#//im just slow im sorryyyy

[professor-amaryllis]

[a package arrives! It contains...

-a bag of silly bands in the shape of a variety of poison type Pokemon

-a sketchy rendition of Amy wrestling a Krookodile! It's stylized and really well drawn! Amy looks awfully confident in it. Doesn't seem to have a signature, oddly enough.

-a poison gem, carefully wrapped in bubble wrap!

-an acrylic keychain of a pride-themed venipede! It's yellow with purple circles on it!]

[A photo of a large cork board mounted on a white wall, there are all sorts of photos on it, friends and family of Amy's mostly, most easily recognizable are Bryony, Ren, Dave, Sophora, and Touya, but there are quite a few other photos as well of both people and places, and one partially obscured that looks like it might just be a pile of makuhita; it seems our professor is quite sentimental. Near the center in a place of honor lies the drawing, pinned up with a star shaped thumbtack.]

Hello, I hope whoever sends this ends up seeing this post, since it wasn't signed. Thank you! This is a sweet gift, and I've added the key chain to my backpack so I can see it more, I've never seen such a cute little thing! Thanks for making me look less terrified in the drawing than i was on the show hehe, I may just get a frame for this when I have a chance :)

Jester has laid claim to the poison gem, and I've had to break up a couple 'fights' between her and Dexter over it already hehe, and by fights i mostly mean they both start squeaking very loudly at each other if Dexter gets too close. I've opted to simply remove the gem and put it on a shelf with my other stones. These little rubber shapes are quite cute as well!!

Thank you again!

[shinesurge]

okay idk where i'm going to pin this or whatever but im putting it out there that i'd LOVE to see any fan stuff y'all make so feel free to tag me or the comic blog when you share it!! i will NEVER be upset to see cool fanart or shop order hype or pretty much anything kc related lmao

if you specifically DONT want me to interact with it when i periodically stumble across things in the tags that weren't initially brought to my attention, i filter the tag 'aria don't look' so i will in fact Not Perceive You. i dont want to make anyone uncomfortable but if you did a cool thing i usually like to boost it! but i will refrain from that if you prefer

[iitsarss]

╰ㅤ₊ㅤ๋࣭ㅤreader x gr13f3r　 sorry　᠀

ꔛ word count: 684⠀╱⠀unestablished relationship + player reader 。

(¬_¬")⠀⠀⠀note,more on the end ⠀╱⠀tw: mention of sword + violence (MENTION!!)

hi guys my name is ars and today i came back with the milk!! i love this stupid dude sm im not joking i want him so bad...this is...angst...kinda....,,anyways sighh if i had this guy in front of me i would do things i cant say out loud(worship himgrrr) inspired by this song(idk how to put the little one sorryyyy :( )

The Venomshank in his hand was slipping as Griefer stared at you, a whirlwind of emotions crashing through him. How could he even think about doing this? Was he completely out of his mind? Maybe. Maybe his dad was right when he told him to stop everything just minutes before. Stop the chaos. Stop all of this.

Griefer couldn’t tear his eyes away from you. You looked absolutely stunning, even with a sword pointed at his throat. Strange, wasn’t it? How he could find beauty in this moment of tension and heartbreak.

Finally, the Venomshank clattered to the floor, the sound hollow as it echoed in the room, just as the tears started to form in his eyes. He was a jerk, wasn’t he? He had to be. The look in your eyes—it was different now. The first time he saw you, there was something there. Strength, maybe? Bravery? He couldn’t quite put his finger on it back then. But now? Now your eyes were filled with pity, with sadness. And it killed him inside. 

Maybe it was because those butterflies he felt in his stomach the first time he laid eyes on you weren’t just in his head. He had tried to tell himself it was the voices whispering in his mind, telling him to destroy everything—to destroy you. Break your bones, break your spirit, break you entirely. But could he? He didn’t think he could. No, not anymore. Not with these unfamiliar emotions flooding through him. His sword lay forgotten on the ground, and soon enough, he was on his knees too, crumbling in front of you, lost in the depth of your eyes. He sobbed, and it was pathetic—he felt pathetic.

Still, he crawled toward you, his movements slow, almost hesitant. His trembling hands reached out, grabbing hold of your clothes like a lifeline. His fingers clutched the fabric, his tears soaking through as he began to cry even harder.

"I’M S0RR7… I’M S0RR7…"

Griefer’s voice broke as he repeated the words over and over like a broken record. He wanted to apologize for everything he had done, for all the pain he caused. You deserved that much. His tears soaked into your clothes, and he didn’t even notice when you slowly got down on your knees and wrapped your arms around him. 

He cried harder, burying his face in your neck, his hands still clutching at you as if he were afraid you’d disappear. 

"I'M S0RR7… F0R EVE7YTH1NG… I’M S0RR7, I’M S0RR7…"

But something in him began to calm down as your hands moved through his hair, gently stroking it, soothing him. You whispered that it was alright, and though he wasn’t sure if he could believe it, with you telling him so gently, he started to think—maybe it really was. His heart felt strange, warm in a way that was foreign to him.

When you gently pulled back to look at him, he tried to hide his face in embarrassment, but you wouldn’t let him. You took his cheeks in your hands and gazed into his eyes. And just like that, the pity he feared seeing wasn’t there. Instead, it was something warm, something tender that he didn’t fully understand.

…

When it was all over—after so much crying from both him and his dad—you were preparing to leave, taking the Venomshank with you. Griefer watched you as you moved toward the door, your back to him. He wasn’t sure why, but something inside him panicked at the thought of you walking away. 

Summoning the last bit of courage he had, he moved toward you and gently took your hand. When you turned to face him, the sunlight spilling in through the window made you look almost ethereal, more radiant than ever in his eyes. 

"S0RR7," he whispered one more time, his voice soft but sincere.

You comforted him again, offering a few more words of reassurance. He stood there, staring at you as if you were the light itself, realizing that no matter how bright the sun was, it couldn’t compare to the way you made him feel.

kisses him anyways!! uh this is shit tbh but yeah i love him a lot

[propertyofkylar]

kinktober day 22: pegging (m!sydney x gn!pc)

word count: 1421

tags/warnings: pegging, anal fingering, no gendered terms referring to reader but has a vagina and uses a strap-on, the importance of using lube

note: HIIII REMEMBER ME i write things i do...sometimes... im SORRYYYY that its december and i havent finished kinktober. i got overwhelmed. the good news is that time is a construct and kinktober is not merely 31 days in a month...oh no...it is a state of being and babey im here year round

“You’re sure you want this?”

The dildo in your hands was unlike any real cock you’d seen - of course, real dicks were not purple and sparkly. You wiggled it in your hands, watching it bounce. Would this fit into Sydney’s ass?

Sydney nodded, a resolute expression on his face. This was something you’d discussed together for a while now. You’d done some experimenting - just some light fingering - and now it was time for the real deal. 

You were going to peg your boyfriend. 

Since Sydney had his eyes opened to what he called “the world of sin,” he’d been a lot more interested in the intricacies of sex and kink. That led the two of you to where you were today. 

Sitting on Sydney’s bed, a harness on your body, a fat dildo in your hand, and a bottle of lube beside you. 

“Okay,” you said in response, and gently stroked Sydney’s cheek. “But don’t forget we can stop at any time.”

“I know,” he smiled and nuzzled his cheek into your palm. “I trust you, my love.”

With that, you crawled into Sydney’s lap and began to kiss him. You had already stripped entirely naked, while Sydney was still in his underwear. As your tongues swirled in each other’s mouths, you could feel him rapidly hardening beneath you. 

“Someone’s eager,” you breathed against his lips. He nodded. You threaded your fingers through Sydney’s dark hair the way you knew he liked and tugged, eliciting a moan from him. 

You pulled away briefly to rig the dildo into the harness - you’d practiced - before returning to kiss Sydney some more. As you did so, you ground your hips into him, frotting your fake cock against his real one. Sydney’s breathing got heavier, and yours did too. The harness had a bumper that rubbed your clit with each thrust. 

Warmth spread through your body, the two of you huffing as your hips moved in tandem. You almost got carried away with the dry humping when you suddenly remembered why you were actually here. You pulled away again, Sydney whining at the loss of contact. 

“Take them off,” you said softly, and Sydney instantly did as told, tugging down his boxer briefs. His heavy cock smacked against his belly, flushed and hard after your fit of grinding. The sight was enough to almost make you drool. You couldn’t believe the temple had tried to lock this thing away from you. 

You grabbed the bottle and squeezed a generous amount of lube onto your fingers, coating your digits thoroughly. “I’m going to go slow,” you said, tossing the bottle aside and lightly scratching Sydney’s chest with your free hand. “Tell me to stop at any time and I will.”

“I know,” he murmured, pulling your hand to his mouth. Sydney kissed each of your fingertips. “You don’t have to keep telling me. I want this. Trust me.” He sucked your pointer finger into his mouth, his tongue swirling around. The submissive act made you whimper and your hips unconsciously bucked. 

With one lube-covered finger, you gently stroked his hole, before slowly pushing it in. It wasn’t much, of course, but it had Sydney groaning already. After a moment, you began to move that finger. 

“More,” Sydney whispered, and you were happy to indulge. Your middle finger slid in too, and you pumped the two fingers faster, scissoring inside of him the way you knew he liked. 

“Oh, fuck,” he gasped, and that did something to you. The sound of Sydney cursing always felt electrifying. With your other hand, you pressed against Sydney’s shoulder, forcing him to lay down on the bed. His dark hair spread around him like the halo of a fallen angel, yet he gazed up at you so adoringly there was no way any of this could be sinful. 

You pumped your fingers for a few more minutes and then retracted when you felt he was stretched enough. He whined at the loss, but eager anticipation flashed in his eyes for what was yet to come. You grabbed the lube again and squirted it on the dildo, probably more than necessary, but you wanted to be safe. Sydney watched intently as your hand jerked off the dildo, ensuring every centimeter was thoroughly coated. 

The two of you locked eyes as you leaned forward, pressing the tip of your dildo against Sydney’s hole. “I love you,” he said softly, which made you shiver with pleasure. And with that, you eased into him.

You went slowly, knowing full well for yourself that a cock was much different than having fingers inside of you. As you stretched Sydney out far more than he had ever been before, you watched eagerly as his eyes rolled back and his cheeks flushed bright pink.

“Fuck,” Sydney whimpered. His reaction was possibly the hottest thing you had ever seen. You rocked gently against his hips, excitedly watching his eyes glaze over from sheer pleasure. Sydney’s fists clutched desperately at the bedsheets beneath him, the fabric wrinkling under his grip. “It…it feels so good…”

“Does it?” You smirked, suddenly overcome with the urge to tease your adorable and sexy boyfriend. “How about when I do this?” You thrust into him again, slightly harder this time, and were filled with joy when he gasped suddenly.

A moan escaped your own mouth when the grinder in the harness pressed against your clit. Your thrusts were languid, trying to ease into a rhythm without overwhelming Sydney.

But that didn’t seem to be working for him, because he whined your name. You looked up into his eyes - pupils fully blown out - and shivered at the sight.

“Fuck me,” Sydney begged. “Hard. Please.”

Who were you to deny such a polite ask? You channeled memories of being penetrated yourself and almost entirely pulled out before slamming back in fully. Sydney let out a pleasure-tinged moan.

“Again!” He demanded, and you thrust hard into him repeatedly. Over and over, watching tears gather in the corner of Sydney’s eyes, pressure building deep in the pit of your belly. You stabilized yourself on the bed with one hand and moved the other down to grip his cock, sloppily trying to jerk him off in tandem with your thrusts. Your rhythm certainly wasn’t perfect, but Sydney’s sobs told you that you were doing a well enough job.

“Fuck,” you moaned, looking at him fucked out and hot below you. “You look so fucking good like this. Taking my cock so well.”

Sydney gasped. “Y-your hand – it feels so fucking –” his words were cut off by moans and he didn’t finish the thought.

The sight of him was too much. “I’m gonna cum,” you grit out, your tempo lost entirely as your hips went wild, hand barely keeping a grip on Sydney’s precum-soaked cock. “Oh, fuck, Sydney,” was all you could manage as your climax hit you. You squeezed your eyes shut, stars dancing in your vision. You could only imagine how good it would feel to cum inside him with a real cock, and that made you orgasm even harder.

Sydney was mumbling your name over and over like a prayer. As you came down from your high, you could feel his cock twitching in your hand. He was close, too. Leaning your head in, you pressed soft kisses to his neck, nibbling on his earlobe before whispering “let go for me, baby.”

And with a strangled cry, hot ropes of cum shot out from his cock, spreading over your hand and his stomach. The two of you breathed heavily, watching him twitch as finally, his cum ran out. Then, you looked at each other and giggled.

Ignoring the sticky mess on him that would surely spread to you, you flopped down on top of Sydney with an oomph, easing the dildo out of his ass. You couldn’t formulate coherent enough thoughts to speak, and you figured that he couldn’t, either. So you both sat in silence for a few.

“That was…” Sydney let out a shaky breath and chucked. “Yeah. It was.”

“Yeah,” you agreed with a giggle. “For sure.”

He suddenly wrapped his arms around you and flipped you, so he was on top. Then, he nuzzled his head into your neck. The feeling of his hair on your skin made you giggle more.

“Let me lay here for a few minutes…” he murmured. He was so cute, it made your heart melt. “Then…I wanna see how well you can take my cock and the dildo together.”

[rontra]

do you happen to have other comics or maybe even just writing you have compiled before? I think your failteacher au is one of the only things to make me genuinely cry reading (even if not intended) and i really like just how invested you made me in these character's journeys and its kind of ruining me

😭😭im honored my work had such an impact on you!! thank you for the kind words!!! hands u a tissue

im very much a Brainworms Creative so when i fixate on a project to the degree i have on failteacher comics i tend to make it the only thing i really work on. so its like yeaaa i do but im not updating those other things rnnn HBJRDMKSJB (SORRY TO THE READERS)

i dont have any persona stuff anywhere its my first rodeo. my pinned has an (ongoing, not yet finished) arknights au comic if you like my comics tho! you can tell its a bit older but its in full color (mostly). it does presume more familiarity with arknights and the specific characters involved than failteachers does with persona. BUT you get to see a doggirl with a phd lose her lucrative tech job and get dragged by her ex and im sure some of you would find that entertaining regardless of lore knowledge (her cute fluffy tail! her sullen demeanor! the way everyone hates her for her numerous ethics violations in the name of science!)

that pinned post also has a (ONGOING NOT YET FINISHED...) pirate au rwby fic that demands Comparatively little since it has to adapt the lore it's using to a very different setting (Big Boat.) and also it's about two women in their 40s who have never met in the actual show. my usual fare. repulsively slow slowburn but i did write an E rated spinoff that isnt canon or even about the main couple.........

(covers mouth in shame) i was actually like 14 pages deep in an adastra update when the failteacher train t-boned us. sorryyyy. but adastra has been thru lulls before... its resilient... 🫡

[abacistat]

im currently reading red robin 2009 (i KNOW it took me forever just let me live okay i don’t even. god. this is a judgement free zone actually, justice for us slow comic readers like SORRY i haven’t read every run that has ever been released ever OKAY! im new to this kind of…as in last five months but STTTIIILLLLLL at least i’m reading the comics. not a lot of people can say that. let me be a slow reader.) (that being said i’m on the 10th issue rn ^_^)

ok anyway reading rr09 and i have soo many thoughts on it and so many drawing ideas but i have had a migraine since like. checks clock. tuesday night. it’s thursday morning. i did like a handful of drawing reqs on instagram but i couldn’t even finish them all cause god why does blue light have to make my eyes hurt??? why can’t i stare at my ipad screen with a headache(/s)???? wtf let me draw this is so fucked up. whenever this migraine decides to stop making me it’s bitch though i’ll be forced to finalize my tim design cause i really really really wanna make red robin art but my boy needs to be consistent… he’s so so so inconsistent rn… i’m so sorry. wanna do reference sheets for a lot of characters tbh….

do people do that??? can i just make a character sheet for a character that in fact already exists??? yeah. yeah i can idc if its unconventional actually. and if it isn’t, even better! def core four. def superfam. maybe batfam if i feel nice, like i love the batfam (sorry) but there is way too many of them??? okay anyway this is a really long winded way of saying i wanna come up w a complete tim design and i am asking for headcanons anybody has because i don’t have too too many ideas rn im SORRYYYY </3…it’s also five am so just let me go to sleep. but. yeah send me some tim headcanons i could try incorporating :-) feel free to yap ab them too im such a sucker for reading peoples little character studies <3 like yes how does that girl wearing her hair in a ponytail represent her struggles with femininity??? yeah. yaaayyy! ok gonna sleep now….bye

tldr; tell me your tim drake design hcs

[rustboxstarr]

🍃Things I think about🍃

Some short Eddie Munson scenarios that I think about :)

Pairings: Eddie Munson x Female plus size reader

CW: allusions to smut, talk of pregnancy, crying, reader having an OF, reader isn't stated as plus size but has plus size qualities, reader has multiple body modifications, probably more hahah

A/N: Thank you so much for the support I love you all sm!! Don't worry if your ask hasn't been answered (None of them have, sorryyyy Im a slow writer) they're in the process and will be answered ❤️

These are just small scenarios but please comment if I should do a part two or even make fics of them (if so comment which one)

Love yas!

Check out my other works!

🍃 Waking up late in the afternoon and finding Eddie isn’t next to you in bed. Not thinking much of it you groggily get up, figuring he’s brewing coffee or just sat watch tv in the living room. Adjusting your baggy boxers that had twisted themselves around your thighs in the night. You walk out the door. Hair in a mess, curls pulled straight, frizzy baby hairs, scruffy ends. The trailer was warm last night, and there was certainly no need for anything other than those boxers. Sighing and stretching broadly, tits on full display, in your specific stretching position quite perky as you walk into the kitchen. 

It’s weirdly quiet… no coffee brewing, no tv on, that’s when you open your eyes properly to see  a picnic table set up with six kids sitting around it staring awestruck at you. Your eyes go wide and you panic and duck down behind the counter. 

“Eddieeee…” a cautious question “EDDIE!” A shriek now. Eddie stumbles awkwardly out of the bathroom. “What? What!?”

🍃Being friends with Eddie and thinking nothing of it when you open the front door after the bell rang, only wearing a sports bra and sweatpants. “Munson” you step away from the door walking back to the kitchen “Fancy seeing you here, what can I do for you?” No answer, just big watery eyes staring at you dumbstruck, still stood awkwardly in the doorway “ehe you good?…” you laugh awkwardly. Eddie clears his throat, tossing his shoes off “uhuh” is all the response you get as he swallows thickly. 

🍃 Eddie lies spread out on the bed, legs apart, you come in and lie down resting your head on his crotch. “What are you doing?”

 “you lay on my stomach all the time” you reason 

“yeah well you don’t have a dick, you’re making me hard” 

“oh really, is my face so close to your cock making you all nervous?” you tease.

🍃You on all fours in front of the mirror twerking “what are you doing?” his hand resting on his crotch “I’m bored” “continue, I’ll just be here” whips his cock out and starts stroking it PFFT 

🍃Reader dresses very formal for her job, she’s like a teacher or something. You befriend Eddie and one day forget your phone in the breakroom, Eddie who’s also a teacher finds it and brings it to your house. Instead of seeing you in a tight pencil skirt, a cream blouse and strappy heels, you open the door, hair all disheveled in a high messy bun to keep it out of your face while cleaning your house, multiple ear piercings usually hidden by your hair at work, various rings, crosses and jems littering your ears, a septum which must usually be flipped up in your nose to hide it, dressed in a baggy tank top and little booty shorts, body littered with tattoos. When Eddie first has sex w u, the formally dressed teacher he discovers your nipples are pierced as well as your navel and as if that didn’t blow his mind enough so is your clit. All body modifications fit to hide under your clothes.

🍃OMFG Eddie meeting Steve’s friend, you, and at some point your tattoo is accidentally revealed and he’s like out loud “cool tattoo, funny it looks familiar” you laugh, joking around “maybe you’ve seen me in porn or something” it’s a joke, to the others but you’re secretly wondering if he has seen you in porn, not porn but your only fans.

 🍃 your mom storming into your bedroom because Dustin told her Eddie was asleep in your bed. “Damn it’s 7 am” you say as you rub your eyes of sleep, Eddie passed out naked next to you on his stomach, you're quick to pull the blanket up to properly cover his ass.

🍃Ripping the door open to the small trailer and barging inside you find Wayne startled into sitting upright from his slouched position on the couch watching a soap opera. “Is he here?” You grit, “um he’s in his room, what’s going on???” He asked utterly baffled, he’s met you a few times, from what he could tell you weren’t together or even friends, more like acquaintances, and each time he’d seen you it was briefly, surrounded by the rest of your mutual friends or sneaking out of Eddie's bedroom at three in the morning accidentally stumbling into Wayne coming home from his night shift. 

You don’t answer him, instead you stomp down to the left, opening Eddie's bedroom door just as you had the front door, there he is, the bastard just relaxing in sweatpants low on his hips reading a comic book. “You!” You shout as you step foot over the threshold that is his dump of a bedroom. Eddie perks up surprised, putting his comic book away. “You motherfucker!” He frowns at you, you’re seething, fists clenched, stood in boxers and an oversized Magnum PI shirt, tattered and covered in holes. You hadn’t bothered getting dressed before storming out of the bathroom and running to your car. 

“You got me pregnant!” You shout, a blood red painted finger pointing accusingly at him. That’s when Eddie properly sits up, his eyes darting between you and his uncle baffled and awkward staring at you in a daze. 

“What?” He gasps “You said you wore a condom!” You continued shouting, no care in the world that his uncle was stood witnessing the whole ordeal. “I did!” Eddie was so confused and starting to panic as he stood up too fast. “Well clearly something went wrong cuz’ I’m fucking pregnant Eddie!” 

“Are.. are you sure?..” Eddie asked, stepping closer to you, carefully inching his arms closer to wrap around you. He looked over at his uncle, a small nod of his head to try and signal for him to give you both some privacy.

“Yes I’m fucking sure you idiot!” You thrust the pregnancy test that was in your grasp at his chest. As he stares down at the test you begin pacing. “I’m 19 and fucking pregnant” your eyes begin to tear up “I can’t go to fucking collage or get a good paying job now, I can’t even get a good job to pay for this stupid thing!” Eddie drops the test on his bed as he makes a new attempt at approaching you, this time successful as he wraps his arms around your arms to keep you compressed against him. 

“Do… do you want to keep it?” He asks in a whisper. “Well I can’t fucking abort it! I don’t have the fucking money for that! And neither do you!” You begin sobbing now. Grasping onto his shoulder blades in stress. Eddie hushes you, “Ok listen, just sit down, I’ll go make you some tea or something and we can talk about this, yeah?” His hand is cradling your head against his chest while you work yourself up into panic mode, the other hand rubbing up and down your back. 

“Okay..” you sniffle as you release him. Once you’re seated on the bed Eddie rushes out of the room, his heart slows from its panic slightly when he sees Wayne is already putting the boiler on. “I’m gonna go out for a bit, give y’all some privacy but when I come back you bet’r have a plan, alright?” Wayne says sternly as he deadpans Eddie. All he can do is nod rapidly as Wayne makes his way to the door, in the other room you’re crawling into a fetal position sobbing into Eddie's pillow as you comfort yourself.

[writtenontheport]

The Haunted Boy and His Ghostly Girlfriend

Pt. 1: Finding Common Ground in Communication!!

(Prologue) (pt. 2)

Anthony Lockwood x fem Reader

Warnings/Tags: A bit of a story-building instalment, Slow (?) burn, Meet cute, Reader is literally a ghost 💀, Whenever Reader’s mute basically story wise because it’s from Lockwood’s POV, No use of (y/n), Vague descriptions of reader being a jewel and a gem, this part is plot relevant I promise 😭, pulling some of this out of my ass IM SORRYYYY, I had to make it work somehow…, not much rom or com in this one, more plot and lore and scheming

Notes: I’ll have you know I literally was cross referencing stuff from the wiki, the books, and then the show to try and figure out how tf to write this 😭 There are FOUR drafts of what this scene could have looked like and this is what I had to settle on 😭 Please suspend your disbelief!!

Summary: Lockwood and co. make an astounding discovery about their newest friend, and they are all happy about this for completely different reasons. Lockwood’s reason? Well, he just heard the voice of the most beautiful person he’s ever seen.

Word Count: 1.4k+

“Lucy? George? I think I found her,” Lockwood calls down the hatch, leaning on the pushed up door with a wrist resting on the hilt of his rapier. He sends you a charming smile, and revels in the small one you return. Underneath you both, you hear Lucy and George scramble up the ladder.

Lockwood found you in the house’s attic surrounded by haphazard stacks of sideways furniture, old mirrors, and dated portraits. There was the odd box or few sprawled about; big and small and gigantic, but just about everything was covered in cobwebs except for the window. Moonlight filters in and passes through you from the drawn curtains, framing you a sparkling jewel amongst the mess and clutter of the attic. Lockwood found it hard to tear his eyes away from you, but not out of fear, no.

Like a jewel glimmering in the darkness, you were beautiful and ethereal in all the ways Lockwood hadn’t imagined people could be; dead or alive. Sat on the windowsill with a weariness gleaming in your eyes, you didn’t quite scare Lockwood as much as you enchanted him.

“Lockwood? Did you—“ Lucy says, popping her head up through the open hatch. Her breath catches when she sees you, and you send her a wary smile as she climbs into the attic.

“Is she there, Lucy?” George calls from the ladder, a supply bag on his shoulder. Your eyes drop to the open hatch, but focus back on Lockwood when he leans down to take the bag from George and help him up.

“Yeah, she’s… right here.” Lucy whispers, sounding like she just ran a marathon. Lockwood resonates with that feeling. He looks back up at you and wills his heart to quiet down where it’s beating against his ribcage and slamming into the bones.

George turns around slowly, eyes finding you where you’re laying along the windowsill. You look tired and defeated, a deepness about your eyes that screams of exhaustion. It makes Lockwood’s heart seize as George whispers to him and Lucy, “Have you found her source yet?”

Before anyone can answer, your mouth opens and you soundlessly begin to speak; Lucy perks up and her eyes light. “Where is it?”

Your ghostly hand points to a corner near the window, mimicking a small box as you soundlessly explain to Lucy where and what it was. She nods, determined, as she steps over a few relics and cobwebs along the floor.

“A necklace in an ornate box,” She says aloud, using her rapier to cut away some of the cobwebs. “Definitely over here, but it’s been a few years since you’ve seen it?”

You nod and say something only Lucy can hear, but George follows along and begins helping her dig about. Lockwood steps forward to face you, feeling more and more breathless with every step. He honestly doesn’t know what he’s doing, so he instead says the first thing that comes to mind when you peer at him curiously.

“When we find it, we’ll have to secure it for a bit while we bring you home. You won’t be able to do anything while we have your source contained, but it won’t be long, I promise,” He tries to say reassuringly.

You give him a wary frown with your brows furrowed and lips pursed thin. You open your mouth to say something, but pause to think about it further. From here, Lockwood can see even stray strands of your hair and the bat of your lashes, so lifelike even in the blur of ectoplasm. Weakly, you shrug, not meeting his eyes.

“I promise you, we won’t keep you there forever. We just need to transfer your source.”

From behind him, Lockwood can hear George and Lucy whispering before Lucy comes up beside him. She’s got her hand on the hilt of her rapier out of instinct, but it’s rested and loose.

“We just want to keep you company while Pepper’s away,” Lucy explains, eyes flitting between you, Lockwood, and George. “She asked us to keep you company, and it’s easier to take you home with your source contained.”

You seem to say something in argument, but Lucy’s smile doesn’t falter so Lockwood takes it as a good sign. Somehow even with your face scrunched up, you looked absolutely enchanting in the moonlight. Lockwood was starting to wonder if this was a type three ability.

“If we were caught out in the night with you, someone else might try to take your source. They might hide you away or destroy it if they catch you,” Lucy says gently, nodding out to the street visible from the window. Somewhere along the sidewalk, a ghostlamp is flickering in the distance. In the light of it, a stray agent or two was walking along the street. You seemed to think it over, frown ever present.

“You have my word as agency head; we won’t just keep you locked away.” Lockwood steps closer to the window as you squeeze yourself into one side far from them. He felt touched a bit at how you avoided them; likely you knew it was dangerous and didn’t want them hurt. Your eyes search his face for any hint of a lie, before you slump back into the window and look down onto the street.

Lucy seems to light up at whatever you say next, and gives Lockwood a discreet thumbs-up and impressed smirk. She turns to you, even though you aren’t looking at her, and says, “You won’t regret it.”

A silence settles between you as Lucy steps back to help George look for your source, sending Lockwood a significant look before she too disappears behind a few stacks of antiques. The room is filled with their whispering and bickering, as Lockwood tries not to let his eyes linger on you for too long.

You turn to him, and his heart stops when your lips upturn into a tiny smile. It’s terribly heartwarming how cozy you look in this cold air, and he almost wants to peel off his coat to give to you before realising you were what made it cold. You catch the aborted action with a grateful nod, tucking your lips in to hold a laugh. Not like he would have heard it (a damn shame it was) but he still found himself grinning.

“Almost forgot you probably don’t mind the cold,” He says cooly, watching you shrug. Your hand motions something in the air, before you give up and instead mime pulling a rapier from your hip.

“This old thing?” Lockwood asks, standing up to unsheathe it away from you. You nod and gesture to it again, miming a stab before a thumbs-up and a thumbs-down with (this is important to Lockwood) playful expressions that make his chest warm.

“I’m quite good, if that’s what you’re asking.” He makes a quick, but precise swing at a nearby cobweb and revels in the amusement shining on your face. “I have some newspaper clippings you can see once we bring you home.”

If you giggled there, he’s truly sad he couldn’t hear it. He goes to voice this befote George steps out from the corner with what looked to be a necklace in his hand. His jaw was slack in surprise, and he looked frozen to the spot with his eyes as wide as saucers. Behind him, Lucy was softly calling his name in concern with a hand on his shoulder.

Before Lockwood could ask him what was wrong, George says to you, “I think I heard you just now.”

Your eyes widen, as you sit straight up on the window and ask him a question Lockwood can’t hear. George’s eyes widen, and Lockwood feels his blood pounding in his ears in the silence.

“Lucy, did you hear them ask that?” George doesn’t turn around to face her, but she nods and gives a murmured reply. A glimmering jewel and chain shine in the same moonlight framing you— a gem in every which way.

The next thing that happens comes as a blur to Lockwood, who asks, as if in a trance, to borrow the necklace to hold. Your eyes follow the jewel as George passes it to him, everyone still bewildered and the air tense and cold.

“I don’t think it’ll work for you, Lockwood. You don’t have the talent to listen,” Lucy murmurs to him with a scrunched frown. Still, George passes it over.

“I have to at least try.” Lockwood gently wraps his fingers around the necklace, a bit of chain loose as he turns to you with a soft smile.

He fumbles for words like they’re caught on his tongue, before he simply settles on, “Hi.”

Even without being able to hear you, somewhere in his bones he can feel your words like a kind and fuzzy thought reply to him. It’s enough to have him grinning ear to ear, even if it doesn’t exactly help him understand what you’re saying. Your gaze grows a bit fond at that, and you say something Lucy catches that causes her to smile wide.

On the sidelines, George murmurs, “I can run so many tests.” Lucy smacks his shoulder at his tactlessness, but her smile is unfaltering. She pulls a small, glass case out and pops it open.

“Any last questions, Lockwood? I won’t ask you George because we’ll be here all night otherwise,” She hums, holding out the box.

Anthony’s grin widens and he asks elatedly, “What’s your name?”

Like all the things you will share with him in the future, your name etches itself into his memory, right beside where he will always hold dear your glittering smile.

A/N: I DON’T LIKE THIS PARTTT 😭 It had to be written though… I needed this piece to focus on the plot so I up the romcom in the next part UGH I JUST,,, I just wanna write the slice of life ok,,,, LIKE,,, Lockwood taking his ghost gf out on a mission and she has to save his self-destructive ass like… HELLO. I NEED THAT. My brain though is like “Nooooo… set up plot first bae 🥰☝️” LIKE THIS IS SO MEAN AND NECESSARY BUT SO MEANNNNN

ALSO!! I already posted this, but I went back, read the ending, and was like “No… :((( It no good fo me…” and retconned it AFTER I already posted it…. Yes I am silly, Yes I am incredibly nit-picky with my own writing 😞

Taglist 🏷️

@tangledinlove

@naive-daydreamer (thank you for the ideas!! and the original request!!)

[ggyutarist]

࿔ ⊹ ˚₊ Watching the setting sun in a field of pink roses with you 🌷 ₊˚⊹ ࿔

A/N: lols first post. its kinda bad so dont come at me. youve been warned. did i write this because i miss my childhood? haha no. wdym. beomgyu reminds me of pink roses idk why honestly so i decide to haunt you all with the beomgyu + pink roses idea <33. Notice how the title is long bc txt also have long song titles? yes noticed? good. its lowkey incomprehensible because i just muddle up all my thoughts together and didnt bother much. its so rushed im sorryyyy.

NOT RLLY PROOFREAD PLS BARE WITH ME🙏🙏

💫: Beomgyu x GN reader because theyre UNFED (justice for my gn readers🗣️).

Content: Nostalgia, Beomgyu and you running in a field of pink roses while the sun sets basically. Like the title said.

WC: 674 (rlly short sigh)

I miss knowing nothing. I miss just playing around. I miss the sun, the sky, and the clouds. I miss running among the pink roses that miserably reminds me of you.

To be kids running along a field, flattening the grass with the sole of your and his sneakers again, you miss it. The relentless passing of time is really atrocious. Can’t it just pause for a bit? You can’t even have time to appreciate the moments enough. This thing called time…it’s too fast.

Beomgyu is also running too fast for your liking. He runs too much, honestly. You can clearly feel your legs giving out but its just so blissful. Running and trying to not step on the roses while feeling the wind on your face. Its nice, isnt it?

It’s a light atmosphere. No headaches, no stress, no anything. Just running and feeling the cold wind against your skin till you both collapse on the grass, exhausted. All for shits and giggles.

Both of you just stared at the blue sky, counting clouds perhaps. This won’t last forever, will it? The seconds…you can feel the seconds. Your heartbeat can feel the seconds. You know sooner or later, you can’t have this again.

Can’t I go back?

Why can’t I go back?

I want to feel like a kid again.

Please let me go back.

I miss the bliss of ignorance.

The passing of time can’t be stopped. No matter what you do, it will only continue to pass on. It’s cruel, really. Why does it have to keep going? Why do we, everyone, have to be the one to work with it? Can’t it be considerate of us too?

Time always seems to slow down on the bad days and speed up on the good ones. What a bitch, no? Pondering on such things makes time even slower but it’s okay. Today, time slowing down is pretty. Pretty blue sky, pretty little fluffy clouds, pretty little roses. Pretty eyes of his…

Today was horrible.

So why don’t we watch the sunset together?

At least, let me end the day with one blissful feeling.

The boy that sat beside you, the one whose hair always glows gold under the sun, has a soft smile plastered on his face. Why is he always so smiley? You despise it in a way you wish he would keep doing that. It’s complicated but it’s fine. That’s why this feeling is so…you don’t know how to word it but that’s why you love it. It doesn’t have to be entirely understood and you’d rather have it that way.

Love doesn’t have an exact meaning. It’s all depending on how the person views it and that’s why, when one experiences it, it is special to them. Love is called love, simply because it is love.

Same thing with forever.

Why is forever called forever? You know there’s probably no direct answer to it or any answer at all. It’s just what it is. There could or could not be such things as forever but as long as he’s here, time slows down. He makes it seem like time slows down just for the two of you.

Maybe you do or don’t believe in a love that’s forever, you don’t know. But Beomgyu? For this one moment, he makes you feel you want to believe in it. The boy that continues to sit beside you, surrounded by pink roses and is smiling at the setting sun. 

Oh, why’s the day ending already? Since when has the sun set? Since when did the sky turn to the hue of pink? You thought of too many questions regarding meaningless things but you’re willing to leave it all unanswered. As long as time keeps him here with the pink roses around him. He would look nice with a pink rose. Maybe, on his ear or something.

Under the setting sun, in a field of pink roses…

For as long as time decides to go…

Can you be with me?

[raspbeyes]

All editted for a pinned post :>

Heyoo im now open to art requests for drdt and drv3 (i used to draw them a lot) characters for fun. Ill keep it open until chapter 2 of drdt finishes and maybe a couple days after (so like in a bit more than a week from now im guessing) just gonna be quick (hopefully) fun drawings. Im also a bit of a slow artist and ill go in order of requests. If u wanna request, either request from my profile or comment on the post

Tyyy!! I hope i do ur ideas all justice

EDIT: OKAY UH SO ... since it seems drdt is going in indefinte hiatus, i will just clarify that I am keeping this open until next wednesday im sorryyyy

EDIT: REQUESTS ARE NOW CLOSED!!!! Ty again for all the requests ill try to get them all done by the end of april as school is nearing the end, so now theres gonna be a lot of exams and finals so pls understand i might not get everything done quickly. But again tysm for all the requests!!

[exclusivecolette]

LOVE AGAINST ALL ODDS

PT.7

(sorry for how long, i’ve been busy and thinking about how i want this to go… This is HELLA short and rushed sorryyyy. )

(if you aren’t blonde or don’t apply to the features, you can just put your own features in. i just put my features because i didn’t really know what else.)

summary: a girl starts to fall in love with a boy in class. But, her abusive parents are extremely strict (ignoring the fact she’s even old enough to drive.) And what is she gonna do when she realizes, he isn’t just some crush

TW: smoking, mentions of ed (slightly), sex, and there is cussing.

I woke up on top of him. what the fuck?

One of his hands were on my lower back and the other holding my hand. Our legs were intertwined. I start getting off, slowly. I successfully get off and go to the bathroom. I do skincare, brush my teeth and hair, and change into a comfy outfit. His hoodie and lounge shorts that looked good with the hoodie.

I went downstairs and noticed it was a little messy and picked it all. Matt still isn’t up? I go back upstairs and he was laying his stomach with his head facing the opposite direction where i couldn’t see. I crawl over to him “matt” i say quietly. no response. I lay on top of him, my head on his shoulder. “mattttt” i say louder. “mh?” he mumbled and my stomach twirled.

“get up” i giggle scratching his shoulder a bit. “one sec” he mumble again. “you better get up” i get off him and stand up. “i’m hungry” i walk out.

i was fully awake, the second i felt her get on top of me. She has no idea what she’s doing to me. She driving me insane.

-

It had been ten minutes since i woke up matt. “matt!” i yell up the stairs “i’m coming! i’m doing my hair real quick” he yelled back. He came down stairs. no wonder it took 10 minutes. his hair looks so hot, perfect in between my finge- “come on” he waved me to him smirking, i was staring.

He opened my car door then went over to his and got in. “how are your brothers” i ask curiously. “probably fine why?” he said finally looking at me now that he was fully pulled out. “just wondering- speaking of i need to call charlie” i pull out my phone.

“hey”

“hey are you good?” i ask

“yeah are you?”

“yeah im great”

“is matt still there?”

“how’d you know he’s here”

matt looked at me

“come on, it was obvious he was going over there”

“what charlie and yes” i laugh

“are you guys like-.” he paused like i knew what he was trying to say.

“are we what?” i ask confused and matt snapped his head like he knew what he was saying. I furrow my eyes at him and shrug.

“like ya know… like doing it?” he whispered the last part.

“no charlie what” i say loudly and saw matt smile. He knew what charlie was saying just from my responses.

“i just had to ask” he said loudly back.

“you didn’t have to ask- y’know i actually gotta go so bye charlie i love you and will see you later” i say and quickly hang up.

“he asked if we were having sex?” matt asked as we pulled into drive thru. “yeah” i say in disbelief. wouldn’t mind it though…- ill stop. Matt just laughed.

-

we bursted out laughing as we got out of the car when we realized we’d ate all the food we’d bought on the way home. We step inside and when we sit on the couch, we both let out a sigh. “i’m so glad your here. i wasnt eating much before” my panting started to slow and i just avoid eye contact “and i wasn’t happy, there’s things i almost did-“ my voice cracked “like what?” he asked confused. “doesn’t matter” i look over to him smiling. “i’m glad i’m here too” almost slipped up again.

He had that effect on me. When i was with him words just spilled out like the control to stop them was taken from me.

“what do you wanna do” i bring my knees to my chest. “i definitely brought weed.” he said quietly. “wanna smoke?” he asked. A smirk grew on my face. He went up to grab, so i went outside and sat on the back porch. He finally came down and sat next to me. He taught me how to roll it up and lit it. We passed it back and forth while talking.

-

The high had kicked in quickly for y/n. She was spinning in the grass while matt just sat there looking at the sky when he wasn’t admiring y/n. She ran back over to him and sat down next to him laughing and panting. She looked over to me. “you’re so beautiful” she said. “i should be saying that to you, you’re genuinely the most beautiful girl i’ve ever seen” her eyes rolled.

She looked back to him. His hand grabbed her waist and she turned to face her body to him. She leaned in, their lips finally met. Her hand went to his hair. Her body slowly start to get guided onto him as he leaned back. His back pressed against the hard wood of the porch. Her body pressed against his. His pants starts tighten-

“my head hurts” she sat up. She slowly got up. He slowly followed as she made her way into the kitchen from the slide doors. She reached in the cabinet, she grabbed a bottle. “do you have pain relievers?” he asked filling a glass with water. She didn’t say anything while she opened the bottle of advil. Her hand lifted the pills into her mouth, his hand smacked it out of her hand “y/n!” he said.

Her body jumped back away from him, small pills spilled on the floor. She looked terrified, as she held her smacked hand. “i’m sorry- you just-“ he bent down and started picked a few up. Tears filled her pink eyes as she stepped away from him.

It wasn’t his fault, he was saving her. You can’t take advil with a concussion.

But she was too high to know that. “i’m sorry” he repeated reach to her, she flinched when he reached for her. He was hurt, she was looking at him in way.

In the way she looks at her parents.

“y/n i’m sorry- just- i just” she walked away from him and up the stairs. He followed after her. He caught up to her and grabbed her shoulder. She against flinched, tears rain down her face. “hey just go to sleep okay” he slowly walked her to the bed and laid her down, she didn’t say anything, or even look at him.

When she was laid down she quickly fell asleep and he left the room.

-

Her eyes fluttered up as she looked around me. For someone. When he wasn’t there she started to remember. She scared him, the look on his face as she looked at him and backed away. She slowly got up hoping matt would be downstairs waiting.

She got down the stairs slowly looking around. She looked around, he was no where. Finally, she goes over to the couch-

[vincentaureliuslin]

an edit should post soon maybs?? my tumblr is slow when posting videos but if not ill just post it later im not up for being online right now sorryyyy

[sapphic-aroace]

hi! i hope ur doing well ^^

so i know im aromantic (or on the spectrum somewhere) and acespec

ive never felt actual romantic feelings but i feel attraction like being attracted to someones looks (but pretty much only women/ fem presenting people)

idk if i actually feel romantic/sexual attraction, i atleast havent so far but im only interested in fem presenting people but idk if im attracted to them romantically?? i hope that makes sense lol

like, i want to be in a relationship but i dont think i actually experience love ://

and the only times ive been attracted to someone i feel like its just me telling myself i like them but i dont bc im friends with them (everytime ive been attracted to someone its lit just me being like 'this persons my friend and theyre cool, ig i have a crush on them now' but deep down i know i dont actually feel that way towards them, yk?)

but i rlly dont want to be completely aro (ik that sounds terrible sorryyyy) i want to be in a relationship and have someone love me and me to love them back! i want like a slow burn like bff to lovers thing but i dont think ill ever have that bc i might be completely aromantic

i guess i call myself sapphic aroace but idek if thats accurate ://

hello!

I'm doing rather well today, thank you for asking 😊

about for not wanting to be aro, know that many other aros feel the same. I know I used to. for a long time. it can be hard to realize you're aro, that you'll probably never feel or experience what society tells us about romantic love. that it's magical, the most important relationship in your life, that only a romantic partner can see all of you and love all of you, that it's the most intimate relationship you'll ever have, both physically and emotionally.

that is not true. this is a romanticized version of romantic love.

also, deep, meaningful and intimate relationships don't have to be romantic. I, for example, have a platonic relationship like this and it fulfills my emotional needs.

what I want to say is that your feelings are not unusual, you are ok. it *is* hard to get over amatonormativity.

I also think you should look into the cupioromantic label, I think it would resonate with you.

as for calling yourself sapphic aroace, only you can decide if the label suits you and if it would be useful for you. you do fit the definition if it's what you're worried about.

[hitechlatte]

Gosh man how am I gonna survive without being able to read PCJ anymore every night :(

But dude Im too attached to it, crap. This is like the double edged sword of slow burns

I AM SO SORRYYYY 😭😭😭

Also I feel your pain like it's so weird not hopping on my laptop and just starting to edit every night until I can post.

Like don't get me wrong, drafting up outlines and drawing teasers for the new fics are TONS of fun and I am SOOOOO excited to share all the ideas I have in store but like OMFGGG it's so weird PH/PCJ is over.

[c0ffeejelly1]

When you call him your husband

Multiple character headcannons

Authors note: IM SORRYYYY I GOT LAZYYY but it’s only bc I’m writing a smutty fic rn which will be out when I decide for it to be out. So take these crumbs and be thankful.

Warnings: None. Just infatuated boys ig…

It was your typical Sunday movie night, a comforting routine before the reality of work awaited you both the next day.

You and your boyfriend had a tradition of keeping the night lively, so why not indulge in your favorite takeout?

“Hey babe? Where should we order from?” you called out from your cozy spot on the couch.

He peeked out from the cabinet, taking a moment to think before he replied,

“I’m easy; you know what I like.” He walked over, setting down two wine glasses.

“You wanna drink wine? It better not have alcohol, I’ve got work tomorrow y’know?”

He rolled his eyes playfully as he settled next to you.

“I’m not that childish…”

“Right, right. Anyway, quiet now; I’m ordering Chinese.”

He waited patiently, the sound of your phone ringing filling the space as he focused on pouring wine for both of you.

“Oh, and can I get the…”

His thoughts drifted until you gently poked him, signaling for his order. He quickly chimed in, and you continued,

“Ah..yeah, Sorry about that. My husband would like the special fried rice, no peas, please. That’s it, thank you! Bye!”

The type to not even realise it

You wore that familiar mischievous grin, the one that always hinted at your scheming, but when you glanced at your boyfriend, he seemed completely unfazed.

Instead, he was busy scrolling through movie options, casually asking for your thoughts.

..is he deaf or something?

You had even stressed the "husband" part, and this was his response?

You would be lying if you said you didn’t feel disappointed, and sort of offended!

With a scoff, you leaned back on the couch, arms wrapped around your legs.

This caused him to look at you.

“Baby, you alright?”

“Peachy.” you replied, though you were anything but.

How could he not have picked up on what you said? You had made it so clear, and now he was unintentionally ruining your plans.

You let out a heavy sigh, making sure he heard it.

“…what did I do now?”

“Oh nothing..”

The truth was, that was exactly why you felt upset—because he had done nothing. No reaction whatsoever.

But maybe it was just a misunderstanding; perhaps he hadn’t heard you.

Maybe you just needed to rephrase it.

“I heard this movie was good, you wanna watch it?”

“Sure, I’d love to, hubby.”

he reaches his arm out pulling you closer to him.

“Cool, I’ve actually had it on my mind for quite some time”

Okay this is just stupid.

There was NO way he hadn’t noticed your earlier comment.

It was painfully obvious, and it felt cringeworthy that he missed it. Maybe he was just playing dumb.

“Babe.”

“Yeah?”

“Can you repeat what I said like 2 seconds ago?”

“Um, okay..you said, ‘sure I’d love to, hubby’…” He blinked at you, clearly confused. “why do I need to repeat that?”

“Oh, just curious. Can you say the last word of that sentence?”

“Hubby?”

Suddenly, it clicked for him, and you could see the blush creeping onto his cheeks.

“Oohh…”

“Yeah, oh.”

“Y-you called me your husband, huh?”

“Yep, I did.”

“That’s cute, but I’m still your boyfriend, baby.”

Why do you bother yourself with such a slow man?

characters: SERIZAWA, akashi, murasakibara, kuroko, giyuu, rengoku, nendou, kageyama, iwaizumi, akaashi, ushijima, geto, nanami, BEELZEBUB, belphegor, barbatos, TODOROKI, iida (anyone you like)

The type to stare at you confused

The frick you just call him?

He’s genuinely very confused and making it painfully obvious with the look he’s giving you.

“Who the hell you calling husband?”

Why did you just call him your husband?

He’s not your husband.

He’s not anyone’s husband!

He’s not even married!

At least, not yet… wait, are you actually thinking of proposing to him?! The very idea sends a jolt of panic through him.

He can’t let you take the lead on that!

Sure, ordering food might feel like a proposal in some bizarre universe, but if you were to pop the question instead of him, it would be a blow to his manhood , and he needs that manhood intact!

“I’m not your husband.” He insists.

“I didn’t say you were my husband”

Girl y’know damn well

“Y-yes you did! I just heard you say it!” His voice rises slightly, a hint of desperation creeping in as he tries to make sense of the situation.

“Maybe it was the wind..” you say with a casual shrug, lifting the wine glass from the table and taking a sip, as if the whole conversation is nothing more than a lighthearted joke.

He shoots you a glare, his brows furrowing in annoyance. “Stop messing with me.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about…” you reply, feigning innocence, but the playful smirk on your lips gives you away.

“Oh, you know exactly what I mean! Y-you, I—ugh.”

“Look, it was just a slip of the tongue,” you say, trying to diffuse the tension, but the glimmer of mischief in your eyes suggests you’re enjoying this far too much.

“A slip of the tongue? You just casually referred to me as your husband. That’s not something you just slip into conversation.”

“Maybe I was just testing the waters,” you tease, leaning back into the couch, your expression playful yet challenging.

“Woman, you better watch it before I test yours”

“What does that even mean?”

“You wanna find out?”

You find out in the end yippee.

characters: dimple, midorima, AOMINE, SANEMI, aren, saiki, tsukishima, UKAI, kuroo, suna, toji, megumi, lucifer, satan, solomon, BAKUGO (anyone you like)

The type to be REALLY giddy about it

Honestly, he could have made an effort to contain his excitement a bit. But like a puppy with its tail wagging in pure joy he’s just so incredibly thrilled to hear you refer to him as your husband.

The way his eyes light up at the sound of those words is almost infectious, and you can’t help but smile at his enthusiasm.

“Baby..” he start, his voice a mix of eagerness and anticipation.

He’s completely lost in the moment, no longer focused on choosing a movie; that thought has faded to the background, overshadowed by the warmth of your connection.

“Yeah?”

“Say it again.”

His request is almost a whisper, but the intensity behind it is palpable.

He’s practically glowing, leaning in closer, invading your personal space with an eagerness; the way he looked at you, with those wide, adoring eyes that make your heart flutter.

“…say what again?" you tease, a playful smirk dancing on your lips.

You know exactly what he wants, but you can’t resist the urge to draw it out a little longer.

“Y’know..come on, say it baby, please?”

His voice is laced with a mix of desperation and delight, and you can see the way his cheeks flush with excitement.

It’s as if the very idea of being called your husband fills him with a joy that he can hardly contain.

You take a moment, letting the silence stretch between you, enjoying the way he leaned in even closer, his breath warm against your skin.

Eventually, you relent, your heart swelling with affection.

“You mean me calling you my husband?”

“God, I love the sound of that,” he breathes, his smile widening as he pulls you into a tight embrace burning his face in between your neck inhaling your scent.

“You should call me that all the time baby..”

“Y’know… I could if we got married.”

Stop putting ideas in this man’s head.

characters: kise, RENGOKU (YES TWICE.), tengen, TORITSUKA, eren, connie, jean, reiner, nishinoya, oikawa, BOKUTO, tendou, atsumu, gojo, asmodeus, DIAVOLO, ITTO (anyone you like)

The type to break. Like he’s not moving anymore..

Pause.

What did you just say?

The words hang in the air, heavy with unspoken implications.

“Huh?”

His mind is practically overloading at the moment, trying to process what exactly you had uttered from your mouth.

It’s as if time has momentarily frozen, and he’s caught in a loop, replaying your statement over and over.

Is his brain playing tricks on him? Surely, he heard you right, didn’t he?

The weight of the moment presses down on him, and he can’t shake the feeling that something monumental has just been said.

Is it just him, or is the temperature rising in this room?

The air feels thick, almost suffocating, and beads of sweat begin to form on his brow.

Is he coming down with something?

Why is he feeling so flushed, his cheeks burning as if he’s just sprinted a mile?

“You…” he stammers, searching for the right words, but they elude him.

“Babe?”

Silence hangs in the air, a palpable tension that seems to stretch on indefinitely.

“…Baby?”

Still, no answer. The worry in your voice deepens, in response to his silence.

“Dude, are you alright?” You inquire again, giving him a gentle shake, hoping to break through the fog that seems to envelop him.

He doesn’t even glance your way, lost in his own thoughts, wrapped up in a world of his own.

You can’t help but feel a twinge of concern—did calling him your husband really trigger all of this?

“Tomorrow.”

“The hell you talking about?”

“We’re getting getting married tomorrow.”

“..what.”

He’s lost all sense of time because of you.

characters: reigen, kagami, kaidou, armin, REINER (YESS AGAIN.), hinata, osamu, CHOSO, yuji, MAMMON, leviathan, izuku, denki, tamaki, childe (anyone you like)

[fatallyfalling]

Bitter Water 0.07 ~ ♆

“ You were nothing like him. You were more. And maybe that scared him a little. “

{{ Finnick Odair x Reader }}

{{ previous part || next part }} {{ masterlist }}

warnings: typical Hunger Games violence/trauma/themes, language, blood, injury, ptsd, forced prostitution, enemies to lovers, slow burn, death, nightmares, unintentional self injury, alcohol, insinuation of suicidal thoughts, mention of aphrodisiac abuse, sexual abuse, etc

{{ word count }} 8.2K

{{ outfits }}

{{ prompt }} Six months was never going to be long enough. You would have sooner dug your heels into the earth and bared your teeth than go back - but you have to keep them safe. You only ever wanted to keep them safe….. in the end you never could…

{{ a/n }} Markiplier voice: “Hi - It’s me! I’m not dead! Which is an awful surprise considering how many people wrote my obituary yesterday! PREEMPTIVELY! In case i did die! But i didn’t! so suck on that!” anyhoo - This is LONG but also get ready to cry <3

p.s.- I promise reader isn’t a crybaby they’re just traumatized 😭 I also apologize if this is a bit scattered, it’s been in the works for over three months now but i swear you’ll get more consistency from reader here on out akkfkskdkskd The ending is also a tad rushed i just REALLY wanna get into them being older so I can write with more substance IM SORRYYYY

They’re alive.

Two words. Three syllables.

This mantra kept you moving. You’ve been home for little more than a month, but the treacherous plague of the arena had left its permanent reminders engraved on your skin. Still, you were too often dragged back by those same claws, kicking and screaming, under the blanket of night to relive the horrors of the 67th annual Hunger Games, only to awaken with bitter copper coating your tongue and a twisted scream retching from your throat. You’d already lost count of how often your episodes upset Dorian and Callan. They were too young to understand the poltergeists that haunted your nightmares. The poor boys had even started running to your father on wobbly legs dragged down by sleep to rouse the gruff man, bleary eyes the size of saucers, as your cries echoed through the too-big house. It sputtered that vital flame still fighting to ignite inside your chest to see them cry because of you.

You hated yourself for it.

Marjorie had hobbled up the three steps to your porch on creaking knees, breathless and panting as your Father led her into the finely furnished house the first night the terrors returned. He hadn't even bothered for his brown leather duster to cover the mangled remains of his dominant arm. Sweat pooled on Marjorie’s brow as the elder gripped her threadbare shawl tighter around her shoulders. The panic on your Father's face was all she'd needed to follow the man home in the middle of the night. Your screams met the elder's ears first. Then Dorian and Callan came bounding out of the parlor to meet her with fearful eyes and tight hugs. "Please, help them, Nana!" The twins blubbered between tears. An expression heavy enough to resemble grief painted your Father's features as Marjorie connected her gaze to his.

"I'll see what I can do."

The unfortunate reality was that there wasn't much that could be done. Marjorie had even enlisted Mags’ help in deciphering a possible treatment plan for the traumatic stress that seized your mind, but any leads ended up inconclusive. A specially brewed tonic of chamomile and lavender before bed at least aided in closing your eyes to combat the insomnia you'd developed, but little could be done to keep you asleep. You had daily sessions with Mags to try and sort through the inner turmoil. But progress was slow going, and you rarely made it past recounting the first few weeks of life in the arena before tears bubbled and panic took over your chest, squeezing so tightly you feared suffocation. Marjorie suggested seeking a higher level of care for your condition, but Mags signaled things might only get worse for you to be removed from your loved ones again so soon. You'd agreed with your mentor. As harrowing as your experiences had been, all that mattered to you were the twins smiling faces and the warmth in their embraces, or the idle chatter over an evening meal about their latest school projects or primary school gossip. The normalcy helped in its own way.

Your father once tried to coax you into going to a local medical clinic on one of your better days. "It's just a check-up." He'd claimed. But after angry red scratches peppered his one good arm, and you were huddled in a corner far from the door like a wild animal set to pounce, the idea was left to rot amongst other failed attempts to heal your internal wounds.

As much as you hated to admit it, your episodes had only worsened since being back.

There were four things you'd learned to despise since surviving The Games.

1. Water

2. Closed Spaces

3. Finnick Odair

4. President Coriolanus Snow

Your aversion to water still clamped around your throat like a vice. But that natural, sometimes visceral, longing for the sea was a heavy weight in your chest. Water still brought painful memories to the front of your mind, with soap suds burning your eyes in the shower between ferocious blinks, but the salty spray of coastal air was too enticing to turn from. You still found yourself sneaking away from Victor’s Village in the wee hours of morning to the brine scented sands down a tall-grassed hill behind your house. Unlike your home, tucked away in a more secluded, woodland, part of town, the Village was right along the coast outside the edge of the port. You could see the lit up pier and ship docks down the shoreline in murky shadows over the horizon, occasionally illuminated by the ever turning lighthouse nestled amongst the cliffs younglings favored to dive from.

You’d ventured up to the cliffs a handful of times since returning to District 4. The wind was wild and whipped your hair this way and that with howling gusts up the face of the rocky mountain. Summer was nearing the end of its course, with crisper air wafting in from the ocean that sent shivers up your spine, and the hair on your arms and the nape of your neck to stand on end. You’d wander up at night, cloaked in shadow with whisps of moonlight curling over the planes of your face and arms. If anyone below witnessed the picture of your gauzy night clothes billowing in the wind amongst the shadows passing your face under moonlit clouds, they’d think they saw an apparition. One of the local myths, told only in hushed voices in warm taverns by rosy-cheeked, ale scented, fisherman out of Peace Keeper's earshot. You didn’t dare try to jump. However tempting the darkest reaches of your mind made the caress of its fingertips along the veil of your sanity, pawing the sheer curtain as if asking permission to flood your thoughts and set that roaring inferno in your chest loose, you stayed firm on the damp earth.

You wouldn’t do that to your family.

Days were easier than nights at least. You favored the large, second story bay windows of the grey dappled house, soaking up warmth from the sun and your personally home brewed tea. Your father had tried to replicate your recipes while you’d been away but Dorian and Callan loved to remind the poor elder that yours still tasted sweeter. Another thing the twins had missed in your absence. You’d taken it upon yourself to teach the younglings the simple brew in perfect replication, earning giggles of sheer joy from the boys and an eye roll from your bemused Father. You’d also begun a small collection of your personal recipes in a small leather bound journal gifted to you from your father to replace the old water damaged cards you used to keep the instructions on. Amongst freshly printing the terms you still tucked the old cards between the pages as keepsakes and tell of origin. You cherished the small book tremendously.

Cooking had also surprisingly became rather cathartic for you in a way. Doing something with your hands helped ease the nervous habit that created burning red crescents in your palms, especially when it came to kneading dough or fixing herbs to garnish meals. It had been an adjustment to fix more filling meals that made enough if not more for your small family. Instead of saving every scrap, or even skipping your own helping to allow the twins seconds, there was enough to feed everyone and then some for once.

The wealth that came with winning The Games was generous and easily enough to live well into the rest of your lives. But it also cast a heavy weight on your shoulders. Another permanent reminder of the spilt blood that coated your skin in phantom stickiness. Sometimes you wished nothing more than to be rid of the fortune, but the prospering health of your siblings always managed to chip away at the solid guilt cocooning your heart.

All you ever wanted was to provide for them and keep them safe.

Safe.

Three months have now passed since You’d arrived back in District 4.

Finnick Odair had kept his distance, if not attempting to avoid you entirely. Well - as much as he could with what shred of free will the boy had to spare. He was exhausted, and the knife that had carved out his bleeding heart from his chest had become a rudimentary ache. No matter how heavy the concealer his stylist’s applied was, dark circles and hangovers could only be hidden under playboy charm and pointy smirks for so long. Since Finnick’s announcement as a “Desirable” Victor four months prior, he’d felt the Capital collar and chain around his neck tighten and yank in whichever way Snow commanded with growing severity. Part of him was surprised there wasn’t bruising where the icy torque would have rested on his throat.

There was never a ‘day off’ for Finnick Odair. Not anymore. There was always a performance to be made, or an appearance at a party, or a sticky-fingered Capital elitist client spewing sultry filth in his ears that made the boy want to either be sick or run the lethal triple blade trident hanging in his bedroom through their gut several times.

The retched hunger of Capital elitist’s, heiresses, and whoever else was rich enough to pay the sharks prowling in shadowed corners of banquet halls or knew who to speak to in order to arrange an ‘evening’ with the ‘Prince of District 4’ was insatiable. Every minute detail of the Golden Boy’s daily life became scheduled, prepped, scrubbed, tested, ordered, dressed, touched, and pressed. There were no choices, no breaks, no compromises.

If Finnick Odair wasn’t perfect or spotlight ready for even a millisecond - people would talk. If Finnick wasn’t flirting or hanging on the arm of someone new every night they’d get bored. If there was no gossip, no allure to the honey-tanned playboy they’d lose interest and President Snow would bring down the iron fist poised mere inches over the carefully crafted safety net around Mags and the few people he dared hold higher than himself.

Cold water helped ease the pressure.

The freezing splash of droplets on his tanned skin was palpable. The opposite of sparks and flames which singed lapping, invisible burns through his veins and made setting himself ablaze more appealing than the possible friction of another persons touch for a thousand years. It was an expensive effort to not flinch away or recoil from groping hands. The most Finnick allowed himself under a mirror-practiced mask of feigned pleasure or pride was a minuscule flutter of muscle in his sharp jaw and the continuous picking at invisible lint from progressively more revealing tunics and netting.

Finnick didn’t want to think about what kind of scrap fabric or net he’d be forced to wear years down the line if the stylists were already pushing to show more skin on the Victor.

Scrubbing calloused palms down his mascara streaked cheeks, the taste of sea salt met his tongue. Poseidon’s waves had effectively washed the remaining remnants of gold luster from his neck and shoulders in the rolling shallows. Finnick took his time to savor a thorough inhale of the briney coast. He hadn’t bothered to venture back to his house in the Victor’s Village culdesac. He was lucky to have slipped away from the escorts Snow often ordered to be close by. Protecting the “merchandise”. Shades of navy and indigo painted the horizon with thin smears of pink where the endless sky met the waves.

The air was crisp, sending small puffs of white air into the atmosphere under tired breaths. Finnick had just barely returned from yet another unremarkable Capital function. He didn’t care that his luxurious trousers were now soaked to mid thigh in the frigid water, or that his fingertips had gone numb and pruned. He just wanted the memory of touch and the stupid damn gold dust gone.

“Damn it…” Finnick sighed. It was another exhausting effort to bite back the string of curses threatening to push through his teeth on pointed canines. To curse Snow, curse the Games, hell - curse all of Panem and the Capital for all he cared.

The boy let his sea-green gaze sweep across the coastline. Part of him wondered if snagging a boat from the docks and going off on his own would be worth it. Mags would never agree to it. Before the Games, Finnick would have accepted a quiet life as a fisherman, helping younglings and living off the daily catch.

But he wasn’t normal anymore. He wasn’t even a kid.

‘You’re just a kid.’

‘You’re both just kids.’

The memory pierced Finnick’s mind, drawing a crease between his brows and a wrinkle in his nose.

He wasn’t allowed to be a ‘kid’ anymore. He didn’t have a choice. Tearing his gaze from the sparkling lights of the bobbing sailboats sleeping in the far-off dock, Finnick’s gaze lifted to the spinning lighthouse on the cliffs. The weather stained roofing and salt eroded stones that made up the building left an eerie aura to the tower. Some of the older younglings (himself included) had spun ghost stories to scare the youngest kids around campfires on the dusty sands in mid summer.

He’d missed Summer.

The short cliffs were quiet much like the docks, a sleeping district soon to be awake in a matter of hours. There was a chilled breeze swaying the tall pine trees. Breathy smoke curled around the boy’s shoulders as he set himself moving. The frigid air and water had numbed his legs but he welcomed the cold. Late November didn’t freeze the coast but it sure as hell made things icy up here in the north. Wet sand sank and remolded under his leather boots. The boy had cast down his gaze towards the sand for only a moment in quiet contemplation before snapping back to the cliffs at the sound of a shrill cry.

“What the hell?”

Another sob ricocheted across the cliffs and swam over the shore through his eardrums. The sound was pained, and warrior instinct had his eyes scanning the cliffs over and over for its owner. Remembering he did in fact have legs, the boy put them to use, kicking up sprays of damp sand under heavy strides as he made a break for the curving paths that led to the summit. The specter of pale, gauzy fabric had been his only clue that someone was up there. Maybe he was an idiot for chasing danger, a fool for following the snapping thread in his chest like a second heartbeat. He’d remembered that scream as vividly as the day he’d witnessed you finish the Games.

His lungs started to burn halfway up as a haggard cough choked from his throat between ragged breaths. His calves barked in protest at the uneven terrain but he pushed himself harder. Already cycling through worst case scenarios the Victor had thrown caution to the wind well beforehand. Despite every fiber of his being screaming to stay away and forget. Forget the thread, forget the draw, forget the stupid hunger that made his fingertips twitch or the buzz in his ears get louder under your cold gaze.

He just had to get there. To you.

But why?

You were just another Victor. Just another cog in the grotesque clockwork of Snow’s empire. You were just like him.

You were nothing like him.

Maybe that was it.

You weren’t a career. You weren’t born and bred to kill. You weren’t him.

You were more.

And maybe that scared him a little.

Your name was a desperate prayer on Finnick’s tongue as he crashed onto the clearing he’d glimpsed your hazy form upon.

It was empty.

Maybe he was losing it a bit. Reckless paces that brought the boy peering over the edge on a tightened stomach that feared the possibility of what lie below dropped as sea green storms met empty rocks. You weren’t here. A vulgar curse huffed from his chest as damp hands fisted bronze waves as he paced around the empty clearing.

Maybe he was crazy.

But unbeknownst to the bronze-haired boy, your trembling form quickly retreating through the brush on bare feet that had the hemming of your nightclothes snag on stray twigs, growing caked in smears of mud by the second, said otherwise.

Six months passed too quickly.

The sun was a glowing smear between grey, puffy clouds. The weather had been dreary and damp for weeks now as winter set in. Maybe the sun had pushed past the clouds as a form of goodbye. A last touch of warmth before the metal tomb that stretched down the station platform before you swallowed you whole.

The Victory Tour was to begin in a matter of moments.

There was a cruel sense of comfort as you peered across the cobbled station at your family and the ever bustling Capital team featuring Thatcher Bellstone - your escort, and Hyacinth, your stylist from the Games, who was currently fussing with straightening jacket collars and lint rolling trousers.

Everyone had been dressed to the nines in typical Capital fashion. Callan and Dorian featured matching knit hats and handmade mittens, your Father bearing a new fur lined duster, and Mags had a cream colored muff to protect her aging hands that matched her coat.

And Finnick - God why was he even here?

His navy wool coat matched the emerald scarf hugging his throat in a neat knot. Black trousers and snow dusted dress shoes holding a casual stance as the boy’s bronze waves danced in the breeze. Your jaw set in annoyance. The two of you still hadn’t spoken, hadn’t interacted since the train ride six months ago. Vague glimpses of Bronze waves and liqueur coated chuckles had ventured through your cracked windows some nights but you could barely look at the fellow victor without wanting to punch him. The pleasure he seemed to take in being “Desirable” made your insides churn.

All cheshire smirks and no bite. That’s who Finnick Odair was. You’d stopped trying to decipher the hazy echoes of his cries that barely formed your name three months ago. How he’d even seen you on those cliffs that night was wild all on it’s own. Maybe you had imagined it - some half-baked, desperate, imaginary cry for help. Useless. Worthless.

He’d never care about you - maybe anyone - that way. It didn’t matter.

None of it mattered.

Adjusting the dappled grey coat Hyacinth had dressed you in to match the twin’s, you averted your eyes from the Victor just as sea green irises flashed in your direction. You were thankful he wouldn’t be coming with. Finnick would rejoin your ensemble once the tour made it back to District 4 in a few weeks, but until then you’d be Peacock free.

Your senses felt wired with electricity as cameras flashed, with your knuckles burning under the vice-like fists you’d balled at your sides. You didn’t want to go, but you didn’t have a choice. It was tradition for the Victor of every Games to take a tour across the twelve districts and speak to the families of fallen tributes. The idea made you sick. You hadn’t won anything. You’d only survived.

Dorian and Callan were blubbering like sea sponges against your chest as you bent down to grip them tight. “It’s just for a little while…” You murmured while breathing in the love in their identical hair. The words were meek and your breath hitched on the end of the sentence but you bit down on the hiccuping sob prodding your throat and squeezed the boys tighter.

You’d said similar words before entering a death match mere months ago.

“Shh.. it’s gonna be okay, there’s plenty of tea in the ice box. Just don’t stress out Pa okay? Do your chores and be good. I love you.” You murmured between pressed lips, pulling back to look the twins in the eye. The boys nodded vigorously, giving tiny smiles between tear stained faces and red button noses. “We’ll be SO good!” Callan chirped with a small salute.

“That’s my boys.” You rasped, pulling down both of their knit hats over their eyes before quickly standing just as cameras flashed and elated shrieks echoed across the stones from the boys. Your heart squeezed as scruff brushed your cheeks while your Father came to envelope you in a bear hug with his good arm.

“Be good kid, be good..”

“I will, I will…” You nodded back, squeezing the man just as tight.

“Come, Come! We need to keep on schedule!” Thatcher clapped their burnt sienna gloves twice, calling everyone’s attention and causing the warm embrace of your Father to disappear as he returned to the boys a few paces away. The twins were busy ogling Finnick. Ironically, despite your disdain for the Darling, they’d taken a steep interest in the older boy as some “cool kid” much like how they referred to popular younglings at school. It made your eye twitch sometimes, but Finnick wasn’t mean or short with them. If anything he was kind and caring. Gentle. It was weird, seeing Finnick be gentle with someone other than Mags.

You tried to brush off the rising warmth in your chest.

Mags had soon appeared beside your Father, and the two silently communicated in hushed whispers from the man with Mags waving off his worries with gentle nods and heart warming smiles. They no doubt were discussing how to handle your terrors and your ‘zero alcohol’ rule they’d been enforcing the past months. You were thankful they didn’t let you sink too far, but sometimes the itch for that familiar numbness and sway in your vision picked at your brain a bit too harshly.

“Right! We have a tight - tight! Schedule to follow now. Smile for the cameras and let us be on our way dear. You’ll be back before you know it!” Thatcher bellowed between a phlegmy cough. Rolling your eyes, you gave everyone one last hug before standing in front of the bronze-haired Victor while everyone else filed onto the train or off to the side.

“Peacock..”

“Still using names are we? Didn’t know you liked me that much~” Finnick all but purred, earning another eye roll from you. “Shut up. Just - don’t corrupt my siblings while i’m gone. I can barely handle one of you, I don’t need three Peacocks running around.” You huffed with a wave of your hand. Finnick chuckled, the sound deep and rumbling in his chest as his voice had all but deepened and matured further these past months. “Can’t say that’d be the worst thing, would it?” You felt the tips of your ears burn at the flirtatious tone in his voice and shoved his shoulder away before turning around to face the train.

“Goodbye, Odair.”

“Hey - just..”

You couldn’t help but stiffen as the boy turned you back to face him, a firm hand gently brushing your shoulder. The urge to punch him had your jaw setting all over again.

“Don’t sink. You’ll be back.” Finnick’s voice was soft, softer than you’d ever heard it and for a moment you felt as if a thread ran from your heart up to meet his fingertips on your arm. He was never gentle. Not like this. “Stop being weird, Peacock.” You shrugged his hand off your shoulder despite the burning you felt in your cheeks and swiftly turned and strode away.

You had to have imagined it. The softness in his eyes that made him look younger, more alive. The honey in his tone that matched something you’d only read about. There was no way.

None.

The metallic click of the train car doors closing managed to snap you out of your thoughts as you scrubbed a stray tear from your cheek. Hyacinth coming over to flit about a powdered brush to fix the small amount of cosmetics she’s applied to your skin earlier that afternoon. “It’s wonderful to see you again darling, absolutely wonderful.” The stylist chirps while brushing an airy kiss past each of your cheeks.

You feel a bit sick.

A lot sick - actually.

Time moves almost in slow motion for a moment as your knees buckle and next thing you know you’re on the floor hurling up the biscuit and pear jam you’d choked down that morning. Ringing starts in your ears and a shrill cry from Hyacinth has Thatcher and Mags bustling over to help as the room sways and your trembling hands become blurry behind tears.

You’d been caged all over again.

The tour took a little over two weeks.

Every day and different district you visited felt like an eternity. You’d barely been able to keep anything down as the haunted faces of fallen Tributes and their families plagued every waking thought. Hyacinth continued applying increasingly heavier cosmetics to try and conceal your pain. Your facial features had become gaunt from the retching with deep smudges of purple making homes beneath your dull eyes. You couldn’t stand looking out at the families of people you had or hadn’t killed and having the audacity to apologize and read a flimsy notecard scrawled in neat cursive by Thatcher expressing that their deaths somehow meant something. You’d been verbally assaulted by crowd members gathered in the District’s Judicial Complexes more times than you cared to count.

Liar.

Murderer.

Cheat.

Thief.

The colorful names they called you felt like repeated blows to the gut. And they somehow knew exactly where to hit. Part of you wondered how Finnick had done this. How Mags had done this. How any Victor of the Games had done this. You couldn’t do this. You couldn’t handle any of this.

“I-I can’t… I can’t Mags…” You’d begged and pleaded with your mentor to let you not go on stage. Begged her to not make you face another grieving family while you stood there alive like some prize winning salmon. It didn’t matter how much you’d survived you were still a coward. You didn’t deserve to be here.

Coward.

You’d been a coward to hide. It didn’t matter that you’d survived, you’d still killed and fought your way to the end of the 67th Games. You were everything those hecklers claimed you to be and worse and you knew it. Mags gripped your shoulders tight and forced your eyes to meet hers. Her stare alone told you everything you needed to know before she wrapped you in her thin arms and squeezed tight. You didn’t have a choice in this. You understood she’d have done everything and anything to keep you from going out there if she could but she couldn’t.

By the time the tour reached District 7 you’d gone numb.

“Panem thanks your tributes for their bravery. A-and I thank… th-thank them for their sacrifice…” You stammered on the sentence you’d read six times now. You’d continued to stumble through it for the past six districts you’d been forced to speak in front of. A bottle hits the front edge of the stage with a shattering crash, and angered shouts rouse from the crowd as Peacekeepers force themselves forward in an ordered line, batons shooting from holsters and sharp-shooter rifles strapped across their chests. Your eyes squeeze shut as white gloves grip your under arms and force you away. The speech remains unfinished.

Heavy wooden doors slam behind you and gentle hands grip your face as your mouth contorts to an even deeper frown. The owners fingers are soft, but a tinge cold. Mags. Your eyelids crack and the flimsy, wrinkled notecard in your hands falls to the floor as you crumple into the elders arms. The embrace is short as Thatcher comes up to usher your team to the train as shouting starts to echo through the thick doors behind you.

Coward.

“Best we be on our way. Things seem to be getting a bit out of sorts here.” Thatcher chirps, but their face is solemn as your eyes meet. “Come now Dear,” They sigh. Your only reply is a meek nod. Hyacinth provides a small handkerchief to wipe your eyes and the mechanical maneuvers of the Capital train greet your party as the machine lurches into motion minutes later. ‘Just a few more days…’ You try to remind yourself as Mags helps guide you to the observatory car. You didn’t need the physical support but welcomed it as the two of you found places to curl up on the large, curved sofa. The seats were as plush as you’d remembered.

You’d managed to spend most of your down time here. The scents of damp earth and various florals were comforting. Except the stark-white roses, which had been removed from the various coffee tables to one corner of the room. You tried not to look at them. Your mentor laid a gentle hand to your knee as you curled up to peer out the window. Buildings passed and turned into tall trees, citizens working the lumber were only spotty blurs amongst the rush of the train. “It’s hard to keep doing this over and over Mags…” You sigh, sparing a glance to the elder before continuing. “It’s almost like reliving the arena over and over…” A small squeeze to your knee was enough to turn your attention from the window.

Mags’ eyes seemed far away. Although she maintained eye contact with you, you could tell she was somewhere else. Revisiting the countless tributes she’d mentored in the past no doubt. Her small smile didn’t meet her eyes like it normally did. A few hand gestures from the woman was enough to convey what a part of you was itching to ask.

“It never gets easier. Only tolerable.” You echoed. Mags nods, and your knee receives another small squeeze. Your response is a small hum, moving a hand to cover hers as your fingers gently interlace. You’d had quite enough of the tears and the pains overwhelming your thoughts. The past half a year had been harrowing enough. Maybe it was time to take something back from Snow. From the Capital. From the Games. From all of Panem. A muscle in your jaw tenses before you speak, “I-I want to get better.. learn to tolerate it.” You mutter.

“I’m sick of being useless. Of sitting, and doing nothing. I don’t want to show the Capital that they hold power over me. That they’ve hurt me. They’ve seen enough of my heart, it’s time they see something else.”

An echo of words from the train platform almost a week ago ebb their way to the forefront of your mind.

“Don’t sink.”

You wouldn’t sink. Not anymore.

A twinkle of hope appears in Mags’ eyes as spiteful determination sparks in yours. That flame in your chest sparking back to life with a newfound vigor. You’d be better. You had to be.

You will not die. You will survive. And you will float - not sink.

You don’t stutter through anymore speeches from them on. You wouldn’t let them see that they got to you. Even if you broke behind closed doors, hiccuping sobs on the onyx tile of your bathroom floor, you wouldn’t dare let anyone else see it from now on.

Coward.

Arriving back to District 4 was a monumental relief, even if it was only for a day. The twins were overjoyed, forgetting a certain Bronze-haired boy’s existence the moment you stepped onto the cobblestone platform. Your nickname is a shriek behind elated laughter as you kneel to embrace the boys.

“Sheesh, what have they been feeding you boys? You’ve gotten taller and it’s only been a week!” You quip behind a coy smile. Dorian simply shakes his head and clings to your arm while correcting you that it’s been longer than seven days while Callan hollers a retort saying you’re lying. “Nuh uh! We’re just the same!”

You’re dressed in the same dappled grey coat with the edition of a sage colored scarf as breathy puffs of white air curl through your conversations.

“Uncorrupted just as you ordered.” Finnick quips with a dramatic wave of his hand and a slight bow as he approaches. Your eyes roll in annoyance but you can’t help the slight pull at the corners of your mouth. “My hero,” you deadpan as you rise, picking up Dorian and setting him on your hip. Finnick is dressed much the same as when you last saw him, though his bronze waves are more tousled than usual. His scarf is tied tighter around his throat, but you still catch the tinge of red and purple smears under his jawline. A tightness seizes your chest as Finnick seems to notice your stare and adjusts the knitted material.

“It’s nothing.” The boy claims, but a crease draws his brows in, and his tanned fingers pick a piece of invisible lint from the lapel of his navy coat. “Hm,” You hum in response, averting your own gaze back down to the twins as you feel an awkwardness rise in the air. You clear your throat while scrunching your nose and wetting your lips a moment before moving to say hello to your Father. Finnick remains rooted to his spot, but you can sense the Darling’s eyes lingering on your form as you retreat.

The rest of your visit to District 4 runs smoothly. There isn't much of a speech to be given, rather a small banquet is held in your honor instead. You dread parties, and a painful twist in your stomach squeezes as you sit through the meal that night under the beaming lights of the Judicial Complex auditorium making your head start to spin. What a part of you wouldn't give for one of the many glasses of champagne floating around, but based on the daggers Mags sends your way each time you reach for one of the crystal glasses has you quickly retreating and second-guessing your decisions. Finnick is somehow glued to your side much to your dismay. The boy looks almost like a prince. His pine-colored poet's tunic is cut low, almost to his navel, with black, slim-fit trousers with knee-high laced boots to match with a shimmer of iridescent luster sprinkled across his clavicle and the highest points of his cheeks. The miniature rendition of his famous trident rests around his neck again as well. Part of you wonders if Hyacinth and the boy's stylist were in cahoots behind the scenes as your equally pine-colored ensemble matches the elegance of Finnick's outfit a bit too well. You weren't fond of form-fitted clothing but had become rather desensitized to the matter following Hyacinth's frequent choices to show off your figure. Your garment tonight was a form-fitted silk gown that featured a high slit up your left thigh and an open back. The sleeves were off the shoulder and flowed in a balloon-like fashion before gathering once more at your wrists. Inky, strapped shoes with a short heel could be glimpsed at your feet as well. part of you wondered if Finnick had caught on to the whole ordeal but by the carefree, cheshire smirk on his rosy lips you couldn't tell.

Finnick had caught on the moment you'd stepped into the auditorium.

It felt as if he’d been set on fire. Sparks shot like lightning up his arms and across his chest as he couldn’t help drinking you in from across the room. That excruciatingly tight thread in his chest started to fray.

Finnick tried not to think about it.

He couldn't. He shouldn't.

'Shit...'

The closeness as you sat beside Finnick absentmindedly picking at your plate, not even a foot away had the boy so overwhelmed he couldn't think, only sparing a glance your way every now and then while trying to casually drape himself over his chair. The effort to keep a smirk on his face and a carefree aura was suffocating. What the hell was wrong with him? You’d sat next to or across from one another plenty of times. He'd seen you dressed up like this plenty of times.

Okay - maybe it had only been on screens but that was besides the point.

He had to get a grip. He'd already heard the rumors of there being something between the two of you from the Games starting to stir again amongst the elites as the end-of-tour banquet in the Capital district edged closer in the coming days. You didn't need more to stress over. especially not regarding him. You may have been able to keep a mask of chemical calm when dealing with everyone around you but he could see the shadows under your eyes and the limpness in your hair. Your hands still trembled, and your lower lip remained puffy from biting it. He'd learned your anxious habits from quiet observation. He had plenty of his own tells he was well aware of himself.

Finnick silently cursed himself again.

You were lucky enough to sleep in your own bed for the night, though Dorian and Callan insisted on joining you as if they were attention-deprived puppies. You welcomed their embraces as they nestled close, but knew you'd end up in a corner of the mattress without any blanket to keep warm as the boys occupied the majority of the bed space available. But you didn't mind. Nor did you want to leave them again so soon. But the tour had to be finished. You rested easier that night than you had in weeks, despite the bed-hogging of your siblings.

The morning was met with a quiet breakfast and another teary-eyed goodbye. Then it was back on the train and on to the final three districts. Homes of the Career Tributes.

This time around, Finnick had joined your party of escorts for the last leg of your journey. He claimed he had some occupations to fill and favors to uphold but didn't offer more explanation than that. He'd also opted for wearing higher-necked shirts and sweaters around the train, which you had found unusual compared to his normal attire, but didn't bother to question. It was his business and therefore you needn't bother with it. Pretty Peacocks had Pretty Peacock things to do, you supposed.

The remaining districts were as troublesome as the last eight. District 2 was especially harsh, considering the blade you'd driven through the chest of their male tribute in the final moments of the Games. The district of luxury held nothing back as the family spewed filth your way for your cowardness in killing their son. You couldn't manage to keep your dinner down that night. You didn't stay in your personal quarters either, opting to remain in the Observatory car instead.

You hadn't missed the dazzling limelight of the Capital district.

You especially hadn't missed the pawing hands of the elite citizens.

The gala outside of President Snow's mansion was beyond anything you'd seen previously. To say the vibrant lights and overstuffed buffet tables were overwhelming would be an understatement. They were downright outrageous. Between the high-pitched caws of heiresses and the phlegmy coughs and sticky fingers of brokers and other top-class citizens and staff, you felt your skin practically buzzing from the overstimulation. You wanted nothing more than to slip away or melt into the floor. Peacekeepers lined every alcove and doorway on guard. But there wasn't any concern for the groping hands or lingering touches as you tried your best to squeeze through the crowd. Thatcher had disappeared almost instantaneously, swallowed up by the sea of brightly dressed vultures. You felt your breath grow hyper as your eyes darted around in search of anyone to hold onto and ground yourself. Finnick could be spotted across the swell of dancers in the hall hanging on the arm of two squawking elitists. The Darling was dusted in a similar luster you'd seen at the banquet in District 4, except in much more excess as the boy wore an organza tunic the color of his eyes that left little to be imagined. His trousers were bone white with chestnut dress shows. The Darling was equally adorned in dainty, golden chains as he was glitter and smudged lipstick. Your own cheeks burned at the blatant display.

What on earth was he doing??

Your eyes locked for a mere second, your bewildered gaze pleading, if not begging but the victor paid you no mind as pointed, too-white canines flashed in scandalous conversation with the people around him. You were utterly stranded.

Someone gripped your backside suddenly, earning a yelp and the urge to whip back and punch but instead, you whirl, backing straight into someone's shoulder. Amid the swirling music and voices, you felt tears spring to your eyes, threatening to spill as a gloved hand catches your waist and you're steadied on your feet. Your deep aqua gown whispers on the tiled floor (yes, another secret match to finnick's ensemble) and you're sputtering apologies quicker than you can think. You had to get out of here.

"It's quite alright Dear. A bit overwhelmed are we?"

"I- uhm... I'm so sorry, s-sir." You stutter as you behold the man standing before you. Snow white hair slicked back, with a neatly groomed beard and stark white suit has you gulping down the lump forming in your throat.

President Coriolanus Snow is standing in front of you.

You wish nothing more than to be shot dead right then and there. The creator of your horrors, of the hardships across the districts and the killing games children are forced to play in, was standing in front of you with his hand on your waist. A wolf in sheep's clothing. The devil himself.

A string of colorful profanities cycles through your mind as you're only able to blink in horror and feigned surprise. Any confidence or spite you thought you might have leeches from your mind as your skin blanches.

"I've been meaning to have a word with you. You did quite well in the Games this season, and have caught the interest of a few...clients, of mine. Not to mention the Mockingjays flittering about with rumors of a certain Darling, hm?" The President's tone is hollow. His steeled gaze bores into your own and you can't form the words to reply before the gloved hand at your waist slides up your torso and over to the back of your arm as the older man begins to guide you. The crowd instantly parts and conversations nearby halt, obviously eavesdropping on what the President of Panem has to say.

"Let us move away from prying ears. Gossip is a terrible thing." The President drawls as he pats your elbow. You swallow hard with a meek nod, sucking your lower lip between your teeth and feeling the taste of copper coat your tongue. You bit too hard.

No words are exchanged between the two of you as you pass a very unbothered Finnick, his cheeks and honey-tanned skin are flushed as his overly dilated pupils pay you no heed. Something was wrong. very wrong. The Darling reeked of champagne, mint, and something you couldn't place, and strong. The heiresses on his arms were speaking in hushed, sultry tones, and were tugging at his barely-there tunic. The boy wasn't fighting back. Your stomach drops to your toes as you can only sense the growing fear coming from the crease between his brows and the muscle fluttering in his jaw.

The greenhouse the President brings you to has bile rising to your throat. Every pot, bed, soil flat, and more was covered in white roses. The sickly sweet scent had your skin crawling and nose scrunching, despite the tang of fear on your tongue and the gnawing pressure squeezing your chest. Snow gestures for you to sit on a stone bench near a small fountain. The water gurgles as it threatens to overflow the basin it waters. Snow takes his place beside you, a gentle twist in his torso that sends whispers of his blazer over his silk shirt.

"You put on quite a show in the Arena my Dear. Playing soft and subtle but outlasting the wolves and striking like an asp in the end. You caused quite a stir amongst high-profile viewers. There have been whispers of intrigue about you. Many people covet a doe amongst a pack of wolves. Soft and sweet - like a lily among a field of thorned roses. Something to control," Snow begins. You feel miniscule compared to the powerhouse of a man beside you. You worry he can scent the fear seeping into your bones as you clasp your hands together like a vice to hide the trembling.

"I-I'm sorry. I don't quite follow."

Snow chuckles. Chuckles. The sound makes you wish to crawl out of your skin.

" Certain individuals feed on control. On submission. Complete - submission." The President's eyes grow dark and feel yourself shifting away, though the attempt is futile on the small bench.

"I'm saying people want you. You're - Desirable."

Desirable.

You'd heard the word only in hushed whispers less than a handful of times. Mainly when Finnick was involved. This couldn't be good. An awful nausea settles in your stomach as the President makes his proposal.

"Predators enjoy the hunt of their prey. The thrill of the hunt. They want a new Desirable Victor. Yes, they've had their shiny new Princeling to enjoy and ravish. Mr. Odair, if I'm not mistaken. But with your victory and spectacular display, they crave more. So I'm offering this," The mention of Finnick's status holds a venom that solidifies the sickness in your gut. If you could run far, far away right now, you would. And you'd sure as hell hunt down the vipers coiled around Finnick and take him with you.

"Become Desirable - or those fetching siblings of yours, and dear old Father, and everyone you hold dear, will be punished. Severely. What are their names? Dorian? Callan?" The President squints his eyes, crow's feet becoming pronounced around the corners of his eyes as your throat goes dry. Horror shoots through you as your heart all but shatters into a million pieces.

"Maybe I should throw in your dear Peacock, hm? The Capital would adore a star-crossed scandal. Trading their prince for a heartbroken princess?"

"P-please..." You murmur, the word barely audible.

"There's no room for discussion here. They'll be dead by morning if you don't accept. For the greater good of Panem and the strength of the Games, Dear."

Your vision blurs as defeat slashes your chest. Your limbs feel like jelly as you feel blood drip down your chin from the bite on your lip and a dampness coats your cheeks.

"Let them live..." You squeak.

Shame filters through the horror and disgust you feel. But you have to keep them safe. You'd lay down your own life sooner than any of theirs. Always.

A white glove smudges the blood from your chin, a crimson stain coating the President's glove as he accepts your agreement and gestures for you to stand. You do.

"Smile for the cameras Dear, tonight will be grand."

You can't bring your lips to move. Another tear slides down your face.

President Snow wipes the stray tear from your blanched cheek as a vile grin adds to the wrinkles on his face. You say nothing as the Predator guides you away from the greenhouse and up to the balcony overlooking the party. The President clears his throat and the room falls silent.

Finnick is nowhere to be seen through the crowd and panic surges through your chest.

"My dear citizens of the Capital, and all of Panem. I have a very special announcement to make this evening. As you know, we are gathered here tonight in honor of the Victor of our 67th Annual Hunger Games. " Snow's voice booms over the gala. Your insides churn as he continues to announce the sentence to seal your fate. You'd lost an even bigger game than you thought imaginable. You can’t find Finnick anywhere. A part of you wants to scream.

"May I present to you my dearest subjects, the doe who won against all odds. They prey who vanquished the beasts. Your new desirable," Snow bellows your name with a venom that makes you fear vomiting right then and there. You weren't a Victor, you weren't a survivor, you weren't even considered a human anymore. You were a product. You were a doe staring down the maw of a starving wolf.

You were nothing.

Mechanical shutters fill your ears as flashes blind your vision. You’re supposed to be smiling. Things will get worse if you don’t smile. But all you can feel is the bile rising in your throat and your leaden tongue refusing to move. The sickly scent of roses invades your senses as gloved hands pat your trembling ones that grip the President’s suit jacket like a vice. You don’t dare move an inch.

There are two things you've learned to despise since surviving The Games.

1. Liars

2. President Coriolanus Snow

{{ taglist }}

@emerald-09 @reader-bookling123 @finnickodaddy @thehairington86 @darlingsoulbeautifulthoughts @avoxrising @meri-soni-meri-tamanna @whens-naptime @violettbae @the-lonely-abyss @secretsicanthideanymore @nexxus13 @takanparadiae @yourdailymemedelivery @wowzabowza69 @c4ttheart @lizzo-del-jaileraka @inatimate-icarus @thestrals-and-firewiskey @honethatty12 @goldencolorrock @cherrsnut