pull?” You gawked, “No- no, no, no, no.” Your legs shaky as you stood from the table, the lump in your throat growing “No I can’t.” You said, shaking your head as you wiped your hands off on your- Arthur’s- trousers.

Both the men burst out laughing, their voices ringing in your ears as the walls of the cabin closed in on you. Your breath started coming fast, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you looked down at the rabbit.

The memory of your fathers unblinking gaze forced itself to the front of your mind as you stared into the animal's cold dead eyes.

You rushed out of the cabin, bile moving up your throat as you pushed the door open. You swallowed hard, the cold air cooling your flushed cheeks. You leaned against one of the wooden beams of the porch. Digging your nails into your palms, the dull pain grounding you as your mind seemed to drift farther and farther away. 

Your father wasn’t a man to have many friends, who would want to be around a man like him? Would anyone have stopped by the house yet? You rarely got any visitors and not with weather like this. 

On one hand you wanted his body to be found, mainly so you wouldn’t have to think about the alternative. His body decomposing into the wooden floor of the kitchen. On the other hand, who would they suspect for his murder? A gunshot to the chest at that close of range could hardly be called an accident. Certainly not if you confessed to being the one who pulled the trigger. You could pin it on a robbery gone wrong. You ran for your life and got lost out in the woods, unable to return until the snow melted. It wasn’t entirely false. But if they didn’t believe you, you’d be hung for sure. Were a few moments of freedom worth your life? Although, how much of a life was it? You had experienced more living in the past week than you had in years. You had moments of actual joy, happiness. Although that thought only made you feel more conflicted, your stomach sinking like a rock.

“Hey.” Charles' voice cut through your constant flow of thought. The door of the cabin shut behind him. “Are you alright?” He asked, hesitantly stepping towards you, reminiscent of how he had approached you the first time you had met. 

“Fine.” You nodded, looking out at the snowy landscape. He sighed, walking up beside you.

“I can tell that you’re not ‘fine’.” You could see he was looking at you from the corner of your eye. 

“I’ll be fine.” You amended your statement, sparing him a glance. The two of you looked at each other for a moment, his eyes searching yours for something you didn’t want to give up.

“I’m sorry about the rabbit.” He said, his voice low and gentle. “I sprung it on you, that was my fault.”

“It’s not-“ You groaned, feeling tears prick your eyes as you covered your face with your aching hands. He kept quiet, letting the two of you sit in silence while you gathered your thoughts. He didn’t rush you, he waited patiently, as though the tension or the cold didn’t bother him. “It’s not about the rabbit.” You wiped at your face with the sleeves of your flannel. Sage and lavender filled your senses, the familiar and unmistakable scent of Charles.

“Was Arthur right?” He asked.

“About what?” You sniffled, looking up at him

“That you were running from something.” He answered, raising his brows. You pursed your lips, returning your gaze to the frozen landscape. Your frustration only growing at his uncanny ability to read you. 

“My father is not a kind man.” You said after a moment, making sure to refer to him in the present tense. “I had to get away.” You said swallowing thickly. Although you didn’t know if you were trying to convince him or yourself.

He nodded, “You did the right thing.”

“You don’t know that.” You scoffed, shaking your head, “You don’t know me.” Your words were unnecessarily harsh, you regretted them as soon as they left your lips.

“I think I do.” He said, his brows furrowed. Although his eyes held no anger towards you despite his tone. “I think we're more alike than you realize.” He turned his gaze away from you, wiping the snow away from the wooden railing.

“What does that mean?” You asked, narrowing your eyes. He chuckled softly, shaking his head.

“You are daft sometimes.” He smiled.

“Did you come out here to insult me?” You huffed. The cold did little to help your mood as you started to shiver.

“Is that what you think I came out here to do?” He asked, sighing as he looked over at you. “We are all running from something. Some of us have just been running longer.” He shrugged. You purse your lips, sticking your hands under your armpits to try and warm them up. 

“My father was a kind man until we lost my mother.” Charles said, staring up at the night sky. You softened, your brows pinching together as you looked over at him. “I suppose any man would lose part of themselves if they lost someone like her.” A low sigh left his lips. His voice carrying an undeniable sense of sadness. 

“I’m sorry.” You said softly, you wished you could do something to comfort him. Something that wouldn’t cross a boundary between the two of you. You hoped your words of condolences were enough. 

“Arthur and I started running around the same time in our lives, maybe that’s why we get along so well.” He said with a dry chuckle, a far away look in his eye. “Maybe that’s why we get along as well.” He suggested, his eyes near obsidian in the low light as they found yours. Like steel striking flint, a spark caught between the two of you. Warmth spread throughout your body despite the freezing temperatures. You couldn’t tell whether the goosebumps springing up on your arms were from the snowfall or from him. You didn’t understand it, didn’t understand how a man you had met nearly a week ago could make you feel things you hadn’t felt in years. How they both made you feel things.

Now that was a dangerous thought. 

“Are you not cold?” You asked, trying to snuff out whatever flame was now growing inside you.

“You’re the one who ran out here.” He said with a sly smile, “C’mon, supper won’t cook itself.”

 -

“How often do you boys go hunting?” You asked, nearly moaning over the rabbit stew. The two men smirked at each other before turning their attention back to you.

“Now you know we wouldn’t have had this meat if we hadn’t dressed that rabbit.” Arthur hummed, raising an eyebrow. 

“Dressed? If anything you two undressed him.” You said, your brows furrowed as you looked up from your bowl. Charles bit his lip, trying to hide his smile. Arthur on the other hand, didn’t even try to hold in his laughter. Heat crept up your neck as you looked between the two men. “I’ve said something foolish haven’t I?” You mumbled looking down.

“Not foolish, just funny.” Charles said with a kind smile.

“I’m guessin’ no one hunted much in your family?” Arthur asked, although he could have guessed that from the way you went white as a sheet while looking at the rabbit. You shook your head, shoveling another spoonful into your mouth.

“My father… he was- is a man that doesn’t know much about the outdoors.” You shrugged, hoping they didn’t catch your small slip up. “The only meat we ever got was from the butcher, if we had the money.” Which you never did. Most of the time you had to get creative just to eat something edible for supper. If that meant cutting eyes out of old potatoes you would do it. 

“This man sounds like the simplest of the lot.” Arthur huffed

“Arthur.” Charles warned, looking between the two of you. 

“No Charles it had to be said.” He said, setting down his silverware with a clang, “First the man says women shouldn’t be educated, which is the biggest load of horse shit I’ve ever heard. Now she tells me he don’t know how to provide for his family, neither?”

“Arthur, it's okay really.” You mumbled, swallowing thickly as heat flooded your cheeks. 

“No it ain’t.” He growled, “A woman like you deserves the best in life, not some good for nothin’ father.” You bit your lip, looking down at the table. Your stomach twisting, as shame and gratitude fought for dominance in your head.

“Guess it’s a good thing you found me then.” You said, trying to ease the conversation into a new subject. An emotion flashed across Arthur’s face, something you couldn’t quite put your finger on. 

“Yeah… yeah I guess it was.” He said, picking up his spoon as he began to eat again. Charles watched the two of you with an almost knowing gaze. Although you didn’t know exactly what he knew. 

“I never did thank the two of you for saving me.” You said setting down your utensils. “Thank you, I mean it. You could’ve left me but you- well you saved my life. For that I will be forever in your debt.” 

“Well we couldn’t have left ya to freeze out there.” Arthur mumbled, looking down at his bowl as he ate. Although it seemed like he was purposefully avoiding your gaze. His words a far cry from his earlier sentiment of saving you,

“You’re welcome.” Charles said, a smile tugging at the corner of his lip.

You nodded, your expression mirroring his as you looked at him from across the table. That warm fuzzy feeling settled in your stomach as the three of you ate. A dangerous thought crept into your mind, one that had been slinking forward for days.

You didn’t want to leave. 

You were comfortable, happy here with them. So they had made a few mistakes, hadn’t everyone? Like Charles had said, they weren’t those people anymore. Whatever that meant you believed him- or you wanted to believe him.You had to go. Before you got in too deep. Before these confusing feelings grew too large to be ignored. You would have to return home.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

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[zoe-is-amazingg]

Why Can't You Stop Part 2 (NSFW)

Sociopath!Ethan Landry X Innocent!F!reader

W/C - 1.5 K

Summary - You've started to notice some recent chnges in Ethans behavior towards you and he can't help but watch you from afar.

Warnings - Making out, kinda foreplay but like nothing happens, fluff, kinda smut, angst, stalking, perv ethan, inno but kinda bimbo y/n, blood and gore, underage drinking, mentions of stalking

A/N - I'm open to requests guys!

*first part

*last partt (COMING SOON)

You couldn't deny it, ever since that moment on your porch with Ethan, everything has been awkward, well for you anyways. Ethan hasn't said a word and it's been three weeks since everything happened. You wanted him to talk to you about it.

"Y/N, what's up? you've been awfully quiet today." Tara notes, everyone at the dinner table then looks at you, all the conversation in the dining room coming to a complete stop. You hated how he was just sitting there and having a conversation with anyone but you.

"Nothing, it's just...there's someone on this table who won't even fucking talk to me, and I don't know what the hell I did!" You half yell. Ethan's eyes go wide in shock as he squirms in his chair. You get up and sigh. "I'm tired, I'm going home, bye guys."

"Oh, bye..." Mindy trails off, as you start to leave and start to close the door, someone's doc martins stop the door from fully closing. "Ethan, please, just leave me be." You say and he chuckles.

"You know I could never do that." He says in a dark tone as he starts to walk with you. "Look, about me not taking to you...you're a distraction Y/N, a big one and there's some big shit going on and I can't date you, it'll get in the way of everything."

"You could've told me that two or possibly one week ago, but now! I thought I did something wrong! I thought I fucked up and you hated me! But no, it's because your too worried about some big thing you have going on!" You rant, you didn't even care how selfish that sounded to yourself. He should've told you.

"Look, I know, but let me walk you home." He asks and you nod. You were terrified of New York streets at night, all the alley ways and homeless people who your parents taught you that they'll kidnap you if you're walking on the streets alone at night. Horrible plan really, now your terrified of them in general.

The rest of the walk to your little apartment is silent, until you get to the door. "Shit, I forgot my keys and Chad is staying over at Sam's, can I chill here?" Ethan asks. You slightly grimace at the idea of him staying over. You don't want him to kiss you and never talk to you for ages again. You nod your head and open the door.

Why couldn't Ethan just stay over at Sam's as well? "I was probably just going to watch a movie, if you wanted to join, you could...if you wanted too." You say to Ethan as you shift on your feet, the tension thickening in the air.

"Yeah, sure! Thanks for the offer." Ethan smiles and you smile awkwardly. As you both get settled in on the couch, you play a random movie as you both are on the other ends of the couch, furthest away from each other. "Look, Y/N, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have ghosted you and I certainly should've talked to you."

You sigh a little and he moves closer to you on the couch and grabs your hand. He slowly starts to caress the back of your head with his thumb lightly. "You really should've." You squeak. He pouts a little and then shifts his position so he's facing you directly. He then moves his hand up to your cheek, watching you carefully. Unwantedly, butterflies flutter in your stomach making you regret everything about this decision. His face slowly leans in and closes the gap of space between you both and his lips meet yours.

You kiss him back and let the pleasure take over you. He cups the back of your neck, and he slides his tongue across your bottom lip, slowly but surely, earning a light moan from you. You were going insane, he touches you, treats you like a precious piece of stone and then degrades you when he feels like it. And some reason why, you lusted for it, every bit of attention he could give you wanted. As he lightly pulls of his shirt and then starts to unbutton yours, you grab his neck and kiss his jawline.

As your shirt is fully of your body, Tara slams the door open with Chad, Mindy and Anika and she screams "Party time Y/N! Shit- Sorry did I interrupt something?" You and Ethan scurry off each other and just like that, his other side hides away again. You weren't ready for the next moments of the day.

You got ready in your room with Tara and Mindy, Anika was getting snacks in your kitchen. "So, are we going to talk about the elephant in the room?" Mindy says. "Yeah, Ethan's boner." Tara laughs and I stare at her wide eyed. Mindy laughs a little. "When? When did this start? We need details"

"I don't know, a couple weeks ago he came to my apartment and we kissed." You shrug. Mindy looks shocked and Tara looks confused. "Wait- virgin, shy, would never kiss a girl, Ethan?" Mindy asks and I nod. "But he wasn't like that, he was brave, endearing and kind of psychotic."

"That's crazy." Anika says, walking in with a bowl of chips. "No, cause like he doesn't seem like that kind of guy." You smile a little and nod. "He really doesn't." You smile.

You all arrive to the party, everything becoming a blur as a red cup gets placed in your hands and quickly gets switched out for a new one once you've finished.

After a while, you start to notice a blonde guy in the corner, taking a slow interest in you, staring at you, biting his lip when he looks at you and he slowly starts to walk his way over. "Hey, wanna dance?" The guy asks, you shake your head, having a slight feeling that you know how this is going to pan out.

"No thank you, I'm just going to stand here and wait for my boyfriend." You lie, it wasn't a full lie, you were waiting for Ethan, and you wanted to talk to him about what you guys were. Someone's hands crawl around your waist and a pair of lips attach to your neck.

"Hey babyy." Ethan slurs from behind you, "Please don't give my girlfriend anymore trouble bro, or tomorrow morning there'll be an ice pack on your face." The guy puts his hands up in the air defenselessly and walks away. You giggle lightly and turn around and you wrap your arms around Ethan's neck. Your lips meet with Ethan's and you couldn't contain yourself to a slight moan as the alcohol or your reaction to all this fizzles in the pit of your stomach.

You smile as you pull away and smirk, "Want to ditch and go back to my place?" He asks and you shake your head. "Nope, I'm here for Tara and the girls, I am here for them." "Then, meet me up in the first bedroom in ten minutes, there will be a great surprise for you." He winks as he pulls away from you and walks up the stairs.

After about ten minutes of finishing two drinks, you start to walk up the stairs, you also start to realize that you haven't seen the blonde guy ever since that thing between him and Ethan. You open the door to the first bathroom and your eyes open wide in shock.

The blonde was there, you close the door as blood was everywhere, his body was teared apart, and he was eating his own eyes as trails of blood flowed down his face and you can't help but scream. There ghost face was in all his glory and as the mask was removed, you gasp.

The curly haired boy you had just kissed was behind the mask. "E-Ethan, why?" You ask, terrified of all the possibilities of what could happen to you. The knife was still in his hands, and it was same one from that night on the porch, people died that night as well from an infamous ghost face killer.

"Well, baby, let me start from the start." He half slurs. He walks around you and starts playing with strands of your hair. You flinch at him touching you. "When I saw you for the first time, I knew you were the one for me baby, I started watching you, stealing things of yours, then my, what you call them, my co-workers were going on about killing you and we just couldn't have that, you mean way too much to me."

He then places kisses on your neck and traces the knife across your cheek, blood spreading from the blonde that was in front of you. "So, I killed them, it wasn't a part of the plan, baby. But I knew you'd be safe. You're just so trusting and it's sad to see people hit on you and you just fucking stand there, so I killed all of them, it really helped me get rid of my anger."

You sob as you see the dead person in front of you. "Why would you kill people for me?" You ask and Ethan chuckles. "Because...baby...you're like a drug."

🎯 = @idky5 @acornacreacure @nowitsmissing @1950schick

[upon-a-starry-night]

Savior Her Pt.1

Demon! Colby Brock x Fem! Reader

Main Masterlist Series Masterlist

Warnings: small gore, being followed, blood

Word Count: 901

Summary: You're being followed and you pray to any Being that will listen to save you. A Demon is the last thing you expect to help you but you're not complaining.

~~

If someone had told you this is how you were going to die you would tell them it was a disappointing end and never leave the house again. 

Truthfully though, perhaps you were being a little dramatic, this guy could just be going in the same direction as you… for the past five blocks…. After making a lot more than 5 lefts and 4 rights. 

But out of the 75% of women who have been followed in America how many of them died? 

Maybe you dropped your wallet?

God, your optimism does not work in situations like this, and it didn’t help that you were shaking like a leaf in a hurricane.

You clutched your bag a little tighter, your knuckles probably turning white from how hard you were holding onto it. It was getting late, later than people were beginning to be out on a Tuesday night. Not to mention it was the middle of November so it was freezing once the sun went down, which it did, hours ago.

Your feet are starting to hurt and your phone call to the police consisted of the male operator telling you to go somewhere public or find a police station and asking you too many times if you were sure you were being followed. Your attempt to lose the stalker in an antique shop did not work, turns out going to a public place does not prevent creepy men from following you into said public place. 

You’re sure your local police are busy helping people who need it more, at least, that’s what you tell yourself when you google map the closest police station to your location and it’s an hour's walk away.

Soon after you have the terrifying realization that you don’t really recognize where you are.

Shit, maybe your father was right, maybe your stupidity really would get you killed

You feel tears trickling down your cheeks, unaware you’d even been on the verge of crying but you don’t really blame yourself.

You spare a glance behind you to see the man has gotten closer, he too seems to realize all of your attempts at safety are falling short. 

He’s an intimidating height, something you only realize now that he’s closer, you can’t tell how buff he is under his hoodie but maybe God was on your side and he was small enough for you to break an arm.

You flinch lightly when you feel a stinging in your palm, realizing you’d been clenching your fist so tight your nails broke the skin, a small amount of red blossoming in little crescents on your skin.

Briefly, you find yourself praying, or calling out to any God or Being that would listen and save you from this nightmare. Maybe death would be more merciful than what this bastard was going to do to you. 

In true victim fashion, you somehow manage to trip over a raised piece of the sidewalk, your bag flies out of your grip and you see your belongings scatter across the concrete. At least if you die the last thing you’ll see is your watermelon-scented hand sanitizer and your smiley face keychain smiling at you one last time. 

It was a cinematic way to go out at least.

You’re sure there’s probably some metaphor that can be made about this.

You hear footsteps approach and prepare for something, anything to happen. Tears still pour from your face and you think about your family, your father, and your brother. Would they miss you? Would they mourn you? Would they care? 

You spent so much of your life wishing they would care about you, or at least leave you alone.

You’re startled out of your thoughts by the sound of grunting behind you, you’re a little scared to turn around, fearing what you may find but you find the strength to lift your body into an upward position. 

Flinching when your open wounds press into the dirty ground.

When you turn to look behind you you’re surprised to see the guy following you being held by his collar by another man. 

You can only see the back of him but you take notice of his short-ish hair, black jeans, boots, and a leather jacket with two twin red flame designs running parallel with his spine. 

You watch him land another blow onto what is probably an already beat-up face, when he pulls his arm back you spot blood on his knuckles and spattered on his hand. 

The mysterious stranger finally lets go of the creep and you nearly let out a gasp as he stumbles back. There’s blood flowing from his nose and mouth, and he looks like he can barely stay conscious enough to stand.

Before the creep can even think of fighting back or running, the leather jacket guy punches him right in the stomach and he crumples to the ground, coughing up more blood that splatters onto the gray concrete.

The mysterious guy bends down to whisper something to the other guy and then stands, giving the guy one last non-committal kick before turning around.

You gasp as haunting blue eyes look around and land on you, there’s blood speckling across his face and he looks as surprised to see you as you are to see him, but what stands out to you the most are the two black masses protruding from his head.

Horns.

Pt.2

-

This is my first ever Colby fic so please let me know what you think!~ Starry (also the title is a play on words- save her and savor her)

[skylineheights-if]

DEMO TBA | CHARACTER INTROS | PLAYLISTS

Genre: Urban Fantasy, Romance, Action

Game Rating: 18+

Content Warnings: Optional sexual content, alcohol/smoking, death, blood/gore, religious themes, torture, talks of pregnancy/birth/breeding, mentions of SA and other forms of abuse, mentions of weapons, more to be added as it is written.

Returning to your mother's hometown for college was supposed to be a typical all-American experience. But as you settle into your new life in Skyline Heights, a cozy town in the Pacific North West, you soon stumble upon its hidden mysteries and begin to understand that your life never was, and never will be, typical. 

As you uncover the truth about the circumstances of your birth and your angelic father, you learn that you are one of a few demi-angels called nephilim, destined to play a crucial role in preventing an upcoming apocalypse. In order to understand your purpose, you embark on a quest to study a prophecy that holds both the key to your destiny and the fate of the world.

While navigating the complexities of college life, forming friendships, and experiencing budding romance, you also find yourself battling powerful demons that are hell-bent on stopping you and trying to decipher the prophecy. Amidst all the chaos, you must also focus on your academic responsibilities - maintaining your grades while confronting the darkness that threatens to consume the world is not going to be a walk in the park.

The choices you make will determine your alliances, unveil hidden truths, and unlock the full extent of your powers. Can you embrace your extraordinary destiny, unravel the mysterious prophecy, and stand against the forces of the apocalypse?

Customize your characters appearance and sexuality and mold their personality as you see fit.

Romance and/or befriend five characters with different personalities and backstories.

Unravel what the prophecy about you means, as well as learn more about your own past and the mysterious father that your mother refuses to speak of.

Work on controlling and strengthening your powers and discover all the things you can do.

Stop the impending apocalypse (while still trying to turn your homework in on time)

Harlowe Vega [ M ] Character Page

Confident, sarcastic, and the absolute definition of "bad boy." Harlowe was adopted as a baby and has a strained relationship with his family. As the oldest out of the group, Harlowe is the de facto leader of the nephilim, a role that he doesn't take lightly. While he may be cold at first, Harlowe is loyal and very protective of his loved ones.

Sarcastic - Protective - Confident

Florence Kade [ F ] Character Page

With a smile that rivals the sun and a knack for creating chaos wherever she goes, Florence is the first person that you'll meet while getting settled in at Moonvale University. Don't let her kindness fool you, though. Her tongue is sharp enough to cut through metal. A fact that Harlowe himself has been acquainted with, one too many times.

Kind - Candid - Outgoing

Eden Wright [ M ] Character Page

Quiet, studious, and kind to a fault, Eden is the son of the local librarian, George Wright. George, who just so happens to be your mother's childhood friend (and might be able to help you find out more about your father). Though Eden is in your year, you rarely see him around. The man seems to prefer to hang out in the library when he isn't working at the coffee shop on campus or training. Regardless of his soft exterior, Eden is more than capable of defending himself and others, which is why Harlowe has chosen him as his second-hand.

Reserved - Studious - Strong

Aena Ritz [ F ] Character Page

If there is one word to describe Aena, it's responsible. As a Criminal Justice major and self-proclaimed "mom friend", Aena makes it a point to keep everybody on track. That being said, she still knows how to let loose and often spends her Friday nights at the local club with Florence and a few classmates. Aena is hard working and slow to anger, but when her fuse is lit, it's smarter to run and hide.

Responsible - Honest - Respected

Alistaire Morrison [ M ] Character Page

Your enigmatic English professor who always seems to have dark circles under his eyes and a coffee mug glued to one hand. Alistaire is the newest of the faculty at Moonveld University, and by far the favorite professor among the students. Whether that's due to his (surprisingly) entertaining lectures or his physical looks, it's unclear. What is clear is that there is more to him than meets the eye, and you aren't sure whether that's a good thing or a bad thing.

Mysterious - Charming - Respected

Important tags: #shif ask - #shif cast - #shif aa: {character name} -- #shif nsfw