#the odds were never In her favour

[jestersloverre]

It’s hard being a girlboss and a pick-me-girl at the same time 😔

[on-a-lucky-tide]

cw: hair pulling, 141 sexcapade discussion.

"You know, I've never understood it," Gaz said, folding another hand as the cards Nik turned over on the table ruined his chance of a Full House. They'd had a few, so Gaz's brain was wading slowly towards its point when Soap folded too.

"Ye dinnae ken much, Garrick. Ye gonnae have tae narrow it doon."

Ghost raked in his winnings and then stood with a grunted, "need a slash."

Gaz scowled and flipped over one of the cards they'd been playing with before Nik could tidy it away. The set was raunchy, with depictions of busty girls in various states of undress and intimacy. The Ace of Spades had a brunette facing out of the card, her lover behind her with one hand in her hair. "Why do girls ask for this?"

"Why ask for doggy?" Soap asked, smirking around the top of his beer bottle.

"Nah, mate. The hair pulling. I've had at least two birds ask me for it. It can't be fuckin' good, can it?"

"Aye, well, I dunnae tend tae pull the freaky ones, so..."

"Alright, alright. Shut it. Nik, help me out here." Gaz looked over at their dealer, who was busy expertly shuffling the cards for the next round.

"There is a right way and a wrong way to pull hair, sergeant," Nik said.

Gaz raised an eyebrow. "Seriously?"

"Da, observe." Nik placed the deck down carefully and turned towards Soap. "The wrong way is to grab a random tuft," he lifted a large palm and snagged a handful of Soap's mohawk, shaking him from side to side, "and just start pulling them about. It is wrong. Hurts, no?"

"Ah, Jesus fuck, Nik," Soap squawked, batting at Nik's forearm. "Aye. Feels like ye scalpin' me."

Ghost returned, chuckling low in his throat at Soap's bleats of protest. He rolled his bally up over his nose and took a swig of bourbon, observing the little scene he'd stumbled back in on with interest. "Li'le scrote finally run his mouth too much, Nikolai?"

"Naw, Nik's showin' Garrick how t' pull a lady's hair in bed." Soap growled, head still tilted at an odd angle where Nik had scruffed the strip of ferret fur he called a hairstyle.

"Oh yeah?" Ghost's eyes slid over to Nik, lingering on the hand that released Soap's mohawk. "G'won then, show us the proper way."

"Regrettably, the sergeants both favour the short back and sides, but yours is longer." Nik rose to his feet, matching Ghost in height and bulk. Ghost's hackles should go up, but with Nik, they hadn't in years. It had something to do with how Price was around him, Ghost reckoned. When your damn leader relaxed, you were relaxed. Like a good dog. Nik spread his hands. "May I, lieutenant? Your mask will remain on."

"C'mon, L.T. Lessee."

"I'll buy you a drink at the pub when we get home, sir."

Ghost swallowed, levelling Nik with a heavy stare. "Ya pull my hairline as far as yours and we'll 'ave a problem," he murmured, emptying his glass before placing it down on the table. When Nik stepped into space, he got a hit of expensive cologne and engine oil that sat pleasantly on the back of his tongue. Damn handsome bastard too, all things considered. Ghost tried not to scrutinise what having him so close did to his heart.

Nik's hand settled on Ghost's shoulder first and then slid around the back of his neck, careful to keep his thumb tucked to avoid Ghost's throat.

"You slide your hand up their neck through the roots at the back," he said softly, his hand moving as he spoke, fingertips sliding beneath Simon's bally to the softness of his blond hair. "And you pull upwards, keeping your fingers close to their scalp."

What was left of Ghost's soul left his body momentarily as Nik pulled. His belly did a little flip, his knees suddenly weak, shoulders rising as he sucked in a shocked gasp. The sensation that bristled over his scalp settled behind his eyes, and they rolled closed as it continued down his spine. The world screeched to a halt as Ghost zeroed in on the man before him, his instincts firing off like sparkplugs in an engine struggling to turn over. Frozen.

Nik was watching him closely, his head tilted to the side. "It should not cause pain, but it is a... mammalian response, like a cat scruffing its kitten. It should inspire a feeling of pleasure in submission."

Ghost couldn't breathe. His eyes flickered open and he zoned in on Nik's dark eyes, the fullness of his lips and the unshaven scruff of stubble around his jawline. In that breathless moment, Ghost's entire body tingled with heat and want. He could feel Nik's warmth, so close and yet not touching him at all but for the hand in his hair; a sturdy bulwark waiting to catch him. What Ghost would give to press his face into the open collar of his shirt and rub through the dark hair he could see there, while--

"'Ear that, L.T.? Ye like a big fuckin' kitten."

Soap's jibe broke the spell and Nik released Ghost's hair, stepping out of his space to return to his seat. His gaze lingered on Ghost's eyes before he turned, and for a tense second Ghost was fockin' worried he'd be outed for whatever the hell that was. But Nik sat down with a nonchalant shrug.

"Shut it, Johnny," Ghost grunted. "Don' see what all the fuss is about."

"Aye, ye tell 'em, sir. Missionary with the lights off fully clothed is the only way, eh?"

Ghost flipped Soap his middle finger and grabbed his coat from the back of the chair. "Gonna hit the sack, long day tomorrow. Don' fuck around too late." He left the room at what he hoped was a reasonable pace, but his mind was already elsewhere, namely on the aching boner stretching down his right trouser leg. He was grateful no one could read minds; if he was thinking of Nik as he had a sad, furious and slightly drunk wank, then that was between him and god.

Nik watched Ghost's retreating back over the rim of his vodka glass, his head tilted to the side in thoughtful consideration. The embers he had watched flare to life in those somber brown eyes were unmistakable. He had seen similar in two twin baby blues only two mornings ago.

Khoroshego vam nastroyeniya i do vstrechi, Simon.

[junebugsarchive]

Hi june, your written is amazing!

If it fine with you can you do jealous yamazaki shingen or jealous park jonggun?

𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐅𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑, 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐒𝐎𝐍 . yamazaki shingen x reader

summary: shingen and gun become jealous when a little boy musters the courage to ask you to marry him

pairing: yamazaki shingen x reader . platonic! gun park x reader

details: reader replaces somi park . ooc shingen . bro is whipped for you . gun's a little menace to society . reader gets a little suggestive . teensy subtle mention of amputation . anon ask . all banners used are from @cafekitsune . all pictures used are from pinterest

a/n: i've always wanted to write something for shingen there's just something ab tall, brooding men turning into putty just for you 😋 enjoy babes! did a mix of both for u anon, my pookies didn't deserve anything that happened to them. spoiler alert: i blame the midwife. i hate her. also sorry if u were expecting something more serious, i don't see shingen being the type to venture in public unless it's to stalk you

yamazaki shingen does not get jealous. or at least, that's what he tells himself. jealousy, like any other emotion, is considered a weakness, and a weakness is something his countless foes will immediately grab on to once they catch sight of it, his father always told him.

he had learned to shut off his emotions a long time ago, ever since his embarrassing defeat against the famed gapryong kim from south korea. however he allows himself to have one simple weakness, despite his father and brother's disagreements, and that was you.

his darling, most treasured wife out of the ten women chosen just for him. you beauty shone through the others, and your quick-witted mind and equally sharp tongue was a stark contrast to the other women that only wished to survive in this cold, unfamiliar place.

shingen adored you. he favoured you, and that much was shown when he allowed you to keep your pinky, much to the displeasure of his brother. he gave you a strong and healthy boy with odd eyes, whom you proudly named gun, and treasured with your life.

shingen cherished you, anybody could tell. but do you love him too? this was a six-year question he never got the courage to ask.

which is why he is unsure of what to feel when he secretly follows you and your five year old son out of the compound and to a nearby public playground, and he sees a young boy bashfully coming up to you and showing a bouquet of wildflowers he had collected.

an odd feeling bubbles in his gut as he watches you smile warmly at the boy, patting his head with a gloved hand, gently taking the bouquet, complimenting it as you admired the flowers. nonsense. even shingen could make a better bouquet than that little brat could (he's lying) to give to you.

"what are you doing here?" shingen pauses in his train of thoughts, looking down, only to see his five year old son standing beside him with a blank look on his face, hands in his pockets. he wasn't even looking at the clan leader, merely staring unblinkingly at you in the distance.

the yamazaki head merely grunts, turning back around to watch you interact with the young boy. the little brat was getting bolder and bolder, daring to grab your hands in his grubby little paws and dancing around with you.

the father and son stood by the side, unnervingly identical blank dark eyes glued onto you, watching you interact with the child, and any passerby walking past them would have had to blink and rub their eyes, wondering if they were seeing doubles.

shingen spares a glance down at gun, and feels somewhat amused by how entranced his son was with you. truly, he thinks to himself as he returns his gaze to you. he is truly too much like his father.

he feels that same, odd feeling fluttering in his stomach as he watches the little beast motion for you to lean down, and braves a small peck against your cheek. the kid's face explodes in a fine assortment of red colours as the other children laugh and cheer, clearly entertained by this boy's foolishness. shingen watches as you merely smile at him and ruffle his hair, not saying a word.

to anybody watching, shingen and gun looked the same as before, but if they looked closer – really looked closer, they would see the exact same crease in between their eyebrows as their gazes became sharper, trained onto the boy.

shingen feels disheartened. why was it so simple for a young child you barely knew to kiss you on the cheek? he had been watching you, waiting for the perfect moment to give you a lil smooch, but each time you seemed to read his intentions and kept your distance.

shingen was frustrated. what was he doing wrong?

"MARRY ME!" the impudent little boy suddenly shouts, with flushed cheeks and a makeshift ring, made out of a little daisy he'd found.

immediately, both shingen and gun's head snaps towards him, death threats running through their minds. oh hell no.

meanwhile, you gave the poor, oblivious boy an awkward smile, extremely floored by the situation. poor kid, did he even know what he was getting himself into? by the looks of his expectant expression and hopeful eyes, clearly not. you clear your throat and open your mouth, ready to spout some bullshit, but someone else beats you to it.

"there you are, dear." you jump slightly in surprise as a deep voice murmurs in your ear, thick, strong arms snaking around your waist as your husband magically appears by your side, resting his chin on your collarbone, letting his hot breath fan your skin.

the little boy stares at shingen with a mix of indignation and fear. "w-who are you?!" he stutters out, and you had to admire his courage.

"i'm her husband." was shingen's immediate reply, and your eyes widen slightly to here the subtle pride in his voice.

the boy frowns. "no you're not! i'm gonna marry her, not you!" you sweatdrop slightly as the two males exchange heated looks – well, at least the boy's was heated, shingen looked purely amused, though you swore there was a tinge of annoyance that flashed through his eyes, though you could never telk what was running through that man's mind.

but unfortunately for the boy, he forgot that there was another formidable enemy headed right for them.

"kaa-san, is this shrimp bothering you?" your son smoothly steps in, gaze calm yet predatory as he looks down upon the inferior boy before him.

the little boy's eyes widen in fear as he recognizes gun, as do the children watching them with bated breath. "it's the playground demon!" a girl shrieks, and all the children flee in different directions, screaming their heads off, even your ever-so-valiant pursuer.

you chuckle a little, and sinply offer a loving pat on gun's head, who looks up at you with the same blank look, though your smile widens as you notice a fervent and soft tinge in his eyes as he gazes up at you.

shingen watches the exchange, feeling strangely out of place. he stiffens a little as you turn towards him, a gentle, yet unreading smile on your face.

out of courtesy, shingen wordlessly offers his arm, to which you accept, your other hand holding on to gun's tinier palm as the three of you begin your walk home.

"i noticed you'd followed my son and i here, lord yamazaki." shingen shows no reaction as your clear voice cuts through the awkwardness. he remains quiet for a few seconds, before turning to look down at you straight in the eyes.

"yes," he replies bluntly, and watches as you blink up at him, taken aback, clearly expecting him to dodge the question. your walls quickly rise as they had fallen, and your smile is quickly plastered back on.

"oh my, whatever for?" you chuckle as you continue your journey, and your voice turns teasing. "were you jealous, then? watching that little boy ask for my hand in marriage?"

"yes."

"ah, i expected-" you pause, and turn to stare at him disbelievingly. "...pardon?"

you weren't sure what you were expecting, but it definitely was not for the man beside you to avert his dark eyes, almost in embarrassment, suddenly looking like a kicked puppy. "are you... upset i interrupted?"

"how could i ever be?" and it's shingen's turn to be taken aback at how soft and genuine you sounded, it almost made him flinch in shock. "you are... my husband." you say quietly, ears tinged red.

a few more seconds of awkward silence pass, before the little gremlin decided to interrupt. "kaa-san, can you carry me?" gun asks blankly, stopping to raise his arms in your direction.

you smile, immediately taking your hand out of shingen's grasp, and the yamazaki clan leader is left with an unexplicable void in his heart as he watches you lift your child in your arms, smiling fondly at him as you continued walking.

suddenly, you stop and whirl around, smiling at shingen. and he realizes, with a start, that this was the first genuine smile he has ever received from you. and he loved it.

"it seems i have been neglecting my marital duties as a wife to my lovely husband," you hum, almost teasingly, a suggestive glint in your eyes. "i shall be visiting your bedchambers tonight, lord yamazaki."

warmth spreads through shingen's chest, and he allows the slightest of smiles to creep onto his face.

"i would love that too... my wife." and he takes a step, then another, and another, until he was directly in front of you. you beam up at him, and your little family walks home together.

yamazaki shingen loves you, and he's willing to wait however long needs be and make a fool of himself as many times as he has to for you to smile like that at him once more.

extra:

"kaa-san, i was jealous that little imbecile asked to marry you just now. can you visit my bedchambers too?" gun suddenly questions, and you let out a small laugh at his funny request.

"silly boy, i do that every night." you hum in amusement, gently tapping his nose as you spoke.

"kaa-san, i meant you should visit my bedchambers and not my father's."

"..." you sweatdrop as the father and son exchange blank looks that conveyed malicious threats and murderous intent.

[catlvrmax]

LOST IN THE PADDOCK.

MV1 X FEM!READER

summary getting lost in the paddock and bumping into the current world champion was definitely not on your bingo card.

cw amara is the only oc, no use of y/n. this is my first time writing rpf since middle school, so bear with me. ALSO, this is a work of fiction: i don't know these people irl, i don't know how they act. NON-DESCRIPTIVE READER.

face claims girls on pinterest but you can obviously disregard them, and imagine whoever you want.

masterlist | taglist

—

"Ah, fuck," you mumble to yourself, panickedly walking away from the direction you came from while also looking for your best friend.

You call her name a few times in hopes of her popping her head out of the Ferrari building's corner but to no avail. The group and guides you had been with are nowhere to be found, and you have to avoid bumping into employees wearing the entire rainbow as they hurry around you.

You curse the moment you decided to enter the giveaway for those tickets. Although you weren't a Formula One fan, simply because you never fully listened to Amara's ramblings and analysis, when you stumbled across a giveaway of otherwise very expensive tickets, you didn't hesitate to enter it. Despite entering for her, you kept it a secret. The list of entries was long, and the odds were not in your favour, so you didn't want to get her hopes up. You couldn't contain the bubbling excitement when you got the e-mail verifying your win for two Paddock Club tickets for the Spanish Grand Prix.

After announcing it to your obsessed-with-cars best friend, you decided to make it a five-day trip, planning to sightsee Barcelona before the race weekend and spend a free day after it. The first day had been great, albeit tiring, but you had woken up the next day buzzing with anticipation to walk around the paddock. You were the assigned photographer, as you knew Amara would want to listen to everything the guide said. You were content with taking pictures of the place and her. 

Until now. You were definitely not happy with being the camera guy. Because of that, you'd just lost your group in the middle of God-knows-where, with no idea where the building you came from was. So immersed in your grumbling and reading the map on your phone- you collide with someone. Your phone and water bottle slip from your fingers, and the tote bag slips from your shoulder to your elbow. You hiss at the sudden weight shift.

The smell of rich cologne enters your nostrils, but you don't dare look up. Your cheeks burn. "Sorry." You bend down to grab your things.

The man seems to have the same idea, as seconds later, he's on his knees and gathering his things before you can reach them. "No, it's alright! I wasn't looking where I was going."

He extends his full hands with a smile, and you return a sheepish one before grabbing your things. You take a second to look at him. He wears a Red Bull cap and T-shirt, looking like everyone who hurriedly passed you with papers and phones in their hands. I should ask him for directions. He looks like he knows the place.

"Uh...Is there any way you saw a group of people with guides walking around here? I'm supposed to be with them, but I kinda lost them." You lift the camera, further explaining why you're separated from them.

He can't help but chuckle at your flushed cheeks. "Unfortunately, no," he pauses. "Are you here for the weekend?" You nod. "Haven't they given you a map, then? They usually do, to avoid people getting lost."

You show him your phone. Your fingers brush as he pulls it closer to look at the map. "Yeah, they have. But I can't figure it out. Kind of my first time coming to something like this."

He looks at you briefly before returning his gaze to the phone. "Really?" He sounds surprised. He shouldn't.

You looked out of place compared to the rich-as-fuck members of your group. You had no idea how people dressed for these occasions. Even Amara didn't really know what to pack, so you both agreed to wear comfortable clothes. With the race being during June and in Spain, you would rather be comfortable than sweaty. The only thing tying you to the group was the Paddock Club pass you wore around your neck.

"My best friend is really into this. Loves the sport. I won us the tickets, but I'm barely grasping the basics." You laugh, and he joins. You like the way his eyes crease when he smiles wide.

"Oh, you're the ones that won the tickets! Someone told me about that, I think. Congrats!" You thank him. "How's your weekend so far?"

You shrug. "T'was really fun. Until I got lost while taking pictures of the Ferrari building." He snorts.

Leaning next to him, you try to follow his finger as he scrolls around the zoomed-in map. "You figured it out yet?" 

"I think I have, yeah." He shows you the phone. "We're here. The garages are right there. You'll be watching the race on the floor above them." You nod, slowly grasping your surroundings. Turns out it's easier to figure it out when you're not panicking and a handsome stranger is helping you. "You got it?"

You flash a bright smile. "Yeah, actually, I think I do!" You look at him. "Thank you!"

He shrugs. "No problem. I know it's easy to get lost, especially with so many people running around."

"Still. Thank you. You probably have to be somewhere, and I took up a lot of your time." You step back, turning in the direction he'd shown you.

"Don't worry about it." He fixes his hair under the cap.

"Thanks again." You wave and turn to leave.

"Hey, I forgot to ask you." You turn, confused. "What team are you supporting tomorrow?"

Oh, shit.

It's like a deer caught in headlights situation. You suddenly forget all ten names of the racing teams, desperately racking your brain for an answer. You swear you know all ten.

"Uh..." you nervously clench and unclench your water bottle. "Ferrari?" It's more of a question rather than a statement.

He laughs, and your cheeks return to their warm state. Bad answer?

"Ferrari?" He asks as if saying really? You shrug, and he huffs a laugh.

"I told you I'm not good at this!" 

You hear a shout and simultaneously turn to see a man in a Red Bull shirt beckoning him over. 

"I have to go. But you should watch out for the Red Bulls. I hear they got the better cars!" He winks and waves before walking away from you.

You roll your eyes and smile wide on your lips. Of course, he'd tell you to cheer for his team. The back of your hand touches your cheek. It's incredibly warm. You blame it on the hot weather.

—

"I'm telling you, mate! She had no idea who I was!" 

Lando rolls his eyes. "And I'm telling you there's no way. Your face is plastered everywhere."

It's Charles's turn to roll his eyes. "Or maybe she was more worried about finding a way back than asking for pictures."

"Yeah, maybe she was being polite. Didn't want to attract any attention to you." Albon adds.

Max shrugs. "I don't know."

"Was she pretty?" Oscar elbows Lando's ribs, as the latter can't contain his giggle.

Max's neck flushes. He shrugs again. "Yeah, I guess."

"Ohhhhh!" George and Lando pat him on the back teasingly, and Charles laughs at Max's expression.

Before they can tease him about this mystery girl more, a woman wearing a headset informs them they have to part ways and get ready for qualifying.

—

"And Fernando was so bloody nice, too! He was more than happy to sign the cap for you!" Amara waved her hands excitedly as she recounted everything you missed while lost.

You sat near the windows overlooking the pits, watching as the teams got their cars ready for qualifying, far away from the TVs and the crowded tables, not wanting to converse with anyone but your best friend. You chewed on your extremely expensive pasta, intently listening to her meet-up with some of the drivers. 

"I can't believe you met the only driver I know," you whined, lips pouting sadly.

"I swear I didn't realise you were gone until they stopped us to greet the drivers. I was fully into that tyre explanation the guide was giving."

"Gee, thanks." You smile, giving her the middle finger.

"Oh, you know I don't mean it like that. Without you, I wouldn't even be doing the stuff we did today." Amara pulls on your middle finger, and you both giggle.

"So, tell me what you did when you were alone," she urges, sipping her drink.

"You mean when you left me wandering like I was looking for my mother?" She gives you a pointed look. You shrug. "I stopped a Red Bull guy to give me directions. He was helpful and cute. Also took some pictures while I was making my way back here."

"Oh, was he a mechanic or what?"

"I don't know. Didn't catch his name." You smile as you recount his advice. "He told me to look out for the Red Bulls because they have fast cars."

"Well, he's not wrong."

You finish your food and drinks, chatting until qualifying is about to begin. You sit on the balcony, watching the cars drive on the track. You get settled, watching the small screen in front of you, commentary loud in the headset you wear. Qualifying goes by quickly, with Amara explaining things you don't understand and you nodding along.

It's no surprise—in Amara's words—that Max Verstappen came first in his Red Bull. He's the one dominating this season, after all. Second comes Carlos Sainz, and third place takes Lando Norris. Your best friend cheers a little more for him. You shoot her a look, and she just shrugs. "What? He's fast, and he's handsome." You laugh.

You decide to leave before others, not stick around for post-qualifying interviews. Although there's a great chance you can catch drivers, take pictures and get them to sign autographs, you're both far too exhausted to stay. There's always tomorrow, Amara says, and you agree.

You're looking through the Uber app to find a car available to take you back to your hotel when you hear Amara all but screech beside you. You look up, watching as she runs towards a wall decorated with a gigantic poster of three drivers. You recognise Lewis Hamilton and Charles Leclerc and...Oh, shit.

"Can you take a picture here," she calls your name pleadingly.

Your eyes are wide and glued to the tall poster, even as you pull the camera up to your face. You snap a couple of pictures before Amara walks back to you. Her wide smile falters as she watches you stare at the poster intensely. You rack your brain for his name and know that you should know it. Amara has mentioned it before, but you just can't put your finger on it. He's in Red Bull, so it's either Checo Perez or—

"Is that Verstappen?" You point to him.

"Yep. Two-time world champion." Amara looks at the poster and then back at you, eyebrows furrowed. "Why are you looking at him like that?"

"He's the guy from earlier."

"What?!"

—

yourusername

liked by amaraiscool, yourmom, and 167 others.

tagged amaraiscool

yourusername chatted with a guy today, turns out he's the current world champion.

view all comments

amaraiscool i can't believe you met max verstappen

> yourusername amaraiscool i cant believe you let me get lost

amaraiscool and i can't believe you didnt recognise him.

> yourusername amaraiscool hes cuter in person, too bad you didn't get to see him :))

yourfriend1 THE DRESS IS SO CUTE, AMARA WTF DROP THE STORE!!!!!!

liked by yourusername

yourfriend2 johns freaking out rn lol

> yourusername yourfriend2 AW, i bet hes not being as dramatic as amaraiscool was when i told her :,)

> amaraiscool yourusername met THE max verstappen.

—

"You should totally text him," Amara says between bites.

She offers you a piece of chocolate, and you offer her a bewildered look. The hotel room's TV is playing a random spanish show, but with no subtitles, you can barely grasp what they're saying. Amara is scrolling on TikTok beside you.

"Text who?" You already know who.

"The two-time world champion. Duh." She rolls her eyes.

Amara hadn't stopped talking about the Max interaction since you'd pointed at his gigantic poster. The more she spoke on it, wiggling her eyebrows, the more you blushed. She had gone over a thousand scenarios, all of which you ended up hooking up with him. You had to remind her that despite his popularity, he was a stranger to you. 

"I don't have his number, 'mara. I told you he just helped me find my way."

She flicks your forehead. "That's what Insta is for!" 

"No."

"But why!?" Amara whines in your ear loudly, like a child when you take their candy away.

"It's weird! He's cute and all," you sit up, pointing your finger up," but he doesn't know my name," you put another one up, "he'll think I'm creepy," you point a third one, "and that is if he sees the requested message."

"Uh, you're ruining my scenario-building process."

"That's what Tumblr is for. Leave my quiet, boring life out of this." You dramatically sigh.

"Isn't that how all fanfiction starts? Boring and quiet life turned upside down?" Amara tilts her head.

"I don't know, 'ave never read any." You shrug, lips pursing.

She huffs a laugh, and you hold in yours. "Liar."

There's a pause. You think over Amara's suggestion. Max Verstappen is cute. And it wouldn't hurt to try and get his number. You'd never see him again after this weekend. And the worst he could say is: "Security, please get her out of here!" 

What the fuck am I thinking? He's a literal superstar. Me bumping into him was a one-time thing. 

Ah, fuck it. It's not the end of the world.

"You know what?" Amara turns to look at you. "If I get the chance tomorrow, I'll talk to him. Try and get his number."

Her eyes almost pop out of their sockets. "What?"

"I mean, I'm never seeing again? Right? It could go either way. He doesn't call for security to escort me like I'm crazy fangirl, or he does, and we pray no cameras recorded the moment."

Amara shrugs, trying to appear nonchalant, but she can barely hold her wide smile. "Sounds like a plan to me."

"Not much of a plan. I'm just indulging in your delusions."

You share a laugh before you fall back in bed beside her. You shuffle closer to your best friend's side, eager to watch the TikTok edit she is staring intensely at.

"Oh, look, it's your future boyfriend!" 

"Shut up."

previous | next

[samkerrworshipper]

the lawn is dead. pt.2

hi! i wrote a part 2! i’m on a unofficial hiatus but had some inspiration the last few days and had to finish this. hope it provides a little bit more comfort then the last chapter .. sorry xo

warnings: suicidal themes, self harm themes, themes of depression, anxiety, dark thoughts. viewer discretion advised.

You can describe the carpet of this office better then most people can describe themselves.

It’s a rug, for the most part, except for the where it’s clear a person has chosen laziness in favour of lifting up the heavier furniture to place the rug down underneath it. Where the rug doesn’t cover, there is bleak grey carpet that feels more boring then the time you spend in this room.

Where the carpet lacks in literally everything, the rug makes up for it blindingly.

It’s a messy mixture of far too many colours, pinks, purples, blues, greens and neutrals. It doesn’t make any sense in your mind, why somebody would chose for the focal point of their room to be a rug that doesn’t match with any of the furniture. It’s another sign that the furniture came before the rug, all of the furniture is dark mahogany, beautiful pieces that look as if they’ve come from and English period piece, whereas the rug looks so modern it’s almost painful.

The rest of the furniture has been picked with similar taste.

The painting on the wall looks like what a child would vomit after going to a birthday party. Every time you’ve come here you’ve had a new analogy, but this week that is the one, it looks like stomach contents and you can’t get past it, to the point it’s made you physically nauseated.

From the painting moves onto the bookshelf, where there is a odd mix of medical textbooks, classics and selfawareness books, all stacked in such disarray that you have to keep your eyes away because it makes you uncomfortable.

Beyond the furniture is your psychologist, with her stupid fucking note pad, stupid glasses perched on the very tip of her nose and stupidly calm face that never really changed.

She was supposed to be a specialist, the best of the best, supposed to be the greatest and getting to the bottom of the most famous athletes problems and yet you found pride in alluding her.

One hour, every four days was what you were down to now, a couple of weeks ago it had been every other day and that had been fucking torture.

Sometimes all you wanted to do was rip her eyeballs out, or her brains, or something else. You swore she made your ears bleed and your will to live deteriorate with every second and it was already pretty low.

“You can’t avoid my question forever.”

It was also that annoying tone that sent you, the sort of tone that meant she knew that technically for the whole of the hour she could ask you whatever she pleased and you were technically supposed to answer her. Defiance on your end just ended up in you being suspended from something else that made your life just a tiny bit more liveable.

“No, I haven’t talked to Mapi yet.”

You’ve been avoiding it, there have bits and pieces of homework from your therapist, but this one is by far the hardest.

“How about Alexia, how does she feel about that.”

You don’t want to tell her that you and Alexia are in shambles as it is, add on the pressure of her best friend being psychologically destroyed because of you and just talking about any of it at all and it’s like dynamite.

“Supportive.”

Your therapist nods, but in the way that you know she doesn’t quite believe you.

“Have you started to reintegrate with the team? I know last time we talked you mentioned that before the incident you’d been feeling quite isolated because of your ankle injury. It’s important that you start to normalise your life again before you start to self isolate.”

You don’t call it self-isolation, you like to call it self protection. You protect yourself by pushing against the grain, by keeping to yourself. It’s a lot easier that way.

“I’ve been busy.”

It’s a lie and a blatant one, your days are filled with complete nothingness. You can’t play football, not until she clears you, and you know that it’s not going to happen anytime soon based on the trend of your current sessions. There has been the same amount of progress as there was two weeks ago when you started with her. You shut down at every attempt she makes to try and open you up, you talk when you have to. It’ll probably get you sent back to a ward. You don’t remember much from your transition from the hospital to home, but you do remember signing something that referred to you making significant process or else you would be sent back.

Progress for your therapist is getting more then two word responses from you. You’re aware she’s in kahoots with Alexia, that Alexia is probably providing her more information then you are.

“You’re giving me the look that means that you’re writing something down along the lines of ‘unncooperative’.”

She is also in kahoots with the staff at Barcelona, another thing you signed was that she would work in conjunction with the clubs doctors to get you back to where you were, or somewhere in the vicinity.

They know every time you have a bad session, you’re guaranteed a consolation call from one of the coaches or even sometimes a teammate check-in telling you how brave you are and how strong you are for doing this.

You don’t agree, you nearly took the cowards way out and you’re proud of it. You wish it had fucking worked, every single second, of every single day, you wish you’d succeeded, wished that this hadn’t all ended up how it did.

“That’s not what I wrote, I wrote a observation. Uncooperative would be you refusing to speak to me like you did for our first two sessions, even if you lie it’s still trying.”

You don’t want to be curious of her, you’ve tried to give her as little attention as possible.

You’ve adapted the act that you call, therapised you.

You do your best job of smiling here and there, or at least when you know that you’re supposed to. Therapised you extends to a few people, Alexia, coaches, physios, people on the street.

You believe you’ve become a seasoned liar.

The funniest part is that sometimes you start to believe your act, you start to believe that all the ash and embers in your chest is really alight with flames, like you’re truly alive.

But then, you would pause, sit down, lie down, dissasociate and you would be reminded that that wasn’t your body. Your body wasn’t a place of life and prosper, it was as dead as anywhere else.

“What was the observation?”

You try not to be curious over her, or curious in general, you keep everything to yourself.

“You’ve told me time and time again that you attempted because you believed that not a single person would care if you were gone. Yet you wrote a letter, you knew that somebody would care, somebody would miss you. Guilt is what kept you from doing it earlier and guilt was what kept you from vanishing without a trace. Your conscience was clean in your own words, but that’s not true, your conscience was anything but clean. So what pushed you over?”

You hate that therapists have a way of worming out weird bits of information that they can use against you to worm out more bits of information, like they know your brain inside to out.

“My conscience was clean.”

Your therapist pulls her glasses up from her nose and scribbles on her pad again.

“Why’d you write a note then, specifically why did you write a note to your ex girlfriend?”

There are so many things you could say to that, but you can’t quite find the words.

“Let me rephrase to make it easier. When you were in the hospital, and Alexia reacted so viscerally, you weren’t surprised. You expected her to feel something about what happened, you didn’t seem surprised at all by her words or actions. You knew that she was going to be hurt by what you did. So, how was your conscience truly clean?”

Thinking about Alexia in the hospital makes you feel as nauseous as the furniture does.

Your still mad at her, still mad at yourself for never changing her as your medical contact and medical proxy. It had all been a clusterfuck.

“I didn’t know Alexia was going to be there, I though that she’d washed her hands of me. I left her a note because I thought there had been things left unsaid between us and I didn’t want to leave that way.”

Your therapist nods, she doesn’t scribble this time and that makes the itchy feeling all over you die down a little bit.

“Alright, let’s move on. Your ankle injury, how’s that going?”

You look to the window, it’s a horrible day outside, just your luck when you’d chosen to walk to your therapists office on what was supposed to be a 20 degree day with sunny skies. It was the epitome of your life, high expectations, low realities.

“Well three weeks between a hospital and psychiatric facility are probably the best thing anybody can do for a injury.”

You let out a self-deprecating chuckle and your therapist does nothing but scribble.

“So you’ve been doing your rehab as advised then?”

Rehab, both kinds, is mind-bogglingly boring. You go to your therapist and she tells you all the ways you have to work to rehab your brain, she gives you medication after medication and exercise after exercise. The same happens every time you see your physio, test after test, exercise after exercise.

Your stuck in the same cycle of boredom, it makes you wonder how people ever expect you to get better when all you are doing is living in a constant state of suffering.

“The physios are happy with me, say that if I continue on the track that I am I should be back on the pitch in a few weeks, with psychological clearance.”

At the current therapeutic rate your going at, you don’t think you’ll see a psychological clearance until your 50th birthday, if you’re lucky.

“How does it feel coming back from that injury, especially considering how the decline in your physical health simulatenously resulted in the decrease in your mental health?”

You keep silent, because you know that if you talk then it’s doing to be something emotional. When you don’t know how to answer questions without exposing yourself you opt to keep quiet, it’s a obvious tell that you feel uncomfortable with the question. But giving away a tell is a whole lot better then starting an emotional downpour.

“Y/n?”

You look at your shoes. You only were allowed to start wearing one on your bad foot a week ago, and you’d forgotten how hard it was to coordinate shoes with your clothes. This morning you’d thought that they matched with your pants but now they look much darker then they truly are against the grey carpet. The mix of your navy adidas that you might have stolen from Mapi’s wardrobe a couple of months ago when she was complaining about the amount of shoes she’d been sent with your grey wide leg pants was a interesting choice but therapy wasn’t a fashion parade. The shoes don’t quite fit your feet, that’sc how you remembered they weren’t yours. When you’d taken them, it had been during some kind of team bonding night at Mapi and Ingrid’s apartment. Life had been so good, Alexia and you had been so good and for once you’d kind of felt like you were beginning to fit in.You’d never felt that way before that era of your life.

But like most things, it was now a far distant memory.

“The injury wasn’t what made me depressed.”

It’s a half truth, you suppose. Yes, the injury definitely contributed to the factors that trigger your depression, but it wasn’t a sole cause.

“I disagree.”

More scribbling on her note pad, in your opinion it must be some psychological form of torture. You’ll google it when you get home, check to make sure that this isn’t a form of manipulation to somehow convince you to say the things that she wants you to.

“If you disagree then tell me why you think that.”

It’s daring of you to say, there is nearly a 99.99 percent chance that whatever she says you are going to deny vehemently. Even if she hits it right on the nail.

“I think that you don’t give yourself enough grace for the challenges that you’ve gone through. You came to Barcelona because you were running from things, from your past. You’ve never stopped running, truly. Everytime somebody gets close enough to begin to try and worm their feet into your shoes to try and relive some of it with you, you shut them down and stop it. For most people, shoes are a means of getting to where they want, for you, you keep running because if you stop you feel like you’ll suffocate, like your feet will be wrapped up in barb wire and you’ll be stuck. For whatever reason, you don’t think anybody will ever be able to empathise with that. You think that if you ever let anybody in for long enough that they learn what you’ve been running from that they’ll try and stop you, that you’ll be faced with everything that you’ve ever struggled with. So, you keep running, and running, you’ve always been in a state of escape. With your relationship, you finally stopped running, you slowed to a jog. Then, you got injured. All of a sudden you felt like you were stuck and instead of letting yourself finally come to a stop and accepting help and complete love for once in your life, and being vulnerable. You chose to start running again, running from your friends, running from your team, running from every single good thing that you’d gotten in your life until you were so consumed with all the running that you just wanted it all to stop. But you didn’t know how to stop parts of your life without stopping other parts, so you chose to stop it all.”

You don’t know what to say for a few seconds. You’ve never had the feeling that you’ve been experiencing your whole life summed up, you don’t know how to feel about it.

You look at your psychologist, and somehow she looks back at you in a way that you somehow feel like she understands, you’ve never really felt that way about her.

It’s always felt like she’s judging you, like it’s her job to judge every single thing you say. Or at least that’s the way you’ve always seen it. It’s her job to make sure you don’t fall of the rails again, to make decisions about what you can and can’t do. It’s never been a possibility for you that maybe she’s here for a little bit more then just the business side of it all.

“Is that it? Did you come to a point where it felt like you had no other option but to just make it all stop?”

You bite your lip so hard you think it might just bleed, it’s a mission to try and stop the tears that have begun to cling to the back of your eyes at bay. You’ve never cried during a therapy session, and there is no reason why today should be different. The amount of people you’ve cried in front of is limited to a very, very short list of people and you don’t intend for your psychologist to be added.

“It would be okay if that was it. It’s okay to admit that for you at that time it felt like there was no other option but to make it all stop.”

You feel muzzled, like you can’t speak without admitting to something that you don’t want to.

“I thought it would make it all better.”

Your therapist puts down her notepad, and you feel a whole load of anxiety rush out of you.

“You thought it would make what better?”

You keep your tooth pinned to your lip, if it draws blood, it draws blood. The pain helps to take your focus off of the word vomit you can feel coming up.

“Everyone else’s lives.”

Your response is croaky, and when your therapist points to the glass of water you don’t shake your head like normal, you find yourself reaching for it and taking a few tentative sips.

“What about your life, what about making your own life better?”

You take a few more sips, because it stalls the conversation for long enough that you can think up an answer that doesn’t make it sound like you are completely insane.

“I was never really thinking about it like that.”

You look at her, eye to eye again, and there is this weird understanding between the two of you. You can feel it, whether or not it’s real, for the first time you feel like you aren’t crazy for thinking the way that you do. It’s a weird kind of safety that you’ve never had.

“For a minute, I want you to close your eyes and think about exactly what you want, whether it’s the future, it’s right now. Not football, not other people, nobody else. Just you.”

You humour her, and close your eyes.

For a few seconds, you can’t think of much. You’ve never been a future thinker, not beyond emergency plans and second options.

You think about death for a few seconds, a couple of weeks ago it was all you could think of. Permanent, irreversible disappearance. Even then though, it wasn’t what you were actually yearning for, not truly, it was just an easy solution to complex problems, problems that still haven’t been solved.

You think long and hard, and eventually you find a pleasantness.

You want to resolve things with Alexia, you know that for sure. It’s been impossible trying to navigate your relationship in your new reality. You want to get to a place where it’s less impossible. You want happiness with her, pure happiness. You also want some kind of return to football, you don’t know how. You’ve never really played football because it’s what you love, you’ve never loved your sport, it’s more been about having something that could take you places when inevitable wherever you had been was no longer an option because you’d somehow fucked it up.

You want a better relationship with yourself, you want to understand why you think the way you do and why you can’t think the same way and be the same way as everyone. You want to get past the fear you have that you will never be the same.

When you have nothing else to think about, you open your eyes, to your psychologist smiling at you.

“That’s our hour, I’m really happy to leave this here and circle back to some of it in a couple of days. The progress you’re making is definitely getting bigger and I’m happy to sign off on you getting some hours in the gym if your physios are happy with it. I’ll call the team tonight and we can work out a plan that works best.”

You’re in slight disbelief as she speaks.

“You’re sure?”

You stay seated for the sake of making sure that you haven’t somehow dreamt up what she’s just said.

“If you try and make some progress with your homework. I want you to try and talk to Mapi, a text message, coffee, something. I want you to talk to Alexia beyond her being a caregiver for you and I want you to make progress with your teammates, don’t avoid the gym if you know they are going to be there, don’t avoid team events, dip a toe in the water with them and I can guarantee you will have a very different outcome then what you think.”

Contingencies. One thing you’ve learnt about therapy is that there are always contingencies, it’s always a give and take, never one or the other.

You nod your head anyways, somehow, with her weird manipulation games you’ve managed to agree to something that the version of you from and hour ago never would have.

“I’ll try.”

Your therapist smiles and stands up, for whatever reason there is always a part of you that loves the end of your sessions but also never wants to leave.

Whether it seems like it or not, you actually do want to get better, you just don’t know what better looks like for you and that’s scary. You’ve never met the version of yourself that is ‘better’ or ‘normal’. You can’t say that you want to be your old self because there hasn’t ever been a version of yourself that feels better. You’ve always been in the slums, always been dragging yourself through the thickest mud to try and make it to the end of a day or month or year. You don’t actually want to survive like that, you want to live your life properly, or whatever non-sluggish life looks like for you.

Your still desperately trying to work that out.

Alexia is waiting in the carpark as usual, it’s always the same carpark, always the same consolation hot chocolate in her hands afterwards.

Once you’ve sat down in her passenger seat, put on your seatbelt and the takeaway cup is settled in your hands she broaches the topic of your session.

“How was it?”

There is always an awkwardness around your sessions, Alexia picks your up from every one, on the odd occasion she’ll join in if your therapist thinks it would be good. Otherwise, she spends the time sitting in her car and picking up hot drinks.

It’s infinitely awkward between the two of you, but Alexia in your opinion is mostly to blame for that.

She’d been the first person to put her hand up to be your carer, your glorified babysitter.

You know it’s a guilt thing, she feels guilty that part of your pain could have been because of her, even though you’ve insisted time and time again that it wasn’t.

“Fine.”

Therapy is a tough topic for you, mostly because you’ve never wanted to be there in the first place. You’d been tricked into going from the beginning, Alexia insisting that she was taking you to a appointment to check up on your scars when really it had been to your psychologists office. You’d yelled and screamed and insisted that she take you home, but at the end of the day if you ever wanted to play football again it was obvious you were going to have to suck it up.

You hadn’t talked to Alexia for days after that, which is funny because that was less then three weeks ago and now you’re here.

“Fine?”

You nod your head, it’s hard to find words after a normal session, but after this one it’s ever harder.

“I made some progress.”

Alexia nods, you know there are probably a hundred questions going through her head right now, but she won’t ask them. She’s too scared that if she asks them, she’ll get an answer that will terrify her. One that will restart all of the problems, even if that isn’t really how it works. Alexia doesn’t understand mental health, that’s become frighteningly obvious over the past few weeks. She doesn’t understand your struggles because she’s never experienced them. She’s never had self hatred or depression or overwhelming anxiety. It’s what makes you feel so alienated and so out of place amongst your peers. You feel like a shark amongst a sea of dolphins, like you look the same but when it comes down to it you are completely different.

“That’s good, no?”

You nod your head, disguising the grimace on your face by the mouth of the lid on your hot chocolate.

“She says I can start doing some hours in the gym.”

Alexia smiles, big and wide, like it’s her whose been given the good news.

“That’s good bebita, you’ll be on the pitch in no time.”

The pitch. It’s all Alexia cares about.

When you can be back, how she can get you to the point you can be back. Because when Alexia is injured, it’s all she cares about. What she can do to get herself back on the pitch, how she can make the rehab process faster, she thinks of every single logistic and possibility.

You want to make it back to the pitch, or you think you do. But it’s not your priority. It’s become abundantly clear that your main priority has to be yourself, figuring yourself out.

“Mhm.”

You focus your energy on counting how many bike riders pass Alexia’s car as she navigates through peak city traffic. You get to 38 before she interrupts your intense search for every person on two wheels.

“Vicky’s supposed to be coming over later, I promised I’d help her with a school project. I can go to her house instead if you’d prefer?”

Every time Alexia’s broached the topic of teammates you’ve immediately refused any contact, and your immediate reaction is to say no. but you think about what your therapist said.

“I might text Mapi and see if she wants to talk to me.”

You hear the sound of Alexia’s shock in the form of a choken sort of cough, she tries to cover it up by slapping her hand against the wheel of her car, but it doesn’t do much.

“I think that would be a really good idea, bebita, I think she would be really happy to see you.”

You don’t look at Alexia, you don’t want to see the look of perplexion or shock or whatever emotion she’s going through. You haven’t seen Mapi since the hospital, and as little as you remember from then, you remember Mapi very clearly.

She had been just as out of it as you’d been, refusing to leave your bedside but Ingrid having to do everything for her to keep her alive. Every time she visited you, she looked like she’d seen a ghost, or something worse. You weren’t sure what was worse, seeing somebody dead or seeing somebody who was hanging on the cliff of life and death and having to save their life, knowing that if action hadn’t of been taken they would be dead.

Definitely the latter.

“I’ll text her, see if she can come and pick you up before Vicky comes over?”

You nod your head, allowing yourself to focus back on counting your tally, except moving over to motorcycles this time.

You shower with the bathroom door halfway open. There are no sharps anywhere in your apartment, knives, razors, scissors, nail clippers, vegetable peelers, glasses, anything that could cause any kind of bodily harm. For now, you aren’t allowed to be left alone for longer then an hour. You sleep with your bedroom door open and Alexia sleeping in the guest room next door. You eat a set meal plan, you do two hours of rehab every single day, you live on a schedule that is so carefully planned that you have no time to yourself and yet every single moment feels lonely.

It’s a process, you’ve been told. It’s crucial to your recovery that there are measurements in place to assure your ‘success’.

Alexia knocks on your door every five minutes whilst you shower, you yell back every time.

It had become a rule after the first time you’d showered with the door open you’d made a joke about using the shower curtain to harm yourself, because what did they really expect you to be doing?

It hadn’t gone well, Alexia going silent for a few days and a very heated conversation with your psychologist about the inappropriateness of making jokes about suicide.

It was your trauma, it was your fucking story, and everyone was acting like it was their most sensitive issue.

Bathrooms are a bit of a touchy subject, you don’t shower in your ensuite bathroom anymore, you can’t. The room has permanently been blocked off, completely forgotten about.

The first thing you want to do once you’ve ‘recovered’ is leave this apartment, there are to many bad memories, it feels like you’ll never be able to recover if your stuck in the same place that you were in when it all went bad.

It’s a problem for when you can deal with the stress of packing up your whole life and moving it to somewhere.

When you shut the water off and step out of the warm stream you let yourself breathe, showers are the only real alone time you get. Everywhere else you are supervised, watched like a hawk to make sure that you don’t try anything else that could jeopardise your return to football. The reality is that Barca can’t afford to have you sit on the sideline for a whole season, they need you back, they can’t risk another slip up.

Alexia at least gives you the privacy of getting dressed in your own wardrobe, all of your wired bras have been removed, but for the most part it’s all normal.

You get dressed in another sweat suit, it’s become your new uniform over the last few weeks, no draw strings of course.

Your hair gets swept into a messy bun, it’s too much effort to deal with the brushing and braiding and tying that you would have normally gone through with a couple of weeks ago. You aren’t allowed to wear jewellery anymore so your accessories consist of pretty much nothing. You’re bare from the bones to your clothes, your soul feels as bare as the rest of your body.

You’re allowed to wear laced shoes, but you often opt not to, slip on birkenstocks or uggs are just easier. The Barcelona January chill has been getting to you recently, so you upt for your ugg boots.

Your outfit choice is the most choice you get in your day, so you try and put as little thinking into it as possible, it’s easier for you to just succumb to the reality that everything in your life is controlled by other people.

By the time you’ve finished, you’re towing very close to the time Mapi had told Alexia she’d come and meet you. You collect the things that you might need from your vanity and shove them in your pocket, before making your way out to your living room.

It’s unofficially become Alexia’s office, her laptop and books cover your dining table now. She lives out of your apartment, leaves only for training and barcelona commitments, so it’s fair to say that she’s made herself at home.

When you were living together before, it had bothered you more, having her things everywhere. Alexia is a organiser, of everything and everybody but herself. You’d spend hours telling her to pick up her shoes from random spots around the apartment floor or getting her to pick up random clothing items laying on top of pieces of furniture. This mess is different, it reflects how the situation is different. There is nothing comfortable about your predicament, it’s not the same kind of comfortable coexistence you had when you were dating Alexia.

There is a boundary between the two of you now and it makes it all so much more confusing.

Alexia isn’t just your friend or your teammate, she’s you caregiver, the person who holds you accountable, unofficially the person who is supposed to keep you from doing anything to yourself. It adds a whole layer of stress to the situation, you can’t relax around her the same way you used to.

Your relationship is never going to be the same, but parts of you wished that Alexia hadn’t taken over the burden of caring for you, because maybe the two of you could work on rebuilding yourselves as a couple instead of Alexia trying to rebuild you as a person, as if you are a broken lego set that needed to be put back together.

She spends most of her time in your living room, doesn’t push the boundary of your bedroom unless it’s needed.

She’s sat at the kitchen table, preparing herself to help with whatever project it is that Vicky needs help with.

“Shouldn’t Vicky have maybe asked one of the younger girls? You’re practically ancient now, they probably teach the kids these days history from when you were growing up.”

Whatever Alexia looks like she’s going to be helping with looks like something she’s definitely not qualified in, although Alexia’s never the person to say no.

“You’re acting like I’m a dinosaur, I’m only four years older then you.”

She rolls her eyes at you and it feels so normal, for a second you feel so much more normal. Life would be so much easier if everybody stopped treating you like a fine fucking piece of china. An eye roll here or there, a yell here or there, some kind of emotion beyond sympathy would be nice.

“I mean, in comparison to Vicky you’re pretty much from the stone ages.”

Alexia rolls her eyes again, she looks like she’s about to fight back against you but a knock at the door silences you both.

All of a sudden the little smile is gone and the air goes thick again, thick with the reminder that you can’t just exist in a bubble of nothingness were nobody else exists and you can just be free from everything.

Alexia gets up to open the door, and you let her, allowing yourself to loiter around the table and enjoy the moment for just a little bit longer. It’s that moment that might just get you through what is about to happen.

Alexia calls for you and you know it’s Mapi, you know it’s Mapi because Mapi won’t step foot in your apartment.

Ingrid had come to visit when you’d come home, along with a handful of other people, but Mapi hadn’t been one of them. Ingrid had explained that it had been to hard for her, that she’d made it to the door but couldn’t come in, and you couldn’t find it in you to blame her.

Mapi smiles at you when she sees you, it’s the first time you’ve seen her since the hospital and the both of you look very different since then.

She looks less dead, that’s the first thing you take notice of. She doesn’t look like she would blow away into a puff of smoke if a gust of wind came past. She looks good, she looks healed.

Mapi and you don’t talk, for whatever reason, you take the normal walk you would every sunday morning before it happened.

Down from your apartment, onto the main street, up to the mouth of the road, across the street and then onto the boardwalk.

It’s the main reason you chose your apartment, it’s right next to the beach. Perfect for post matchday swims and a morning walk on the beach. It used to be yours and Mapi’s pregame routine and it’s easy to fall into the rhythm of your feet moving down the sidewalk.

No words are spoken until the two of you are seated on the sand, a wordless agreement that you both come to when your toes hit the beach.

You’re both seated, your eyes looking over the horizon. Your too scared to break the silence, so you wait for Mapi.

“You look good, chica.”

You nod your head, you feel better, you must look better then how you did.

“I feel better.”

Mapi nods, when her hand reaches out to sit on top of your own on the sand, you don’t flinch away, it feels good to have a physical connection with a person who isn’t Alexia.

The silence falls over the two of you again, except this time it feels less uncomfortable. You let it linger for a little bit, before you feel in a place to speak.

“I need to say thank you. I know I said some things in the hospital, I meant it in the moment but I want to take it back now. You saved me, you did something so brave and amazing and the version of me now is so grateful that you did.”

Mapi stops your rant, before you can say something else.

“I would have done it for anybody else.”

The problem is you think, that you aren’t anybody else. It would be so much easier to give cpr to a random person on the street and never see them again, never have to be worried that you would see them again and there would be some kind of problem.

“But you did it for me. You saved me from myself, and I want you to know that I genuinely am so thankful for you. You didn’t choose the easy option and I put you in a extremely hard position. If anything had of happened to me, you would have blamed yourself and it wouldn’t have been your fault but you would have felt like it was.”

Mapi nods, and then you hear a sniffle and it makes you feel horrible.

Mapi’s crying, she’s crying and you don’t know what to do.

“You begged me to reverse it, in the hospital, you didn’t say some things. You begged me to stab you or do something. You told me it was my fault you were alive and that it was my responsibility to undo what I’d done.”

You take a deep breath, you didn’t remember it being that bad, but you remember Alexia telling you that some of the things you’d said had been unrepeatable.

“I can’t reverse what I said, in that moment I was in so much pain Maps. I actually can’t tell you how much pain i was in, all I wanted was to disappear. I’m working through not feeling that way and that starts by apologising. You did not deserve to experience what you did. You did not deserve to see what you did. You did not deserve to hear what I said to you. I am sorry. There is nothing I can say that will make any of it okay, I am sorry that for whatever reason god chose you to be the person burdened with this. I am so sorry.”

Mapi sniffles again. You knew that the possibility of no reconciliation was possible, that Mapi would reject any offer of apologies you had, you’d just really hoped it wouldn’t be like that.

“You’ve been like a little sister to me. I know you didn’t feel like we were that close, but I saw so much of me in you from when I was younger, and that was part of the reason I ended up at your apartment that night. Because I was worried, more then anybody else. I had this weird feeling, and I hated that I was right about it. You were like my little sister, and I watched as they strapped you onto a gurney and wheeled you off whilst telling me that they would try their hardest. I don’t blame you, there is no blame for something like this. But I need you to understand that I can’t just get over what I www, I’m working through it, I’m trying. My therapist has really been helping me, but it’s not going to disappear.”

You nod, Mapi and you have been through two mirroring experiences, and oddly you feel the same way about your own therapy. You’re working through it, you’re trying, but nothing that has happened is ever going to disappear, with yourself or with your peers.

“Maps, you’re allowed to experience however you want. If you never want to see me again I won’t hate you.”

Mapi shakes her head.

“I don’t know how I feel yet, I just need you to know that I understand that the you right now is different to the you from weeks ago, and you are entitled to separate yourself from that person. You don’t have to be that person if you don’t want to be. Let yourself live in the new version of you, the old version died back then.”

You bite your lip, there is beginning to become a permanent divet from your front teeth, you like it in a weird way.

“I’m trying, I’m really trying.”

Mapi nods, raising her arm from your hand, to your shoulders, bringing you into her side.

“We’ll try together then, huh? You try for me and I’ll try for you?”

You nod your head, and for the first time it doesn’t feel like you’re totally alone in the battle that you’re fighting. It’s still very much your battle, but it feels like you have somebody in your corner letting you know that you are going to be okay.

—————————————

well aware it’s not edited… if u have an issue with that such my dick xoxo

hope you enjoyed !!!! 🫶🫶🫶🫶

[nepentheansea]

Pacify Her

© nepentheansea all works are my own and contain mature content!

𝒎𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ・𝑯𝒂𝒓𝒓𝒚 𝑷𝒐𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝑼𝒏𝒊𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒆

premise: The devil was real, and you were prepared to do anything for him.

pairing: Professor Tom Riddle x Fem!Reader

warnings: dark elements, toxic obsessions, possession (but not the scary supernatural kind) smut (p in v-fingering-etc) tom riddle (his own warning) there is probably a lot more...

wc: 4.2k

a/n: this is beautiful and I don't care if you don't agree. shoutout to @demiguisemoon for keeping me company throughout this ride.

enjoy the playlist that I made for this story!

He never truly knew what you were capable of, or more so what his influence would do to you, and that was the problem. He had completely underestimated you, and that would be not only your downfall, but his as well. Pretty and pliant, that's what you were to him, the perfect match, not only intellectually, but emotionally as well. You suited him. From the moment you stumbled into his compartment on the train, down to the moment that you sat down in front of him, not a word muttered, but yet a conversation was had. You understood him, and quite frankly, he understood you, or so he believed.

No one understood him the way you did, the way that you clung to his every word like gospel. Feeding into his absurdities, but never once looking at him as if he was wrong. You supported him. Truth was you were obsessed. Incomplete and broken without him, much like a wounded bird, someone he could fix, take care of, mould into something he wanted, and you lived for it. Lived for the moments that he taught you, helped you, controlled you. The moments where he needed you and only you. At his beck and call in the late hours of the night, or for the favours that could ultimately get you expelled, for anything he wanted, and you’d do it, obediently. You were his. You belonged to him from the first moment, and though neither of you knew it, he belonged to you. 

“Is this seat taken?” You asked, slipping into the compartment faster than he could respond, but he didn’t. He pulled his nose from the daily prophet to study you. He had never seen you before, which was odd considering you were in his house, the green and silver snake adoring your breast, a Slytherin, and a pretty one at that, an old soul and kindred spirit…of sorts. There was something in the way you looked at him, that dutiful look in your piercing eyes, a look as if you could see into the deepest darkest depths of his soul, something he was certain he had well hidden, and yet what you saw didn’t alarm you. Somehow it didn’t scare him, it intrigued him, you intrigued him. He watched as you slid the door closed behind your back, before sliding into the seat across from him, hands trapped behind your back, and your head cocked to the side as you studied him. The slightest of smiles on your face. He should have known then, known what you would become to him, but he could never have suspected you to be as such.

Frail and malleable, obsessed and devoted, and you were his. His star, his pet, his property. You grew to need him, unable to do without the moments you shared with him. You found yourself lingering in the back of his classes, hoping that he would catch a fleeting glimpse of you, needing you for something, anything, to utilise you, need you. For the moments that he’d call for you in the late hours of the night, for the small favours that could leave you expelled or worse, with the promise that nothing bad was going to happen to you, he wouldn’t let it. The hours that you spent with him, soon turned to days, weeks, stealing away any moment that you could, eager to please, to be close. Somewhere in the dim candle light of his office, stolen glances, gentle touches, words exchanged. Finding yourself desperate for the after hours of study in the library, the ones where you could find him making his way from the restricted section, his pretty nose stuck within the pages of his books. Knowing you were there, dutifully watching him, waiting for the right opportunity to seek him out or for him to call for you. 

Your life had become dull. Classes lacked challenge, you found little to no enjoyment in day to day activities, your friends became distant memories, dramatic, but even your mundane routines lost flavour. All you had was him, and the little periods of time you spent by his side. At his beck and call, seduced by the ways he consumed you. Your mind, your body, and most definitely your tainted soul. He knew it too, knew that he could use you for anything his heart desired, that you would do nothing but obey him, follow blindly if he requested it of you, no questions to be asked. A perfect pawn, follower. The more eager you became, with the incessant need to do more, be more for him, he took to it. Giving you more and more to do. It had soon become a list of tasks, simple favours as he would call it. Hide this, seek out this, do this…And you did, you did all of it. 

Your blood rushed as you closed the office door behind you, back pressed against the firm wood, hands clasped behind you, as your eyes scanned the dimly lit room until you found him. In the centre of the room, sat plainly in his chair, eyes roaming your eager figure. He looked as though he sat on a throne, one of his own creation, his arms extended out on the sides of the chair, comfortable and yet cold, observant. “Did you get it?” was all he said, leaning forward over his desk, the faintest traces of a smile on his face when the stifled giggle of yours fleas from your lips. You held it up, in the palms of your small hands presenting it to him, the book he had sent you to find. Restricted, forbidden even, and you had managed it, with his help of course. “Of course.” you whispered. He beckend you over with the bend of two slender fingers, and you moved on your own volition, approaching him with such eagerness. He took the book from your palms, his fingers ghosting over your soft skin, and you wonder if it was on purpose. “Good girl.” There it was, the praise you strove for, the praise that came from him and him only. The slightest flick of his wand had the door clicking locked, as his eyes came to study you once more. There was a fascination in his gaze, the way his eyes softened to you, desperately trying to hide the hunger that he felt towards you. You had something that he had never quite found in anyone else, something that made him crave you more than he had for anyone else…and there it was, the thought that you were his and only his. 

His eyes left you, meeting the pages of the book you had stolen for him, consuming every word on the stale worn parchment. While he was entranced, devouring the text, you were devouring the sight of him, leaning over the desk, eyes droning over the pages. He was stunning this way. The crease in his brow, eager to learn, and you were right there with him, desperate to know just what held him so captivated, leaning over his desk in hopes of catching the slightest bit of the contraband he had tasked you with stealing, no concern for what could have happened to you if you had been caught. But you knew that somehow, if that had been the case, he would have protected you, always, he would be there. His eyes darted up from the page, a lustful hunger to them, but for you or for the knowledge he had been enthralled with, you weren’t sure. “Look.” he instructs, slumping back in his chair, gesturing to the page, the hints of a smile on his lips. Clasping your hands behind your back, you leaned over the mahogany desk, feeling the hem of your uniform riding up in the back, exposing yourself to him as you did your best to read what was before you, eyes focussing on the text of ancient runes. It wasn’t of much use, you simply couldn’t read it. “I can’t read it, sir.” you mutter, chancing a look back at him. His eyes were shamelessly crawling up the length of your bare legs, and to the swell of your ass. He had looked at you like this before, that strained look in his eyes, like he was in deep thought but those thoughts were ones that he would never quite say aloud, the smallest of smirks on his lips, as he dragged his tongue along them. “I see..” he remarks, slowly pulling his gaze away from your ass, to meet your much more innocent gaze. It was one of his favourite things to do. To teach you, to watch you learn from him. It gave him the sweetest sense of power and meaning. “And what would you have me do about that, darling?” He leaned forward, his eyes cold and narrowed, but that flick of amusement dancing across them.

“Read it to me?” It was a simple request, your voice strong and confident. You wanted to know, wanted him to show you, and he seemed to like the idea. Tom hummed, a sweet sound of satisfaction, as his slender fingers wrapped around your dainty wrist, pulling you down onto his lap, a gesture he had never quite done before. He was confident in his motions, calculated and collected. He knew what he wanted, and that was you. His hands remained on your hips, fingers drumming on your thighs. “Read it to you, hmm?” He hums, delicately brushing a strand of your hair away from your neck, the tips of his fingers ghosting over your throat. Goosebumps lining your skin, while his other hand trailed slowly up your bare thigh. Gentle touches that were purposeful, and well measured. Even in this, he was in control. In control of himself, and of the situation. “How will you ever learn if I just read it to you?” “Teach me then..” you blurt, your voice had never been so soft, so demanding and yet desperate. “Sir..” you add, looking back at him. His thumb had started to draw soft slow patterns on your inner thigh, dangerously close to your cunt. “Teach you….” You could see that he was mulling it over…”teach you…” he cooed in approval, a sinister grin consuming his face. “Very well, darling, teach you, I shall.” He gave a hearty squeeze to your thigh, your breath hitching and your body tensing for a brief moment in his lap, shifting your attention back to his face. Pretending as if he couldn’t see the way your eyes studied him, the way they seemed to have heart shaped iris that were only for him.  

His own gaze was casted past you, eyes scoured the pages before him, looking for something suitable to turn into a lesson. His hands still wandering aimlessly on your skin. “Here…let's start simple…” He leaned back enough, turning to look at you, his breath fanning across your lips from being so close. His eyes trailing up your features until his eyes met yours. “This rune here…” he starts, grasping your jaw with his index and thumb, turning your face, back to the book. “This rune…’othilia’ corresponds to the Latin letter…?” “o.” you state, looking to him for approval, his approval. A soft smile was all he gave you. “And what do you think it means…” His hand, resting under your skirt, had found its way to the crease of your hips and thighs, squeezing at the supple flesh, while his thumb thrummed against your clothed cunt. You found it hard to concentrate, to really look at the shapes on the page, but you had to. “Um…power, wealth?” you tried, letting out a breathy sigh, when his thumb found its way into the damp fabric of your panties, rolling soft circles into your swollen clit. You felt his lips against your ear, your head lulled back against his shoulder. “It means, heritage, possession..” he punctuated the last word with a flick of his thumb, a gesture that had a sweet moan falling from you. With precision he gently rolled his finger over your bud, nipping at your ear with each sweet sound you let out. “Focus….” he coos, drawing your half lidded eyes back to the book. “This one, ‘mannaz’,  tell me its correspondent…” Your mind was muddled. He had pulled the wet fabric away from your cunt, traipsing his slender fingers through your folds, collecting your sweet arousal, teasing your entrance as he waited for your response. “Go on…what is it.?” You hummed softly, searching your mind for what it could possibly be. “Um..it’s ‘m’ the latin ‘m’..” you whimpered, feeling the intrusion of a single digit slipping into your sopping heat. He was rewarding you, with each correct response you gave him. “And what does it mean?” 

You weren’t sure how much of this he really thought you could handle, not with the way that his finger was slowly thrusting in and out of you, his thumb languidly massaging your tender clit. He was watching you, his own gaze lidded, dark. Hungry. He was enjoying this, enjoying the way that he had you, pulling answers from you with simple touches. “Don't make me stop, what does it mean?” he teases, and yet somewhere in the pit of your stomach, you knew that he would. That he would leave you high and dry at a moment's notice. Your eyes had fallen closed, summoning all of your strength to answer him, as he slipped another finger into you, curling them against your sweet spot, just to feel your breath hitch and your body shutter in his grasp. You could feel the way that his cock had hardened beneath you, kept from you by the confines of his trousers, and it did little to help you focus any, it was cruel. “It means…ma-man?” you gasped out, his pace increasing. His lips met the side of your neck, tenderly kissing every bit of exposed skin that he was presented with, careful not to leave a single mark on that delicate skin of yours. “Very good..” he coos, his hot breath felt on your neck and ear. His fingers toyed relentlessly with your aching cunt, his thumb circling your clit gently, and his lips littering chaste kisses to your exposed skin. He had quickly given up on the lesson at hand, now far too consumed in the way that you were writhing happily in his grasp, soft sweet sounds escaping past your lips. Your back arched into him, your head resting on his shoulder as you lost all coherency. Lewd sounds left you like a sinful prayer, trickling past your lips with no real power to stop them. 

You whined, feeling the emptiness in your cunt as he pulled his fingers from you, only to have them brought up to your chapped lips, as he slid not one but both fingers into your mouth, pressing down on the pad of your tongue. A silent order, to taste yourself, to clean up the mess that you had made, and you did without hesitation, closing your lips around them, letting your tongue lap up any and all of the arousal that coated his fingers. He cooed, sweet and simple praises, between delicate chaste kisses to your neck. His free hand wanders the expanse of your neck, down to the top of your blouse, deftly popping the buttons one by one. His touch was featherlight, a mere ghost over your skin, and such a thing allowed for goosebumps to litter your skin. His thumb circles your nipple through your thin bra, smiling against your neck as it perks at his touch. He loved the possession he had over your body, the way you would let him do whatever to it as if it was his own, and you would argue that it was. That it belonged to him, that you belonged to him. 

You weren’t sure when it changed, the suddenness of it all, but you found yourself being gently laid down against the hard polished wood of his desk, your back draping over the materials he had been studying, and your skirt pushed up your waist. His body hovered over yours, his hands gliding up under the blouse that he had worked open, greedily exploring the exposed skin, his head ducked and lips ghosting over the spot his hands had touched mere seconds ago. Your eyes had fallen shut somewhere along the way, relying on your other senses completely. Gentle kisses, soft bites, and languid movements of his tongue as he dragged it up your sternum and neck, taking in the sweet smell and taste of your delicate skin. You arched into his touches, soft sweet sounds escaping you at every one. Each of your senses flooded with nothing but him. His lips were pending over yours, a silent acknowledgement, that everything would be on his terms, and you were okay with it. 

He didn’t bother to kiss you, and you didn’t request it of him either. 

Tom made quick work of removing his trousers, before his hands slid up your thighs, fingers ghosting over your cunt, teasing you just enough to keep you present in the moment. He hooked his fingers over your panties and pulled them aside, the cool air hitting your bare cunt, a soft hiss escaping your lips.  With his free hand, Tom wrapped his slender fingers around your chin, using his index and thumb to pull your face up to his. His eyes were cold, animalistic desire dwelling past the dark shade of brown. He tilted your head down so that you could watch the way his swelling cock slid into your tight cunt, forcing you to understand that he owned you, now in body as well.

Your mouth hung open in a silent gasp, the unrelenting feeling of him stretching you out was nothing shy of pain, but a sweet sweet pleasure. He watched your face, mocking the way you fell silent, with a sly smirk to his perfect lips. He forced you to watch every sinful inch of him disappear deep into your greedy cunt, time and time again. He wanted you to understand, to grasp the claim he had on you. You were being rewarded for your diligence, for your obedience, and he wanted you to know that you were his, only his. No one else could touch you like this, that's what he was saying to you. 

Tom let go of your face, as he gripped your hips, jerking you towards the edge of the table. Your hands fall back to support you, arching your back slightly as you watch him with lidded eyes. As he moved, his pace picking up with each passing moment, you began to lose yourself to the delicious drag of his heavy cock, your sinful mantra of moans and whimpers filling the dark empty spaces of his office. His fingers gripping onto the soft pliable flesh of your thigh and hip was bruising, another simple yet effective reminder of who you belonged to. 

He watched each little tick of your face, each pleasure filled twitch of your lips as you fought off a smile at the feeling of him, taking in each little puff of air that left your parted lips, each pant and moan of satisfaction. He coaxed nothing but the best out of you, building your release at his own desire, his own pace. Your head fell back, your eyes falling closed as you did. You were consumed by the feeling of him and your body was reacting to it in the only way it knew how. 

You felt his hand leave your thigh first, before feeling it wrap around your throat, his long slender fingers wrapping around the curve of your jaw, as he willed you to look at him once more. 

“You keep those pretty little eyes of yours…on me,” he whispered forcefully. There was no room for mistake, you would watch him as he possessed every part of you. He controlled it all, and you’d let him, you’d let him do it forever. 

That's when it all changed. 

He had been sweet seduction, and the thought alone drew you closer….until she came along. Professor. Hawkethorn had never been his match, not the way you were. She didn’t understand him, she didn’t see him for what he truly was. She had fallen trap to his charm, and that was only the surface. You watched it happen, your late night sessions with him faded, he seemingly didn’t need you as much, and he gave not even the slightest inkling why. He said nothing, entertained nothing, did, nothing. His time seemed occupied, but not by you, by her. Selvine Hawkethrone, the new history of magic professor. 

Fine, checkmate. He didn’t want to see you? then you would make him. See you at your fullest, see that you were always there, that you had never left, and more importantly, that you were still very much his to possess. 

He needed to see you, not her. He had no business with her, she wouldn’t do the things that you did for him, you were certain of that. She was only a disruption, a threat to what you guys shared, and she had to go. You wanted to show him your devout loyalty, the extremes that you were willing to go to keep him, to protect him, to *serve* him, and so you would. 

You sat in *his* chair, his office dark and cold, nothing that you minded, as you waited…waited to hear the sound of polished heels clack on in the smooth stone outside the door. You pulse steady as the door opens, a small sliver of light filling the room. 

“Tom?” her soft voice echoed off the shelves of books, as she warily stepped inside. Once the door was shut, you waved your wand lazily, the candles that surrounded his office springing to life with a dull crackle. Her eyes met yours immediately, and they widened almost as if they had seen something they shouldn’t have. She looked fearful. You had a crazed look in your eyes, as you looked over her in silence. She was pathetic, dressed in her best clothes as if she was expecting to meet Professor Riddle, and that's exactly what you had told her, in your little letter. Told her to meet you here, that you desired to see her, all pretending to be your dear dear professor, and she fell for it. Pathetic. 

“You don’t deserve him….” you said, your tone hollow, as you watched her flinch slightly. “Did you really think that he would want you? Send for you? Come on Selvine…you have more sense than that…” you continued, pulling yourself to stand up, walking around the desk, your fingers taunting the flame of the candle. “Professor…you were never going to be his match, his equal…he is destined for great things and you were never going to be the one to help him fulfil that…your just….” You gestured to her with the tip of your wand as if to say something cruel, your face contorted in disgust. “Weak, you're just plain….ordinary…” you said, a mock tone of pity, your face in a frown. 

Selvine said nothing, but reached for her wand slowly, not sure what to expect from you, but you saw it…”ah ah ah, don’t do that..” you warned. You were now pointing your wand directly at her, your grip firm and unwavering. You take a deep breath, tired of this moment…Selvine opened her mouth to say something but you were quick to silence her, ”Save it professor, you shouldn’t touch things that aren’t yours.” 

You flicked your wrist and a green jet of light bursted out of the tip of your wand without remorse. You watched with glassy, transfixed eyes as her lifeless body crumbled to the floor with a thump. The simple unforgivable curse stealing what small pathetic life she had out of her. She was gone. Dead. you lowered your wand to your side, and stood there, slightly shocked by what you had done. 

Tom had slipped out from a dark corner of his office, one where he had stood, watching the entire thing transpire before his eyes. His cold gaze watching you as he approached. Your eyes snapped up to meet him, startled, and unaware that he had been watching the entire time..but that meant that he had seen it, seen the lengths you would go to just for him. You had used the unforgivable curse, for him, something that you had never done before.  

You felt yourself soften, at his appearance, as he stepped over the lifeless body like it was nothing but scum beneath his foot as he approached you. Gripping your chin like a child as he pulled you to meet his gaze. He almost looked pleased, a small sense of approval in his tepid gaze.  

“You can't tell anyone, Professor, I did this for you...she was a threat, and I took care of it, I killed her for you...for us.” you pleaded softly, scared that you had upset him. 

The darkness he lurked in had always been seductive, and when he held out his hand to guide you, how could you say no. You followed, eyes never leaving his, entranced by the beauty of it all, the beauty of the power and knowledge that he possessed. And he was going to share it all with you. It was then that you knew, the devil was real, and you were prepared to do anything for him. “I won’t tell anyone, it's our little secret.”

[angelfrombeneth]

MESSY - M . RIDDLE

Mature and Possibly Triggering Content Ahead

Mattheo Riddle x F!Reader

Summary: You and your bestfriend of 13 years have a bit of a spat, that turns into her being a shit friend. So you also return the favour.

Warnings: SMUT, Implied Cheating, Slight mention of violence, Your bestfriend is a shitty friend, You do something shitty, Dom!Mattheo, Sub!Reader, Not been proofread - expect slightly grammar errors.

A/N: Thought I'd switch it up with Theo and do a Mattheo short. This is just a random draft. It's not one of my best works but I wanted to put something out cuz it had been a while. I've been super busy w my studies so I haven't had time to finish my other fics or any asks. So please accept this for now 🫶

"Hey Erica!" You smiled as you skipped up to your friend. Erica had been your best friend for 13 years. Your mother's were best friends before your mum passed, you grew up together and stuck by eachother no matter what. Even when you both got sorted into two different houses; she got Slytherin and you got Hufflepuff. Despite all odds, you both at in 6th year still going strong.

Erica turned to look at you, her eyebrow quirked. "What?"

You stood before her, confused with her attitude. "I thought we could go hangout in the pavilion together?"

She turned to her group of Slytherin friends and snickered slightly, bidding them goodbye before looking at you. "Sure, Where's Cedric?" You looked at her weirdly while you both walked towards the pavilion.

"I'm not sure, why'd you ask?"

"No reason, just suprised your both always at eachothers hip, it's weird he's not"

"Your right.. I should ask him-"

"No!" She cut you off. "Its ok, ill ask him for you, maybe he won't tell you the real reason"

"Thanks Erica" You smiled. The pair of you sat in the pavilion and gossiped about many different things.

You spotted Pansy across the pavilion waving you over to her and her friends. "Hey, I'm going to see Pansy, ill see you later?" You stand.

"Her? You're friends with her" Erica scoffed, her arms crossed over her chest.

"Whats wrong with Pansy?"

"Everything, she's just a fucking whore. All those guys she's friends with she probably sleeps with them all she's a wh-"

"Erica stop it. I don't know what your deal is... Pansy is nice to me ok? Just drop it" You looked at her weirdly from her behaviour.

"Your right, I'm sorry. I'll go speak to Cedric now for you" She smiled before rushing off.

You shrugged it off and walked over to Pansy smiling.

"Y/N!" She cheered as you sat down next to her. "We were just talking about how cute you and Cedric are, 3 months now right?" Pansy smiled at you.

"Yeah, it's going great, im really happy actually"

"Thats so good, Although we always thought you'd end up with a Slytherin boy" Astoria snickered.

"Really? Who, I don't even really talk to many of the guys" You quirked.

"Probably Theo, he's the gentleman out of them all, the best choice other than my Blaise" Daphne smiled.

You smiled at her, Her and Blaise had been together since 2nd year. They were like the powerhouse couple of Hogwarts, perfect in every way.

"Pans, did you and Erica have an argument she seems to have a strong.. hatred for you" You looked to the girl beside you.

Pansy looked up at Daphne and Astoria and laughed slightly before taking your hand. "I never did anything to her, she's just jealous I'm friends with the guys. She keeps implying I'm 'fucking them all' but I'm literally gay" Pansy snickered.

"Thats literally what I thought, I thought everyone knew?"

"Everyone does, Erica is just fucking stupid" Tori scoffed, crossing her legs over eachother.

"Tori-" Daphne glared to her.

"Besides its because her and Mattheo have this thing or whatever, and me and him are close" She shrugged.

"Mattheo? As in Mattheo Riddle?" You raised your eyebrow.

"Yeah- Why?" They all looked at you weirdly.

"Isn't his dad like.. You-know-who?" You whispered.

They all laughed at you softly. Pansy patting you on the back.

"You're so sweet and innocent" Astoria cooed.

A loud bell chimed around the whole castle you all stood up.

"Fuck, I have potions" Astoria groaned.

"You'll live" Daphne laughed at her.

"See you around Y/N!" She smiled to you as you all parted ways.

You sighed as you walked into the castle.

Over the next few weeks you hung out more with Pansy, Daphne and Astoria. Everytime you'd hang out with Erica she'd ice you out or something. You also notice Cedric just get more and more bored with your presence which just didn't make you feel any better. You had wondered what Erica and Mattheo were considering she never once mentioned him to you. At all.

You sighed, as you stared down at your tea leaves, poking at them with your wand.

You felt a gush of wind beside you as someone sat in the always vacant seat.

"I know this seat isn't taken, so I will be sitting here" You heard. You looked up to see Mattheo, smiling down at you.

"I take notice when my favourite girls start hanging out with another person, which means you must be a goodie" He smiled at you. "Y/N, right?"

You nodded smiling. "I didn't realise you all were so close"

"We are like a second family, since our actual ones are pretty shitty" He snickered.

Over the following weeks you had grown close to all the Slytherins, hanging our with them all. Occasionally Cedric would come over but he wasn't that interested which just irked you. He had apologised for his lack of presence that made you feel a bit better.

You and Mattheo had become quite close, to him he was quite fond of you. Found you very cute. Erica didn't like your friendship with Mattheo all of a sudden and this was the brunt of most of your arguments. You always apologised then backed away from the group for a day or so, but it was just like a forever cycle.

You had discovered, Mattheo and Erica were dating but you were confused as to why she hadn't told you but you didn't want to take it to heart, there must've been a reason.

After class, you walked down the halls, students rushing quickly to make it to their next class, as you walked down towards the Hufflepuff entrance you noticed all the Slytherin boys all hanging in the kitchen.

"Feeding time at the zoo again?" You snickered. The boys all turned staring at you like deers caught in headlights. This wasn't the first time you'd come across them in the kitchen. You had grown close with the Slytherin boys recently, but you had grown to know them more for you sort exchanges everytime you see them feasting away.

"Fuck- Y/N you scared us. I thought you were a fucking teacher" Blaise sighed.

"Why are you guys always here on my free" You quirked your brow.

"We just wanna see you so bad!" Enzo whined as you chuckled.

"Where you off to in a rush anyway" Draco licked his finger from the pie covering it.

"M' meeting Cedric in the common room. I'll see you guys later" You smiled to them before walking a bit away from the kitchen and entering the Hufflepuff commonroom.

If you could go back to 2 minutes ago when you were laughing at the boys stuffing their face with pie. You would.

As you rounded the corner towards the opening of the commonroom to froze, hearing giggles and.. moaning? What freak would fuck in the common room, you scoffed. What you didn't expect was who. You decided to just ignore the sounds and quickly pass up to Cedrics dorm when you caught a glimpse of an oh so familiar green gem clawclip thrown across the floor.

"Erica?" You raised your eyebrow as you stared at the couch.

You watched as Erica sat up, disheaved hair and messy makeup before the other person sat up to. That person being... Cedric.

"Cedric- Erica what the fuck??" You shouted at them both.

"Y/N- He threw himself at me, I swear. We were just talming and-" She gasped, standing up and changing herself.

"What No??- It's not what it looks like- She"

"SHUT UP!" you screamed. "I'm not going to sit here and listen to your stupid excuses. You didn't slip and fall into her Cedric be fucking for real" You scoffed at him, storming up to him and slapping him across the face. Your voice cracked as you yelled and turned on your heels and ran from the common room.

"Y/N WAIT!-" Cedric yelled.

As you rounded the last bend the last thing you heard- "Wellthat was easy, see you later Cedric" Erica cackled.

You thought she was your friend, best friend forever. She was a fucking liar. A disgusting whorey liar. You sobbed as you ran from the commonroom towards the stairs. You ran past the kitchen, the slytherin boys noticing you running. You didn't stop, you had to go to Pansy. You knew she had a free and she was in her dorm. So you ran there.

Third POV:

"Was that Y/N?" Enzo poked his head out of the kitchen confused by your rushed nature.

"She was crying- I hope she's OK.." Theo hit his lip slightly nervous for you.

"She's fine, probably stubbed her toe or something" Draco snickered.

Mattheo and the boys decided to ignore the fact Y/N ran past crying and it probably wasn't any of your issues. That was until he noticed two people sneak past the kitchen.

"Who was that?" Enzo questioned.

"No clue" Mattheo shrugged.

Your POV:

The next few days you spend sobbing and skipping classes. Astoria, Pansy and Daphne took turns looking after you as you wailed in their arms. Not only had your friend relationship fucked up. He cheated on you and with your 'best friend'.

When you told the girls they were pissed. You practically had to talk Astoria out of certain violent consequences. They stayed with you and comforted you for ages. The first few days were crucial.

You had recieved owls from Erica, explanation in her own fucked up words how the situation wasn't at all what she thought it was and how it was just a huge misunderstanding. You couldn't help but scoff at her bullshit.

Three weeks had passed since everything you left Pansys after a few days and stayed boarded up in your room for an additional 2 weeks. No one came in and no one came out. The girls were concerned for you but understood you needed time.

News travelled that you and Cedric broke up but nothing about Erica being a home wrecker. When you finally left your pit after nearly 4 weeks you had seen significant changes. You were quite pale due to lack of sun and nutrients - you didn't look sick you just looked tired. People noticed and just felt.. bad for you. What really set you over the edge is in these 4 weeks not only had Erica homewrecked your relationship- she had clung to the people you had become to get comfortable with.

This was the second time Erica had done this to you. In 3rd Year you had started dated Adrian Pucey when she swooped in and was making out with him. She had told you he threw himself at her and she was so sorry she didn't mean to hurt you and you fucking believed her. Now this was just proof she was a bitch and she expected you to just forgive her which is what you'd do, but you had to come up with a plan.

You walked down towards the Slytherin common room, and up towards Erica's dorm. Erica only had one other dormmate but she was in the hospital wing currently due to a mishap in potions.

You knocked on the door and the door swung open to reveal Erica. A sickening smile spread across her lips as she let you in.

"Oh Y/N- I'm so glad your here. I need to explain everything to you" She wore a fake pout as she hugged you before pulling away.

She was rushing around her room fixing her hair and doing her makeup as she spoke to you. You sat on her bed.

"I was talking to Cedric, about what I said when he threatened me. He was saying about how he'd hurt you and how he'd do horrible things to you if I didn't sleep with him Y/N"

Really. Does she really think you'd believe this. You had to try your best not to laugh.

"Erica that is so horrible- I know you didn't mean to- You'd never do anything to hurt me" You smiled.

"Exactly!" She turned to look at you smiling. "He was a terrible boyfriend Y/N you can do so much better- Look stay here. I'll be back, I have to go see Mattheo in the hospital wing but I'll be back soon. Then we can have a girlie night" She smiled again. That fame smile was irking you.

"Of course" You smiled as she rushed out of the door leaving you. How stupid was she to think you'd believe her bullshit lies. You peered around the room, groaning. Why did she get to keep a boyfriend after all of this.

Speak of the devil, the door swung open to reveal Mattheo, leaning against the door frame as he quizzically looked at you.

"Y/N? Where'd Erica?" He asked.

"Mattheo? She said she went to the hospital wing for you-"

Mattheo rolled his eyes scoffing. "I came here to break up with that cheating slut and she's gone to cheat. How ironic" He laughed, venom lacing his tone. "I know your friends but seriously you can do b-"

"Actually we aren't friends" You cut him off. "I was here to listen to her bullshit excuses on why she fucked my boyfriend" You scoffed.

"Cedric too?" Mattheo scoffed. "I don't get it, I was actually a good boyfriend to her, for once I wasn't the asshole" He laughed mockingly.

Mattheo sat next to you on Erica's bed as the pair of you sighed. It was quite for a moment before you spoke.

"Maybe she needs a taste of her own medicine.." You peered to Mattheo, who was now smirking.

"A dark streak for a little hufflepuff like you? Do go on" He bit his lip as he stared down at you. Now you look at it, Mattheo was twice the size of you.

"Maybe we could.. you know" You looked down.

"I'm a changed man Y/N- but fuck, my old ways would always come back for you" He smirked, referring to his last two years of THE player and heartbreaker of Hogwarts.

Before you could reply you heard a soft chuckle before Mattheo's hands are instantly all over you. He kisses you softly but needingly. The way his lips move against yours as his hands grab at the plush of your thigh.

You could almost laugh at his neediness but it turned you on even more. You climbed onto his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck as you pull him closer, needing more. Your tongues dancing upon eachother as you grinded down against his growing bulge. The softly moans he'd release into your mouth were enough to have you moaning.

You broke away shortly as the pair of you quickly stripped down to your underwear. You stood up, throwing your jumper and shirt off as you shimmied out of your skirt. Mattheo kicked off his trousers, throwing his jumper and shirt across the room just in time to catch you as he jumped onto him again. A light chuckle leaving his mouth as the pair of you sat pratically skin to skin.

"God you are so fucking hot" He smirked, biting his lip as you sat back down on his lap, as he sat at the end of the bed.

He watched as you, pulled your panties off, dropping them beside the end of the bed as you yanked at his boxers. Smirking as his cock sprung out and hit his stomach.

"So big, and you were all hers?" You smirked, pecking his lips softly as you pulled yourself closer, instantly sinking down on his length as you yelped at the size. His grip, harsh on you as his fingers dug into your hips,his eyes slightly rolling at the sensation.

"Fuck-" You sighed out as you wiggled down on him, reaching back to unclasp your bra and tossing it aside, before pulling him closer and smashing your lips onto his yet against as you grinded down against him.

You gasped, as he gripped your waist, thrusting up into you as he sat on the edge of the bed. "Dont be a bitch Y/N" He smirked against your mouth as your tongues tied to one another as your hands roamed all over. His hands reached to your ass, squeezing, gripping and slapping the flesh as much as he could as your hips buckled against his, his cock burying itself deeper inside of you.

"mm.. J-just like that" You sighed, reading your head against his shoulder as you rocked your hips back and forth against his, sighing at the sensation.

He couldn't handle it much longer as he threw you down against the bed, giving you time to get on all fours as he kicked off his boxers as he gripped your hips and began to piston into you. Your back arched as you gripped the sheets, your teeth sunk into the duvet as you whined into the cotton. You could practically hear his filthy smirk as you whined. His hands aggressively gripping at your love handles as he bounced against you, pulling you back harshly with each thrusted rebound. The way your skin slapped loudly against his as it collided. The way your ass, bounced against his thrusts sent him over the edge.

With each thrust, his hand would grasp at the flesh of your ass, squeezing it or slapping it as you whined down into the mattress. A filthy smirk spread across his face.

"Oh fuck!-" You gasped as you whined, eyes rolling back slightly as you gripped at the sheets.

"Good girl- Good fucking girl.. Taking it so well" He growled from behind. His voice just made you even wetter, the whole situation had your stomach in knots.

He continued on your ass as you gasped for air, his hand yanking at your hair, collecting it into a messy ponytail as he yanked you up and back against his chest. His free arm snaked around your waist, pushed down against your lower stomach, intensifying each thrust as you could feel the pressure of his arm. You whined out loudly, gasping at the sensation as he took the chance to let go of your hair and wrap a hand around your neck.

You gazed to the side to look at Mattheo, as he smirked, before kissing you roughly. His tongue instantly sliding into your mouth as you sighed into the kiss. Toying with his tongue as his cock made at home inside your walls. The way he thrusted in and out like he owned it had you on the edge.

You broke away momentary, gasping for air as he pulled away completely. The emptiness between your legs prominent as you whined, falling forward but catching yourself, moving to lay on your back against the bed, looking up at him.

"Miss me already" He laughed, sweat dripping down his body as he stared at you smirking, as he climbed ontop of you, kissing down your neck, sucking softly at the skin.

"Fuck- How can I not, when you look like that" You chuckled, running your hands up and down his naked body. You couldn't help but let your hand linger over his stomach, as your fingers dipped between the crevasses of his chiselled chest.

"You're bad, fucking your bestfriends boyfriend" He smirked, biting his lip as he hovered over the top of you, his hand pumping his cock as he stared down at you.

"She did it first, I'm just returning the favour" You smirked, pulling his neck as you pulled him into a kiss. You could feel Mattheo smirked against you as he lined up yet against to thrusts into you. His forehead against yours as he smirked down at you.

"You are so cute, shame it took this to see your dark side" He laughed as his thumb caressed your cheek softly, pecking your lips as he slowly slid back into you. You gasped, arching your back, as your chest pressed up against his as your body shook below him.

"God, I fucking love how you just melt at my fucking touch. So slutty" He laughed lowly in your ear, as he nibbled on the shell of it before biting at your shoulder and sucking on it as he began to thrust.

As he began the thrust at first they were soft, his lips peppering kisses all down your neck and collarbone as you whined softly under his touch. You watched as he licked the bruises that had formed across your skin as he smirked down at you. His smirk was sickening. Sickeningly sweet.

His cock sunk in and out of you like it was moulded for you. The way you whined and moaned into his ear had him harder than ever. He was obsessed with you and the pretty little sounds you made.

As he fucked you, he tossed your leg over his shoulder as he continued to fuck you at such an animalistic pace you were unsure if you'd make out of this in one piece. Your stomach, knotted at the pleasure. You hummed and whined as his cock thrashed in and out of you as he whined.

His lips capturing yours once against for a kiss, yet this time deeper. His lips moved so sensually against yours, as he kissed you with such passion. His hand, clasped around your neck as his tongue slid in and out of your mouth as the pair of you hummed. It was like time stopped and it was just you. You had never been fucked this good before, but thanks to Mattheo you now had.

You continued to whined with each thrust, gasping as you gripped at his hair, tugging on it. Mattheo's slight chuckles at every whine that left your mouth sent you spiraling.

As he kissed your deeper and fucked you harder you heard as scream, causing you both to pull away from the kiss. But that didn't stop Mattheo from railing the fuck out of you still. The pair of you looked over his shoulder to see Erica stood in the doorway. On urge you went to pull away from Mattheo in embarrassment but he held you down, smirking back at you as he sped up causing you to arch your back, screaming.

"Mhm- Fuck.. Your dick is so perfect" You whined as your gaze slightly lingering on Erica as the pair of you made eyecontact before you arched your back, leaning back and gripping the headboard. as he fucked you into the mattress. Your body recoiling against the thrusts as the bed creaked and shook.

The two of you edging closer to your high before you both case against one another. You pulled him closer as you kissed him deeply. Moaning softly into his mouth as you creamed his cock. Sighing softly as your body slowly loosened up.

Mattheo pulled away, smirking as he licked his lips. The pair of you had forget Erica was in the room and could more than happy stay like this until you heard a shrill shriek. "WHAT THE FUCK!" She yelled.

The pair of you untied from one another as you sighed, standing up and pulling your clothes back on, as Erica stood in shock at the two of you.

As you buttoned your shirt, you threw your jumper of your shoulders as you grabbed your heels before walking around Erica. "Just returning the favour" You smiled at her wholeheartedly. "Have fun cleaning" You turned to Mattheo before you left, shooting him a wink as he still led against the bed, bare naked.

"You- WHAT??" You could hear the cogs turning in Erica's head as you felt the scene before hearing crashing and screaming. Now she knows how you felt I guess, and well.

She deserved it.

If you enjoyed this fic and want to buy me a coffee, you can do so here!

[megalony]

I'll Take Him

This is an Evan Buckley request from anon, this is a rather sad/ angsty request which I was more than happy to write. I hope you will all like it, let me know what you think.

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Evan Buckley Masterlist

Summary: While at home, Evan has to try and help (Y/n) when she suffers a miscarriage.

Enjoy.

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A quiet, discontented groan passed Evan's lips while his left hand flopped out on the nightstand to turn off the alarm.

It was so early. He felt like he had gone to bed five minutes ago. Why did his shift have to start this early in a morning? Why couldn't his shifts line up to start at lunchtime? Evan needed time to wake up and come alive and restart his brain in the morning, being up early didn't do him any favour.

With a grunt, he twisted to the right and shimmied onto his side, flopping his left arm out to try and reach for the familiar weight and source of heat next to him.

His brows furrowed when his hand flopped against a knee rather than an arm or a waist like he was expecting.

Evan groggily opened his eyes and looked up with a frown forming on his lips. (Y/n) was awake; more specifically, she was sitting up. Why was she up this early? She didn't have to go to work today and even if she did, she never had to be up this early like he did.

His fingers glided over the hard joint of her knee and he feathered his touch up and down her exposed thigh while he lifted his head from the pillow to look up at her. His eyes raked her up and down, taking in the way she was sat to see what she was up to.

Her back and shoulders were slouched into her pillow that was propped up against the headboard, she looked like she had partially melted with the odd way she was sat. Her feet were meshed down into the mattress and her arms were coiled around her middle, trapped between her chest and her knees. She had her chin tilted down into her chest and her eyes were tightly closed.

It was then that Evan realised her skin was burning to the touch and that she was subtly trembling.

"You okay, baby?" He pushed forward to press a soft kiss against her thigh which he squeezed before he shifted to sit up beside her.

He let go of her thigh to stretch his arms up above his head, straining to click his neck into place before he twisted to the side. His knees gently nudged hers and his hand came up to rest on the side of her neck, his thumb swiping across her jaw until she opened her eyes.

Evan didn't like the pain he could see swirling in those dark pupils or the tears that were starting to fall down her face.

"What's up?" He murmured softly, leaning over to peck her cheek when (Y/n) leaned her cheek into his palm. She nuzzled into his touch, unlocking one arm from her waist so she could deadlock her fingers around Evan's wrist as if to make sure he wasn't about to let her go.

"Don't feel good,"

(Y/n) let her feet slide down so her legs could flop against the bed again. For a while now, she hadn't been able to sleep. All she could do was fidget and squirm and groan. She felt sick. She felt like her stomach was twisting and cramping and the dull pain was slowly igniting as she woke up.

Normally, Evan would get up before her and get ready, he would kiss her goodbye and (Y/n) would stay in bed for another hour or two when Evan left early like this. Not today. Today (Y/n) felt like she was going to be spending the day moping about the apartment, trying to make herself feel better. She wasn't quite in the mood to sit still, she didn't know what to do with herself.

One leg crossed over Evan's bent leg and she leaned forward to tuck her face into the crook of his neck, nuzzling her cheek against his bare shoulder. She felt his fingers continue to feather up and down her cheek before he pressed the back of his hand against her temple.

"You're flushed." He commented quietly, kissing her temple while she pushed further into his chest and hummed. "Want me to grab you a drink and some meds?"

"I'll come down." (Y/n) found the will to unlatch herself from Evan but she gingerly held her hands out which made him smile.

She knew he had to get up for work now and he would be heading down for a shower and to get ready. She may as well head downstairs with him, she wasn't going to be able to sleep anymore.

His lips formed into a tender curve and he held her hands, gently easing her up from the bed and letting her weight fall into him. His hands moved down to hold her hips and he attached his lips to the top of her head, waiting patiently for (Y/n) to move first so he knew she was alright.

Evan kept his hands on her hips and his lips meshed against the back of her head when she turned around in his arms and aimed for the stairs. He didn't like how she was still shaking or the way her arms coiled around her waist like she wasn't sure whether she needed to throw up or curl up in a ball.

(Y/n) could feel her head spinning as they walked down the stairs like they were conjoined. By the time they reached the bottom of the stairs, (Y/n) gripped the bottom of the bannister and leaned against it, hanging her head forward as her eyes fell closed.

"Go sit down baby. I'll grab a shower and find you some painkillers, I've got some electrolyte drinks somewhere, that'll help too."

His hands dug into her waist and his chest curved down around her back that was hunched forward. He twisted (Y/n) to the left, turning her around the bannister and in the direction of the living room at the back of the loft. (Y/n) was in no state to go looking through the cupboards for painkillers or make herself a drink.

Evan needed a shower to wake himself up. Once he'd done that, he would find all the meds he had in the cupboards and some of the energy drinks he kept around for sickness emergencies or after a rough shift. And he would see if (Y/n) was in the mood for something to eat or not, Evan usually grabbed a snack for breakfast, just to keep him going because lunch and dinners were always hefty at the station, especially on busy shifts.

He followed his gut and kept hold of (Y/n) with his arms curved around her waist and his chest glued against her back. He felt like she was a doll he was parading round and practically carrying to the sofa. If she didn't look well by the time he'd gotten ready, he would either call in sick or see if he could finish his shift early and come home to look after her.

His brows furrowed and his lips pursed when he watched the way (Y/n) reached out for the sofa and heaved herself down, curling up like a creature trying to hide from a threat. Her knees tucked into her abdomen and her arms wrapped around her chest. She buried her face in the cushion and huffed, trembling subtly while Evan flicked the tv on for background noise.

"Won't be long," He mused against her temple before he kissed her cheek, then the tip of her nose and finally her lips when she tilted her head up, chasing after his lips.

(Y/n) felt like static was building up in her ears after Evan's touch was gone and the sound of him became faint and distant. She could barely hear the shower turning on when usually, with how close the bathroom was to the living room, she could always hear him. (Y/n) could usually hear the water running and Evan singing along to whatever tunes he had playing on his phone, typically any eighties song.

She wasn't sure whether he even had any music playing or not, the buzzing in her ears was getting louder and louder.

Her arms bound around her waist and moved lower until her palms were digging into her abdomen that felt like it was being cut apart.

What was going on? Why was she having pains this badly? She felt like she was having three different stomach infections all at once. Like five periods one after the other continuously. The pain was so intense (Y/n) was beginning to debate whether someone had come in and poisoned or stabbed her during the night.

Tears flushed down her face and soaked into the cushion and she shifted onto her right side, curling up as much as she could until the pains started to change into sharp cramps that had her mewling and twisting into odd shapes.

"E-Evan… please…" She wasn't quite sure what she was asking for and (Y/n) knew her voice was so quiet she doubted Evan could actually hear her.

She couldn't open her eyes. Her face stayed burrowed into the cushion and she continued to mewl his name through quiet sobs until the bathroom door clicked open and she tried to call out a bit louder.

"Baby? Baby what's the matter?" Evan carded his fingers through his damp hair, toussling the strands away from his eyes while he darted out of the bathroom. Her voice was so faint it sounded like she was calling out from the next apartment.

Evan darted past the stairs and into the living room, cringing at the way his work shirt clung to his back that he hadn't properly dried in his haste to hurry up his morning routine. And he could feel his trousers sticking around his knees and his bare feet sticking and thumping against the floor as he tried to be swift.

He knelt down on the floor in front of the sofa, cradling the side of (Y/n)'s face until she opened her eyes and looked at his panicked expression and furrowed brows.

Tears were drenched down her face and she was sniffling and gasping for each breath. Her hand shakily reached out to grip the collar of his shirt and Evan inched closer until his knees bumped the edge of the sofa and he was hovering over her like she seemed to want him to do.

A quiet but nevertheless painful "Oow," tumbled past (Y/n)'s quivering lips and her knees jabbed into her abdomen as if to prove her point and silently show Evan where the pain was.

"What kind of pain are you in, sweetheart? Throbbing, stabbing pains or constant aches?" Evan carded his fingers through (Y/n)'s hair, brushing it back from her face and tucking it behind her ear while he waited patiently for her to debate and find an answer.

"S-stabbing pain,"

Evan nodded, trying to smile to keep her calm like he did for patients when he was at work. Panicking would do nothing to help (Y/n) and this could be something minor, hundreds of possibilities were rushing through Evan's mind already. He had seen thousands of different reasons for pains like this when he went on callouts with the team.

"Okay, can I?" He motioned his hands towards her stomach. Asking questions was only going to get him so far, he needed to try and assess her to find out what was going on.

It could be something to do with her intestines because of where she was saying the pain was. He wasn't so sure it would be her bladder, that would be a bit further down and Evan had had bladder infections before, he knew the signs and symptoms. And he knew it was easier to tell if it was the bladder, the pain was direct and couldn't really be mistaken for anything else.

When she nodded, Evan pushed up on his knees and carefully nudged her until she was laid on her back rather than her side.

His fingers deftly curled beneath her pyjama shirt and rolled it up so he could look at her stomach. He pressed the base of his hands around her tummy and down near her hips to try and feel for any lump or abnormality without applying too much pressure to hurt her. He didn't like the reaction he got; flinches, whimpers and then a bursting cry when he pressed below her belly button.

The sound made him wince and he retracted his hands quickly. He wasn't trying to cause her any more pain, he was only trying to find out the source and see what he could do to help. But he had a feeling he might be calling an ambulance soon.

"I don't think it's a hernia… sweetheart, I just wanna take a quick look, okay?"

(Y/n) wasn't sure what he was talking about until he moved his hands down towards her shorts and waited for her to nod.

When she did, Evan tugged her shorts and underwear down and shuffled across to be level with her thighs rather than with her shoulders.

His hands were gentle when they clamped around her thighs and parted her knees to the side but (Y/n) couldn't keep her eyes on him for long. The pain was too overwhelming. Her eyes snapped closed and it took all her strength not to clamp her legs together and pull her knees up to her chest.

"Baby…" Evan dug his fingers down into (Y/n)'s thighs until he was leaving indents and bruises in his wake. He smoothed his hands up and down her exposed thighs while he took a deep breath and leaned forward. "When was your last period?"

Her brows furrowed and her breath caught in her throat. Why was he asking her that? What did that have to do with her aches and pains? What did Evan think was happening?

"I- I don't…" Her head shook in answer to his question.

She didn't know. (Y/n) hadn't exactly kept track of her period recently, but now she was trying to think through a fuzzy, fogged over brain, she couldn't remember. She couldn't remember the last time she had a period that lasted more than two days. She couldn't remember being in pain with cramps or bleeding heavily like she usually did in the first few days.

She froze, her body going stiff when Evan pressed the heel of his hand back into her lower abdomen a few times until she was squirming and whimpering beneath him.

"Oh sweetheart, I think I'm gonna have to call an ambulance. I think you're having a miscarriage."

The way Evan dragged his hand across his face and down his jaw made a shudder course through (Y/n)'s body. She tried to push up on her elbows to look at him but her arms started to shake and she had to flop back down against the sofa. Her head pressed back into the cushion and a round of trembling set in her system as her stomach gave an awful twinge.

How could she be having a miscarriage? How could she be pregnant? How far along was she?

(Y/n) couldn't be pregnant. She didn't look pregnant, she didn't have a raised stomach or a bump or any abdominal movement to suggest she was having a baby. She'd had no back pain or morning sickness, no swollen ankles or cravings or obvious changes. Did that mean she wasn't far along? Would she be in this much pain if she was only one or two months gone?

When (Y/n) started to cry, Evan leaned over to kiss her knee and tried to rub his hands along her thighs. He didn't mean to upset or frighten her, but that seemed the most likely situation right now and if this was happening, Evan had to make a phone call.

"I'm gonna go grab my phone and a few things-"

"No- oow, Evan, d-don't leave me." (Y/n) mewled desperately and latched her fingers around his wrist, pulling him back as she leaned forward to crumple in on herself. Something was happening. He couldn't leave her, not for a minute, not even for a second. He had to stay with her.

"Shh hey, hey I'm not leaving you, okay? One second, sweetheart just one second that's all." He leaned forward and pressed his lips to her temple before he carefully unravelled her fingers from his wrist.

He darted from the living room and swiped his phone and two towels from the bathroom before he made a beeline for the kitchen, his thumb already tapping out 911 into the keypad.

"911, What's your emergency?"

"This is firefighter Buckley, I need an ambulance to my location, apartment 4B. My girlfriend, s-she's having a miscarriage."

It didn't take long for Evan to reel off (Y/n) name and date of birth and the few details the dispatcher needed to know. He couldn't think of the last time he'd had to call 911. The only times he actually called them was when he'd witnessed a few fights and bar brawls when he was younger. He'd never called for an ambulance and the most Evan spoke to dispatch was over the radio frequency at work.

He didn't want to stay on the line, he didn't need the lady on the other end to pull up the reference sheet. Evan knew what to expect and he knew what to do. She couldn't help him. He needed paramedics here, he needed physical help, not useless words over a broken line.

He shoved his phone back in his pocket once the ambulance was said to be on the way and he unlocked the front door before he jogged back into the living room. (Y/n)'s cries acting as a guide to draw him back to her, not that he needed to be drawn back. His head and his heart were reaching out for her so painfully Evan thought he might be in need of medical assistance soon too.

"Alright baby, shh, I've got you."

Evan sank down on the sofa in front of (Y/n)'s legs and he curled his fingers around the back of her calves, leaning forward to pepper a few chaste kisses to her knee to try and calm her down. She had managed to sit up against the arm of the sofa, her chin tucked down into her chest, tears drenching her face and her hands clutching her thighs so tightly she was scratching blood beneath her nails.

"Just push through the pain, baby. It'll all be over soon, I've got you."

His hands continued to rub up and down (Y/n)'s knees while he tucked his chest down near her thighs. He had delivered a few babies on the job alongside Bobby over the years, but never one where a woman didn't know she was pregnant. And this wasn't just anyone. This was Evan's girl. He was going to be a dad.

He was going to have a baby, but Evan's head was overriding the feelings in his heart. He might be a dad, but he wasn't going to end up with a kicking baby after all of this.

Every part of Evan's ADHD brain was going on red alert, one part was composed and going through the protocol for what he was supposed to do. Another was counting how long it was taking for the paramedics to arrive. A third section of his overloaded brain was trying to keep a check over (Y/n), make sure she wasn't bleeding or going into a panic or about to pass out on him.

Then there was another part. The logical side of his brain getting to work. (Y/n) didn't have a bump. She didn't think she might have been pregnant, this wasn't technically labour in specific terms, this was a miscarriage. Evan didn't have high hopes for resuscitating or keeping his baby alive. And the logical side was trying to think how far along (Y/n) could be.

The New Year's party came to mind despite how Evan kept shaking his head to try and distract himself from the math. That was five months ago. That was when they had snuck into the bunker room at the station. The party- and maybe one or two drunken times around then- was when Evan wasn't sure they'd used protection.

Five months was the marker he was giving them here, that would put (Y/n) somewhere around twenty weeks or so. Twenty-four weeks was the main limit for preemie babies, anything before that was a miscarriage and didn't give them good odds.

(Y/n)'s sharp cries brought Evan out of his consuming thoughts and he gave her thigh a squeeze while (Y/n) reached out and clamped her hand down on his shoulder.

"Okay, okay here we go. Almost over." Evan realised his voice was oddly meek and broken as he reached out for a towel to drape over his hands.

Ready for his baby. His baby. God, he was going to be a dad. He would still be classed as a dad after this, wouldn't he?

He shuffled forward when (Y/n) pushed back, scraping her heels against the sofa as she let go of Evan's shoulder and moved to steady herself by holding the back of the sofa instead. Her other hand scrunched up the sofa cushion beneath her and she cried, choking on sobs and a deafening scream that Evan could barely hear.

"All done, all done," He murmured against her thigh, kissing her flushed skin while his hands began to shake.

He had to blink a few times to clear the tears and adjust his blurred vision to look down at the bundle in the towel he was cradling.

Both hands started to shake so badly Evan had to reel his arms into his chest to steady himself. He pushed up on his knees and hunched his chest over, swiping his cheek against his shoulder to brush away the tears. He couldn't stop his body from trembling or his thumb from brushing across the newborn's head through the towel.

He became lost in thought, staring down at his hands for a few seconds, maybe minutes, he wasn't sure. Until (Y/n)'s knees dropped down and her foot nudged his thigh to gain his attention.

"Evan…?"

The tiny, almost unperceptive shake of his head was enough to make a sob burn at the back of (Y/n)'s throat and she let go of the sofa to smother her hand across her face.

What had she done?

For a dreaded, hopeful second, she thought Evan might be able to do something. She wondered if she might be far enough along for Evan to help, to do some form of CPR. To do anything to give their baby a chance. But there was nothing he could do. There was no movement, no pulse, no breathing or heartbeat and Evan didn't know how long that had been the case. They were too small. There was nothing he could do.

"Boy. A boy," Evan's voice sounded defeated and (Y/n) had never heard such heartache in his tone. She could hear his words breaking apart along with his voice that was scratchy and deep and the way his shoulders started to shake made her cry harder.

She watched, hand to her burning temple, as Evan slumped from his knees to sit down on the sofa instead of kneeling up. He sank back, letting his energy deplete and allowing his frame to melt and sink into the sofa like he was made of wax that was slowly melting and losing shape.

But his arms stayed locked in position while the rest of him loosened and went slack. Even his jaw hung down, allowing deep, croaky breaths to pass his lips, but his hands and arms stayed frozen.

"Do, do you… um?" He couldn't seem to fathom how to speak or form any words, but Evan managed to indicate his arms towards (Y/n) to show what he meant.

(Y/n) sank her teeth down into her lip harsh enough to draw blood. She wasn't sure. She didn't know if she wanted to look or have a hold. She didn't know what that would stir up inside of her or how it would make her feel. But not looking almost felt criminal. Not taking a glance or feeling that tiny weight felt like committing a crime against herself.

Her arms shakily held out before she could think better of it. She felt Evan slump his chest against her knees and he carefully slid the towel into her arms instead. Letting go felt wrong. Evan felt empty, like he was passing the baton when he should continue the race. It felt like he had given part of himself away.

He wanted to keep him. He wanted to hold onto him until he physically wasn't allowed to anymore.

When (Y/n) started to cry, Evan found the will and the energy to get up. He shuffled over until his hands found her shoulders and he gently tilted her forward so he could wedge himself into the space behind her. He let her slump back into his chest and both arms bound around her waist while his lips merged with the back of her head.

He stayed curled around her while he heard the unmistakeable sound of a squeaky gurney and heavy footsteps trudging towards the front door. A feeble knock. The announcement of paramedics. Heavy boots entering the apartment and following the sound of the cries.

"What's your name, honey?"

(Y/n) whispered her name to the elder woman who knelt on the floor beside her while a man roughly around Evan's age crouched beside him.

"I'm just gonna take a look at you and give you something to prevent any bleeding, okay?"

She didn't care. She just slumped her head into the crook of Evan's neck, taking shallow breaths against his skin that was burning just as much as hers. Her nose rubbed against his neck and her lips kissed and muttered near his Adam's apple while he dug his fingers into her arm so she knew he was aware and responsive to her touch.

"May I?" The younger medic motioned towards the bundle in (Y/n)'s arms, a solemn look in his eyes and sorrow and empathy written across his face.

(Y/n) didn't want to, but she let him remove the towel from her shaky grip. He didn't move away, he stayed crouching in front of them as if he knew both (Y/n) and Evan would kick up a fuss if he tried to leave their sights with their bundle. Their baby.

Evan heard him murmur "About nineteen to twenty weeks," to the woman who was giving (Y/n) a once over to make sure she was fit for transport. His mental math had been correct. There was nothing Evan could of done, he had a strange feeling the baby hadn't been breathing for a little while, but it didn't matter.

They didn't know about him, and now he was gone.

"Let's get you taken down to the hospital, hm?"

(Y/n) could barely sit forward so she was no longer slumped back against Evan. All the energy drained from her immediately, but something sparked when the medic tried to move. She wasn't sure where he was going or what he was about to do, but before (Y/n) could voice any sort of doubt or panic, Evan had ready reached out and grabbed the man's wrist.

"I'll take him." He had no idea what the medic was going to do or where he would put the baby, but Evan didn't want him to just put him down and forget about him. He would rather hold his boy and keep him safe until they got to the hospital and the doctor would eventually have to take him away.

The medic made no arguments. He tightened the towel around the bundle like he was protecting him from the cold and carefully eased him over to Evan before both medics moved to get (Y/n) on the gurney.

Evan could barely feel his legs when he pushed up to his feet. His knees started to quake and rattle back and forth like twigs that were about to snap. His arms bound the towel tightly to his chest and he took a few shallow breaths, trying to mellow out his system.

His heart gave out an extra beat when he felt (Y/n)'s hand shakily curl around his elbow once she was on the gurney. She wanted him to stay close, almost as if she thought Evan was about to walk off without her or stay behind. He wasn't going to leave her, not for a second.

Evan let his body slump against the gurney, digging his hip into the metal frame to stop his knees from giving out. He could barely find the energy to walk. Evan had never had to think about forcing one leg in front of the other before, not even when he had done a ten mile run and was on that last stretch back home.

A round of trembling set in Evan's system when they got to the ambulance and the medic silently reached out for the towel in his arms. He didn't want to let go, but Evan knew if he didn't let go now, he would end up having a fight when they got to the hospital. The longer he held on, the more resentment was going to build up inside of him and take over.

His arms felt oddly empty when he let go and he took a moment to lean against the back door, taking large gulps of fresh air that hit him like one of the engines at work.

He heaved himself into the ambulance and flopped down onto a seat, slumping his elbows down on his thighs while his head dropped forward and his shoulders arched over.

He almost gasped when the gurney was pushed in and he suddenly felt (Y/n)'s hand on the nape of his neck. (Y/n)'s fingers carded across the back of his neck and tangled in the short hairs at the back of his head. He felt her other hand drag along his arm and he shuffled closer, slumping his arms on the gurney beside her with his forehead pressing into her waist.

(Y/n closed her eyes and tilted to the left, bringing her knees up while she nuzzled her face into the top of Evan's hair. She could smell her lavender soap on him that he always swore he didn't use, but they both secretly knew he did. And she could smell his cologne that always made (Y/n) think of leather.

Her left arm continued to stroke through Evan's hair while she let the medic gently take her right hand to set an IV line into the back of her hand. The feeling of Evan's hand gliding over her waist made (Y/n) shiver but she didn't pull away. She waited while his arm looped over her waist, trying to be as gentle as possible until he could glide his hand up and down the side of her chest.

It seemed to take a lifetime to arrive at the hospital, (Y/n) felt like they had been travelling for hours rather than just a few minutes.

Part of (Y/n) wondered if Evan needed to be taken in on a separate gurney, he didn't look like he could walk. When she watched him stand up, her hand moved out to his hip, trying to get hold of him in case he wobbled he fell.

Once he seemed to get his balance, Evan trudged out the ambulance and (Y/n) closed her eyes, warding off the headache building behind her temple. She curled both arms around her throbbing waist, trying to be careful with the IV in her hand that she was already desperate to rip out. She was starting to feel sick again.

Evan followed the medic's lead but he slowed down when he felt his phone vibrating in his pocket. He had felt it chiming in his pocket every now and then with messages and he wasn't sure if it had rung or not on the way here. Every sense Evan had was frazzled and zoning in and out. When he was focusing on watching (Y/n), he could barely hear anything. When he tried to listen, he couldn't take note of the way he felt or the ache in his heart or the throbbing in his temple. Every sense and nerve was breaking apart.

He fished his phone out and tried to look down at the screen which was blurring before his eyes.

He didn't realise he had stopped walking until (Y/n) was quietly calling his name, stretching her hand out for him. She didn't want him to disappear. She didn't want to be taken somewhere without Evan by her side.

"I'm here, sweetheart." He reached out for her hand and continued to walk alongside the gurney.

Eddie was calling.

He had called three times by the look of the missed calls on Evan's phone and the few messages he had received. Bobby had messaged him too. He was supposed to be at work; with everything that had gone on this morning, Evan's mind came up blank about going to work.

It slipped his mind, he didn't even realise he was still in his work clothes until he looked down at his itchy, ironed trousers and the matching blue cotton shirt with the fire station logo on the left breast.

"Yeah?" Evan's voice came out exasperated and gritty as he pinned his phone against his ear and shuffled his jelly legs through the emergency room doorway.

He was thankful that they didn't have to go and wait in reception, they went straight through the paramedic's entrance and were guided towards a vacant cubicle on the left. He could hear the hum-drum of the station in the background of the call and he felt bad for not telling Bobby sooner that he would be a person down for the A shift today.

"Buck… is everything okay? You uh, you should have been on shift this morning, you held up?"

"I- fuck, I'm not gonna be in today, can you tell Bobby for me?" He suddenly realised how sore and swollen his eyes felt when he brushed his hand against them.

He pushed himself up against the wall, wedged between a medicine trolley and the bed in the middle of the room. As soon as (Y/n) was transferred onto the bed, Evan eased down on the side of the bed, hearing it squeak beneath his weight causing him to grimace. He lifted his arm so (Y/n) could worm beneath it and curl up against his chest.

"What's wrong, Buck has something happened? Do you need help?" Eddie couldn't help the twenty questions.

He knew Evan, he knew each different mood and tone and he knew when Evan was having a bad day or a hyper day. He knew when something was wrong and right now, he could hear the scratchy tone in Evan's low voice. He had been crying. It took a lot for anyone on the team to see Evan cry and that told Eddie something bad was going on.

"I'm at the hospital with (Y/n)."

"Who?"

Evan hadn't introduced them yet. He hadn't found the right time to tell the team about (Y/n). In all his other relationships, introducing his partner always led to trouble. Evan loved (Y/n), he wanted to keep what they had to himself and keep it preserved and special. He wanted to find the right time to tell the team he had someone special in his life.

Maddie was the only one who knew Evan had a certain someone in his life because she knew (Y/n) had moved in with him. Therefore, Chimney suspected Evan had a partner, but he hadn't been introduced to her yet.

This wasn't the way Evan wanted things to go. This wasn't how he wanted to tell them.

"My partner. Eddie, she," Evan tilted his head down and pulled the phone away so he could swipe his hand across his face, ridding the tears he couldn't seem to stop shedding. "She's had a miscarriage."

He couldn't bring himself to wait for Eddie's response. He didn't want the sympathy, the panic and the sorrow that would undoubtedly come through the line. Evan didn't want any of that because this shouldn't be happening. He shouldn't be having this conversation. This shouldn't be happening to (Y/n); to them.

They didn't deserve this.

***

"Buck?"

Evan couldn't move. He couldn't find the will or the energy to lift his head or use his voice that had gone raw from crying. He didn't know how to break out of the trance he seemed to have put himself under for the last few minutes, maybe hours, he couldn't tell anymore.

He stayed slumped forward in the chair, his elbows on his knees, his nails scratching into the back of his neck. His head almost pressing between his thighs while his shoulders hunched forward.

He didn't need to ask to know how they knew where he would be. Evan knew Chimney would of rung Maddie who would have caved and told them (Y/n)'s name and what room she was in. Evan had already called her this morning. He had cried down the phone and begged her to come down to the ward once she finished her shift at dispatch.

It didn't take much to figure out that she had told the team where to find Evan, she was worried about him and (Y/n) being on their own right now.

His eyes remained closed while he felt someone take a seat next to him and when a strong, familiar arm looped around his shoulders, Evan shuddered. He leaned to the left and slumped his head against Bobby's chest. For once, he felt like a child again.

He felt like a teenager seeking comfort from his parents, and instead of Maddie always having to patch him up and hold his broken pieces together, it was Bobby. It was someone he classed as a parental figure.

His shoulders quaked with a silent sob that rumbled past his lips and his hands finally left his neck that was scratched to pieces so he could tangle his fingers together on his lap.

When he finally found the will to open his watering eyes, Evan was surprised. The only other person in the corridor was Eddie. He watched Eddie push forward and slump down next to him, wedging Evan safely between them. Part of him thought the whole team would have come down here to find out what was happening. He thought Hen would try to probe at why he didn't introduce them earlier. He thought they would try and meet (Y/n) or come see him and sit with him or bargain to get him to go home and rest or shower or something.

Maybe they had to stay on shift, not everyone could take a time out to come and see him.

"What's going on?" Bobby's voice was soft and there was an undertone of understanding that made Evan shake.

"We had a baby." Somehow, his voice didn't sound the same. It didn't sound like Buck who worked with the team, or Evan when he was home with (Y/n). It sounded broken, unwanted, unheard. It sounded like Evan, the little boy breaking his bones to get his parents to want him.

Bobby looped his right arm tighter around Evan's shoulders while his other hand brushed over his jaw. He looked up from the boy curled into his chest to lock eyes with Eddie. He watched Eddie start to run his hand up and down Evan's back, trying to show him they were here, they were listening, and they would comfort him if that was what he wanted. What he needed.

"You… you didn't mention this before now,"

"We didn't know."

A tremor rattled down Eddie's spine and sent a shockwave through his heart. He tried not to tighten his hand in Evan's shirt, but that voice just broke him completely.

"I'm sorry, buck. Things like this are complicated, and there's not always a reason-"

"I held him." Evan closed his eyes again and let himself fall further into Bobby's chest. He let Bobby slouch back and sank further into him, seeking comfort like Bobby was a shell Evan wanted to climb into for protection and love and hope.

"What?" Shuffling forward, Eddie leaned a little closer to try and understand what Evan was talking about.

He hadn't made a lot of sense on the phone. One moment Eddie learned Evan had a girlfriend, the next he found out Evan was at the hospital and his new mysterious partner had suffered a miscarriage. When Evan wouldn't pick up or respond to any more calls, Eddie had gone straight to Bobby. They all agreed it was best that only the pair of them saw Evan for now.

The last thing they wanted was to bombard Evan and (Y/n) and overwhelm them or upset them at this moment. They had been prepared and willing to turn around and go back to the station if Evan told them to leave. If the couple wanted to be alone, they would go. But they had to come here and see if Evan was alright first, and clearly, he wasn't.

"I d-delivered him, but he… I don't know where t-they took him. He's gone."

Both Bobby's arms wrapped tightly around Evan when it felt like he was either going to start convulsing or was about to slide off his chair. He sighed, fighting off tears that were threatening to fall when he felt Evan's tears soaking into his shirt and his hands clutching Bobby's forearm.

He could feel the sharp, gulping breaths Evan took which ended up in broken sobs. He could feel the shaking rattling through him and Eddie, both men trembling along with Evan like they were all being electrocuted. And he could see the tears in Eddie's eyes as he clung to Evan that little bit tighter like he felt he too was falling apart.

Evan had no idea where his boy was now. He didn't know where the nurse had taken him when they arrived in the emergency room. And now (Y/n) was on a ward, Evan just knew that was it. He was gone. They weren't going to get him back.

But Evan couldn't get that feeling out of his arms. He couldn't shake that feeling of something so delicate being in his arms. He couldn't forget that little weight in his arms and on his chest. He couldn't scrub the blood and fluids from his hands or rid it from beneath his nails along with the blood he had scratched under there.

He couldn't forget that little motionless body or ignore (Y/n)'s scream that still rattled around in his head.

What was he supposed to do now?

[rivalsispunk]

The Interview (Chapter 1 of ongoing series When We’re Alone)

Best friend’s dad!Declan O’Hara, boss!Declan O’Hara x AFAB reader

Journalist Declan O’Hara is in need of a personal assistant as his Corinium career skyrockets, and his daughter Taggie has the perfect candidate: her best friend. What seemingly starts as a professional relationship soon snowballs into something both Declan and reader were never expecting and are no longer able to deny.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, (eventual) smut, cursing, age gap romance (reader is a few years older than Taggie), more warnings added per chapter

Word count: 3.1k

Author’s note: Hello! Long time reader, first time poster! Please be kind but also let me know what you think! Proof read but probs still some mistakes. Not entirely canon, Declan still works for Corinium, Maud has disappeared to god knows where and the rest, well, you’ll have to read to find out :)

© rivalsispunk please do not steal, copy, or translate any of my work onto other platforms!

Chapter One: The Interview

You were going to positively kill Taggie once you returned to the Cotswolds. Only she, your closest friend since you relocated to the country after finishing your university degree six months ago, could convince you to cut your gap year short in favour of interviewing for a personal assistant job at Corinium. And, for her father, Declan O’Hara, no less.

“Oh, go on!” Taggie had pleaded with you over The Priory’s kitchen counter. “I know you’re getting bored out here. You can’t spend all of your days sitting around here, helping me peel the shite out of prawns for dinner parties.”

“Why not?” You plucked a grape from the fruit platter she’d just finished assembling for an event at Freddie and Valerie Jones’ that evening. “I happen to like spending all my time with you. Even if it does mean peeling shite out of crustaceans.” You eyed your friend with faux suspicion. “Are you getting sick of me already?”

“Of course not! I just think you’d be grand at it, that’s all, what with your journalism degree and all,” Taggie explained. “You’ve heard Daddy when he comes home. Always complaining about the sorts he’s had to interview. Plus, he already knows you. That’s ought to win you some points right there.”

“I suppose it wouldn’t be all bad,” you confessed, mulling the opportunity over as you chewed through another handful of grapes. It would look amazing on your resume and you’d have a foot in the door at one of the biggest TV networks in the United Kingdom. Plus, it wouldn’t kill you to have a front row seat to Declan in all his glory every single day. You would never mention it to Taggie, but you fancied her dad a rather handsome sod.

“Say you’ll do it. At the very least, for me?” Taggie bat her thick eyelashes at you.

“Fine,” you eventually relented, a smile cracking over your face at the new possibility. “I’ll go in for an interview, but no promises. And I don’t want you convincing him of me either! I want to get this job on my own merit, okay?”

“Convince Daddy of you? Please, he already adores you.” The sentiment spread fire through your chest. Tag rounded the kitchen bench and grabbed you by the hand. “Now let’s find you an outfit! Mummy ought to have left something halfway suitable behind.”

Taggie nor Declan had said much about their absentee matriarch Maud in the recent weeks since she fled the countryside after yet another explosive argument between her and her husband. You knew better than to ask, but you could tell by the way Taggie’s shoulders sagged at the sight of her mother’s partially empty closet that her absence had a somber affect on her.

You’d only been into the main bedroom of The Priory once before, when the room was overtaken by Maud’s florally perfumes and extravagant evening gowns. This time, however, the space was so intrinsically Declan; all heady cedarwood and whisky and smoke. Shirts with patterns of plaid and tartan as well as numerous odd, natural-coloured socks were peppered across armchairs and vanities, while a stack of memoirs sat on his bedside with a full ashtray perched atop. Your heart swelled, and sunk simultaneously, at the thought of Declan being sat up here alone at night, or early of a morning, thumbing through a book while taking slow drags of his cigarette as he let himself be consumed by a life far different to the one he was currently living.

“How about this?” Taggie’s voice ripped through your daydream, forcing you away from thoughts of her father. You peered at the oatmeal-coloured dress she had retrieved from the closet, surprised that Maud owned something so…brown. You’d always known her to wear jewel tones that complimented her flaming red hair. You shook your head, and thus began a cycle of Taggie suggesting an outfit and you shooting it down. Eventually, you agreed to Taggie swapping out your creature comfort jeans and Wham! T-shirt for an old black pencil skirt that you were convinced had given you hives from the way your legs hadn’t stopped itching since you put it on, as well as a silky fuchsia blouse that stretched a little too tight over your breasts. While your friend had done a good job at assuring you that you’d fit right in at the Corinium offices, you weren’t as convinced.

The receptionists, all in latest season fashion with not a hair out of place, had looked you up and down as soon as you stepped foot in the marble foyer, snickering behind your back about your fashion fauxpas once you’d checked in. Sarah Stratton wasn’t as covert with her judgement. As you sat outside Declan’s office, waiting to be called in, Sarah outwardly guffawed when she spotted you across the floor. You’d met her several times in passing at parties and Corinium events you’d previously attended as Taggie’s plus one, and for the most part, she’d kept her observations to herself. But now, as her red heels clip across the carpet, her gaze set right on you with her matching rouge lips upturned. “I would never have expected to see you here, darling!” she coos down at you, reaching for a strand of hair that has slipped in front of your shoulder. “And playing dress ups, no less!” Another laugh tinkers out of her as she twirls your hair around her finger. “Interviewing for the assistant job with Declan, hm?”

You nod with a taut smile and try not to let her comment about you looking god-awfully out of place get to you. Sarah’s eyes shift to Declan’s closed mahogany door and tuts. “Well, good luck, sweetheart. Seems like you’ll need it with the way the rest of those interviews have panned out.”

“Oh, hop off it, Sarah!” an unmistakingly Irish voice barks from your left. Sarah jolts upright and despite the embarrassment that tinges her cheeks pink, still manages throw a sultry smile in Declan’s direction. Your posture matches her pin-straight stature as you side-eye his office. It hadn’t occurred to you that he wasn’t inside, preparing for your interview the way you had been all morning. You’d crafted your pitch of yourself perfectly, complete with ideas and suggestions for potential guests for Declan’s show, anything to set you apart, make you seem even a fraction less useless that the interviewees that came before you. “Don’t you have anything better to do? Where’s James?” he questions Sarah, alluding to the very common knowledge that she and her co-host James Vereker are having an affair. Declan makes a show of raking through his moustache - god, that moustache - then adds with a smirk, “James and better. Probably not two words that should be in the same sentence, eh?” Sarah’s smile plateaus at that, and that stiff upper-lip culture she was dying to marry into takes its place.

“I’m sure I can make myself busy, Declan. Got a show to prepare and all that. Ciao!” She doesn’t look at you again and you’re grateful that Declan starts to speak before you bumblefuck your way through the silence.

“Ciao,” he repeats once Sarah’s out of earshot . “Doubt that leech of a woman’s ever had a decent carbonara, let alone stepped foot in Italy.” he says, offering you the first genuine smile you’ve received all day. “Let’s get to it, shall we?” He swings open his office door and holds an arm out. “After you, love.”

“Thanks.”

You shuffle into the room ahead of him, completely oblivious to the way Declan’s eyes are trained on your arse in a skirt that’s familiar to him, but he’s unsure how. Right now, however, he doesn’t care, because it fits your body so magnificently, as if it were made for you. He fights to ignore the dull throb beneath his trousers while he watches you sit, the black fabric pushed to its limits as it stretches across the globes of your arse.

God, has she always been so… womanly? Declan wonders, then immediately chastises himself for leering so openly at his daughter’s best friend. Yes, she was a few good years older than Taggie, and always a beautiful girl, but he was glad his middle child had finally made a friend amid the shitshow that was the move to the country and his crumbling marriage to Maud. He didn’t need to muddy the waters with pervacious thoughts about the young lass’ curves. If only she’d shown up to his office in her usual ripped jeans and George Michael-adorned tees.

“Everything okay, Mr O’Hara? Should I sit somewhere else?” you ask when you notice Declan frozen in the doorway with a furrow etched in his brow. You immediately start second-guessing yourself and wonder if this was a bad idea after all. You can only imagine everyone else who lost out on this job before you faced that same expression. He shakes his head at you, at himself, then busies himself with straightening his maroon tie as he moves to sit behind his desk. You shift in your seat, trying to thwart of the lingering itch Maud’s skirt has buried into the back of your thigh. You think if you can wriggle just so, you can ward it off for at least the main portion of the interview. While you think your subtle movements go unnoticed by Declan because he’s perusing your resume - impressive, he’d earlier noted in black pen beside details of your internship at The Times - he’s been clocked onto your behaviour since he’d laid eyes on you across the office. Scared shitless, and he doesn’t half know that Sarah’s sneaky comments only added to it, thanks to the way you’re fidgeting with that damned skirt mere metres away from him. If Declan had any less sense in him, any less dignity, he’d have half the mind to tear it straight from your body. Of course, he decides against it and tries a less barbaric approach to settle your nerves.

“No band t-shirt today?”

Now it’s your turn for your brows to knit together. “I’m sorry?” Declan nudges his head in the general direction of your chest and your chin dips in response to see what he’s referring to. There, your vision is flanked with fluorescent pink and a tinge of flesh where the silky material doesn’t quite stretch to cover your breasts between buttons, and you silently curse Taggie for allowing you to wear something so borderline revealing at her father’s workplace. Plus, you were surprised he’d even noticed your usual attire.

“I thought it was best I grow up a bit in the clothing department if I were to go for a job at Corinium,” you confess. Declan doesn’t miss the way the swell of your breasts arch against your shirt when you take a deep breath and fold your arms across yourself. “But now I’m thinking the bright pink was a mistake.”

You peer across the expansive wooden desk expectantly, and Declan pitches his hands up in mock surrender. “Don’t ask me! Fashion, clearly, is not my strong suit. All I know is, according to my girls, leaving the house with ladders in your tights is a big no-no unless you’re a gothic or Winona Ryder.”

You chuckle at that, even more so for knowing that his youngest daughter, Caitlin, would be all for half-shredded tights.

Declan looks coy as he sips from his tea. “But if it counts for anything, you look lovely.”

“Well, I should hope you think so. These are your wife’s clothes, after all.” Your confession elicits a splutter from the otherwise put together man in front of you. Tea spouts from his lips across the desk, marring your resume and any other papers with brown stains. You immediately spring into action, scanning the room for a towel, handkerchief, anything that could mop up the mess.

“Sorry, love,” Declan says quietly, thumping a fist against his chest. “Wrong pipe.”

That’s when you see it, a pocket square the same colour as his tie poking from his breast pocket. Without thinking, you lurch across Declan’s desk and pluck it from its resting place, and begin soaking up the liquid. Declan ought to help you, it’s his mess after all, but he’s frozen at the view you’ve awarded him as you lean over. Your cleavage fights against the V cut of Maud’s blouse and Declan can just make out the ripple of a black lace bra below the neckline. He can’t even imagine Maud in that outfit. Right now it’s all so you. His cock stirs at the sight and he can’t help the pained groan that bubbles up his throat.

“Stop,” he breathes in barely a whisper. You don’t, of course, you can’t hear him, and you keep wiping at the desk, your breasts bouncing with every swipe up and down.

“Christ, girl, stop it!” Declan explodes, bolting up from his chair. Thankfully, the height of his desk hides his growing bulge, but it doesn’t matter. The look of pure fear painting your face has the same effect as a cold shower. You sink back into your seat and begin spluttering apologies, that you shouldn’t have used his pocket square, that you were out of line and another dozen variations of sorry, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. Declan mirrors you by returning to his chair, raking a hand over his face.

“I’m sorry, darlin’,” he states eventually. “I don’t give a dying rats arse about the pocket square. It’s just… I’m a bloody fool just standing here while you clean up after me. I can’t have you doing that. You don’t even work for me.”

Despite the shock of Declan’s outburst, you manage to muster up a bit of cheek in response. “I don’t even work for you yet,” you correct him.

Your confidence juts Declan’s eyebrows to his curly hairline and a grin cracks across his face. “Cocky little thing, aren’t ya? Go on then.. tell me why I should hire you.”

You spend the next twenty minutes talking Declan through your university studies and experience, the tension from earlier already forgotten. When Declan mentions he once worked with your media law professor, the conversation detours into the pair of you sharing stories about your experiences with the man, far too senile and set in his ways to do the younger generation any good. The rest of the interview carries on like that, you and Declan laughing and exchanging anecdotes like two friends in the pub rather than an employer vetting a potential employee. You’re about to pitch the idea of getting Farah Fawcett on Declan’s show when the office door thumps open to reveal Corinium’s managing director, Tony Baddingham, at its entryway.

“O’Hara! If you’re done with giggling like a little schoolgirl down here, we’ve got a production meeting to get to,” he bites, barely glancing in your direction. You don’t miss the roll of Declan’s tawny eyes as he waves Tony off.

“Alright, Tony. Give me five, I’m just finishing up here,” he says before introducing you by name.

“Nice to meet you, Mr Baddingham,” you tell him, standing to shake his hand. He doesn’t properly look at you until your palms meet, and your spine stiffens when his beady eyes rake over you.

“One of Declan’s assistant candidates, I presume?” he wonders aloud.

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, you’re far prettier than some of the other trolls we’ve had roll through here recently.”

“Tony,” Declan warns. The last thing he wants is another man leering at you like you’re a rite of passage for them.

“Right, well, lovely to meet you,” Tony clasps his other hand over the top of yours, careening his neck so he’s at your eye level. “Hope to see you around here. You’ll definitely be a much-appreciated addition.”

Offering a tight-lipped smile, you reserve the urge bawk in his face. You’ve worked with enough Tony Baddinghams to know his interest in you has nothing to do with your professional ability and everything to do with aesthetics. Fucking men.

For the most part, they sickened you and Declan all the same, but for the latter, he was mainly sickened with himself for wanting to pummel Baddingham for the way he was eye-fucking you. But who was he to talk? He’d been doing the exact same thing just minutes earlier.

When Tony leaves the office, he leaves the door ajar, a reminder that Declan is expected elsewhere. You’re about to ask Declan if Tony is always so…Tony, but he’s already got his briefcase in hand and is ushering you towards the door. “I have to admit, I was surprised when Taggie said you wanted to interview for this position, with you being on a gap year and all,” he confessed as you strolled out onto the office floor. “But you know your stuff. You’re bloody intelligent. Passionate. That’s rare these days.”

“Thank you, Mr O’Hara.”

“Please, call me Declan. Here, and at The Priory. Just Declan,” he smiles and you return it.

“Alright, then. Declan.”

“I’ve got to get going, but I’ll let you know about the job. There’s a couple more interviews on the books in the next few days, I’m sure you understand.”

“Of course.”

Declan gives you a curt nod, and you start for the elevator, but you barely make it five steps before he calls you back.

“For what it’s worth, I’d be lucky to have ya here. And like I said, you look great, but I prefer the jeans and t-shirts. They’re much more…you.”

His admission sends your heart thrumming against your ribcage, and red creeps up your neck and onto your cheeks. “Thank you, Mr O’Ha- Declan,” you correct yourself. “Thank you, Declan. See you around.” You turn on your patent black heel, leaving Declan standing there with an image that’s bound to haunt him for nights to come: you in that fucking skirt.

Please let me know if you enjoyed this, and if you’re feeling generous, a lil’ reblog won’t go astray <3

[tacticaldiary]

omg hi, i love your writing and saw requests were open for cod. i was wondering if you could write something where reader and simon are in an established relationship (can either be public to the team or a secret) and they are on a mission. reader has a scare during a mission and ghost has an “i almost lost you” moment with her.

Anyone But Her

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

Their line of work has never guaranteed the assurance of coming home, but that doesn't make the fear of loss any easier to deal with, especially not when it happens right in front of his eyes.

Masterlist

If asked where one feels the most comfortable, people who respond with something like 'home' or 'the beach', something achievable and wholly normal.

Her? There was nothing more comforting than the feel of hot metal in her tight grip during a mission, the easy reloading of her sniper almost by muscle memory as she gazes down the scope. The commands, the back and forth with tasks and delegations, and the constant movement and adjustment needed to bring home a victory is what keeps her on her feet.

"In position on first building." Ghost's rough voice travels through the comms, bringing her attention away from the scope she's looking down. Laying down on the top of a hill, spotting the other members as they infiltrate a Russian warehouse, was an easy job. In and out before they realised that the team was even there.

It's an ugly thing, what the 141 deals with, but it's so far set from what normal is that she's long since accepted that there's no going back.

Part of her is glad she hadn't tried. If there was never a chance she'd have been selected for this squad, she never would have met the enigma that is Simon Riley.

Standoffish, brash, deadly.

Understanding, confident, loving.

They'd butted heads on her first day harsher than any of the others ever had, and after an order from Price to resolve their tension lest it interfere mid battle, the both of them had come to realise that they had much more in common than they thought.

The rest had been history. They already moved in sync on the field, and after a try they'd discovered they worked just as well together as something more than teammates. It was hard to keep things professional with glances so heated and words that no friend would ever offer each other.

Some of the things he's said to her in the heat of the moment and the privacy of their quarters makes blood rush to her cheeks just thinking about it.

She was just a precaution, really. A failsafe, because the odds may be in their favour but they were never always truly compliant.

"Breaching second on your command." Gaz's voice relays through.

"Sergeant, how are things from above?"

"All clear, L.T." She says, doing another final sweep of the grounds. "No visible hostiles near your vicinity." The good news is delivered with an undertone of caution.

If their intel was correct, this warehouse should be housing stolen US documents, information that could deal real damage to their operations if transported farther than it already had been.

So where were all the soldiers?

The only ones she sees are a few mulling around the grounds, three by the radio tower nearby and another few near the vehicles at the back of the compounds. Surely such valuable intel would be more heavily guarded?

Her gut speaks to attest that something is wrong, but before she can bring it to light, Ghost and Soap, and Gaz and Price breach the doors of their respective warehouses.

"Copy." Ghost rasps. "Breaching now." She pauses for a moment to fiddle with her comms unit, the voices filtering through to her earpiece crackling in a way they shouldn't be if the device was fully functional.

Looking down her scope, everything seems normal. The grass swaying in the wind, the silence that follows and-

Silence?

She stiffens at the sudden lack of noise. It was too still, the clam before the storm. Hand flying to her comms, she speaks into the device;

"Ground team, how copy?"

Static. Then silence.

Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she repeats herself louder, more firmly, frowning where there's nothing but muted static and crackling. She does another sweep of the facility with her sniper. All seems quiet until her gaze focuses on the radio tower.

Adjusting her scope's distance, her mouth goes dry when she realises exactly what the three at the base of the structure are holding. A device she herself has used many times during missions like these.

A jammer.

Sudden movement makes her eyes snap back to the vehicle form before. Her stomach drops as the doors to the truck swing open and soldiers armed to their necks pour out, spreading all over the facility.

An ambush. They knew they were coming. Jammed their comms to isolate them and hide their forces until the others entered the warehouses probably. Surrounded. They'd be surrounded in mere minutes if they didn't do something.

Her comms are useless, so she can't warn them, and can only watch in muted horror as they start to scatter around the building.

Fuck.

She can't take out the three men at the tower from here. That wouldn't stop the device and only act to reveal her position. Hands-on was the only way.

Slamming her sniper onto the strap on her back, she extracts her pistol, breaking into a harsh sprint down the hill. There was no time, she had to warn them herself. To hell with staying out of sight.

The 141...they were like family to her. Soap and Gaz's constant cheeky remarks and antics, Price's steadfast and reliable leadership, Ghost...Simon's patience and understanding, his muted passion and actions that when decoded conveyed more love than anybody had every offered her.

The day her team took a loss would not be today. Not like this. Not when she could help it.

Finding herself in the middle of the compound by ducking and staying out of view, she kneels behind a crate, unhooking one of her frag grenades, pulling the pin out with her teeth.

This would give away her position, a dangerous gamble while hostiles surrounded her from all sides, but what better way to alert battle-ready soldiers than with the bang of a grenade. A sounds they knew all to well.

She'd just have to hold her position until they could regroup. She's done tougher things before, and this was so or die right now. With the thought in mind, she steels herself and tosses out the grenade at the most densely packed area of soldiers, clenching her jaw and taking cover at the resounding bang that cracks through the air.

The gunfire follows soon after.

Her comms crackle, evidence that someone's trying to reach her, but with the jammer not sounds can be deciphered.

Soldiers yell, and fire at her location, the heavy thudding of footsteps on either side of her clueing her into their intentions to flank her sides and gun her down. Returning fire, she ducks between the crates to make her way to the radio tower, just a couple of metres away. Bullets clink and bang and ricchoet of fthe metal around her, but miraculously, she's mostly unscathed as dives behind a vehicle and takes down the three men aiming their rifles at her.

The jammer lays at the feet, blinking green.

Right in the middle of the open field. She had to get there, had to get it off so they could all communicate with each other and move smoothly. There was a higher risk of casualties if one moved without the knowledge of the others.

Unpredictability was the worst of enemies in the field.

Steeling herself for going out in the open under the inevitable spray of bullets, she unclips a smoke grenade and tosses it, holding her breath as acrid smoke obstructs everyone's vision. Stumbling into the mess, she keeps low to the ground to avoid the blind fire into the smoke and feels around for the device.

Her hands curl around the metal and she sprints back to cover.

She doesn't make it.

Their blind fire proves effective, as a bullet rips through her shoulder, another one through her calf wrenching out a choked scream from her. The smoke was slowly dissipating, and pretty soon visibility would be back and then any bullet wounds she'd sustain would not be as unfatal.

Panic claws up her throat, but years of practise allow her to swallow it down. She pulls herself up, but groans and collapses, her leg unable to support her weight and her shoulder unable to drag her across the ground.

Shit, shit.

Her breaths come ragged and uneven, her knuckles turning white with the harsh grip on the device. Changing courses, she brings the jammer close to her, focusing on it instead, turning knobs and pressing buttons.

If she bit the bullet here, she'd damn well do so making sure the others stayed alive.

The second the jammer switches off, voices filter through her comms, a flurry of mixed yells, gunfire and pounding footsteps.

"Sergeant?!" A familiar voice barks down the line, hoarse...worried? "Are you down?"

Lightheaded, feeling blood soak through her clothes, she can't bring herself to respond. The smoke starts to clear and the best she can do is shift herself behind a tree a few feet away, leaning against the thick trunk for cover while unable to grasp her weapon through the slippery bloody coating her hands.

Was it normal to have that much blood? Feeling a little delirious, she drops her weapons besides her and presses down hard on the wound on her leg, biting back a groan. Gunfire pings around her, gunpowder and smoke acrid in the air.

It's only when Ghost snaps her name through the comms does she come back to herself a little.

"I'm..." She squeezes her eyes shut trying to get her tongue to form words. "I'm down. Bleeding out near the radio tower. Fuckers jammed out comms. Ambush. Had to...had to warn you. Had to fix it." She coughs, spitting into the ground beside her as blood trickles down her chin.

Definitely not normal.

Swallowing is hard, her thoughts swim as the grass beneath her is stained crimson. Her body feels too heavy, head to light and she wonders if this is really the end.

Someone speaks through her comms, words to muddled in her head to make out. Gaz? Or was that Price? Maybe Soap? Or Simon?

God, what she wouldn't give to hear Simon again, just once. Her eyes flutter shut with a groan. Just once more. She just wants to hear that gruff voice one more time through the comms, saying her name. He's never told her he's loved her verbally, even when she expressed it herself, but words haven't ever been his strong points.

His actions spoke far far louder.

The ways he's memorised all her little routines, her favourite foods, her favourite activities, the particular way she likes to store and clean her weapons. the silent moments at night where he pulled her close and the shared a book together, the nights spent together in bed where he showed her that he was not lacking in love when it came to her.

Simon Riley had left a mark on her life that she wore with pride, and if this...this meant that he lived on another day. She grits her teeth, shallows pant soft breath as blood pools between her fingers.

Then it was damn well worth it.

                                  · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

An unstoppable force by nature, Ghost is the scariest anybody's ever seen him right now.

That last comms transmission from her had made his heart practically stop in his chest, even if he was as apathetic as ever from the outside. He had called out to her again, demanded she stay awake and give a precise location but no matter how much he shouted and order through the comms he was met with a deafening silence.

Silence that suggested the worst.

Fuck, no. No way. This wasn't happening, this simply wasn't something Simon would allow to happen.

Not her. Not any of them, really, but especially not her. Not her soft smiles and meaningful glances, not when she made him feel as if he might not break everything he comes into contact with.

Not when she was the only one who's ever coaxed out Simon Riley from Ghost.

His actions grow harsher, more brutal. The moment he hears she's near the radio towers bleeding out, he's a man on a mission, and none of the others make a peep of protest as he clears the way through to her, a spartan leaving a trail of blood behind as he moves.

He does not rage. Rage implies something uncontrolled and fierce. No, this is not rage. This is something much colder, much more calculating. Every throat that he slashed with his knife, every bullet that lands home in a skull is done with precision and deadly force. He means every bit of hurt he causes, hurt that stems from his own panic at her sudden silence.

This was not rage. This was icy cold desperation disguised as cool anger.

He's the one who finds her after everybody spreads out to clear the facility.

Back to a tree, eyes closed, hands limp at her side.

She might have been sleeping if not for all the fucking blood.

Dropping down beside her, he shakes her shoulder firmly, calling out her name.

"Wake up, Sergeant." He orders, eyes raking over her figure to find the source of her injuries. His jaw ticks as he notes the two fresh wounds. She doesn't move when he extracts a rolls of gauze from his belt, doesn't flinch when he tightly wraps her injuries.

Does not wake up to notice how his hands are shaking as he ties the final knots.

"Wake up." He says, voice much lower, something deeply needing. Shifting closer, he pulls her into his arms, away from the rough bark of the tree. Her head falls to his shoulder limply, making his breath hitch, true, cold fear gripping his heart. "Wake up, sweetheart, c'mon." He urges. She's still alive as per the shallow rise and fall of her chest, but she won't fucking wake up and it's killing him, making panic claw at his throat because not her, not her, not her.

Reaching around, he pinches her sternum hard, relief slamming into him when she finally groans and whimpers, a weak hand reaching up to push his away. "That's it, love. There you go." He mutters praise, hooking an arm under her legs and hoisting her up, carrying her. "Keep those eyes open for me, yeah? Don't you dare fucking close them, you hear me?" His accent is thicker than normal

"..Simon?" She groans, barely a whisper, making his heart wretch painfully.

"It's me." He confirms, clutching her tighter as he makes his way back to the exfil he'd ordered Gaz to request. The heli stand waiting near the first warehouse, a mass of dead bodies paving the path for them to step over. "I've got you, love. Stay with me, just a little longer.

He doesn't know if she can hear him let alone understand what he's saying, but it seems to work, her groggy gaze taking in their surrounding, watching but not really seeing.

She shoves at his chest suddenly, weak but firm. "No...you gotta-they're here." She rattles in a breath that makes even him wince. "Ambush, Simon. Gotta-get yourself out."

"Fucking hell woman, you think I'd leave you?" He hisses, hiking her up closer so their bodies are pressed together. He feels a rush of anger peer through the crushing panic and worry he's beating down.

"No time." She breathes. "Leave-"

"Not another word." He warns, angry at the thought that she'd even think for one moment that he'd let her die on his watch, that he'd ever leave the one good thing in his life.

Her compliance scares him to the bone.

Simon practically runs the last few meters towards the evac heli, barking out instructions for a medic as they bring out a stretcher. Gently, an action so at odds with the flames burning through his veins, he lays her down on it, staying by her side as they hoist her inside.

The jolting makes her whimper, aggravating her injuries no doubt. "Careful," Simon demands, and a single glare from him is enough to make the team move her with much more cautiousness.

The team clamours in and it's not long before they're all in the air.

A silence is passed around the space, an acknowledgment and shared anger at her state, how she was riddled with bullets like a target because of her selfless nature to save and give.

They hadn't gotten the intel, but Simon has never given less of a shit about anything before, not when she's laying next to him pale and trembling, looking up at him as if he might be the one to make her pain go away.

May God strike him dead if he doesn't try his fucking hardest.

                                  · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The steady beep on a heart monitor and the sharp smell of antiseptic is what slowly brings her back to the living world. She feels...

Well she feels like shit.

That's kind a given though, judging by how she determines by the scratchy sheets under her that she's in a hospital bed. One would be more disorientated by waking up like this, but she's seen her fare share of white bedspreads and jello cups.

Finally gathering up the courage to blink her heavy eyes open, she squints at the ceiling light, slowly getting her bearings.

They were...on a mission. She tries to recall. Warehouse. Men. Jammer...

The jammer! Were the others alright? All she remembers is passing out by the tree and-what else?

Alarm ringing through her, she moves to sit up but immediately groans at her body protesting, her limbs burning at the movement. Shoulder and leg tight with stitches, she tries to force herself to sit up when a large, warm hard pushes her back down.

"Easy does it. Lay still for me." The familiar voice washes away the alarm and when she slowly, groggily turns her head, there sits the one person she wanted to see.

Simon sits beside her bed, looking ragged and poorly even beneath his mask. She can see it by the tension in his shoulders.

"Wh-" She trails off, coughing and wincing at the pain in her dry throat. There's a rustling, and then a hand at the back of her neck, guiding her lips to a cup full of cool water. "Drink." Simon says simply, helping her swallow the liquid until she pushes on his hand.

"What happened?" She finally manages, meeting his eyes. "You look...like shit. You okay?"

Amusement may have flickered into those eyes of his, but it's next to nothing with the other concoction of worry in his eyes.

For someone so stoic, he had very expressive eyes if you knew how to read them.

"Am I okay?" He stares in disbelief. "Considering I didn't get shot twice and nearly bleed out, I'd say I'm doing better than you."

"Ever the comedian." Her joke doesn't crack a smile from him and that's when she knows something is truly wrong. "Simon what-"

The scrape of his chair cuts her off as he stands abruptly, moving over to her side. He seems hesitant for a split second, arms pausing as they reach out.

He decides to push away the doubt, however, because moments later, strong arms are wrapped around her, pulling her into him. She relaxes at the familiar scent of him, of his clothes as he tucks his chin over her head.

His heart is racing under his cheek, her fist loosely gripping his shirt.

She knows he'll speak in time, that she just has to wait for him to gather the words and decide how to express them out loud. So she does exactly that. She waits while he regulates himself, gathers his thoughts.

His arms tighten around her. "Thought I lost you." He says, and if it had been anybody but her, they might have missed the slight tremor in his voice. "When I saw you bleeding out against that tree...Fuck, I thought you were gone."

"Not that easily." She hums, pressing into him further. "Never than easily."

"Better fucking not be." It coaxes a hoarse giggle from her, what he growls in her ear.

"I'm alright, Simon." She assures him gently. "Alive and kicking."

He nods against her head minutely, his lips pressing against her head through his mask, a gesture that makes her melt because if Simon was resorting to such a thing he must have really had a scare. He hated PDA and although they were the only ones in the room, normally they reserved this kind of intimacy for their own rooms when they're alone together.

He stays like that for a while, convincing himself that she was there, that she was alive and breathing and in his arms and untouchable as of now. All the while she runs a soothing hand up and down his strong arms, mumbling assurances of their safety.

She'd do it again in a heartbeat, would put herself in harms way to save her team, but as she sits there pressed against him, the sun spilling into the room warming it with it's rays, she can't help but think of how thankful she is to have felt this again.

To have the chance to continue experiencing the protective love of Simon Riley.

Requests Are Open!

(25/06/2023)

[gguk-n]

would you consider doing a prompt in which the MLs have the same soulmate marks but they are enemies? you can choose the driver and the logistics i would love to see a fic like this by youu

Thank you for the ask!!

I had this in my inbox for so long bc I'm indecisive and I couldn't choose who to write it for, so there's a poll to choose. There will be a part 2. Full story is up!!

What? How?

Everyone grew up hearing about soulmate; from their family or friends or relatives. Most people looked forward to meeting their soulmate, some people wanted to defy fate and some people never got to meet their soulmate.

Y/N thought she was a part of the soulmate less crew, "I'll register you with soulmatch" her mother told her. Soulmatch was an agency, a app or a website, which ever one you chose to help two soulmate less individuals get together and find companionship in each other. Her mother wanted her to start looking, Y/N couldn't careless since her job kept her busy and she was barely at home anyways. Y/N was a race engineer in Formula One; a job she worked tirelessly to achieve. It barely gave her any time to wonder where her soulmate was. She got to work with some of the most talented and smart people to make machinery that made the car go really fast. But now she was working with her driver to make sure the race went as smoothly as possible with the best result as possible; sometimes at the cost of the other driver. "Are you listening to me?" her mother's voice broke through her thoughts. "Yeah" she replied. "I'll let you know once you match with people" her mother stated before cutting the call.

Her parents were late bloomers themselves; meeting each other in their late 20's and early 30's so she didn't understand the fuss her mother was making. She was in her prime and a soulmate would come along when he wanted to. Y/N travelled the world; if a soulmate existed, she would run into him eventually.

There were a lot of times you would wish someone was your soulmate and there were a lot of times you wished someone wasn't. For Y/N, it was her driver's teammate. She hated his guts; ever since she had joined, he had been a pain in the ass for as long as she could remember. He would start fights with her if she prioritised her driver, and honestly, who else would she prioritise. She had good strategies that would work in her driver's favour sometimes and he couldn't tolerate it. Starting fights and unnecessary arguments. The team was done with them, the paddock was done with them and the DTS crew always had so much fun.

It was any other race weekend, the two of them had been at odds since FP1. Y/N tried to be calm and mature about it; she didn't want to cause issues for the team. Hence, she ignored any thing and everything he said. It was getting on his nerve; she was ignoring him and behaving extremely rudely to him. It all came to a head when the team finished P1 and P3 with Y/N's driver winning the race. You can already imagine the resentment brewing as he got out of the car.

During the post race interview, there were jabs being thrown but it was during On The Sofa; he said something, he later realised he shouldn't have. But it was too late; Y/N was already there and a fight broke out. A lot of commotion, the media having a field day, the P1 and P2 driver trying to get them to stop, their team trying to stop them and PR having a crisis. The crowd went silent as Y/N pulled her sleeve up to reveal her soulmate mark which matched the her enemies's soulmate mark exactly; now visible due to the scuffle. A loud whisper broke out in the crowd, Y/N looking at him and then his mark as the pair tried to process what was happening. Over whelmed with emotions, Y/N stormed off, leaving the crowd but most of all her soulmate stunned.

Y/N was reeling from the revelation; the man who was supposed to be her soulmate was also the man she hated the most, or did she dislike him? All of these thoughts and emotions swirled inside her as she wondered what just happened and how she had gone this long before finding out. Did he know? Did he hate her because he knew? What was going on and what was she supposed to do? She felt her world crash and her phone wouldn't stop ringing. She looked at the caller and it was her mum. "Congratulations darling" she bellowed. Y/N was confused, "I saw you found your soulmate" her mum said when she got no reply. "How did you find out?" she asked. "It's on the news, sweetheart" her mother stated. While Y/N was still reeling from the revelation, F1's social media accounts had already posted about the two sworn enemies actually being soulmates and how it was straight out of a fairytale. Y/N wanted to disappear. Why was this happening now? she wondered, exhausted from the events of the day.

[vigilante24ish]

🌙 Moon Phases 🌙

Agatha Harkness X Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1233

Chapter 33:

The inside of the room reminded you then top of a tower, no corners to be seen, and some tall glass stained windows offering some light.

Everything had a very medieval feel, with old stones and banners; suits of armour, and an odd circular stone table in the middle, with two wooden chairs across from one another.

However, your attention went quickly to the new outfits chosen by the road for your companions and you.

Agatha had been dressed like the wicked witch of the West, dark cliché witch watches, and even a pointy hat. The skin had even been painted green, only the lips having a purple shade instead.

Billy, on the other hand, resembled Maleficent, and you swore he didn't have that sharp cheekbones before.

You would not lie that it suited him.

And yes, despite your history; you had occasionally chosen to watch mainstream media associated with witches. What could you say? You grew lonely, slightly bored, and the Halloween costumes of certain kids had picked your interest.

"Oh! She's based on me, you know." Agatha suddenly said, posing and clearly enjoying her costume.

Billy was sceptical. "Prove it."

"Well, you are what you eat; so" you commented without much thinking.

Your comment and your tone surprised your companions and earned different looks from them.

Agatha parted her lips in surprise, a silent gasp leaving her as she eyed you carefully. She did not expect that from you, and a part of her wondered if this was creeping jealousy because of Rio.

Truthfully, she hadn't fully seen you jealous, but she knew it was there. When you would kiss her with little more force, when you would snuggle closer to her on certain occasions.

And it was always followed after talk of other people or even small socialising you two would happen to-do; never planned but had to play along not to raise suspicions.

Not that you were always successful. Which was perhaps why you had ended changing places of living quite often.

"Well, then I am curious what your preferences are then," she snapped back.

Her words gave you the courage to glance at yourself, hesitating to do so after the last trial. The Road hadn't seem to be that favourable with you, at least not the way you would have expected it.

Perhaps you were simply a picky person, wanting stability through familiar clothes and styles. You shouldn't be judged, though, considering how unstable your life always was.

Constantly changing places to stay undetected, fake names and backgrounds. One should not mention the unstable duo of Rio and Agatha coming up into your life only to disappear soon after... only for the cycle to be repeated again and again.

This time you wore a dress, long and heavy; reaching the foor. The basis was a light grey, its pattern and material reminding you of a more medieval era; which you had lived through. Yet it was the silver extras that got your attention.

They were blended and placed to resemble some sort of fancy female cliché chest armour while the skirt had a more scale like design. You had a rather open cleavage, just enough to draw attention but not as dramatic as the one Agatha and rio had during Alice's trial.

"Hmm," you hummed as you did a twirl around yourself, trying to catch a better glimpse of the full outfit. "Honestly, I am puzzled,"

As you looked at your companions, you saw Billy's eyes lighten up in recognition. "You are the Ice Queen!" He exclaimed happily, the character most likely one of his favourite ones.

"Ice Queen?" You arched an eyebrow.

"Yes, an ice witch that used her powers to become queen. You even have the crown and everything. "

At the mention of the crown, you rushed to the nearest shiny object and got a glimpse of your reflection. Indeed, a beautiful icy blue crown had been worn tightly; going down your temples and giving the impression of grown ice.

"It suits you. White has always been your colour," Agatha commented, having enjoyed watching you walk fast with that heavy but well designed dress; the silvers on it and the crown reflecting the light and giving you a more supernatural look.

An ironic fit in her mind.

You did not wish to continue this discussion and so you tried to find anything to help you change the topic. Thankfully for you, Billy had started to admire his outfit a little too much.

"Well, you seem pleased with your look." You commented as he walked towards you, eager to see his reflection as well.

"Well, if the cheekbones fit..." he replied as he focused on the surprising good contour.

You shook your head, not really in the mood to be amused by his comments. He might enjoy the changes but you didn't, because of two things.

One, you had yet to start the trial.

Two, there was still no sign of Lilia or Jen; a worrisome thing.

In an attempt not to focus on those dark thoughts, you chose to approach this mysterious table and try to get any clues out of it.

You took notice of the card shaped carvings on the stone table. They had been carved to be deeper, acting like some kind of case or place for them to be put on.

The way they were positioned was familiar to you, recognising it as a tarot spreading technique. You had seen it before but never truly focused or bothered with it.

Tarot was never your calling, and you were also never interested in learning of your future. And if you ever need any answers, you would turn your attention to the stars above.

They spoke of secrets that nothing else could, and they only spoke to you after years of training yourself to listen to their mystic, quiet song.

Your hand brushed over the cool surface and above some inscriptions at the side, allap carved on the stone.

"Do you think this is important?" Billy asked him and Agatha, having chosen to finally join you and help you find how the trial worked.

"Your path winds out of time." You mumbled as you read out loud, trying to get some sense out of this rather cryptic message.

Billy took notice of a stack of cards that had escaped your notice, and he grabbed it before flipping one to look at their design.

He could not help but smirk. "It's Tarot. I know this, kind of. I'll read for you, I guess." He said. "To any of you"

"Do her, though I don't think it will work," you admitted, and Agatha rolled her eyes.

"What is it now?" She questioned, one hand in her waist.

She loved you, but sometimes you truly were a joy killer. Especially now. She wanted to get to the end of the road and consider how close you might actually be... she didn't want to wait.

"This is tarot. It's Lilia's trial, " you pointed out.

"But Lilia is not here," Billy commneted.

Agatha did not share the worry. "The kid said he can do it, should be fine. Come on, no time like the present."

Defeated, you let out a sigh and leaned on the table; remaining by the side. Agatha occupied one chair and Billy the other while also shuffling the card deck a few times.

Chapter 34

[mrs-kmikaelson]

Our Song and Dance²

Pairing: Finnick Odair x reader Summary: You'd grown used to dancing the same dance over and over again, the victor's dance, but then you start dancing with Finnick Odair and you feel things you never thought you'd feel. So you let yourself enjoy the dance, even though you knew that every song inevitably came to an end. Warnings: not as long as before but still long, murder, violence, death, exploitation of minors, mentions of forced prostitution, psychological "games," unrequited love, complicated relationships, suicidal tendencies (technically), complex mental health issues, and i make up small details ab smaller characters and some names (pls lmk if i missed anything) Words: 9.2K

Masterlist | Part 3

a/n: i just want to thank you all so much for the support! i was definitely insecure about this, but seeing all the love rlly makes it so worth it! this one is completely catching fire, then the next one is all mockingjay. hope u enjoy! also finnick and y/n's song is def american pie.

“Let The 75th Hunger Games begin. May the odds be ever in your favour.”

Ten seconds later, a cannon fired and you were immediately jumping off the pedestal into the water. Once upon a time, you were a swimmer. This was your edge. You were good in water, as was Finnick, so your worry for him eased. 

You swam until you reached rock, climbing on to it and running along the path like your life depended on it because it did. Once you were at the Cornucopia, you ran for your sword, grabbing it and then swiftly pivoting to stab the person coming up from behind you like it was instinct—and it was.

Your mind didn’t have to fully be there; your body knew what it was doing. You’ve danced this dance already, and you’ve perfected it. You stabbed another man from behind, letting him fall to the ground when you pulled your sword away. You grabbed throwing knives, running to find Finnick, and you caught him at just the right moment.

Katniss had just drawn her arrow when you came up from behind her, bringing your sword up against her neck. Alliance or not, you’d slit her throat if she posed a threat.

“Careful, Everdeen,” you warned, making her tense.

At that moment, Finnick held up his forearm, flashing his bracelet. He smirked, completely unbothered, and taunted, “Good thing we’re allies, right?”

Her breath was shaky but her voice was still menacing. “Where did you get that?”

“Where do you think?” You retorted, still holding the blade close to her skin.

You watched as the amusement on Finnick’s face disappeared, his gaze being directed away from you. “Behind you.”

You quickly moved your sword away from her neck without cutting her, spinning and bringing it down on another guy’s neck instead. You turned back to a gasping Katniss, ignoring her state that was much like the one you were just in. “Don’t trust 1 and 2.”

Cannons fired as Finnick walked around you. “I’ll take this side. You go hold them off,” he told her.

You nodded. “I’ll find Peeta.” You didn’t walk far before you spotted him, shouting, “He’s over here!” All three of you ran over, finding him in the water against a pedestal, fighting off a tribute.

Finnick jumped into the water, swimming over while Katniss drew her arrow, seemingly waiting to get a good shot, but then both boys were submerged underwater. She brought her arrow down, breathing heavily as a cannon fired.

You waited in anticipation, a body floating up to the surface. For a second, you thought the kid died, but then he emerged out of the water, panting, and you both let out a breath.

The look on her face as she thought Peeta died was more convincing than any other performance you watched them put on, more convincing than the kisses, and the engagement, and the sweet interviews. Whatever was going on between them, you knew now that it wasn’t all fake.

Seems that you had more in common with the Girl on Fire than you thought.

You glanced over at the island, seeing the sets of Careers standing together, forming an alliance as they usually did. Katniss noticed this, too, so as soon Peeta and Finnick were out of the water, you all went running in to the jungle.

This was a Quarter Quell. There was more to it than just changing up the reaping; the entire arena was special. The Gamemakers were sick. You knew that you were in for a hell of a ride.

Right now, you just had to keep running. You could worry about food and water when the time came, and you’d find Johanna eventually. She was smart; you knew she wouldn’t be one of the first to die.

You ran and ran until Finnick called for you all to stop, crouching down to make a game plan. It turned out that you were gonna need water a lot sooner than you thought with how hot it was. At least freezing to death wasn’t something you had to worry about.

Katniss stared at you and Finnick quite obviously. You weren’t sure if she was trying to be discreet or not; you weren’t sure if she knew how to be discreet at all. The firing of the cannon made her finally look away.

Even though you were just running for your lives, a smirk still made its way onto Finnick’s face. “Well, I guess we’re not holding hands anymore,” he chuckled. You snorted, but Katniss wasn’t as amused.

“You think that’s funny?” 

You narrowed your eyes, answering before Finnick could. “I don’t know what you think this is, Everdeen, but in case you failed to notice, it’s kill or be killed out here.” You pointed to your ear. “Every time that cannon goes off, it’s music to my ears. We don’t care about any of them.”

Her jaw clenched. “Good to hear,” she quipped, pulling a machete out of its sheath on her back. You scoffed at her pathetic attempt to threaten you.

“Look, you wanna face the Career Pack alone? Be my guest. It’s your funeral,” you shot. “Besides, what would Haymitch say?”

“Haymitch isn’t here.” She stared straight into your eyes and you stared right back at her, unblinking. In your peripheral, you saw Peeta glancing between you.

“Let’s keep moving,” he interrupted, standing up, but you didn’t look away from Katniss until she stood up first.

Once you were up and walking, Finnick put his hand on the small of your back, probably to calm you down. For some reason, he insisted on working with them, so you’d just have to stifle your urge to argue with her.

Eventually, though, you knew you would be doing a lot more than arguing. If Katniss and you were as alike as you thought, then you knew that she’d stab you in the back for Peeta, the same way you would for Finnick.

The actual tributes in the arena weren’t always what you had to worry about. You were reminded of this when Peeta hit the wrong branches and went flying backward, sending you all with him.

A wall where he hit was revealed, like a glitch, before it was replaced again with the glamour of the jungle. A force field, you realized. Then your attention was drawn back to Peeta by Katniss’ cry of his name.

You shuffled over to them as Katniss panicked. “He’s not breathing. He’s not breathing.” Finnick rushed over, pushing her out of the way.

She instantly reached for her bow, going to grab an arrow, but you shoved her arm. “What the hell is wrong with you? He’s saving his life,” you snapped. Her hand fell, realizing you were right as she watched Finnick give him CPR.

She looked like she took a moment to collect herself and then she crawled over. “Peeta? Peeta?” She cried. Finnick grunted, switching between compressions and mouth-to-mouth, continuously checking for a heartbeat that wasn’t there. “Please wake up. No,” she sobbed, “please wake up.”

For the first time since The Games began, you really did feel bad for her. If you were in her place, you didn’t know what you would do.

Just as you thought Peeta was dead, he gasped back to life. Finnick moved back, letting them have their moment.

“Be careful, there’s a force field up there,” he breathed.

She tearily chuckled, leaning in to kiss him. You and Finnick shared a look. Katniss was kidding herself if she didn’t think she loved him. You tuned the rest of their conversation out. Peeta could’ve died, just like that, and Katniss would’ve probably fallen apart.

You knew that if Finnick died, you died, too. You couldn’t let that happen. You had to protect him.

Little did you know, he was thinking the exact same thoughts about you.

Once Peeta could stand, you were all back on your feet, looking for freshwater while simultaneously trying to spot where the force field started and ended. After Katniss did a little experiment with an arrow, you figured out that the arena was a dome. You just so happened to be at the edge.

Didn’t matter, though, because there wasn’t a sign of freshwater anywhere. Since you couldn’t satisfy your need for water, you’d just have to compensate with your need for sleep.

“It’s getting dark soon. We’ll be safe with our backs protected. We should set up camp,” Finnick suggested. “Take turns sleeping. I can take first watch.”

Katniss gave a little scoff like he was saying was absurd. “Not a chance.”

You stepped forward, so fed up and desperately wanting to give her a reality check, but Finnick held a hand up, signalling for you to stop. The only reason you did was because you saw the look on his face. As much as you wanted to tear Katniss a new one, you’d much rather watch him do it.

He stood up, sticking the end of his trident into the ground. He was calm, but annoyance laced his voice. “Honey, that thing I did back there for Peeta? That was called saving his life. If I wanted to kill either of you, I would’ve done it by now.” He picked up his trident. “Same goes for Y/N.”

Then he walked off, and you followed soon after hearing Katniss say something to Peeta about taking the first watch. If you were just watching The Games, then maybe you’d feel a little more compassionate towards her, but you weren’t watching. You were in them with her.

Your compassion sort of needed to disappear to ensure your survival, so all you were was annoyed. But she was a pretty good archer, so having her on your team didn’t hurt, unless you were counting how she was a pain in your ass.

However, your annoyance was quick to fade as you fell asleep, tired, hungry, and dehydrated.

When you woke up, it was to the sound of Panem’s anthem, pictures in the sky of the tributes that had died. Most of them were people you previously had conversations with in the Capitol, yet some of them were still people that you killed.

You couldn’t be friends with everyone in an arena.

You counted eight pictures in the sky. So there were sixteen left, including you four. If you were still mentoring, you would’ve probably been reflecting over how quickly those lives could just come to an end, but you didn’t have time to stop and think about the cruelty of life.

Your thoughts were directed away from the dead by a chime. You looked up to see a silver parachute, slowly falling to the ground. Katniss opened the silver casing, revealing some sort of metal tool and a note from Haymitch. You quickly identified the tool as a spile.

The three of you brought it to a tree, waiting to see if it’d work. Peeta came and found you not long after. You were just staring at it, praying for water. If there was a God, they answered, because water came pouring out of the spile like it was a fountain.

You were so relieved that you laughed, drinking and splashing some on your face.

After that, you were the one taking watch as everyone slept. Every year when The Games came, you had trouble sleeping more than a few hours each night. Now that you were back in the arena, you really couldn’t sleep at all. You’d make sure you got an hour every day, just to keep yourself sharp, but otherwise you’d prefer to let Finnick sleep and watch over him, anyway.

You were all startled by a loud banging, almost like an alarm. The only reason you could think of for its presence was to signal that it was midnight, but you were still confused. There were never alarms in any of the other Games. But, like you’d already figured out, this year was different.

Right after the alarm, you watched as lightning repeatedly struck the same tree in the distance. Nature didn’t work that way, and there was nothing natural about The Games, anyway. It wasn’t a coincidence, but you just couldn’t figure out what its purpose could be.

You spent the rest of your watch trying to put the puzzle pieces together, trying to figure out what the catch was with this arena, but you couldn’t make any of the pieces fit. You didn’t have enough. Katniss tried to stay awake, still distrusting of you, but she eventually succumbed to slumber, leaving you to yourself.

She hadn’t been sleeping long when you heard a different sound. You turned your head, seeing grey mist slowly crawl its way over to you. Your brows furrowed.

There were no natural occurrences in an arena.

You reached your hand out, like you were testing the waters, but you should’ve known better. As soon as the fog made contact with your skin, you fell backward, a scream leaving your lips. Your cry woke everyone else up. 

Finnick immediately ran to you, but you shouted, “No, run! It’s poison- the fog is poison!” Either he was stupid or brave, because he ignored your warning and ran to you anyway, helping you up as quickly as possible before you followed Katniss and Peeta, doing your best to run, but the fog was following you, too.

It was harder to run fast in this part of the jungle. All of the branches and plants kept getting in your way, but you weren’t stopping, helping Peeta cut whatever was in your way.

You could’ve been running as fast as humanly possible, but the fog still would’ve caught up to you. It wasn’t nature at all. It was intended to kill.

You had to change directions as it suddenly appeared in front of you, too. It was like it was encasing you. Somewhere along the way, Katniss and Peeta ended up running on the path parallel to you. You skidded to a stop as you heard Finnick scream. Your eyes widened. “Finnick, come on. We’ve gotta go!” You ushered him forward, and then he went running to Katniss and Peeta who came to a stop, as well.

When you got there, Peeta was groaning on the ground, blisters all over the side of his face. “I can’t carry him,” Katniss panted. “Peeta, please, stand up. We have to go.”

If you could carry him, you would, but he’d crush you if you tried. Finnick was in no condition to carry Peeta alone, so you slung one of his arms around your neck, telling Katniss to get the other. “Finnick, go. Get ahead of us.” You motioned for him to go forward.

He looked hesitant, and in any other situation, he wouldn’t, but none of you had the time to argue, so he listened and ran forward, taking Peeta’s blade and cutting the branches in your path.

The three of you cried out as the fog hit the backs of your necks, but then you were all rolling down a hill that you couldn’t have noticed in the state you were in.

You were whimpering on the ground, so consumed by the pain that you almost forgot that you were supposed to be running. You turned over and, to your surprise, the fog didn’t come any closer, travelling upward instead of forward, like it hit a wall. And then it just disappeared altogether.

You let out a shaky breath, resting your head on the ground before you were reminded of where you were. Resting wasn’t an option. You’d rest when you were dead, and you weren’t gonna speed up that process.

So you crawled over to the lake a few feet away from you. This was a gamble, but you had to take some risks if you wanted to survive. Cautiously, you stuck your hand in the water. This elicited another scream from you, but the pain in your hand slowly faded as the blisters were practically washed away. 

“The- the water,” you stuttered, “the water helps.”

As Katniss and Peeta made their way over, you pushed yourself into the water, moaning at the pain. Tears leaked out of your eyes, but after a minute or so, the excruciating pain subsided to just a sting.

When you were both okay, Katniss and you got out of the water, dragging Finnick over. As soon as the water touched his skin, he was screaming, trying to fight against it. “Shh, shh,” you hushed, holding him down. “It’s gonna help.” You ran your fingers through his hair, and a few more tears fell down your face, even though you weren’t in pain anymore.

Not physical pain.

But watching him struggle like this was a pain you couldn’t help.

You and Katniss helped him as he shivered while Peeta went and got your weapons. You stayed in the lake even after all your blisters were gone, just cooling off and getting yourselves together.

In The Games, your physical came first, but you wanted to keep an eye on mental health or at least not let it get to a point where it’d affect your body. Though, you supposed there was no healthy mind in The Games, and there certainly wasn’t after a victor left them.

Annie was an example of a worst case scenario, but you knew this because you lived it, too.

Finnick’s hand found yours as you sat together, holding it tightly. This was his way of making sure you were still there. Your way was putting your head on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart.

After a while, though, that steady rhythm was interrupted and his heart started beating faster. This caused you to look up, and when you did, you were met with the sight of apes coming toward you.

Katniss grabbed an arrow while you and Finnick slowly stood up, bracing yourself by readying your weapons. You glanced around, seeing that they were coming in from all directions. Fucking Gamemakers, you thought.

You realized you could see the Cornucopia from where you stood, so all you had to was fend them off and make it there.

Suddenly, one jumped at Peeta, then the rest of them got up from their perched positions. Katniss was firing arrows left and right while you and the boys slashed away. If one got too close, you stabbed it.

Katniss was pulled underwater by one, but you killed it before she ran out of air. There were too many to just kill all of them, meaning you had to start running for the beach.

Peeta and Katniss both fell, so you ran to help her while Finnick went for Peeta. You stabbed the ape in front of her, grabbing her hand and taking her running with you. When you reached them, there was someone lying on the ground that hadn’t been with you before.

“Who is that?” Katniss questioned, but you recognized her by the face paint.

“A morphling,” Peeta responded, pulling her up. “Help me get her!”

You let Katniss help him while you helped Finnick get the apes closest to you, taking off as soon as you could. You both stumbled, rolling onto the beach, but the apes didn’t go farther than the edge of the sand. You held your blades out at them, but it was like you really didn’t need to.

You were reminded of the fog and it how was stopped by an invisible wall, the same way these monkeys looked to be stopped by something. 

A cannon fired, and they retreated into the jungle. You swallowed, turning to see Katniss and Peeta leaving the water, the Morphling left floating dead. Like clockwork, a hovercraft came in, picking her up like she was an object.

You scoffed. Just when you thought you couldn’t think any lesser of the Capitol, you were proven wrong.

When Peeta spoke up, his voice was both defeated and confused. “She sacrificed herself for me and I didn’t even know her name.”

“Her name was Trayne,” you cut in, making them both look at you, but your eyes were focused on the hovercraft taking her out of the water. “Trayne Carter.”

They both paused, absorbing that. It was like, for the first time since you entered the arena, you were reminded that these people weren’t just your opponents. They were people that had lives.

Just like you.

A look then passed over Katniss’ face as she turned to Peeta. “You think she sacrificed herself?”

“Looked like it.”

Your brows knit together while she voiced your thoughts. “That doesn’t make any sense.” It didn’t, but you had a long list of things you had to make sense of and more pressing matters at hand, so you couldn’t busy yourself by thinking about it.

Finnick found fish that was edible, so you all sat in the shade and ate for the first time since before The Games started. This time, you were the one to reach out for his hand, holding on to it like you’d die if you let go.

You were pretty much in silence until a scream sounded from far away but close enough that you could hear it. You let go of Finnick’s hand as Peeta remarked, “That’s new.”

You all stood up, grabbing your weapons. In the distance, there was a rumble. Something was rustling the trees ahead of you. When it got closer, you realized that something was water. The wave came crashing past the trees and into the water, stopping once it hit the Cornucopia.

Like it couldn’t go past it.

Cannons fired, and the hovercraft returned, picking up bodies from the jungle while you all watched, captured by the sight. You were broken out of your trance by Katniss drawing an arrow. “Someone’s here.”

Her and Peeta ducked while you and Finnick waited to see who it was. It took you a moment since they were covered in blood, but you soon realized who it was. You let out a sigh of relief. “Johanna.” You jogged over to them. “Johanna!”

“Y/N?” She laughed as she saw you and Finn. Her tough exterior came down as she went to hug you, like she was just as relieved to see you. Once she let go of you, she even hugged Finnick.

You glanced, identifying that the people she was with were Beetee and Wiress, then looked back at her. “What the hell happened?”

Katniss and Peeta came over just as she started explaining. “Well, I got ‘em out.” She gestured to them. “We were all the way deep into the jungle where I thought it was gonna be safe.” A humourless smile arose on her face. “That’s when the rain started. I thought it was water. It turned out to be blood. Hot, thick blood.”

You narrowed her eyes at her explanation. Fog, apes, waves, blood rain. There was some sort of connection there, you just couldn’t grasp it.

Wiress came over, looking lost, mumbling, “Tick tock.”

“It was coming down-”

“Tick tock.”

“-it was choking us.” She scoffed. “We were stumbling around, gagging on it, blind.”

“Tick tock.”

“That’s when Blight hit the force field.” She exhaled, shaking her head as Wiress continued to mumble. “He wasn’t much, but he was from home.” You reached out, putting a hand on her shoulder.

You understood what she meant. You’d felt the same feeling before, when the male tribute from district 4, Bay, died during your Games. You didn’t always know the person you were going in with, but you became bonded by the experience. That loss was unlike anything you’d ever felt to this day.

Wiress kept going on in the background, making you glance at her. “What’s wrong with her?” you finally asked.

“She’s in shock,” Beetee replied, coming out of the water. “Dehydration isn’t helping. Do you have fresh water?”

“Yeah, we can get some.”

“Tick tock. Tick tock.” You turned to see Wiress had grabbed onto Johanna’s shoulders. “Tick tock. Tick tock.”

Johanna grabbed onto her forearms, trying to get her off. “Listen- stop it!” 

She had pushed her onto the sand when Katniss yelled, “Hey, lay off her!” She went and shoved Johanna, making you rush over.

You shoved Katniss away from her, pushing her hard enough that she staggered backward. “Back off, Everdeen!” you warned as Finnick held Johanna back from retaliating, but she shouted back.

“What’s wrong with you?! I got them out for you!” She struggled against Finnick. “Let me go, Finnick!”

Peeta came over to help balance Katniss. Her eyes were wild, like she wasn’t the one who instigated this. “For me? What does that mean?”

The question wasn’t directed at you, but you responded, anyway. “I don’t know and I don’t care, but you better watch it, Everdeen.” You stepped forward, looking her right in the eye as she stared back challengingly. You lowered your voice. “You’ve played with fire before, but I am telling you right now, I will light your ass up the next time you try me.” She opened her mouth to say something, but you cut her off, “Don’t underestimate me again.”

You walked off before you could hear her reply. If she said another thing to you right now, it was highly likely that you’d do something you would or wouldn’t regret. You weren’t gonna test it.

You decided to take Wiress into the water and help her clean herself up to calm down. She smiled at you crazily. “Tick tock.”

You sighed, “Yes, tick tock.”

“Tick tock.” She repeated herself over and over again, reminding you so much of Annie. Wiress was one of the smartest people you had ever met, yet she was reduced to this every time she was in a bad situation. She won her Games through a loophole, and in turn, that loophole sucked her in until she was too deep to get out.

As you rinsed her hair, she gasped, “Tick tock. Tick tock!” Immediately afterward, lightning struck the tree in the distance, the same tree as the night before. You tilted your head. The tree, fog, apes, waves, blood rain. Wiress looked up at you. “Tick tock.”

“Tick tock,” you echoed, eyes darting around the arena. The tree, the fog, the apes, the waves, the rain.

“Tick tock.”

“Oh, my God.” You cupped your hand over your mouth in shock. “It’s a clock.”

“Tick tock.”

You pulled her out of the water, engulfing her in a hug. “Wiress, you’re a genius!” When you let go, you ran with her to the others. “It’s a clock!”

They all looked to you. Finnick furrowed his brows. “What?”

“It’s a clock!” You pointed to the Cornucopia. “The arena is laid out like a clock!” 

Peeta came forward. “Holy shit.”

You ran your hands threw your hair, all of the puzzle pieces falling into place. “It’s, um- there’s a new threat every hour. They- they can only stay in their wedge, though.” You pointed at the tree. “It starts with lightning, then blood rain, fog, monkeys- that’s the first four hours. Then at ten, that big wave hits.”

Finnick chuckled slightly under his breath. “Wiress, you’re a genius.”

Peeta then cut in, suggesting you all get to the Cornucopia, so that’s what you did. Just as you were getting there, he pointed out, “Look, the tail points to twelve.”

Katniss filled in the blank. “That’s where the lightning strikes at noon and midnight.”

Wiress sat down on the rocks, singing to herself while the rest of you gathered around Peeta who mapped out the clock in the sand and what you already knew.

You crossed your arms. “Okay, what else?” You turned to Johanna. “Did you guys see anything?”

She snorted under her breath, “Nothing but blood.”

Peeta replied, “Doesn’t matter. As long as we steer clear of whichever sector is active, we’ll be safe.”

You shook your head. “Yeah, safe from nature.” As if you jinxed it, Wiress gasped immediately after you spoke. You turned so fast you could’ve gotten whiplash, in time to see Gloss pulling a knife out of Wiress’ neck.

Katniss worked fast, shooting him in the chest, but he wasn’t working alone. Right after, Cashmere came running at her. Johanna pushed Katniss out of the way, embedding her axe into Cashmere’s skull. 

The other half of the Careers revealed themselves, Brutus throwing staffs at you that you narrowly dodged. Katniss’ arrow missed Enobaria as she threw a knife at Finnick, grazing his arm.

“Bitch,” you swore, throwing a knife of your own at her head, cursing again when it hit her shoulder instead. You went running after her, chasing her around the Cornucopia, but you suddenly lost your footing. 

Gamemakers.

The island spun around. You grabbed onto the rock as best as you could, digging your nails into it so hard that they started to bleed. You were determined to stay alive, to keep Finnick alive, but your hold wasn’t strong enough. A scream left your lips as your fingers slipped. Finnick yelling your name was the last thing you heard before you went flying into the water.

Once upon a time, you were a swimmer.

You never thought you’d die by drowning.

And you refused to let that be the way you went out.

You fought hard against the current, using all your force to get above water. You gasped as you surfaced, taking in a large breath of air and coughing as you swam to the rock closest to you.

“Y/N!”

Finnick came running over to you, pulling you up and crouching down to your level. He ran his fingers through your hair, eyes darting all over your body with concern. “Are you okay?”

You coughed, nodding, and then he immediately embraced you tightly. His heart was beating just as fast if not faster than yours. For a moment, you couldn’t hear anything but that beating. You couldn’t hear the water, or the birds, or anyone else around you. You couldn’t even hear the music.

It was just the two of you.

And then that moment ended far too quickly.

Johanna brought you back to earth, heaving, “Let’s just get what we need and get off this bloody island.” You nodded against Finnick’s chest, letting him help you up. You muttered to him that you were fine, but he completely ignored you, helping you walk.

He was good, you thought. You would’ve been good together, in another life. It would’ve been nice to have been loved by this man, but life was never so kind to you.

You made it back to the beach, sitting on the sand under a tree. You weren’t relaxing like before; the time to relax had passed. You were nearing the end of The Games; it was time to plan for survival.

“So, besides Brutus and Enobaria, who’s left?” Katniss asked.

You looked right at her as you answered, “Maybe Chaff. Just those three.” You maintained eye contact with her, knowing that she was thinking the same thing as you. It wasn’t just those three. It was also all of you, sitting here.

Alliances always came to an end in the arena.

You knew Finnick must have caught onto this, but he pretended not to. “They know they’re outnumbered. I doubt they’ll attack again. We’re safe here on the beach.”

Safe for how long? you wondered. Even if the three of them were killed by the horrors of the jungle, you still wouldn’t be safe. None of you would be, as long as you were together.

“So what do we do? We hunt ‘em down?” Johanna questioned, looking to all of you for an answer of some sort, but before any of you could formulate one, you heard a girl scream.

A little girl.

“Katniss, help me!”

Katniss shot up immediately. “Prim!” You remembered that name from the year prior. That was her sister. Your eyes widened, trying to stop her, but she was up and running into the jungle.

You ran after her, hearing the others follow suit. “Katniss! Katniss, stop!”

She was running so far ahead of you that you almost lost sight of her, but you found her stopped, shooting down a bird. “Katniss!” She turned to you, breathing heavily. “Are you okay?”

Before she could even respond, you heard your own name being called. “Y/N!”

Your head shot up, eyes wide. Katniss was trying to talk to you, but it was like her voice was muffled to you. “Y/N-”

“Mom?”

“Y/N, it’s not real-” 

It was almost like Katniss wasn’t there at all. You ran farther into the jungle, screaming, “Mom?!”

Katniss was shouting your name, but the only voice you could hear was your mother’s. “Y/N!” Katniss ran in front of you, grabbing ahold of your shoulders. “It’s not her! It’s just a jabberjay-”

You cut her off, shoving her away. “How do you think they got that sound, Katniss? Jabberjays copy!” Her eyes glazed over at your words, and then a new voice joined the mix, making her shake her head fervently. 

Whatever she was saying now, you could barely pay attention to it, hearing someone else call your name, the voice of a person you never thought you’d hear again.

“Bay?” You gasped. Tears came to your eyes. It escaped you that Bay was dead, that you held him in your arms as he died. All you could focus on was just how real his voice sounded.

Jabberjays swarmed around you, the voices now louder than ever. Katniss grabbed your arm and you, not there, let her drag you away, running away from the voices instead of toward them.

Your mother’s and Bay’s voices mixed together, screaming your name, your mother who you hadn’t spoken to in years and the boy who you let down. You screamed, too, trying to drown them out, but they were too loud.

Soon, Johanna, Peeta, and Finnick came into your vision. They were saying things, but they fell upon deaf ears. You couldn’t hear anything but the screams.

You hit a wall, banging on it. Finnick stood on the other side, trying to speak to you, but you couldn’t hear it at all. The dam in your eyes broke, tears running down your face like a waterfall.

You sunk to the ground, hands on your ears, sobbing.

“Y/N!”

“You killed me!”

“No, no, no,” you wailed, but they weren’t stopping.

“You killed me, Y/N!” Bay.

“You broke my heart.” Mom.

“I’m dead because of you!” Bay.

“I lost my daughter.” Mom.

“It’s all your fault.” Bay.

“You’re a monster.” Mom.

“You killed me.” Bay.

“You’re not my daughter anymore.” Mom.

“You’re a killer.” Bay.

“I don’t ever want to see you again.” Mom.

“You killed me.” Bay.

“You deserve to die.” Mom.

You don’t know when they stopped. You still heard the echoes of their voices in your head when they were gone. “Y/N!” Someone touched your shoulder, making you flinch. “It’s done. The hour’s done- it’s okay.”

You shot up, seeing Finnick right next to you. “My mom? Where’s my mom- Bay. Where’s- where’s-”

He grabbed your shoulders. “They’re not here, Y/N. It wasn’t real.”

You panted, shuffling back away from Finnick, but he didn’t let you get far, pulling you to him. You tried to fight against it, but he wasn’t letting up. Eventually, you gave up trying to fight, letting him hold you. He pet your hair, whispering to you.

“Shh, it’s alright. I’m here. I’ve got you.”

You let the sound of his heart calm you down. It wasn’t real, you told yourself. Bay was dead. Your mom was okay. Finnick is alive. That’s what mattered.

After a few moments, you got up, Finnick watching you wearily. Johanna didn’t say anything, shooting you a look. You knew what she meant. You nodded, telling her without words that you were okay. You had to be okay. She nodded back.

You looked over, seeing Peeta still calming Katniss down on the ground. “Okay? They won’t touch Prim. Alright?” She shakily nodded, collecting herself.

“Your fiancé’s right. The whole country loves your sister.” You looked back to Johanna, seeing her standing on a rock. Her voice was both assuring and bitter. “If they tortured her or did anything to her-” she paused, chuckling, “forget the districts, there would be riots in the damn Capitol.”

She glanced to you and you saw the sheer fire in her eyes. Oh, you’d give anything to burn down that city with Snow in it.

“Hey, how does that sound, Snow?” She shouted, looking up to whatever cameras were in the sky. “What if we- what if we set your backyard on fire? You know, you can’t put everybody in here.” She turned back to you, seeing you all staring at her. “What? They can’t hurt me.” She shrugged, her voice was lowering as she looked to the ground. “There’s no one left that I love.”

You knew that Katniss and Peeta couldn’t have known the true depth of her words, but Beetee did. Finnick did. You did. Anyone watching at home- they couldn’t have understood. They must’ve thought she was crazy, but did any of them have even the slightest idea of who you all were? Did they know that she wasn’t always like this, that they made her this way? You were kids and the Capitol stole your innocence like it was nothing. For you and Finnick, they did it by selling you, and for Johanna, they did it by killing her family.

It may not have been fair to call Katniss lucky, she lost a lot, but at least her sister was alive. At least she still had a family. At least she wasn’t completely dead inside, like Johanna. Like Finnick. 

Like you. Johanna ended up walking off, giving the excuse that she’d get you both water. You all made your way back to the beach after that. You sat there, staring off into the distance. This place could’ve been beautiful, you thought. But now blood had been spilled all over it.

What was beautiful about that?

You didn’t have all the answers. Right now, it felt like you didn’t know anything. All you knew was that the man you loved was alive, arm wrapped around you, heart beating. Did he know that he was the only “sure” thing you had? Did he know how much you loved him?

It felt like you were supposed to tell him. You were gonna die soon; The Games would come to end, and so would your life. It felt like he was supposed to know. If you were gonna die, then shouldn’t he at least knew how you felt about him, how in love you were with him?

The answer you came to was no. You weren’t gonna complicate things—God knew this was already complicated enough, this thing you had. You didn’t have time to learn new steps to the dance. You just wanted to let the music play and dance until you couldn’t dance anymore.

You had been sitting there for a little while when Katniss broke the silence. “Who’s Bay?” You turned to her, but she wasn’t looking at you, staring at nothing like you were.

“Katniss-” Finnick tried to interject, but you stopped him, putting your hand on his without looking at him. If you looked him in the eye right now, then he’d be able to tell just how broken you felt. He could read you so easily. You didn’t want him to read you right now when you didn’t have the energy to fake it.

You didn’t want him to see you getting ready to die.

You weren’t exactly Katniss’ biggest fan, and she wasn’t yours, but here you were, sitting together in the same arena. She was you. She was you before everything got bad, worse than it already was.

Soon, you wouldn’t be allies anymore. Soon, one of you would die. So you’d bring down the mask, just for a second. Before you ended up on different sides, you’d show her that you were just like her.

“Bay…” you faltered, “I guess I didn’t know him all too well. Lived in the same district for fifteen years, but I never even spoke to him before we were in that arena, and by then, it was too late.” A burning sensation grew in your throat. “He died in my arms. He- he was gonna take the money from winning and take care of his parents, make sure they didn’t have to worry. He didn’t get to. So I did. I took care of ‘em- didn’t even dent my pockets.” A humourless chuckle left your lips. “You know, my mom and I don’t talk anymore. Says I’m a different person, and she’s right. So, sometimes, I think Bay was just better off.”

Katniss finally turned to you. She didn’t say anything- she didn’t have to. You saw the look in her eyes; she understood. But you wished she didn’t. You wished that nobody had to understand. You wished that Johanna didn’t understand, that Finnick didn’t understand. You wished that you could’ve all just been kids for a little while longer.

That’s when you got up, walking over to where the sand met the water. You wanted to admire this place before you were gone.

You heard someone walk up behind you, immediately knowing it was Finnick.

His voice was quiet, even though you were far from everyone else. “You never told me about Bay’s parents.” If only he knew all the things you didn’t tell him. 

But you didn’t say that. Instead, you just said, “I know.” He didn’t say anything else after that, wrapping arm around your waist and pulling you to him. You stared off into the distance together, just like those cold nights at the Capitol you spent together.

Sometimes, saying nothing with him was the equivalent of saying everything. 

Sometimes, it was better than saying anything.

You hadn’t been standing there for too long when Johanna came over, telling you guys that Beetee had a plan. You joined the others, listening to him explain how he wanted to lure the Careers to the beach then electrocute them as lightning struck the tree at midnight.

It was risky, and it all counted on the Brutus and Enobaria being at the beach in the first place, but you supposed it beat going into combat with them. You could take them if you needed to, but if there was a plan you could implement to avoid that, then you would.

If this plan worked, then the Careers would die instantly, leaving only the six of you in the arena. But only one of you would walk out, and it had to be Finnick.

Despite how the two of you had been at each other’s throats, you didn’t want to kill Katniss. You didn’t want to kill Peeta, the boy who reminded you so much of Finnick. You didn’t want to kill Beetee, who had made you laugh so many times you were at the Capitol. And you certainly didn’t want to kill Johanna, who was perhaps one of the only friends you had.

You hoped it wouldn’t be you, that you wouldn’t be the one to kill them. You didn’t want to kill anymore. You just wanted this to end.

You were so consumed by these thoughts that you missed the looks Finnick and Johanna shared and the look Beetee threw their way.

By nightfall, you were back in the jungle, making your way to the lightning tree. Beetee said something science-y, then you got started, wrapping the wire he invented around the tree.

“Typically, a lightning strike contains five billion joules of energy. We don’t want to be anywhere in the vicinity when this hits,” he said, finishing one last wrap before walking over to you, coil in hand. “You three girls, go together now. Take this. Unspool it carefully. Make sure the entire coil is in the water. You understand? Then head to the tree at the two o’clock sector. We’ll meet you there.”

You nodded, grabbing the coil as Peeta cut in, “I’m gonna go with them as a guard.”

You snorted, “What, golden boy, afraid we can’t protect ourselves?” Even in the dark, you could see the redness climb up his neck. “Don’t worry, your fiancé’s gonna be fine.”

“She’s right. They can protect themselves just fine. You’re staying here to protect me. And the tree,” Beetee dictated.

You glanced between Katniss and Peeta, spotting hesitation in both of them. It was happening, you realized. They were already moving to the other side of the board.

“No, I need to go with her.”

“There are two Careers out there. I need at least two guards.”

“Finnick can protect you just fine on his own- Y/N and I could trade places.”

Katniss now spoke up, “Yeah, why don’t Johanna, Finnick, and Y/N stay with you and Peeta and I’ll take the coil?”

“You want to face the Careers by yourself?” You narrowed your eyes. Katniss looked to you, trying to maintain an unwavering expression. “You do realize that you’ve only been at this a year, right? Not only that, you’re from 12. These are people who trained their whole lives just to kill.”

Katniss didn’t have a response, just as you expected. Finnick must have caught onto the tension, questioning, “Is there a problem here?”

Beetee responded speedily, “Excellent question.” Katniss looked back to him, and you knew that she knew her fight was over. She was out of her depth here.

After a second, she replied, “No. There’s no problem.” Not yet, but knowing her, there would be one soon. You and Johanna waited for her to say her goodbyes to Peeta before getting ready to go.

You were walking away when you suddenly came to a stop. You passed the coil to Katniss, then walked back to the tree. Finnick’s brows raised as you beelined for him, but then his eyes just closed as your lips met his.

The music was louder than it’d ever been, like it knew that the beat could drop any minute now. This kiss was equal passion and softness. You kissed him like you’d never get do it again, and that could very well be true. He kissed back just as passionately, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you closer to him.

You knew Finnick didn’t love you. You knew he had a girl waiting for him back home, but if you were gonna die, then you just wanted to do that one last time. You wanted one last kiss from your one true love, even if you weren’t his.

When you eventually pulled away for air, he still didn’t let you go, resting his forehead against yours as you both breathed heavily. “I- I need to go now.”

He ran a hand through your hair, opening his eyes to look into yours. “I’ll see you at midnight?” You smiled, hoping he didn’t see how sad you were.

“Yeah, I’ll see you at midnight,” you said, knowing how probable it was that you wouldn’t.

Then you walked away.

The jungle was dead silent except for the sound of your footsteps and crickets. All you had to do was get to the beach, then get as far away from it as possible. You wanted to meet Finnick at midnight.

But that wasn’t gonna happen.

Katniss suddenly stopped. You looked to her, seeing her trying to pull the coil to no avail. “There’s something…” She pulled it again, and then the wire snapped.

You saw Brutus, knowing Enobaria couldn’t have been far away. You pulled your sword out of its sheath while Katniss drew an arrow, but before either of you could do anything, you were falling to the ground, eyes rolling to the back of your head.

Your head spun. You didn’t need to see it to know that you were losing blood—you could feel it. Get up, get up, get up, get up, you chanted, but it was as if your limbs were frozen.

You heard Katniss scream. You mustered up the strength to turn you head, seeing Johanna leaning over her, cutting into her arm. She shushed her, then looked up and cursed under her breath.

“Both of you, stay down,” she grit out, then she threw her axe at targets you couldn’t see, running away from you both. She did this, you realized. For some reason, you were shocked, but didn’t you always know this would happen? Didn’t you always know that you’d end up against each other in the end?

Didn’t you already know this would end in your last breath?

You did, but you still found yourself questioning: was this it? Was this how you died? Did Johanna just leave you to die?

Suddenly, you could hear Finnick, screaming yours and Johanna’s names. You wanted to scream back, to tell him you were right there, but it was like your mouth couldn’t form the words.

This was it. This was how you died.

You’d been preparing for this since the Quell was even announced, but you just weren’t expecting it, not yet. There were still people left.

At that thought, it was like the world stopped. 

There were still people left.

You couldn’t just leave Finnick to fend for himself.

You shot up as if you had just been doused in cold water, reaching beside you to feel that your sword was still there. Your eyes searched for Katniss. She was just right next to you, but now she was nowhere to be seen. You didn’t even know that she left.

You shakily stood up, dots dancing around your vision the same way you were. You still had dancing to do.

A cannon fired, and you started running, screaming Finnick’s name, not caring if alerted anyone of where you were. You ran faster as you heard the sky booming.

Soon, Finnick came into your vision, Katniss not far from him, aiming an arrow up to the sky. 

And then you saw nothing.

The last thing you remembered was being blasted backward, sparks everywhere, lightning.

And then the music stopped.

When Finnick woke up, it was like he almost forgot where he was, and then he remembered what happened. Katniss shot an arrow at the force field.

He ripped the IV out of his arm, pushing past the aching in his bones and sitting up, looking around. Katniss and Beetee were lying down in front of him, still asleep. He furrowed his brows. There was no one else.

His eyes darted around the room, looking for you, looking for a sign that you were here, but he couldn’t find one.

“Y/N?” His voice echoed in the empty room. You didn’t answer.

He got up, calling your name louder. “Y/N?” Still no answer. 

This was impossible. You had to be here, you had to be on the hovercraft somewhere, you just had to. His mind went to the worst case scenario, but that couldn’t be. You had to be here.

He went for the first doors he saw, expecting to see you on the other side, but he was only met with Haymitch and Plutarch. His heart beat faster now. Where were you?

He ignored Haymitch completely, turning to Plutarch. “Where is she?” It should’ve been an easy answer, but the Gamemaker had an expression that Gamemakers rarely had. Sympathy. 

No. This can’t be happening.

He stepped closer, venom in his voice. “Where is she?”

Haymitch intervened. “Finnick, maybe you wanna sit down-”

“Where the fuck is my girlfriend?” They both gave each other a look that infuriated him even further. “Is someone gonna tell me where she is or are you two just gonna stand here all day?”

“Finnick-”

“Where is she, Plutarch?”

The greying man stared at him like he was hesitant to speak, which was saying something, because Plutarch always said whatever was on his mind. When he spoke, his voice was quiet, like he was trying to calm down a rabid animal. “Her tracker was never removed-”

“Okay, so where is she?”

“We couldn’t get her, Finnick.” His ears rang.

They couldn’t get her.

“We couldn’t get Johanna and Peeta, either-”

All of a sudden, Finnick charged at him, but Haymitch quickly went and stopped him, holding him back. “You said you’d get her out! You told me she was gonna be safe!”

“Calm the hell down, Finnick!”

“Oh, you’re one to talk!” He pushed himself out of Haymitch’s arms, turning and glaring at him. “Katniss is here! Of course, you’re calm- my person is still out there!”

“She’s still alive.”

“Yeah, for how long?”

Plutarch cut in, “They won’t kill her, Finnick. They know how valuable she is.”

“You don’t have to make someone’s heart stop to kill them, Heavensbee,” he spat. “If anyone should know that, it’s you.” The Gamemakers were creative. He knew that the Capitol would spare no expense to hurt you.

After what they did, rebelling like this, you’d be the one to answer for it. Even though you didn’t know a thing about it.

“Listen, kid, you need to calm down now.” Haymitch looked at him with hard eyes. “You need to pull it together. When Katniss wakes up, she’s gonna be confused and angry, just like you. We need her. If you want any of this to mean something, if you want any chance of ever seeing your girl again, then we need her. So you need to cool it.”

Finnick ran a hand through his hair, mind moving seventy miles per hour. The Capitol had you. They had you. You were supposed to be here, and they had you, and he didn’t even get the chance to tell you. There was so much to tell you, and what if he never got that chance again?

Haymitch was right. If he wanted to see you again, to have that chance, to ever dance with you again, then he had to pull it together. He had to be strong.

For you.

“Okay, what do you need me to do?”

Your death was always expected, at least it was to you. When you pictured an ending in your head, this was it. You knew it was coming. What you didn’t expect was ever waking up again. 

But you did.

Your eyes opened to a dark room, fluorescent lights flickering on the ceiling. This wasn’t the arena, but you’d soon learn that you didn’t need to be in an arena to play a twisted game. 

Am I alive? you wondered.

Your question was soon answered. No, you weren’t alive. You were in Hell.

Because, sitting in a chair across from you, was the Devil himself.

President Snow smiled. “Hello, Ms. Y/L/N.”

“It appears that you and I have a lot to discuss.”

Taglist: @avoxrising @mxacegrey @littleshadow17 @lovelyteenagebeard @nasyanastya @catastrxblues @zodiyack @zulpix-blog @mushroomelephant @muggies

[thedarkestrivernymph]

Burn

Yandere!Husband x gn!Reader

warnings: abuse, mentions of childhood trauma, mentions of death, manipulative tendencies, gaslighting, murder, gore

©Copyright -2024-thedarkestrivernymph - All Rights Reserved

It burns, so agonizingly much, that uncertainty about this whole ordeal crept up your spine and settled in your chest.

Was this the right thing to do? To flee? It echoed in the emptiness that took over your head. It was perplexing and uncomfortable. You shouldn't feel empathy for him. He was crazy, deranged! Gone, a maniac, a bastard—

But maybe he was innocent and you were running away from the ghosts hunting you.

He was all that was left of your family. You didn't want to do this, you wanted him with you, loving and sweet, but it seemed that fate had different plans for the two of you. It seems that fate didn't favour you.

He had wormed himself into your life—then into your sacred family bonds, destroying what was already fragile. The mask he wore was that of a kindred spirit that sought for love, yet you never knew better than to believe the artificially crafted facade.

Prior he was an orphan, abandoned by his mother at six, which admittedly tugged at your heartstrings, even more so after learning the horrible foster parents, which was followed by the straight up ignorant adoptive family that took him in only for prestige matters.

So it wasn't that you didn't understand his desire for family, and you were even happy for him! Glad he found love in yours, yet all your hopeful dreams of finally peace settling in had vanished the moment the first of your relatives cut you off. Then a second followed, a third, a fourth until even your mom shunned you, refusing to see you any longer. They absolutely adored your husband but hated your guts.

However he didn't seem to hold the same adoration for them, no, he didn't even possess an ounce of sympathy with them as he watched them turn to ashes Infront of his very own eyes, laughing, like the maniac he was.

“Love!” he would jump up and down you remembered, seemingly over the moon by your dad praising him or your sister gifting him something meaningless as a cookie.

After he had burned down everything holy to you, he had just slipped back into your shared bed, stinking horribly of that kind of smell that reached your nose every time you left your omelette too long on the stove.

You hadn't understood then, but you did now, that that smell was foreshadowing to the petrifying news that had reached you the next day.

Everything spiralled out of your control after that day. You were completely scattered, forgetful, permanently teary-eyed, clumsy and visibly distraught.

So it started with your inability to hold up your job, which made him offer you to stay at home, while he financed you both. He was so devilishly sweet, messaging your shoulders when you were completely stiff, guiding you through breakdowns, cooking for you, feeding you. You hadn't know how you got so lucky with him.

However things became odd quickly, your friends seemed to disappear one by one, their numbers blocked, deleted or erased from existence. You were unbelievably mad, was this because of your new miserable state—the friends that swore to go through thick and thin with you, leaving you in your most vulnerable times—how could they!

Although you were burning with anger, even that was quickly forgotten thanks to him. He was your absolute everything, your entire world and you were much obviously his. You two were a match made in heaven—or at least that's what you believed until that one phone call.

“Stacey?—”

“You have to get out of there! He isn't what he seems to be— your husband, he’s crazy! He threatened me! If I didn't stop being in contact with you then he would have also murdered me like he did with your family—” your heard your friend over the phone, voice unusually frail, breaths laboured with sniffling in the background.

Your heart leaped in your chest at the sound of her frantic claims, completely unbelievable and baffling, even if your trust for her had completely evaporated, uncertainty still poisoned you and infiltrated your mind like a sickness.

Nevertheless you did end the call before she could spew anymore nonsense, sealing her terrible fate, because unbeknownst to you, that was the last time she would ever talk to anyone.

Things didn't feel normal anymore after that, suspiciousness spread through you, gnawing at your already highly sensitive nerves, you instability just making you waver back and forth from completely denying the unapparent truth and panicking that perhaps it was true. She was your friend for years after all, what reason did she have to lie?

That was until you found Stacey’s childhood diary in his possession with dried splatter of blood decorating it—as if this wasn't terrifying enough what met you on the inside made you drop the book, completely mortified and stunned into silence.

Every entry that contained your name scribbled over with hearts, anything that had to do with you underlined, things that you liked circled in like a madman.

You were terrified to say the least—she was right, she was right and you didn't believe her.

Tears welled up in your eyes and before you knew it, your feet carried you out of your shared home, still in your PJ's with slippers adorning your feet.

Which leads to this moment in the present.

Unfortunately for you, he had knowingly bought a house with your inheritance, in the middle of nowhere. You were stumbling over twigs, leaves crushing beneath your weight and before you knew it, you were running.

Yet you did forget one crucial aspect—running didn't help when he could track you down with the GPS clipped under your skin so subtly you didn't even realise he had done so.

Bang.

Pain shot through your thigh, an excruciating amount, making you instantly stumble, before tumbling down, face first into the wet earth, crying out in pain.

Blood seeped out from where he shot you, painting the forest floor a warning crimson. You tried to crawl, you attempted to flee, but all was for nothing, no one and nothing could have tear you two apart, even if it was you.

Fingers roughly whipped your head back, scalp burning from the abuse.

“There you are, love.” he spat out, the familiar warmth gone replaced by an indefinite disdain.

“You saw it, huh? You learned about everything I did for you and that's how you thank me? By running away just cuz’ I committed some petty crimes?” he shook your head violently, before shoving your face into the mud. Before he ripped your head out of the earth, starting to fall into a pattern, repeating it over and over again till your vision faded with only his words ringing into your ears, as blood ran down your presumably broken nose, eyes swelling with unshed tears of a gruesome future that awaited you.

“You're weak. And dumb. But don't you worry, I will take care of you. I will love you, look after you, clean up each mess you make, be there to rock you back and forth when you have one of your meltdowns again. So don't worry your stupid little head about anything,

just trust me, love.”

[intrepidacious]

just fairer than death

summary: One night, you pull a dying sailor from the depths of the sea.

pairing: james norrington x siren!reader

word count: 2.3k

warnings: set right after james' canon departure; slight dubcon because sirens; brief blood licking; i think this qualifies as soft dark? please note that my blog is rated 18+. minors dni. ageless/empty blogs will be blocked without warning.

a/n: crawling out of my void with this fic that absolutely no one asked for 🫶🏼 i first wrote this in may so that's how i'm doing at the moment. @brandycranby and @scrumptious-delusion thank you for actually making me finish this story, i love you both so immensely x

masterlist | read on ao3

It was said, among your kind, that there was nothing more dangerous than a sailor; for you were destined to either love him or kill him.

That is, if he did not kill you first.

Your life had already been long, then, and you’d never even seen a human up close. You’d learned to understand how the seas would change when they had to carry a ship, how the waves would moan under its weight, and you’d taken great pains to avoid watchful eyes in the dark every single time. The odds were stacked against you, and you weren’t ready to risk your life for a notion as abstract as love.

Others, you knew, had been bolder than you. Several of your sisters liked to venture out to take a closer look at a passing vessel and its crew, and some of them had never made it back afterwards. You didn’t like to think what might have happened to them.

It was worse, though, when they did return. Blood on their gills and flesh still stuck between their sharp teeth, a mad, angry, horrified look in their eyes. See what they made me do, it seemed to say. See how they conjure violence from thin air.

Passion, you learned, was a dangerous current to get caught up in.

Night fell early that day, like the goddess herself wanted to hide what was about to happen underneath a shroud of darkness. The sea was quiet. The stars were hiding as you let yourself get carried by the waves with your face turned towards an empty sky, far enough from the cursed ship to stay out of sight. The Flying Dutchman made you shiver in your scales, no matter how many times you smelled her rotten wood from afar. There was nothing good on that ship; nothing good could ever come from it.

You never knew what strange tides carried you closer. These waters had their own sense of humour, sometimes, cruel and biting like medusa venom.

A shout cut through the night, clearly audible even from where you were floating at a distance. Normally, you would’ve taken this as your sign to leave, but for some reason, you hesitated. An icy chill went through you and stopped you from slipping away into the safety of the deep. Instead, you turned your head towards the source of the sound.

Something had plummeted into the water.

You squinted. Yes, you could see several figures, their heads just bobbing above the surface as they moved hastily away from the abominable ship.

Good, you thought. Not even humans deserved the likes of Davy Jones.

Then the wind picked up. It carried the coppery stench of blood and steel mixing with seawater, and the fine hairs covering your neck stood up in response. Every cell of your body was screaming at you to flee, and yet you were unable to move, the ocean gently pushing you closer still.

You couldn’t see anything else in this murky darkness, but a few minutes passed in tense silence before you heard a hollow, ghostly laugh followed by another splash. The sea tasted of iron, too, now; and of something else.

It was that other, undetermined thing that made you swim closer against your every instinct. You were still far enough from the Dutchman to be out of sight, the tides moving in your favour, when you saw the shape in the water.

It was drifting away from the vessel as well, but in a way much more uncoordinated than the ones you’d seen earlier, barely staying afloat for another moment before the ocean swallowed it whole.

You did not hesitate this time.

Underwater, it was much easier for your eyes to make out the shape, sinking heavily as the ship’s wake pushed it down, down towards the bottom of the ocean. A muscle strained in your tail, your gills protesting as you shot through the waters to get a proper look before it fell out of sight. You still didn’t understand why.

Goddess help you, you should’ve known.

For something as terrible as a sailor, he didn’t look all that intimidating. He only looked decidedly lifeless, his eyes closed, limbs floating loosely. Blood tinted the water around him, coming from a hole in his chest that probably wasn’t supposed to be there. Then again, what did you know about humans?

You wondered if all of them looked this beautiful.

Then, like a shockwave, you remembered that they needed air to breathe.

Before you could consciously decide on it, you had grabbed the sailor under his shoulders and dragged him back up. He was heavier than a grown reef shark, unresponsive dead weight, the ocean refusing to loosen her grip on him.

Finally, you burst through the surface again, a gasp of relief escaping you when you spotted a sandbank not that far away. The Dutchman, thankfully, was far off in the distance by now. No ghostly eye saw you taking off into the opposite direction with the lifeless sailor the ship had spat out.

You couldn’t help but glance at your charge every now and again as you struggled to keep him afloat. He had lost part of his hair to the currents, and the rest of it had another colour underneath, dark like sea weeds. You could only hope that he didn’t need the upper part.

But need it for what, exactly? This man was dead; or at least mostly so. He still smelled slightly alive, and his skin was warm against yours.

"What am I doing?" you whispered to yourself as you tightened your grasp around his shoulders.

Careful, sang the waves. Do not play with things you don’t understand.

But what a ridiculous warning that was. You knew this man was in no shape to harm you, so how could your curiosity be something terrible?

After what felt like hours, your hands touched rock and sand. With great effort, you managed to heave the sailor onto it. No matter how much you scowled at the waves, his head kept rolling back under water, until you lifted yourself up and carefully put it in your lap.

Your tail was aching with exhaustion and your uncomfortable position, but you couldn’t keep your eyes off him. Breathe, you thought, holding his face in your hands, breathe.

The sailor didn’t listen, but then again, he was mostly dead.

You could feel your heart racing as desperation started to rise. What had you done this for, then, if he refused to cling to life after all? It was as if something had possessed you, and now that you were halfway through the motions it dictated, you’d been once again left alone with your thoughts and the rush of the sea around you.

Something compelled you to push a strand of wet, dark hair away from his face. No; he didn’t look intimidating at all.

Love him or kill him.

You were a simple creature steered by fate as much as anyone, and right now, you were a helpless guppy between her fingers. You wondered what colour his eyes might be.

He was so heavy on you, like his weight was trying to remind you of the odd reality of this situation. You had no idea what to do, and so you kept staring at him.

Like small fish lured in by photophore, your fingers trailed inevitably downwards to that strange hole in his chest. Human blood smelled the same as yours, and it had the same colour, as far as you could tell; but it was warm.

Hesitantly, you pulled your hand back and licked it up.

An involuntary sigh left your lips.

Sweet. Maddeningly sweet. Even after just a few drops, you could see why your sisters would lose their minds over this. You could feel your mouth watering as you savoured the taste, your mind going blissfully blank.

This was like nothing you’d ever experienced.

Your heart was beating a frenzy as you heaved the sailor up in your lap and leaned over his chest, dipping your tongue against the hole. Each lick of blood intensified the gentle buzz in your head, a giddy lightness spreading through your limbs, your chest, your very core.

Just before you lost yourself entirely to this sensation, you heard a low rumbling noise. Gurgling, like stuck water. The sound faded again almost instantly.

Around you, the wind picked up, the waves rumbling menacingly, and you looked up to see the clouds darkening overhead. A storm was coming, after all.

You went to continue your meal and found that the hole had closed up.  Soft, reddened skin covered it like it had never been there in the first place. Only a small, shimmering scar remained, and you traced your fingers along it in wistful wonderment, blinking as you wiped your mouth and came to your senses again.

How strange, indeed.

Still, your appetite had been wet, now. You looked at the sailor’s face again, craving more of his sweetness. Maybe …

Slowly, you brushed your lips against his, breathing into him as you carefully nipped at his flesh. He tasted like the sea, here, salt and brine and something else entirely, something that made you press closer as you exhaled into him.

Perfect, you thought because you’d never felt anything so true, all things falling into place for the first time in your life. It sent a pleasant tingle up your spine.

A sound again; this time, it reverberated in your mouth. The sea lashed at you but you ignored it, pushing into the noise as if going to smother it, and then something moved in your lap and the mostly dead sailor grunted weakly against your lips.

You flinched backwards as he sputtered before you, his entire body convulsing as he coughed up seawater and blood. Each rattled breath ended with another fit of coughs until finally, he calmed, slumping back into his previous position in your lap.

It was then, for the first time, that he opened his eyes.

They were green, green like the deep sea on a particularly fine day, green like a palm leaf on the beach at Whitecap Bay, green like shards of smooth seaglass, polished and shimmering. Even in the darkness, they were bright, and they were looking up at you in confusion.

You were confused, too. Something very odd was happening, and so you leaned in and you did the only thing your mind could think of at that moment. You pressed your lips against his once more.

Again, you were filled with that feeling of rightness as you pressed closer, as his mouth gently moved against yours as if in an unheard question before answering you in equal. Yes, yes.

You didn’t understand but this was the way things should be, how they were always meant to go, how—

Cool hands pulled your face away and an involuntary whine escaped you. The sea green eyes had darkened, softened, and they blinked at you several times before the sailor asked, "Am I dead?"

"Not anymore," you said, making to move closer again. He didn’t let you, his hand solid against your cheek.

"I don’t—I’m not sure what happened." His voice was hoarse with the salt of the ocean. His thumb kept tracing your cheekbone like he wasn’t able to comprehend you were actually here. "I thought I was dead."

"Does it matter?" you asked. Your voice was gaining a sing-songy quality entirely of its own accord, and it made his seaglass eyes glaze over a little.

He made to sit up and even though some deep, primal instinct didn’t want him to withdraw even a little, you helped steady his shaking arms until he was upright. Still, your tail was relieved at the lifted weight, giving an involuntary spasm that splashed in the water.

The sailor barely seemed to notice, even as he looked around at his surroundings. The wind howled and dark waves kept lapping at his legs as he tried to get his bearings.

It was a long time before his eyes settled on you again.

"Who are you?" he said, and there was wonder in his voice, incredulity.

Beautiful, you thought again.

You told him your name, quickly, without even thinking about it. Your kind wasn’t usually supposed to share this information; names held power, after all. But this was different. He was different.

"What about you, sailor?" you asked softly. "What do they call you?"

"I … James," he said, his brow furrowed in concentration, like he wasn’t all that sure at all. "Admiral James Norrington of the EC … the EITC. I think."

"Don’t think," you said, putting a hand on his chest. You could feel his heartbeat in there, fast enough for it to sound as if he, like some creatures, had three of them. Unlikely, of course, but what did you know?

In time, he might spare one of them for you.

For some reason, that thought didn’t shock you.

"I should …" he said, his eyes half-shut again. You wanted to kiss away that frown. You wondered if his smile was as magnificent as you imagined, hidden somewhere beneath that stern face. "There was something … someone …"

It broke your heart, the way that worry weighed on him. You needed to take care of him. Take him somewhere safe, somewhere he could rest.

"Don’t worry, James Norrington," you said gently, slowly leaning in once more; he didn’t stop you. "It’s going to be all right."

This time, when your mouths connected, he sighed, like he was letting go of whatever burden his memory was trying to remind him of. This time, his arms came around you and wrapped tightly around your shoulders so that when you slipped into the water, he clung to you, your lips still moving in perfect tandem. He tasted divine.

Yes, you thought, maybe there was a point to these stories about sailors after all.

But this one … he was good. He was yours.

And you intended to keep him.

thank you for reading!! if you want to see more of my writing, check out my masterlist or follow @intrepidacious-fics for update notifications!! remember to stay hydrated and reblog the fics you read to make a writer smile today 💛

[ayochae]

𝐒𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲| 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐫𝐨𝐬é

Synopsis: chae becomes needy so you help her get off in the school bathrooms :0

Pairing: sub chae! x dom fem! reader

Genre: best friends to fwb, skipping class to fuck

Themes: dry humping, thigh riding, pet names, hair pulling, exhibitionism.

T/W: some cursing.

WC: 1.1k

a/n: subby chae stans unite ( ノ ^o^)ノ

》* 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ • 。* 。° 。* 。 • ˚《

If past you could see the current position you were in now, no way you would’ve believed it. It was something you would fantasise about late at night, not ever knowing that your wishful thinking would come true. 

~~~

Despite the odds, here you were. In a bathroom stall with your best friend on top of you, sitting pretty on your lap. Her nails digging into your neck, crescent-shaped marks sure to appear despite the clothing standing between them. The only sounds to be heard were the distant chatter from occupied students; that, and the whimpers escaping your best friend, Rosé’s lips. 

It was a Tuesday morning, and you were meant to be in class, focusing on your studies, but the only thing occupying your mind was helping your best friend cum. Your skirt hitched up higher on your waist, giving Rosé more room to languidly roll her hips against your thigh. Choking on her moans in a desperate attempt to stay quiet. 

Although this was relatively new, small incidents of affection between you two led to this very moment. Lingering eye contact, the small brush of a hand, and your leg between her thighs were all she needed before she started grinding herself on you. There was a brief moment of hesitation, where a sheepish smile would meet lustful eyes, resulting in your lips planting firmly against hers. 

So what did this make you two? She was definitely more than a best friend, but that thought hadn’t come up in conversation yet. Because even the briefest of encounters always led to you making her moan your name and writhe from your touch. Never fully getting the opportunity to discuss the events that would frequently transpire between you both. But then again, best friends have different ways of showing their love for each other, right?

And currently, your best friend needs to cum. 

So that’s exactly what you planned on doing. Your lips brush the lobe of her ear, whispering sweet nothings, earning shaky whimpers in return. Skilled hands work at her blouse buttons, exposing her breasts, cladded in pink lace. Your teeth meet her collarbone, sucking ever so lightly, enough to earn verbal encouragement, but not enough to leave a mark. You stop halfway on her blouse, a real test of self-control to not have her completely topless. It wouldn’t do you any favours having to explain why you have another classmate naked on your lap if you were to get caught. It was all so taboo for a good girl like Rosé, ditching class to thigh fuck her best friend without any warning

“Good girl baby” you murmured, feeling her press harder against your flexed thigh in response. Her breaths became more shallow as she rested her body weight against you, feeling how wet she was through the layers. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t getting off on this. The encounter was so needy, so venturesome, that the both of you didn’t bother removing anything. Instead, she opted to have you fuck her the way she was. She was getting close, you’ve seen it plenty of times over the last few weeks. And you knew exactly how to get her there. 

You snaked a hand up her back, tugging at her collar, exposing the soft skin of her neck. You began leaving wet kisses, Rosé bucking her hips while gasping in delight. Those kisses turned to bites, having her moan a little too loud, crossing an unspoken line as she attempted to regain some composure. You loved hearing her moan like that, relishing the way you completely had her wrapped around your finger. 

Your hands moved to grip her waist, inciting her to continue grinding. The pace was slow and heavy, garnering whimpers from the girl after each roll of her hips. Her lower lip between her teeth, biting down to repress the volume of her moans. 

“Faster baby” you ordered, watching as she obeyed, her centre riding your thigh faster with more and more desperation. Her eyes rolled back, gripping onto you for dear life as she threw herself into the bliss. She’d lost all her sense of rhythm, bucking her hips haphazardly begging for friction where she needed it most. Shit, watching her thigh fuck you was enough to cause a pool to form between your legs

After some time her pace began to slow down, her irregular movements faltering into slow languorous rolls. 

“You getting tired, sweetheart?” you mumbled into the crook of her neck. Her head nodded in agreement as she struggled to keep up. Hands travelled to her ass, cupping it firmly as you helped her find pressure between your flexed thigh. Desperate moans fall from her mouth, feeling as her body quivered in satisfaction. 

She was dripping at this point, feeling her slick dampen your stockings as she came closer to her release. The pleasure had her on the verge of tears, her beautiful features painted with an expression of pure ecstasy. Your hand carelessly carded through her hair, tugging her head back earning a filthy moan in response. Loving the way she disregarded any need to stifle her reactions. Throwing caution to the wind along with her good-girl persona. 

“Come for me, Rosie” you moaned against her ear, rocking her firmly against you. 

And so she did. The exact moment a group of girls entered the washroom, immediately making their presence known. Her thighs quivered as your hand quickly travelled up to her mouth, making her fully aware of what was happening. You pulled her closer to your chest feeling her shake in ecstasy. 

The situation was so taboo, so sexy, it had you clenching your thighs together, feeling the heartbeat between your legs. 

The girls obliviously continued their conversation at the basins, obnoxious chatter filling the room. Locking eyes with Rosé as you tried to breathe as quietly as possible. Your eyes wandered, taking note of her current state, dishevelled hair, an unbuttoned blouse, and her skirt pulled up way past her hips. All indicators of a girl who just fucked herself into an absolute mess. 

After what it felt like ages, the girls finally exited the bathroom, giving you the chance to help Rosé stand. A sudden moan left her mouth as she stood, her body aching in the best kind of way. 

“God that was close” she whispered with a trembling voice, a bashful smile appearing as she spoke. 

‘Mhm but so hot” you responded, needing to tie your cardigan around your waist to cover the damp spot on your thigh. Not wanting to draw any unnecessary attention to yourself. You helped Rosé fix herself up, flattening her skirt as she pinned strands of hair behind her ear. 

“Next time I’ll be more careful before I jump your bones like that” she giggled. Leaving you blushing from the sudden comment. Awaiting the possibility of a next time with her. 

“Well, I’ll be looking forward to that” you smirked before planting a delicate kiss on her lips. 

Loving how it felt to have her all to yourself.