Please Go Check Them Out Their Work Is Amazing

Reblog if you remember this movie

╰ 𝐏♡𝐑𝐍 𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓.

when clicking a link you may not be able to see it at first but copy the link and then input it on safari (or whatever you use) and then it should say open twitter app so just click that and you’ll be good to go. let me know if i should do a volume two of this list with more links and characters <3

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT ; 18+ ONLY. ALL LINKS ARE TO TWITTER P!RN.

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˖ ࣪ 𖥔 𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐂𝐊𝐘.

— preserum!steve and bucky’s final night before he leaves for the war

— quickie before a mission

— bodyguard!bucky jerking off on ceo!steve

˖ ࣪ 𖥔 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐕𝐄 𝐑𝐎𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐒.

— bestfriend!steve fucking you in the bar restroom

— quickie with dbf!steve

— steve riding your strap to destress after a rough mission

˖ ࣪ 𖥔 𝐁𝐔𝐂𝐊𝐘 𝐁𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐄𝐒.

— roomate!bucky fucking you

— car sex with ex husband!bucky

— bucky eating you out for the first time

˖ ࣪ 𖥔 𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐀 𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐅𝐅.

— bestfriend!natasha finally makes a move on you (married!reader)

— riding stepmom!natasha’s strap

— hooking up with natasha in a restroom at the club

˖ ࣪ 𖥔 𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐘 𝐁𝐀𝐑𝐁𝐄𝐑.

— boyfriendsdad!andy fucking you one room down from your boyfriends room

— riding dilf!andy in his office

— husband!andy with a breeding kink

˖ ࣪ 𖥔 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐑 𝐑𝐄𝐈𝐃.

— car quickie spencer

— fucking sub!spencer with a strap on

˖ ࣪ 𖥔 𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐘 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐒𝐒.

— emily fucking you with her strap in her office

— fucking emily in the hotel room while on a case

˖ ࣪ 𖥔 𝐀𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐍 𝐇𝐎𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐍𝐄𝐑.

— car sex with hotch while on a case

— rough sex with hotch

Last Time I’ll Hold You

Author: xxwritemeastoryxx

Pairings: Damon x Reader 

Word Count: 7K

Warnings: Angst, Character death, mentions of blood. LOTS of ouch. 

Author’s Note: Believe it or not this is the most requested sequel for any of my fics that I’ve posted. So I think it was time to give you guys Damon’s side of things. I’ve cried while writing this. I can imagine the pain the pain you’ll feel while reading this. This is the last angsty fic of 2021 and I personally feel like it’s the best way to end this on the angsty side of things. I hope you guys enjoy reading this and just get the tissues ready. 

Feedback gives me life and motivation for future things. While likes are appreciated, reblogs are gold. Seriously, if you enjoyed this in the slightest, please reblog ♥

This is the Sequel to Last Voice I want to Hear 

Damon had just returned home from dealing with the current trouble that was plaguing Mystic Falls. Another day and another problem was becoming a routine. While Damon and the others were still trying to figure out a plan, it made Damon glad that Y/N had gone to her parents to visit. Things in town weren’t to his liking and he needed her safe. As safe as keeping a vampire hunter can be at times.

Y/N wanted to stay in town and help him as she normally would. But her father calling and asking her to come home for a bit had pulled her away. Damon had taken some time to convince her to go. That there would always be more things for her to kill when she got back. With the promise of calling her if they needed her to come back home, Y/N had left.

And as he stood in the living room of the Salvatore house, he was beginning to miss her presence here. Sure they called and texted constantly while she was away. But the last few days without her had been different. She was far away and safe, but he missed having her within arms reach.

He had been sitting with a glass of bourbon in his hand as he sat in a chair in the living room. His mind was trying to come up with ways he could possibly deal with the new threat but his mind wandered to Y/N plenty of times in the middle of an idea.

When his phone rang, he pulled it out of his pocket quickly and looked at the screen. Seeing that it was Y/N a chuckle passed his lips. It was like she must have sensed he had been thinking about her. Or it was just a coincidence that left him rather amused.

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TODAY IS THE ONLY DAY YOU CAN REBLOG THIS

Obey pt. 9

A/N: well, this is it! This is the last part of Obey. I think I’m more nervous about this last part than I have been about any other part, just because I want this to be good. This has been a crazy ride and I’m so glad you’ve all been here for it. Thank you for all your support ❤️ huge thank you to @njeancastro316 for starting this whole thing. Thank you for trusting me with your idea!

Huge huge huge shoutout to @elijahs-wife for the fucking awesome mood board she made for this series. Thank your unending support ❤️

Let’s do this!

Word count: 2k

WARNINGS: SMUT 18+ Choking, blood, mentions of death and torture, a happy ending.

((God how ridiculously cool is this moodboard))

Five months had passed since the Mystic Falls incident. In the weeks after, Elijah had helped Y/N cope with the hell of being kidnapped, hunted and subsequently murdered by her ex husband, then, helping her cope with the bonus stress of transitioning and then killing said ex husband. The relief she felt the night it all happened lasted only for that night, as it was followed by guilt and sorrow and rage, emotions she was all too familiar with but not on the level she felt it at as a vampire. Elijah was there for her every step of the way, never leaving her side. Around month two, she had begun to even out and come to terms with what had happened. At month three, she was able to return to work, now having her hunger under control and her emotions in check.

In her recovery, the summer heat had melted away, being replaced by the warm tones of autumn, which were short lived. December rolled around and the New Orleans Christmas decorations came alive. Y/N was glowing. Her walls had begun to fall away and she was showing new bits and pieces of herself every day. Elijah watched as she grew confident in ways that may have been considered small, but it made her so much more special to him. She cared about her job more than ever, her coworkers included. She had begun friendships with fellow nurses and worked harder than she ever had before. Sophie had seen her less and less as Y/N had learned to live and love her life, uninhibited.

She sat comfortably in her cozy apartment, for once bothering to make it feel like home rather than cold, and she actually wanted to spend time in her own space. There was no threat to her safety in her own home anymore. No denying herself the feeling of warmth and happiness. Her thoughts wandered to how she had changed as a vampire, and she dwelled on how she had spent her time as a human. She decided that she was ultimately the better version of herself this way. A knock on her front door startled her from her thoughts. She turned her head in the direction of the door and stood, wrapping her arms around herself as she opened the door. Elijah stood on the other side, looking at her expectantly. She stood aside and beckoned him in.

"Good evening, darling." He smiled, bending to kiss her cheek. She grinned at him and closed the door behind him. "Are you ready?" He asked, looking around the room. Y/N’s grin switched to a grimace.

"Actually, I... thought maybe we could spend the weekend here. At my place." She said sheepishly. She had made the comment to him that she missed the snow every winter. She hadn't seen it in about seven years. He arranged a stay for them at a cottage in upstate New York for the weekend, an early Christmas gift to her. "Could we maybe do the cottage another weekend? I'm just finally enjoying my own home, for once." She looked around the space and smiled happily. She turned back to look at him for his reaction and found him grinning at her. "What?" She asked.

"Of course we can stay here. I adore seeing you this content. I'd do anything to keep you this way." He took a step toward her and wrapped his arms around her, planting a kiss atop her head as he hugged her. She closed her eyes and hummed merrily as she wrapped her arms around his torso. He pulled away slightly and lifted her chin to look up at him. "I'm quite proud of the progress you've made, Y/N." He praised. She blushed at him and tried to avert her eyes, but he kept her locked in his gaze. "You're truly remarkable." He whispered, leaning down to close the gap between them. He kissed her softly, his lips grazing hers. She closed her eyes in bliss. She let herself get carried away, deepening the kiss and nibbling at his bottom lip. He smiled and chuckled into the kiss. He gave her a quick squeeze before pulling away and turning to face the room.

"Elijah?" She grabbed ahold of him, her hands grasping onto the sleeve of his jacket. She tugged and fumbled but managed to pull him back to her, her hands reaching to cup his face. "I'm sorry, I just -," she kissed him again hastily, toying with the buttons on his suit jacket. "I'm still getting used to the whole -," her lips were on his again breathlessly, his hands traveling the curves of her body. "Vampire thing," she moved her kisses slowly over to his ear and nibbled on his lobe, lowering down to his neck while nipping and sucking at the skin. She tugged the suit jacket off of him, leaving him in his classic button down dress shirt. He groaned and closed his eyes, a small smile crossing his lips before he bit his lower one.

"Don't apologize, dear." He groaned, "We'll just have to get you accustomed to this lifestyle," he flipped the switch swiftly with his hands on her hips in dominance, pushing her backward into the door behind her. She gasped at the sudden change but welcomed it hungrily. He tugged at the bottom of her shirt and she lifted her arms. He threw the shirt away from them and lowered to his knees, kissing up and down her chest and abdomen, moving slowly down her body. His finger grazed along the top of the waistband on her leggings before he pulled them down and off of her, leaving her completely exposed. She panted and looked down at him. Nothing pleased her more than the sight of him in front of her, working his way down to where she wanted him most.

As if she weighed nothing, he scooped her up by the thighs and placed her legs on his shoulders. He got right to work, sliding his tongue between her folds, her hips twitching at the contact as a satisfied moan escaped her. Her eyes dragged closed as his tongue circled her clit expertly, drinking her in. He hummed as he took in her taste and she moaned at the vibrations sent up her spine. He swirled his tongue over her clit, coaxing her closer to the edge. Her hands found their way to his hair and tangled themselves in it, tugging as she felt a familiar pit in her stomach. His name left her lips in a hiss, "Elijah, I'm close," she whispered. He snaked his hand up to her soaked entrance and plunged a finger in, instantly getting it covered in slick. Her moans began to pick up, his finger working her quickly. She tugged on his hair harder, just on the brink of orgasm when it was pulled away from her and he stopped. Her eyes flew open and she whined, looking down at him as he pulled away. In a flash, he was standing now, one arm wrapped around her waist, the other working the button and zipper of his pants, hastily pulling them off. He used his weight to keep her pinned against the door, legs wide open for him.

Her hand found Elijah's cheek and she caressed it as she looked into his eyes. Hers were hazy and halfway closed as he thrust into her. He eyed her wrist that was mere inches from his mouth. He wanted her to feel the depth of emotion he held for her, and he could only think of one way to convey it to her. With one hand supporting her against the door, the other grabbed her wrist and brought it to his mouth, biting into her. Elijah didn't realize how badly he had wanted to taste her again until that moment, and he wondered how many different ways he could drink her in. He drank from her wrist as he thrust, her breathy moans mixed with the sound of skin on skin. Her eyes widened as she watched him with her wrist on his lips. She hooked her feet behind his waist as he pinned her against the door, his pace quickening still. The door behind them shook from his intensity.

His hips snapped up against hers relentlessly, fucking her in the way she'd been craving. He pulled his lips away from her wrist as it healed itself, his eyes dark and filled with lust. Hers too began to turn black, the veins underneath becoming more prominent. He placed his free hand on the door behind her to stabilize himself, his forearm just beside her face. She threw her head back and cried out his name before turning her head and grasping onto his arm, biting into him. He hissed as she did, pleasure coursing through him. She gasped as she drank, a new feeling of euphoria and closeness washing over her. She pulled away with his blood running over her lips as her orgasm rushed through her, screams of his name reverberating off the apartment walls. His hand moved off of the door behind her and onto her throat, squeezing as she came, her eyes rolling back in her head.

"Elijah..." she whispered hoarsely, his fingers still around her neck. "More," she whined. His eyes shone darkly and he released his grip on her throat, lowering her from the door. She grasped his arms and sped them across the apartment and into her room, pushing him down onto the mattress. He smiled and bared his teeth, eyebrows raised as she climbed atop him. She sank down onto his cock, taking him in entirely. She relished the look on his face as she did so, with his eyes partially closed and his mouth agape. A low moan escaped his lips as she began to bounce. His hands found her hips naturally, helping her keep balance and rhythm. She leaned her torso down, laying on top of him as she rode. She peppered kisses and bites along his chest and neck, drawing her name from his lips. She moved faster, sliding up and down on him with ease.

He growled and pulled her off of him, quickly flipping them around so her back was on the mattress. She squealed as he did so, but it turned into a moan as he plunged into her roughly, not giving her time to adjust. His hand reached for her throat and he squeezed, giving the perfect amount of pleasure. He wasn't going to go easy on her, he was seeking his own satisfaction now. He lifted one of her legs up his torso, resting her ankle on his shoulder and he fucked her senselessly, his pace maddening and sloppy. One hand gripped his forearm above her, the other gripped the sheets beneath her as another orgasm washed over her and he spilled into her. He moaned, his voice raspy as he let the built up tension leave his body. He looked down at Y/N and found her already grinning at him. He pulled out of her and got up to find a towel.

"May I ask why you're so chipper?" He asked her, moving onto the bathroom.

"Vampire sex is awesome," she said enthusiastically. He stared at her through the mirror in the bathroom blankly before breaking out into a laugh.

"Yes, darling. It is 'awesome'," he quoted back to her. Her grin faded into a smile as he walked out of the bathroom and to her side as she laid on the bed. He bent down to clean her up gently. After, he threw the towel into the dirty laundry basket and flopped onto the bed next to her. She looked at him adoringly as he laid his arm out in an invitation. She looked from him to his arm and, still smiling, climbed right up next to him. He smiled and kissed her forehead.

"I'm so proud of you." He whispered.

"I'll never be that me again." She countered confidently. "I can still be my own person even if I'm with you. I am my own fire."

He squeezed his arm around her gently. "I wouldn't have you any other way."

—

Thanks for reading, y’all! See you in the next one. ❤️

Obey only taglist: @mikaelson-emma @raemikaelson @kpopgirlbtssvt @within-thehollowcrown @babyleafydarkness

Always taglist: @elijahs-wife @dumble-daddy @soul-revoir @drachentraum @nikmikaelsonswife @njeancastro316

Feel free to send me an ask if you want to be included on my Always taglist!

THIS

By @eniidraws

Love reading

16 bitches😘

Anime and manga fan

Shy and like to keep to self

Cancer♋

And please give music recs

Spaces Between Us

Summary: Spencer’s time after prison starts to affect his marriage and it takes his wife leaving for him to realize what he wants

reader and Spencer being married but after jail Spencer is really distant and barely speaks to her so she is really depressed and she leaves one day when Spencer is away but when he comes back he freaks out because he can’t find her so he goes looking for her everywhere.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader (Angst)

Content Warning: mention of divorce | prison arc |

Word Count: 2.2k

Masterlist Navigation

At some point, and she wasn’t exactly sure when, it all got a little too much.

Seeing Spencer in jail did break her, tearing their marriage until it was hanging on by a thread.

It was never fair because it was never his fault. Someone else had framed him. Y/n had no doubt about that. The few months he was in jail were terrifying. Worse than when he was on a case, and every time the phone rang, she expected it to be someone saying he’d died.

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This was so good I loved it and it was written amazingly

childhood friends (Finnick Odair)

summary; after three years of not talking to Finnick, you get reaped for the Hunger Games, and he decides it's time to apologize for leaving you behind the way he did.

warnings; swearing

wc; 3.6k

–

When you finally became eligible for the Hunger Games five years ago, you accidentally started a nasty habit of wishing to get deathly ill to avoid the reaping. All you want is to get sick enough for the peacekeepers to give you a pass, because if they think that you’ll die before you reach the arena, then they don’t want you. The Capitol wants entertainment, and a sickly tribute is a boring tribute.

The goal is to survive the illness, whatever it may be. Let it take weeks for you to recover, if that’s what has to happen. As long as you don’t die from it, because that’s exactly the problem you’re trying to avoid.

You didn’t live seventeen years of your life only to be reaped and thrown into an area to fight for your life. You made it this far. You have one more year until you’re free from the reaping. Free.

Unfortunately, for the past five years, you’ve woken up as healthy as the day you were born. There’s not a single symptom that you could bend to look malicious. You think that if you end up surviving this year’s reaping, that you’re going to go around licking doorknobs to make sure that you’re sick next year.

You turn to the bathtub full of water that your mom’s been filling for you while you made breakfast. It’s probably not even warm anymore, but you have no choice. She won’t let you go outside unless you’re well-dressed in the chance that you do get selected in the reaping. She won’t have her eldest representing the family badly.

You step into the tub, and pleasantly find that it’s lukewarm. It won’t be this way for long, you have a small window to get yourself cleaned up and hair washed before it turns ice cold. You sink into the tun, letting it warm your skin slightly, and then you get started.

As you scrub your skin with a bar of unscented soap, you stare at the adjacent wall. In the Capitol, you heard that they have running showers. You can turn the knob and have hot water come out immediately, and bathtubs that they can fill with hot water without having to wait over an hour for the water to boil first.

They might have those appliances here somewhere in the district. If you had to guess, you’d say the Justice Building, where the mayor and his family stays, or any of the victor homes in Victor’s Village. Since they won the Hunger Games, it’s nothing but the best for them.

You bet that they forget that the rest of the district doesn’t have the same luxury as they do with the hot water. Even the upper class part of district four doesn’t have showers. The houses were never installed with them—maybe better bathtubs. You can’t imagine how expensive it would be to run that water.

You don’t think you’d leave the bathroom ever again. You’d sit under the water for hours, letting the water hit your face, or the top of your head. You’d close your eyes and imagine the warm rain that you get in the summertime. And you would be able to do that every day until you got sick of it.

Instead, you’re stuck with a bar of soap, and a tub of cooling water. The same water that turned a slight shade of white because of the soap, that you now have to use to wash your hair. You could get your mom to brew you a whole new tub, but you don’t have time for it. She leaves only enough room to get you in and out before the rest of your family gets in.

You turn your head to the side while lowering your hair into the water to get it wet, squeezing it a few times to make sure the water sticks. After that, you reach for the bland bottle of shampoo that smells faintly of strawberries if you smell hard enough. You lather, and then rinse, and when you’re done, you pull the plug on the tub to let it drain while you get dressed.

You dry your body, and start on your hair for a minute. You stop when you realize that it’s going to be a longer process than you expected, and opt for pulling your dress on, being careful not to get it wet. The moment you open the bathroom door, arms full of dirty clothes, heading for your bedroom, your mom is already passing you with the first pot of hot water for your little sister’s bath.

“Drop the clothes in the hallway, I’ll clean them later tonight.” She tells you, eyes landing on your hair, “Do you need help putting your hair up?”

“If you have time, or I can do it myself.” You shrug.

“Grab a chair and take a seat in the kitchen.” She directs your chin upwards, correcting your habit of looking down, “I always have time for you.”

You give her a half-smile, dropping your dirty clothes in the hallway while you head to your room to grab the hair ties and brush. When you look at your clock, you see that there’s only an hour and a half before the reaping. It seems like a lot of time, but with a family of five, it takes so much longer.

You brush your hair while you wait for her to come into the kitchen, several pots are on the stove with the heat turned to high. Your brother sits in the living room, playing with his toys, and your dad is nowhere to be seen. You’re pretty sure he bathed last night to avoid today’s mayhem.

“Sit.” She tells you, you pull out a chair.

She’s gentle when she pulls on your wet hair, used to your younger sister’s whining about rough hands. She’s never been bad about the brush, it’s more of her redoing your hair several times to make sure that it’s absolutely perfect. It’s one of the struggles that come with having to appear as a lower middle class family. They’re always about image, even if you have nothing to show.

Your mom’s side of the family used to be a line of jewelers. She was even raised to appraise precious jewelry. She would buy jewelry at a low price and turn around and sell it higher. It worked out for your grandparents for a while, until your mom asked for a better cut on the profit, since she was the reason why they were making so much.

Her parents denied her, and then shut her out entirely, firing her. By then, your mom had already married your dad, so she had him to fall back on. She watched as her parents started to lose profit, and lost business altogether because they got rid of her. And when they came to her, asking for her charity, she laughed in their faces and told them that they’re dead to her.

You haven’t seen them, not since you were young. From what you remember, they lived in a big house, more bedrooms than they needed. It wasn’t even your mom’s childhood home, she says they sold that and upgraded. They must’ve moved to a different part of the district, because you’ve never accidentally run across them.

Your mom’s always told you that if you need her, then she’ll come running, no matter the situation, no matter the reason. It’s the least she could do because her parents couldn’t step up and give her a little more money for her work. She says that once you turn eighteen, she’ll get you a job at the fabric store she works at, and she’ll make sure that you’re well taken care of.

You know she doesn’t mean to, but sometimes she makes you sad.

“Okay, all done.” She says, “Maybe sit in front of an open window so it dries faster.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” She grabs your face to press a kiss to your forehead, “Be ready in an hour.”

“I will.” You smile.

You wander back to your room, or rather the room you share with your sister. You prop open the window, and instantly a warm breeze comes through the air. It’s a shame the Hunger Games takes place in the middle of summer. It’s the only time of year you genuinely enjoy, and it’s ruined by the Capitol.

You sit on the edge of your bed, staring out the window. One minute turns to ten, and you’re sure that you should get up and get your shoes on, at the very least, but you don’t move. You can’t get your eyes to focus either, no matter how hard you try.

There’s something wrong, you’re not usually this drained before the reaping.

You blink slowly, turning your head away from the window to look at your room. Your mouth screws, and you force yourself up to pull on your shoes. You go back to sitting on your bed when you’re done, playing with a string on your bedsheets. 

Your sister comes into the room soon after, already dressed and hair done. She briefly looks at you before getting to her knees to play with her toys. It doesn’t last long until she sets them down and looks at you, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” You glance at her, and then at the window.

“Oh, well,” She shrugs, “I had a dream last night that you got reaped.”

“Don’t say stuff like that.” Your face twists, finally coming back to life, “Especially not to mom.”

She doesn’t say anything, playing with her dolls. The two of you sit in here for another thirty minutes, before your mom is collecting you to leave. You close the window in the bedroom, and briefly check on the state of your hair in the bathroom. It’s not perfect, you knew it wouldn’t be, but it looks good enough. Your mom nods in approval.

The five of you leave the house, heading to the District Four Justice Building. You’re not the only family heading that way, most of the neighborhood is leaving too, all on foot. Cars are also a luxury for the rich, but even they’re too expensive for the victors.

When you reach the area where you need to sign in, your mom kisses your forehead, and then your dad does too in the same spot. She then reaches over and redirects your chin upwards, “With beauty and grace, (Y/n).”

“I know. I’ll see you guys in a little bit.” You smile.

Your sister is barely eligible for the games this year, she’s just turned twelve. You watch as your parents repeat the process with her. Your brother’s got another three years before it’s his turn to experience the reaping. You hold your hand out for your sister to take to guide her through the process.

You get signed in first, and then wait nearby to watch her first time with a reaping day peacekeeper. They pass her easily, and she hurries to stick close. Inside the fenced area are hundreds of girls and boys, all varying in age. You bring her to the back, where the twelve section is.

“I’ll see you right after, okay?” You fix her hair.

“Okay.” She agrees.

You move down the aisle to the front, where the other seventeen year old girls are gathering. It’s fairly empty up here, allowing you to pick a spot without blocking anyone else’s view. You’re not sure if they’d mind anyway. When you were younger, you’d use the older teenagers to block the stage’s view of you, afraid of them picking you just because they felt like it.

You let out a breath, and raise your head.

Most of the chairs on the stage are filled by the regular occupants, like the mayor, and your Capitol escort. In the other chairs sit the victor’s that District Four has had over the past sixty-seven years, there’s four of them.

Mags Flanagan, she’s the oldest victor up there because she’s the first victor of District Four. To the right of her sits Muscida, another female victor, she’s younger than Mags by a good twenty years. The next in line is Librae, she’s in her thirties. And the very last and recent victor is the only male that Four has had so far, and that’s Finnick Odair.

He broke the record for the youngest victor, previously it was fifteen, but he set it at fourteen. It’s going to be an impossible record to beat, since every thirteen year old that goes inside of an arena is dead within the first to third day. They never last past the first week.

Finnick’s the same age as you are. You used to be really good friends with him, since his family lived in the same neighborhood as you, and you went to the same school together. After he won, they all moved into Victor’s Village, and you never really had the same friendship as you did before.

You tried to be normal, for his sake. At school, you saw how everyone else was treating him and figured that he’d want things to go back to normal. You could see past his arena-self, considering he did what he had to in order to survive. You guess that he couldn’t handle it anyway, because eventually the two of you stopped talking, and then he stopped coming to school in general.

Despite now living in two different areas of District Four, you still manage to see him every year at the reaping. You can’t imagine what it’s like mentoring, especially since he had no choice when it comes to the job. The district requires one male and one female mentor. You think you’d go insane.

Briefly, Finnick looks up, and manages to catch your eyes. They’re gone in the same second.

Right as the big clock hits ten thirty, the mayor steps up to the podium to start giving the Dark Days speech. After hearing it so many times, you’re sure that you could recite this in your sleep without missing a beat. It’s the same speech, nothing changes to the script. You’re forced to stand here and listen to him drone about it.

And when he’s done, the Capitol escort steps up to the microphone. She’s dressed in bright colors, and has a wide grin on her face. You guys have had her for the past two years, you think you preferred the man before her. He was less peppy and seemed to realize the monstrosity he was committing by selecting children to fight to kill each other.

“Happy Hunger Games!” Her accent gives you a headache, “And may the odds be ever in your favor. We’ll start with ladies first.”

She wanders over to the girls’ glass bowl with thousands of slips inside of it. Only five of them should have your name on it. You suck in a breath between your teeth, holding it while she picks a slip from the middle. She holds it up in the air, a folded piece of white paper held shut by black tape. She then moves over to the microphone, shimmying her shoulders in excitement as she unfolds the paper.

She takes in a breath, a smile overcoming her face, “(Y/n) (L/n).”

You can feel the air leave your lungs, lips parting as you struggle to intake air. Somewhere out there behind the rope, you think you can hear your mother’s anguished scream. Several heads swivel to find you, hands balled into tight fists to distract from the jelly feeling in your legs.

Move.

You step out of the seventeen section and into the aisle, where the peacekeepers immediately come to your side to guide you to the stage. You press your lips together, head falling to look at your shoes, when you’re suddenly reminded of her gesture. You raise your chin and start down the path, trying to appear brave.

The Capitol escort’s got this smirk on her face, you look away from her and to the stairs, which feel almost impossible to take. One at a time, you’re raised until you’re on the same level as they are. She guides you next to the microphone, and you plant your feet there, eyes wide as you stare off into the crowd. A large sea of bodies, too many to fit in the square, so they fill the streets and alleyways nearby.

You take in deep breaths through your nose to contain the tears that want to take over your body. You don’t even realize she’s called the boy's name until she’s demanding that you two shake hands. You turn, and find a boy from the sixteen section. His hands are wet when you touch them, and he looks like he’s going to puke. 

The Panem anthem then plays, and as soon as it’s finished, you’re pushed to go inside of the Justice Building. They bring you to a vacant room, where you’re left to pace and wait for your family to come. You only had one more year of this until you were free, you just had to get reaped at seventeen.

The door swings open, and in comes your family, your mother rushing to hold you tightly. She squeezes the air out of you, letting out a quiet sob, “Why didn’t you tell me that your sister had a dream that you’d be reaped?”

“Because you’d react this way.” You murmur, hugging her back. Your dad comes over to stroke your hair. “It’s okay, mom.”

“You must be good.” She says, pulling away to hold your face, “You must show them that you’re wonderful. You can do that.”

“I can, because I learned from you.” You agree, “It’ll be alright.”

Your brother and sister wander over, both of them with tears in their eyes. You hug them tightly, promising that you’ll be home soon. The peacekeepers come back, telling you that your time with your family is up. Your mom insists on pressing a kiss to your forehead, the same with your dad, before they leave.

“You’ll be good.” She tells you, “Tell me that you’ll be good.”

“I’ll be good, mom.”

It’s a few minutes before they take you and bring you to a car to transport you to the train station quickly. You chew on the inside of your cheek while staring at the window, continuing to take breaths to calm yourself. The station is crowded with reporters when you get there. You avoid the cameras and head inside of the train, where the doors shut behind you, and the train begins to move.

You let out the breath of air that you’ve been holding.

“Congratulations!” The escort says, you eye her warily.

“On what?” Your counterpart asks, “On our death sentence?”

A frown comes over the escort’s face. You can hear a familiar laugh, and he shows himself a second later. Finnick’s got this smirk on his face, “What did I tell you about congratulating the tributes? It’s insulting.”

“Regardless of what you think,” she suddenly hisses, “It’s required of me to do.”

Finnick raises his eyebrows, “Right. Why don’t you take Landon to his room?”

She presses her lips together, “Fine, let’s go you two—”

“No, I need a second with (Y/n). We need to talk.”

The way Finnick speaks is so much different from what you remember. He was never this direct with people, he had a tendency to beat around the bush to avoid hurting feels. It has something to do with the confrontation aspect of it, and he never wanted the drama of having a rivalry.

Now he seems like he doesn’t care. He stares at the escort, waiting for her to object, but she must think that it’s not worth it, because all she does is shake her head at him before leading Landon off.

He turns to you with a toothy smile, “I’m going to pay for that later.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised.” You laugh.

Without saying it out loud, the two of you gravitate for a hug at the same time. You squeeze him tightly, letting out a slight laugh. The last time you talked to him was three years ago. So much can change in such a short amount of time. You probably don’t even know him anymore.

“I just wanna say I’m sorry.” He begins, pulling away, “After the games—”

“I don’t blame you, Finnick. How can I?”

“I don’t know, we were close. We grew up together, I thought you’d be angrier.” He rubs the back of his neck, “I tried with the whole school thing, but no one treated me normally except for you. And I thought it would be enough but there was that one week where you got sick and I had to do it all alone. I couldn’t, I didn’t even make it through the week.”

“I know. You did what you had to do. And you seem to be doing better now than you were before, right?”

He nods, eyes falling to the carpet flooring, “Yeah, something like that. It sucks that it took you getting reaped for me to say something.”

“I’m happy you’re talking to me at all.” You tilt your head, “If you wanna make up for it, though, you’ll make sure that I’m set up to win.”

Finnick’s eyes meet yours, a mischievous grin crossing his face, “Oh, you have no idea the wonders I can work for you.”

Safe. Protected. Home.

Pairing: Tim Bradford x Fem!Reader

Author's Note: I finished the entire series in a week and I am literally so obsessed! I cannot wait for the next season and I just had to write for Tim. I really hope you enjoy this. Requests for "The Rookie" are open!

Word Count: 1.2 K

When you think of Tim Bradford, now Sergeant Bradford, a lot of things come to mind. Tough. No-nonsense. Fiercely dedicated. The kind of guy who thrives under pressure and expects nothing less from those around him. Tim’s the guy who keeps people at arm’s length, both metaphorically and literally, a fortress of hard-earned authority. But one thing you’d never peg him as? A sucker for cuddles. Or hugs.

He wasn’t the kind of guy you’d expect to be a sucker for cuddles. Or hugs. Stoic, guarded—those were the words people used to describe him. The guy who kept his emotions in check, always composed, always in control. But after 18 gruelling hours on his feet, every inch of his body ached, and his mind buzzed with exhaustion and all he could think about as he drove home was y/n, the way she’d wrap her arms around him. How she’d rest her cheek against his chest, her warmth seeping into him like sunlight after a storm. It was all he wanted and all he could think about.

The moment he reached home, every part of him itched to burst through the door, stride straight to her, and lose himself in her embrace. He could almost feel it—the warmth of her arms around him, the soft scent of her shampoo filling his senses, melting away the weight of the last 18 hours. But as he reached the door, his hand hesitated on the key. What if she was sleeping? The thought softened his urgency. Quietly, he slid the key into the lock, turning it with deliberate care, the faintest click breaking the silence. Pushing the door open just enough to slip inside, he tiptoed across the threshold, his movements cautious and measured.

But little did he know that sleep was the last thing on her mind. She was curled up on the couch, a book resting in her lap, softly humming along to the faint music playing in the background. The moment her y/e/c eyes met his, her face lit up, and she sprang to her feet, her joy radiating like sunlight through the room. Her expression quickly shifted as her gaze sharpened, scanning him from head to toe with practiced care. She looked for any signs of injury, any hidden pain he might be hiding, her concern as palpable as her love. Only when she was certain he was physically okay, did the tension in y/n's shoulders ease, and a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding escaped. His reaction was the opposite though. The sharp, vigilant eyes that had been trained all day to watch for danger, to stay alert to every possible threat, softened the instant they locked onto hers. In her presence, the edges of his world dulled, and for the first time in hours, he felt something close to peace. Tim Bradford had finally made it to his home.

“You’re home,” y/n said softly, he didn’t say a word, just crossed the room in three long strides and pulled her into his arms. The weight of the world slipped away as her familiar scent surrounded him, grounding him.

"Hey, baby," she said softly, her voice warm and soothing as she pulled him closer. "Rough day? I saw the news. I’m so proud of you."

He let out a weary sigh and pulled back a little, “I’m just grateful we got those kids back to their parents safely," he murmured, his voice heavy with exhaustion yet tinged with relief.

Y/n reached out, her fingers grazing his cheek gently. "You did good," she whispered, her gaze steady and full of admiration. "More than good." Tim only hummed in response as he buried his face further into her hair.

"Are you hungry? Should I warm up some dinner for you?" she asked, her voice laced with concern as her eyes searched his face.

He shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. "No, we grabbed something from the food truck near the station before heading out. Did YOU eat?" His hands found her cheeks, cupping them gently as his eyes filled with worry, scanning her face like she was the only thing that mattered in the world.

She grinned, a playful spark lighting her expression. "I did. The last time I offered to wait and have dinner with you after work, you threatened to watch ‘The Bachelor’ without me. Remember that?"

His smile widened into a low chuckle. "And the threat still stands," he teased. "I’m gonna grab a quick shower, and then we can get back to it. Maybe... some cuddles, too?" His voice softened with hope, a rare vulnerability sneaking through his exhaustion.

"Deal, Sergeant," she replied, laughter bubbling in her tone as she poked his chest. "But make it quick, or I’m starting the episode without you."

He gave her a mock salute, his grin growing as he headed for the bathroom.

When he came back, the living room was unrecognizable, transformed into a cosy sanctuary. Y/n had pulled out the couch to its full size, layering it with a soft, inviting blanket and scattering pillows around. A few of her stuffed toys nestled in the corners, adding a playful touch, while a small assortment of chocolates and snacks sat neatly on the table beside the sofa, within easy reach. The fairy lights she’d insisted on months ago— “They add character!” she’d argued—were now casting a warm, gentle glow over the room, their soft twinkle making the space feel magical. The TV was ready, paused at the latest episode of ‘The Bachelor’, the title screen glowing in quiet anticipation. As if that wasn’t enough, a few lavender-scented candles flickered softly in the background, their soothing aroma already working to calm his frayed nerves. She’d remembered, of course—lavender always helped him unwind.

He stood there for a moment, taking it all in, his heart swelling with gratitude and affection. This wasn’t just a room; it was a safe haven. Yet none of it held a candle to her. Y/n was his safe haven. She stood in the middle of it all, a quiet smile playing on her lips, her eyes full of love and a hint of mischief. Y/n wasn’t just the one who made the room feel like home. She was home.

“Hey, you’ve been standing there for a while. Want me to bring the party to you?” she quipped.

With a terse nod, he shakes his head and runs over to her. No words were needed.

As he reached her, she shifted on the couch, sitting upright to make room for him. Without hesitation, he lowered himself onto the soft cushions, resting his head against her chest. The steady rhythm of her heartbeat filled his ears, a soothing melody that made every hardship, every struggle of the last few days, feel distant and almost insignificant. He snuggled in closer, his body melting into hers, while her arms wrapped around him protectively. One hand rested on his back, grounding him, while the other slipped into his hair, her fingers weaving through the strands with gentle, rhythmic motions.

For years, Tim Bradford had carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, always the protector, always the shield. But here, in her arms, he finally felt something he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in far too long.

Safe. Protected. Home.

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