#Anyways this drove me insane in the best possible way

[sailoryuns]

INAMORATA ─── PSH

genre. idol!sunghoon x model!f!reader | established relationship

warnings. angst, fluff (moreso towards the end), smut, accusations of cheating, hoon being lowkey toxic, cunnilingus, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, some mentions of crying, not proofread wc -> 1.5k

ps. the position i’m referring to is this (nsfw link), i usually hate vids but this was rly good imo.

“i think we should take a break...” you admit, voice growing shakier as you spoke. this was never something you wish to say in a million years, you wanted this relationship to work more than anything. but you were at your wits end with everything, talking to sunghoon was like conversing with the wall, never fully grasping any of your concerns.

you noticed the cracks beginning to seep in the midst of six months of being with him. he would often be dishonest of his whereabouts, saying he was out late due to “work” but was actually out drinking at some bar with jake or something. it made no sense for him to lie about such trivial things but he does it without even thinking. this was supposed to be a lovely vacation in paris together but lately you’ve grown tired of feeling like you’re unappreciated. a break from each other might be the best solution in getting his act together once and for all.

sunghoon felt his whole body turn limp as you uttered those words. not only was he blindsided by your decision, but you never indicated before to him that you were ready to propose such a drastic idea. “but why though? don’t you think this is a bit random? i mean this came out of nowhere y/n, i thought everything was good between us, why are you suddenly saying this now?” his thick, bushy brows furrowed in confusion, he wasn’t letting you off this easy and you know it.

“i just think it’s for the better right now hoon, we’re both so busy. we have a lot on our plate, especially you… and this relationship is just— it’s only putting more strain on everythi-”

“are you serious y/n? do you hear yourself? i knew what i was getting myself into the day i asked you to be my girlfriend. i’m well aware that i can’t be with you 24/7, and neither can you—however, i don’t expect that anyway. all i ever wanted was to have you by my side, i want to work through the hardships with you but if you’re so willing to give up like this then… i don’t know. i don’t even know what to say to this honestly..” sunghoon couldn’t help but cut you off, once his emotions take over, all sense of logic and reasoning is thrown out the window.

he was never one to question his worth in the eyes of his partner, but you were his longest relationship, he saw you as his first and only true love. it never occurred to him that he could lose you, the possibility of this break lasting long enough to make your love fade away was a scary revelation. there had to be a way he could fix this, he couldn’t bear to be without you.

“are you seeing someone else? maybe that’s why you’ve been so distant towards me lately…” he wanted to scream for saying that out loud but at least he got it off his chest. he knows how petty it sounds but he didn’t care, he wanted you to give him answers.

“no! i’m not seeing other people, i don’t have an interest in anyone but you sunghoon. i want to do this for the sake of us, we’re clearly not where we need to be and this break could help with getting us back on track and spending time apart could be beneficial.” you try your best to articulate your words properly but he remained unconvinced, he wasn’t on board with any bit of this.

how could you even be okay with something like this? spending time away from you drove him absolutely insane, he couldn’t fathom taking a break—not from someone as important as you in his life. he just needed to remind you that the love was still there, though it may be but a dull flame, he could ignite the spark again, with the little bit of hope he had left.

the foundation of your relationship was built from shared interests, since you both are part of professions that rely heavily on looks, you refused to see each other based solely off those superficial aspects. instead you got to know each other’s minds, your core values and beliefs, what mattered to you the most. you cherished every one of those deep conversations you shared together, it was a beautiful experience, an indescribable memory that shaped your bond forever.

so why is it now that you feel this way? was he really that oblivious to everything? he should’ve done more to prevent this but now he fears it’s too late. he’s faced with the conundrum of losing you and there wasn’t much time for him to stall or ask for a chance of redemption, he couldn’t waste another second.

“fuck that,” sunghoon angrily spat, his face contorting into a look of pure disgust. “you’re not going anywhere.” he reaches out to grab your waist before you could walk away, aggressively pulling you into his chest.

no matter how much you attempt to escape his hold, he’s not letting you go in the slightest. he’s much stronger than you, could easily lift you up without breaking a sweat. there was no use in fighting, you had no choice but to give in and let this conversation go. once his lips crashed into yours, everything faded to black. as if a simple kiss was the cure-all of mending this decrepit relationship.

sunghoon’s forehead pressed against yours as he pulled away, “shhh, lye down baby,” he hushes your quiet mewls, instructing you to do as he says. “gonna make you feel so good,” his hands slid under your skirt, gently rubbing over your clothed core “you’ll forget everything.”

* :.･ﾟﾟ･ ✿

“oh my- fuckk, sunghoon!” you cry out, almost on the verge of tears just from how skilled he is, rutting your hips upwards into his mouth as he devours you whole.

the pace of his tongue is relentless, roughly lapping up all your juices like he’s the most starved man alive. you’ve lost count at the amount of times he’s already made you come undone just from his mouth alone. your body’s buzzing with titillation, all you can do is scream and clench your pussy around nothing while he fiercely sucks on your clit.

you couldn’t stop twitching, feeling yet another orgasm approaching. your legs anchored over his shoulders, unable to think or speak coherent sentences as his face was fully buried into your sloppy cunt. he relaxes his jaw a bit more, going all the way from the bottom inching further up as he comes back in contact with your puffy clit. at any given moment it feels as if your heart’s about to stop.

“hoon-” your heads thrown back into the pillow, digging your nails into his shoulder blades from how overly sensitive you are. “n-need to cum.. can feel it. m���so close.” it surprises you when you’re able to even express such words.

a low grunt can be heard underneath, sunghoon loves hearing you— it’s arguably the best part about going down on you. the hand that wasn’t occupied went straight to gripping a fistful of his ebony hair, continuously moaning his name so loud that you genuinely feel bad for whomever the unlucky people that got to hear this.

just when you thought it couldn’t get anymore intense, he slips 2 of his slender fingers inside, making you gasp from the overwhelming sensation. flashes of white invade your vision, violently shaking as your lips form an “o” in the throes of ecstasy. sunghoon knows your body so well that this is nothing for him, he’s got it all down to a simple science. no one knows your body like he does, and especially no one can make you cum as hard as he can.

“go ahead, make a mess for me baby,” he strongly encourages, picking up his pace as his digits fuck into you faster. “just gonna clean it up with my tongue all over again.”

your eyes roll back to the depths of oblivion, feeling an out of body experience when reaching your climax. a string of curses leaves your shaky breath, limbs trembling and faint tears stain your flushed cheeks. sunghoon slows his movements, rubbing his thumb over your clit gently to make you even more sensitive. you love the way he calls you “good girl” and how proud the look on his face becomes while you ride out your orgasm on his fingers. he doesn’t stop showering you with compliments, only ramping up his affection as he plants fleeting kisses to your thighs, hips, and stomach.

once he’s finally come back up for air you grab his face to pull him into your lips again. moaning in his mouth while getting a taste of yourself was probably the hottest thing sunghoon’s ever witnessed.

“can’t believe this is all mine.” sunghoon whispers against you, gently massaging your aching thighs. “i love you so much, baby.”

“love you too hoon.” you instantly say back, feeling more at ease now that things are somewhat back to normal.

maybe a break isn’t necessary after all, how else would you be able to have such earth shattering orgasms?

- 完 ♡︎

[ginnsbaker]

All Of Your Pieces (27 - Anywhere But Home)

Chapter Summary: If you stopped running—if you tried to live—would she see it as betrayal? Would she be disappointed?

Or would she just be sad that it had taken you this long?

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Female Reader Chapter word count: 5k+ | Chapter Tags: angst, mentions of smut

A/N: Is it the last chapter yet? :p Writing Part 3 is giving me headaches // More author's notes here.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

One of your favorite memories in Scotland with Wanda was a small, ordinary miracle—one you never thought you’d get to experience. It happened on Valentine’s Day, a holiday both of you usually found a bit cliché, but you had planned something special anyway.

It started in the late afternoon. You had surprised Wanda by insisting she dress up for the evening. Nothing fancy—just a cozy sweater dress she loved, paired with a slightly worn jacket, her hair pulled back in that effortlessly messy style that always drove you insane in the best possible way. You chose an outfit you knew would make her raise an eyebrow and smirk—a fitted shirt under a soft jacket, decent jeans, and that cologne she had once idly mentioned made her toes curl.

Your heart fluttered in a way you couldn’t quite name when, halfway through getting ready, Wanda paused in front of the mirror to check her reflection. She turned to give you a pointed, playful look, silently asking if she looked all right. You met her gaze and nodded, warmth spreading across your chest as you realized, This is our life now.

You led her to an old-fashioned cinema nestled between a bakery and a bookstore, the sort that still used a marquee with changeable letters to announce showtimes.

“Did you plan this?” Wanda asked softly as you approached the theater, glancing at you with a curious smile.

“Guilty,” you admitted, hoping your cheeks weren’t turning too red. “Figured maybe it’s time we, uh, actually go on a date.”

She looped her arm through yours. “You’re adorable when you’re trying to be romantic,” she teased.

“I’m not,” you argued, blushing at being called romantic. You never thought of yourself as one. You were practical—almost to a fault.

The small lobby smelled of popcorn and worn carpet. The walls were lined with posters of classic films that Wanda ogled like a child in a candy store. You made a mental note to get her one of those posters for the bedroom (okay, maybe you were a little bit of a romantic).

Wanda had giggled when you had offered to pay for everything, leaning in to whisper that you should at least let her buy the drinks. You had refused, and she had rolled her eyes but let you handle it.

By the time you had guided her to two seats near the back—best view in the house, in your opinion—the lights had already begun to dim. You had settled in with popcorn balanced on your knees, and to your surprise, you had realized you were actually a little nervous. Never mind that you had done everything up to this point in reverse, having slept together before any semblance of a first date. You’d chosen the movie, and you were hoping she’d like it. 

Halfway through the movie, you had become acutely aware of how close Wanda was moving toward you. Inch by inch, she had slid nearer until her thigh had pressed lightly against yours. You had nearly forgotten the film’s plot entirely because all you could focus on was the soft sound of Wanda breathing, the warmth of her body, the subtle spice of her perfume. At one point, she had reached for your hand, interlacing her fingers with yours, and you had sworn your heart had nearly pounded its way out of your chest. It was unfair how much Wanda could still make you feel this way—even though she was the person you had always felt most comfortable with, the one who had made it easy to be yourself without reservation.

When you had risked a glance down at her, you had caught the corner of her mouth quirking up in a small, secret smile—one that said, I know exactly what I’m doing to you.

The glow from the screen had illuminated her features, and for a moment, you had to look away because the sight of her was overwhelming. 

She was happy. You were happy. And—

You woke up—not from the pain, but because sleep wouldn’t hold without another pill.  

The remnants of your dream clung to you, painfully warm, like Wanda’s fingers tracing lazy circles on your palm in that old Scottish theater. You knew you’d been smiling in your sleep; you could still feel the ghost of it lingering at the corners of your lips.  

But the moment your eyes opened, it was gone.

You exhaled sharply, rolling onto your side—the one that didn’t make your ribs scream in protest. Your arm draped over your stomach, fingers clenching briefly around the thin blanket before you forced them to relax.

You told yourself to stop doing this. Stop waking up expecting her to be there. Stop chasing sleep just to be with her again.

But some nights—most nights—it was all you had left.

Three days after you’d slipped away from Doctor Kia’s ward, leaving behind a crumpled wad of bills worth more than your entire treatment, you returned to your shoebox rental. The bed squeaked whenever you shifted, and the windows rattled each time a truck passed on the street below. Not exactly a place to rest and recover, but it was better than being disturbed every few hours by strangers in white coats. 

Clint hadn’t contacted you again. Most people would have worried, but you’d trained yourself to expect the silent spaces in your life, the long stretches of not knowing if your only ally in this godforsaken fight was alive or dead. You tried not to care. But you were never good at lying to yourself; a part of you felt uneasy, a restless energy crawling under your skin. You tested your body’s limits daily. It started with small walks around the block—pushing through the ache in your ribs, ignoring the protest of bandages that were still damp and sullied come afternoon. The first time you circled the neighborhood, you managed maybe two blocks before a spike of white-hot pain radiated through your side, forcing you to sit on a curb and catch your breath. Today, you made it a mile before your vision swam, black spots dancing at the edges.

And still, you refused the painkillers—at least for a while. Every day, you told yourself you could go without them, that you needed to feel just how broken you really were. But the threshold always crept up: your ribcage catching fire, your lung seizing, your shoulder burning from bullet trauma that hadn’t healed as cleanly as you’d hoped. And every time, when the pain got bad enough to make your teeth clench and sweat bead along your brow, you reached for the bottle anyway.

That was the point you reached tonight. After dry-swallowing the tablet, you stared at your reflection in the smudged bathroom mirror, taking in the hollow eyes, the slight gauntness in your cheeks. Wanda wouldn’t even recognize you. You wondered what she’d say. You wondered if she’d be disgusted enough to leave you. 

You sank onto the lumpy couch—an ugly green thing that smelled faintly of mildew—and tried to focus on something other than your throbbing body. Memories of Wanda floated back unbidden, teasing at the ragged edges of your consciousness. You thought about that old theater again, the way she’d linked her arm through yours, as if you were something precious worth guarding. Her smile in the darkness, the soft brush of her breath. You remembered the jolt of nerves when she’d caught you looking.

You closed your eyes. Maybe if you could just hold onto that recollection, you wouldn’t feel so damn trapped. But the moment you pictured her face, your eyes flew open, and the colorless walls of your rental apartment mocked you. Wanda was gone. Clint was gone. You were alone.

And the pain, even dampened by medication, reminded you that living was its own form of punishment.

—

It’s business as usual a week later, when Clint showed up at your doorstep unannounced, to personally hand you a fresh list of names to hunt down. You stared at Clint leaning in the doorway, your mouth hanging in surprise.

He tossed a thin manila folder onto your tiny kitchen table. “Fresh intel,” he said.

You cast a wry glance at the papers, then back at him. “You could’ve just texted,” you said, smiling weakly. “Didn’t have to drop by and grace me with your presence.”

Clint’s gaze swept over you, from the bruised shadows under your eyes to the careful way you stood. It felt like a silent assessment, the same way a hunter might eye a wounded animal to judge if it was still worth chasing. Finally, he shrugged. “Wanted to see if you were still standing,” he said, voice flat. “I’m not here to check if you’re okay. I just need to know if you can handle the job—or if I’ve gotta do it myself.”

“I’m good,” you bit out.

Clint raised an eyebrow. “Sure you are.”

He brushed past you into your cramped rental, tossing a glance at the unwashed dishes in the sink, the worn blankets spilling off the couch. His lips twitched in what might have been a grin if it didn’t look so tired. The man had a decade on you, at least, but objectively, he looked way better than you did.

“Close the door,” he said simply. “Might as well talk inside. People around here got eyes in the back of their heads.”

You shut the door and clicked the flimsy lock into place.

Clint perched on the arm of your squeaky couch, crossing his arms. “You look like you’re about to keel over.” He didn’t say it like a concern, more like an observation.

“I’ve had worse,” you countered. “This little hole in my lung isn’t half as bad as it looks.”

Clint didn’t look like he believed it, but he didn’t make further comments on your physical status. “We’ve got one last stretch of criminals here in Bangkok,” he began, “They’re a small ring by comparison, but they’ve dug in near the old port district. Word is they’re guarding a shipment headed out next week—weapons, and maybe people, too. Once we clear them out, Bangkok’s done. Clean enough, anyway.”

You nodded. You couldn’t wait to get out of this city.  “You sure this is it?”

He nodded. “I’m sure. No more stragglers.”

A heavy pause settled before you spoke again. “So… what’s next?”

Clint exhaled through his nose. “Tokyo. There’s a bigger syndicate out there than we realized.  I’ve been picking up whispers, and it’s messy. We’re talking multiple layers of corruption.” He looked up, eyes narrowed. “They’ll be armed to the teeth.”

You managed a humorless grin. “Sounds fun.”

“It won’t be,” he said bluntly. “Question is, can you handle this? You’re not exactly at full strength.” When you didn’t answer, he tipped his head, voice dropping into something softer. “You know you can stop anytime, right?”

You let out a quiet scoff. “Stop? That’s the last thing I want.”

“All right,” Clint said, pushing off the wall. “I’ll keep you in the loop.”

—

It took you over a week to carve your way through the final list in Bangkok. The first half went fast enough, scoped out through the lens of a sniper rifle from rooftops you accessed easily with your charm. You sometimes lay still for hours, prone on concrete, sweat drenching your collar as you counted heartbeats between each trigger pull. By the time you’d crossed off target number seven, you knew the remaining names would be on guard, circling their wagons. Stealth and distance weren’t going to cut it anymore.

So you moved in closer. The traditional way.

Even injured, your body somehow kept up—swinging blades and trading punches with a single-minded focus. You felt the pull of your stitches, the flare of old burns, but each fight ended the way you’d intended: another threat off the board. Clint checked in via text a couple of times, never asking how you were holding up—just wanting status updates, wanting to know when the Bangkok chapter was done. You gave him the bullet points he needed and no more.

Tonight, the final name had just breathed his last. You slipped out of a cramped warehouse near the docks, blending into the humid darkness. Your ribs ached with every stride as you replayed the fight in your head, wondering if you’d made too much noise this time. Too many bullets had ricocheted off rusted metal. There’d been a close call or two, but you shrugged it off. It was nothing you hadn’t handled before.

Instead of heading straight back to your rental, you took a detour to your favorite hole-in-the-wall. Cravings weren’t common for you, but after clearing the list, tonight felt like it deserved a small celebration.

Then you heard it—a muffled scream, followed by a string of curses. Your senses snapped to attention. Just ahead, three men surrounded a smaller figure, backs turned to you. Every muscle in your frame tensed, and you found yourself moving before you could think it through.

When the attackers shifted, you caught a brief glimpse of their victim’s face. 

Dr. Kia.

A surge of rage flared in your gut, but you clamped down on the instinct to unsheathe your sword. You were too close, and you refused to cut anyone down in front of her—someone who had spent her life stitching people back together, not tearing them apart. She didn’t need to see more blood on your hands than she already had.

You lunged instead, driving your fist into the first man’s jaw. The force rattled through your knuckles, sending him sprawling into a stack of boxes. The second spun around, raising a short-bladed knife. You snatched his wrist, twisting sharply until the blade clattered to the ground, then drove your elbow into his ribcage. He wheezed and doubled over, dropping to his knees. 

The last one charged you with a frantic yell. A quick jab to the throat sent him staggering back, gasping for air. A final kick knocked him away from Kia, leaving him crumpled on the pavement.

With the street quiet again, you turned to find Kia still pressed against the wall, her chest heaving, eyes wide. She didn’t look relieved at all to see you there, having done those things.

“Are you okay?” you rasped, surprised by how ragged you sounded.

She blinked, then nodded shakily. “Yes, I—I think so.” Her gaze locked on your hands, bruised and trembling at your sides. “You’re hurt. Let me—” She fumbled inside her bag. “I have ointment for those cuts—”

“No,” you cut her off, a surge of anger slamming through you. You didn’t need help. Or gratitude. 

She stepped closer. “Please, just—”

You lost it. Your arm snapped out, and before you knew what you were doing, you’d wrapped your hand around her throat, pinning her to the alley wall. Her eyes went huge with shock. She tried to speak, but only a broken gasp emerged. 

Realization slammed into you like a freight train. You were hurting the one person here who didn’t deserve any of this—the one person who had shown you even a shred of genuine care.

You yanked your hand away, stumbling back. Kia clutched her neck, leaning heavily against the wall, trying to catch her breath. Anger warred with shame in your chest.

“Don’t—” you snarled, voice shaking. “Don’t follow me, don’t try to help. Stay away from trouble.” Your voice hitched. “Stay away from me.”

She stared at you, tears pooling at the corners of her eyes. For a split second, Wanda’s face flashed in your mind—the way she looked that day she patched you up after weeks of silence. And then, just as quickly, it was gone.  

You realized Kia had struck a nerve. Because this—patching you up, tending to your wounds, putting you back together—this belonged to Wanda. It was hers in a way no one else could ever claim.

Even so, Kia didn’t deserve your reaction. You wanted to apologize, but the words wouldn’t come. It had been a long time since you’d apologized to anyone. So you proceeded to do the only thing you knew these days.

You pivoted toward the trio of men, still groaning on the ground. Before you left, you slammed your heel into the pavement beside the nearest attacker’s hand, making him jerk away in alarm.

“If I catch you near her again,” you growled, voice low, “it’ll be worse.”

They scrambled back, eyes wide with fear, clutching their ribs and bruised limbs, hurriedly gathering themselves to flee. Satisfied they wouldn’t dare turn on Kia again anytime soon, you spat the last of your anger onto the alley floor.

You turned away, stepping over the groaning men on the ground, forcing yourself to keep moving. Despite feeling Kia’s eyes tracking your every move, you refused to look back.

—

Your suitcase sat packed by the door.

Clint had already texted from the airstrip, asking if you were on your way. You'd stared at the message and told yourself you'd reply soon.

But that was five days ago. 

You surprised yourself when you didn’t leave the first morning. And again the second, when Clint’s texts started piling up, questioning, terse, increasingly frustrated. You couldn’t explain why you weren’t on a plane bound for Tokyo.

Now here you were, standing on the street outside Kia’s hospital, feeling like an idiot. You told yourself you were only here to say… goodbye? Thank you? You weren’t really sure. All you knew was that after the night she was nearly assaulted, you needed to see for yourself that she was okay—that you’d done your job, that she’d come out of it unharmed.  

You’d been cleansing the streets of criminals, but that never meant saving anyone directly. The good you thought you were doing was always implied, an indirect cause-and-effect. But saving Kia—that was the first time you had stepped in, not for vengeance, not for some faceless idea of justice, but simply to keep someone alive.

After what felt like hours, Kia finally stepped out, white coat draped across her arm. She froze the moment she spotted you, eyes surveying the bruises on your knuckles, checking if they were healing just fine.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she said flatly. There was no accusation, just a weary resignation.

“Kia,” you managed, though it came out croaky and unsure. Almost vulnerable.

She stalled, shoulders rigid, then faced you. Her eyes scanned the wreckage on your face, and something in her eased. Without another word, she tilted her head, gesturing for you to follow.

—

Her apartment was a modest space on the fourth floor of an older building. It wasn’t large or lavish—just two cramped rooms and a kitchenette. It smelled of herbal disinfectant and wilted flowers. You welcomed it. 

The door had barely latched when Kia spun and caught your mouth. You instinctively froze, just for a second, because the last person you’d kissed was Wanda. It felt wrong—unthinkable—to be standing here now, pressed up against someone else’s body, tasting someone else’s breath.

If Kia hadn’t initiated it, you wouldn’t have. You were certain of that. And as her lips moved hungrily against yours, you couldn’t stop the way your body answered. It felt good to be this close to someone after years in isolation. You’re overwhelmed by guilt and want all at once, making you kiss Kia back just as fiercely. 

In that second, the only thing you wanted was to get lost in someone other than yourself. 

You kicked off your boots and slid an arm around her waist, dragging her close. What followed was messy and raw. It lacked the poetry you remembered with Wanda. Kia’s back thudded against the wall. One hand braced beside her head while the other yanked at stubborn fabric, impatience sparking in every tug. She gasped, breath hot against your mouth as your teeth clicked, neither of you bothering with grace. Her fingers curled into your hair, pulling tight enough to sting but spurring you on all the same. Your lungs burned as you tried to breathe between frantic kisses, each one laced with a hunger you hadn’t let yourself feel in too long. You shoved aside the last barrier of cloth, gripping her hips hard enough to bruise.

She responded in kind, nails raking over your shoulders as she clung to you, pulling you deeper into the moment. You squeezed your eyes shut, shoving thoughts of Wanda aside, forcing yourself to focus on the physical now, the unmistakable heat coiling in your belly.

Afterwards, the sheets tangled around your legs, and you stared at the ceiling, heart still hammering away. Kia lay beside you, breathing unevenly, a sheen of sweat glistening on her skin. The apartment was stifling; overhead, the ceiling fan ticked through its lazy revolutions. You felt her gaze through half-lidded eyes, fighting sleep, and the effort grated on you.

“Let me see your stitches,” she murmured, propping herself on one elbow. “They might’ve torn.”

You sighed and turned away. “Don’t worry about it.”

Kia released a slow, trembling breath. If your dismissal hurt, she didn’t show it. She pressed her lips together, glancing around like she wasn’t sure what to do next, loose hair sticking to her damp skin in stray strands.

“Do you want something to eat?” she asked, voice soft and cautious, as if you were a skittish animal she might scare off. “Or… anything else?”

You nodded, though you weren’t really hungry. Truth be told, you just needed her to leave you alone for a minute, because you could feel tears building at the back of your throat—hot, stinging, impossible to swallow. If she stayed, you weren’t sure how long you could keep them at bay, and you despised the idea of breaking down in front of anyone.

—

You and Kia fell into a strange rhythm—never truly discussing what you both were, just sliding into each other’s lives whenever you touched down in Bangkok. You bought roundtrip tickets to Tokyo, claiming it was easier to keep your options open, but you both knew the real reason: you wanted a guaranteed way back to her bed. 

You told yourself you only returned for sex, that maybe it helped you blow off the steam you’d otherwise drown in. Your arrangement with Kia was unspoken. You hardly texted, and only called if a flight ran late. Most nights you simply appeared at her door unannounced. Her eyes would roam over your body, as if assessing damage—and then she’d let you in. Within minutes, your clothes would be hitting the floor. 

It was never gentle, never particularly sweet. You were never going to stay. She never asked you to, not with words. If you ever let yourself wonder why she kept letting you in, you pushed the thought aside. It was convenient. That’s all.

However, there was one thing that Kia kept on doing that blurred this arrangement into something other than sex.

She insisted on tending to your injuries.

At first, you refused to let her touch your bruises, pulling away whenever her fingers came close. You told her you didn't need it—that you were fine. So she started doing it secretly, when you weren’t paying attention.

When she thought you were asleep, she'd quietly patch you up, gently pressing ice packs to swollen skin, smoothing ointment over fresh cuts. You didn't even notice at first, too exhausted or numb to pay attention. But one night, you woke to the soft pressure of a damp cloth on a fresh gash, Kia's face scrunching up as if she were feeling the pain itself. 

You should've pulled away. Should've stopped her, stuck to the boundaries you'd built around yourself. But you didn't. Maybe you liked the feeling of someone wanting to take care of you even if you'd never admit it out loud. So you closed your eyes again, and let her continue. After that, you stopped resisting.

Clint eventually picked up on your pattern. One night in a back-alley bar in Shinjuku, he finally brought it up. You’d just finished discussing intel for your next target, when he leaned back on the creaky stool and said, “So how long you staying this time before hopping back to Bangkok again?”

You glared at him over the rim of your glass. “What’s it to you?”

He shrugged. “Nothing. Just… if you’ve found a reason to keep going back, that’s okay.”

You stiffened. “It’s none of your business.”

A moment passed. He glanced down at the table, exhaling. “Fine. Forget I said anything.”

But you couldn’t let it go. 

“I’m not ‘happy,’ if that’s what you’re implying. I’m—” You hesitated, cursing yourself for sounding so defensive. “She’s just—she’s nothing.”

Clint searched your face for a second. “Are you sure?”

“Fuck off,” you hissed, standing so abruptly that your chair scraped the floor. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

It was partly true. You weren’t happy because you refused to be. Not without Wanda. 

He watched you grab your jacket but didn’t protest. You realized you didn’t truly want to leave—yet the idea of him seeing how deeply he’d struck a nerve by suggesting you were moving on felt unbearable, so you walked away anyway.

—

A couple of months into your no-strings arrangement with Kia, you stopped counting how many times you’d flown in and out of Bangkok. Your spare shirt hung in her closet, a few pairs of your socks folded into her dresser drawers. You realized you’d left enough random belongings strewn around her apartment out of careless habit.

One evening, after arriving jet-lagged and bone-tired, you skipped everything that usually came next. Kia stood in the kitchen, nursing a glass of tea. She took a breath and said, “I’m leaving soon.”

You blinked, unsure if she meant a late-night grocery run or something else entirely.

“Leaving… where?”

She shrugged, avoiding your eyes for a second. “Back home.”

It hit you, then, that you had no idea where her home even was. You frowned, crossing your arms. “And where’s that exactly?”

She paused, studying your face as if measuring how much she should say. “Somewhere north of Europe.”

You raised an eyebrow. “North of Europe is… what, Scandinavia?”

Kia chuckled, but her eyes stayed flat. “Iceland,” she said.

Before you could stop yourself, you asked, “Why are you telling me this?” You didn’t even know what answer you wanted—a goodbye, an invitation, or nothing at all.

She gave a small shrug, eyes drifting to the clutter you’ve scattered around—keys, a phone charger, a few shirts. “In case you haven’t noticed, your stuff is everywhere,” she said evenly. “Thought I’d give you a heads up, so you can pack. Unless…” She trailed off, rolling her bottom lip between her teeth. “Unless you want to take over the lease.”

You felt a spike of irritation. Or maybe regret. “Thanks for the heads up,” you said curtly, cutting her off.

She nodded, falling silent. 

Several tense minutes passed, the silence drawing out like a tightened string. You turned your back partly to her, pretending to be busy with your phone. Kia stayed near the kitchen, arms folded, gaze fixed on some indeterminate point on the floor.

Finally, she spoke. “Aren’t you ever going to ask me?”

You glanced over your shoulder. “Ask you what?”

She met your eyes with a steady look. “What I lost in the blip.”

Your stomach twisted, a prickle creeping up the back of your neck. You didn’t respond. You weren’t sure you wanted to hear about anyone else’s grief. But Kia wasn’t just anyone—no matter how much you tried to pretend she was.

Kia sighed, as if steeling herself. “I researched you, you know?” she said. 

This revelation was not really surprising to you. 

“I know you’re not just a wrecking ball chasing trouble. You were an Avenger. I think…” She hesitated, searching your expression. “I think you lost someone important enough to—” She gestured vaguely at you. “—end up like this.”

You scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest. “End up like what?” you asked, almost daring her to say it. 

Kia didn’t hesitate this time. “A coward.”

It didn’t offend you.It should have. Maybe two years ago, it would’ve. But now it only stirred a faint nostalgia when Wanda had called you that once, too.

Two people had called you a coward in your lifetime, and they were the only two who had ever really known you. Kia, for everything you’ve kept from her, arrived at the same conclusion. 

You thought about your last night with Wanda—when you had admitted you were afraid. Afraid of what would happen if she died. If you died. If both of you made it out of this war and had to figure out how to just be in the aftermath. You had never known what it was to have something worth staying for, until Wanda.

She had made you brave.

And when she disappeared, so did that version of you—the one that had existed solely because she had looked at you like you could be more than just a character in a league of heroes.

You had faced down armies. You had fought against forces that should have killed you. By all definitions, that should be what bravery embodies. But Kia was right. You had been running all this time.

Running from the places that reminded you of Wanda. Running from the people who might ask questions you didn’t want to answer.

Running everywhere.

Because you could go everywhere.

Except home.

Wanda had taken home with her.

“The truth is,” Kia began when she realized you weren’t going to say anything to her insult. “I wanted you to come with me.”

Wanted. Past tense?

“When you saved me that night, you didn’t just save me from those people,” she continued.

“What do you mean?” you asked, your hands dropping to your side.

Kia cleared her throat, her eyes darting everywhere. “I was going to end it,” she said quietly, swallowing hard. “I’d been thinking about it for months. Maybe go out exactly like that night you found me. I didn’t care about anything anymore.”

You remembered the alleyway—her body pinned against the wall, her voice trembling under your hand. It hadn’t occurred to you that she might have been courting that danger on purpose.

“But then you showed up,” Kia continued, smiling to herself at the memory like it was something precious. “I don’t know why, but I looked at you and thought, maybe not tonight.”

You swallowed, unable to formulate any kind of response. 

Kia let the silence settle for a moment, giving you time to absorb everything. “I ran too,” she admitted a while later. “After losing my husband and daughter, I left home. I thought if I just kept moving, if I threw myself into something good—medical missions, disaster relief—maybe I could…balance the scales somehow. Maybe help with—with the grief.”

Her voice cracked slightly, but she pushed on. “But it never worked. No matter how many people I saved, it didn’t bring them back. It didn’t fill the emptiness.”

She looked at you then. “And I think you know exactly what I mean.”

You did.

It sat in your ribs every morning you woke up, in every step you took down a nameless street in a nameless city, in every body you cut down without flinching.

Kia sighed, rubbing a hand over her face like she was so tired of it all. You’d used her—not out of malice, but because you needed her more than she ever needed you. That part was obvious now, perhaps always had been. 

“So, yeah. I wanted you to come with me. To Iceland. I thought maybe, I don’t know… maybe neither of us would have to keep running.”

There. She’d said it.

This wasn’t just about sex. At least not for her.

“How old was your—” you cut yourself off, thinking maybe it wasn’t your place to ask.

But Kia smiled at your nascent question. Like she’d welcome any question, any opportunity to talk about them.

“She was four.”

“Were you… was your husband and daughter with you when it happened?”

She shook her head. “They were at home. I was in the hospital, helping out with a minor surgery. Then half of everyone just—” Her hand sliced through the air, mimicking dust scattering in the wind. “By the time I got there, I found no one.”

For a moment, you thought about Wanda’s face, the way the dust had slipped through your fingers, the sickening sense of disbelief that lingered even after she was gone.

“What was her name?”

“Maria,” Kia said, her eyes shining, her smile bittersweet. “She was four, but she thought she was already grown up. Always insisting on doing things by herself. Her father and I used to joke that we’d have our hands full when she became a teenager.”

You nodded, unsure what to say, how to respond to a pain so parallel yet so uniquely her own.

“Thank you,” you said finally. “For telling me.”

Kia merely shrugged. “I realized I don’t want to forget them. Not anymore. Talking about them… helps me remember the good things, too.”

You nodded. Should you talk about Wanda too? The mere prospect of it was enough to break you. You didn’t think you could utter a single word without falling apart. 

In the back of your mind, you weighed your options.

You could go to Iceland. You could stop running. Maybe even try to build something new. It wouldn’t be love—not in the way it had been with Wanda—but maybe it would be enough. Maybe you could teach yourself to want peace instead of vengeance.

Or you could leave, like you always did. Book another flight, chase another war, throw yourself into the next fight because it was easier than stopping.

You wondered if Wanda would forgive you, no matter which path you chose.

If you stopped running—if you tried to live—would she see it as betrayal? Would she be disappointed?

Or would she just be sad that it had taken you this long?

[divinees]

𝐌𝐨𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐞𝐟𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐬 | distant!hyuck x heartbroken!reader

↳ wc: 940 words

synop: after a heated argument with your (ex) boyfriend that led to your break up, your cold and forever awkward bestfriend finds you at the beach, and tries his utmost best to make it up to you.

an: my first ever fic AHHH!! im pretty nervy about this and how it turned out and even though i checked, there’s probably some grammar mistakes that escaped me….ignore those plis…but i mean its all for fun and shits and giggles so who cares anyways ….enjoy i guess!! ^^

the light blue sky was filled will spread out clouds that blocked rays of sunlight to fall on the languid sea, waves rolling in slow and heavy. it was a relatively good day. sunshine spilling everywhere before all of this happened…

your now ex boyfriend broke up with you in a frenzy, in a heated argument where he admitted that he cheated on you and threw profanities left and right, a kind you would have never thought you’d hear from him, out of all people.

tears had already wet your face multiple times, and god were you tired. so tired of today already. but there was only one place you could possibly go to calm your racing thoughts before inevitably sinking into your mess of a bed, ridden with clothes and the rancid smell of him. the beach.

your car keys were probably still in the ignition, your phone half-buried into the damp sand, your blouse tied around your waist as your skin was exposed to the now chilly weather, left in only a black camisole. but who cared anyways? no one was at the beach in the middle of september, sat there all slumped with poorly wiped away mascara and a destroyed self-esteem.

no one but the one person you knew would find you sooner or later. the one person you can recognize just from his timid steps and the round shinchan keychain hitting against his car keys. the one person that now stands besides you, peering down at your seated figure, eyes scrambling at the thrown phone which would go off every 5 minutes with new texts from your friends, and your neighbors which had seen the full argument unfold before storming off here.

you knew he wouldn’t speak first. he never did. as much as donghyuck was your best friend, he would never change, and you just had to accept that. he had always been cold and distant in a way that drove you insane, but he still always succeeds to let you know he also has your back no matter what.

never once did he peep a word about your relationship. the only thing he did was comfort you silently when you went through another rough argument with your ex, leaving you to sniffle and sigh in the quietness of his apartment, one blanket thrown over the both of you as he would manspread and cross his legs in the most relaxed matter, allowing your head to hit his shoulder when the crying hit too hard on your body.

but that’s all there was. and sometimes it did infuriate you. to an unfathomable degree. in a time where you needed at least an “you’re ok”, he stood there. and guilt enveloped your whole being when you thought like this. you had known him since forever. it was too late to change now. so with the unfleeting thought that he would simply sit in your presence, you didn’t even bother to look up at him.

“you have goosebumps.” he states with an awkward tone, now joining you on the cold sand. another notification hits, and he eyes it again before reaching over to turn it off and shaking all the sand out of the charging port. your eyes stay unmoving from the sea, expression unreadable.

“i know.” the wind picks up that hits your unclothed skin again, making the man next to you wince internally. in a swift movement, he reaches around your waist, catching you off guard as you finally look him in the eye, feeling your blouse slip off as his act now forces both of you into close proximity. feeling him fumble with your blouse, he tries his utmost best to keep eye contact.

“um, you should really wear this...” immediately as the blouse comes free, he backs away, scratching the back of his head as he diverts his eyesight to anywhere but you. the last thing he needed was you in his peripheral after that. he could feel you burning holes on the side of his face, before he finally speaks again.

“i heard about the…argument.” his head is now bowed, sitting criss cross on the sand as he picks on his sleeve or does really anything to escape your fiery gaze. “i really don’t want a recap, hyuck.” his eyes slightly widen as he hears your raspy voice from all the crying before returning back to his still expression.

“i just wanted to give you this. just incase.” in the sand rests a purple crystal, or also what science would call an amethyst. in a world of many beliefs, you had always chosen to settle yourself into these fine crystals and gems, knowing all their meanings and having a massive collection of them. but potent warmth spreads against your chest as you figured that donghyuck had done research to get you a crystal that brought in calming energy and helped relieve emotional pain, just in time after your breakup.

although you had as many amethyst as stars in the sky, you took this in your palm with such frailty, donghyuck thought the crystal was defected. “you probably know what it means…” he tries his best to fill in the silence, clearly too much out of his comfort zone to realize how much you treasured it. “it’s beautiful, hyuck.” a big smile spreads against your mascara smeared face, another breeze hitting both of you as thin strands of hair blew into your vision, his own rising and meeting your eyes with much more comfort.

and you swear you could see a subtle smile on his once stoic face.

[honestlyanowl]

Been thinking too hard about library sex with Powder, your praising her through silent whispers and accidently mumble an "i love you" augh end me <3

Content: nsfw - silent public sex, praise, soft sex, bottom powder, dom fem! reader, fingering, situationship

You found yourself day dreaming again, pen hovering over the lined paper below your eyes.

And yet, you couldn't will yourself to write the next section of your essay.

You couldn't get- Powder out of your mind.

Her very essence had leeched itself onto your thought process.

The way she spoke, the way she walked with a little hop in her step, the way her eyes sparkled whenever she smiled, the way her foot tapped when she tried to concentrate.

The list went on... you were head over heels; that much was obvious by now.

But who could be so dearly in love with their best friend?

Someone you'd grown up with, someone who'd made it clear she only thought of you platonically.

Accept for when she didn't, how the back of your hands would brush together when you two stood close enough, the subtle glances, the small hearts she'd secretly scribble on your homework... god, the mixed signals drove you insane.

So, you just... sort of sat there, conflicted with your emotions.

Powder sat beside you, neatly writing down notes from an earlier lesson she'd recorded a week prior.

You could smell the enchanting fragrance of her perfume as it occasionally wafted your way.

It was like a glimpse of heaven every time.

Maybe it was the way she was dressed, her leather dress shoes, with laced socks peeking over the top.

Or her denim overalls, embroidered with flowers across the seams.

Possibly even the way she had her short length hair tucked into two rounded buns.

But something had you in a particularly clouded mood.

You couldn't stray your thoughts away from the want to reach out and- touch her, make sure her skin still held it's usual warmth.

The pure need to wrap yourself so tightly around her you'd merge together into one.

Blend in a flurry of colour.

Too far? Okay.

Powder's eyes snapped down to her lap, where one of your hands had unconsciously rested itself onto one of her legs.

It took you a second to notice, yet instead of recoiling your hand and trying to play it off like a normal human being... you rolled with it.

You were just friends anyway, right?

"Can we share notes?" You mutter with practiced ease, covering up the way your heart was practically beating out of your throat.

Powder seems to relax a little under your touch, and if you squinted... it almost looked like she had a slightly more crimson hue on cheeks.

She clicks the lead back up into her mechanical pencil and slid her notebook over to you so you could read through what she'd written so far.

You pretended to read, but in all truth couldn't manage to focus your eyes.

All you could feel was the silky smooth skin of her leg under your palm, and for a moment you thought maybe you'd managed to slide it higher, just grazing the beginning of her thigh.

"y/n..." Powder mumbles a little too quietly, her thighs pressing tightly together as her gaze flickers between your eyes and her notebook; you were oddly still.

But before she could press any further, you spoke.

"What part of the lecture was this in?" You point curiously at a random paragraph you didn't bother to pay any real attention to.

Your side vision however, catches the title.

'First topic.' in big letters, god damnit.

"Well it's-" Powder tries, gently grasping your hand, and nudging it to the bullet note.

You felt your face heat up, and if you hadn't known any better you'd think someone turned off the air conditioning.

There was no point trying to tip toe your way around this one.

It was either rejection, or- hopefully anything more pleasant.

You swiped your hand up her leg, it slipped under the first few rows of ruffles that lined her skirt.

And you managed to elicit a small shaky gasp from Powder.

She contemplated reaching down to grab your wrist, to stop you.

But she found herself frozen in place.

It didn't take long for you to realise what your were doing, you didn't want to ruin what the both of you had... after several years of friendship... you'd both been through so much together.

You didn't want to overstep, you couldn't.

But at the same time, the hunger for her; her very soul... tugged at your heart.

"Can I...?" The words leave your lips, barely audible.

You feel like your breath had been sucked from your lungs the way she looked back at you.

Not with anger, or shock like you'd religiously expected.

But instead with... an equal hunger.

Powder nods frantically, arching her back subtly to urge your hands higher, until they nudged up against her panties, the thin fabric that separated your fingertips from her aching flesh.

You were in a pretty quiet, secluded, area of the library.

So that was a plus, surrounded by two or three book shelves and several empty tables.

Seemed like a win.

"What if- we get caught...?" Powder whispers, almost rushed as her eyes are fixated on your hand, unable to see past what was under her skirt, but it gave her the ghost of some kind of reassurance.

"What if we don't?"

You reply, a finger hooking under the white laced panties that wrapped over her hips, tugging it to the side.

You could faintly smell the musky scent of her arousal, and bathed in her sharp inhales as you dragged a fingertip up her folds, gathering slick and discreetly lubricating your fingers.

Powder almost sobs as you stuff a finger into her heat.

Your spare hand slaps over her mouth as you drag the digit slowly in and out; feeling her velvety walls clamp down around you.

"Quiet now." You mutter, bathing in the way each little squeak she made stroked your ego, and the way her thighs fluttered around your hand.

Powder's eyes scanned the room, hyper aware of every little sound around them.

Including the shameful noise her pussy made when you forced in a second finger.

This one seemed harder to take than the last, she squirmed a little on the cushion, breathing heavily against your palm as her hips grinded into your touch.

"You're taking it so well..~" You coo out a gentle praise, lips attaching themselves to her neck as you press affectionate smooches along her jaw.

Fingers pumping faster.

Powder's moans muffled into your hand, she could feel the wetness lathering across her inner thighs every time you'd curl your palm onto her swollen clit.

And she could definitely feel the way her gut was tightening more, and more, with every slide of your digits.

"M'fuckk..." You groan as quietly as you can manage, eyes fluttering against the skin of her neck as you suck little hickeys onto the pale flesh. "Love you- mmn.. so much."

Powder's walls clamp down a little too abruptly, and for a moment you'd like to believe it was her at an edge, but, unfortunately for you. She'd heard that.

You almost certainly lost some colour from your face, because Powder looks like she's seen a ghost.

Did you really just let that slip out...?

"Powder I-" You recoil your fingers from her heat, not even bothering to clean the wetness off of them as your vision blurs out slightly.

"y/n... you know I'm not.." Powder's words seemed to get wedged in her throat, not what? Not gay?

You knew that part very well, you saw the way she looked at him, so why did you look at her with such a heavy heart.

You should've known this was going to happen, something like this always happens.

"We're- just.. friends, aren't we?" Powder inquires, there was an insecurity in her voice, a distant tremble.

And it broke your heart to know you caused it.

"..Yeah, just friends." You try muster an assuring smile, but it comes out more of a grimace,

"I guess it just- slipped out, sorry..."

(REQUESTS OPEN)

did the ending ruin it?? 😭😭

hope you eat this up anyway, it took me ages <3

(Might come back and edit it later to change the ending or proof read)

- Owl 🌹

[anyacad0]

I think what gets me the most about the high cloud quintet is that they were doomed from the beginning. Looking back on it, they never had any chance of individual happy endings, so of course putting them all together made things exponentially worse. The game says that they fell apart due to "a deep longing for a fallen comrade", but really, they were all so beyond hope anyway, they were basically destined for the worst possible ending. Think about it- what would have happened to each of them had they never met each other?

Jingliu watched her home be destroyed by the Abundance when she was a powerless child, and ever since then she wanted nothing more then to destroy it in return. She devoted herself to the sword, becoming the Luofu's sword champion, but even then it still wasn't enough. She either would have succumbed to mara and effectively died having never reached her goal, or sought further power like she did in canon and given up her humanity as a result.

Yingxing was very similar in that he lost everything to the Abundance when he was a child. Just like Jingliu, he wanted revenge, but his path was even more difficult than hers because of his humanity. He had to do so much more than a long-life species would to gain acknowledgement, and it's likely that on his own he either would have died quietly and unnoticed, or destroyed himself trying to gain the recognition that would allow him to take his revenge.

Jing Yuan's story seems like a happy one, at least on the surface. In the best case scenario, he'd join the cloud knights, rise through the ranks and eventually become general. He'd lead the Luofu to countless victories, and raise a successful apprentice. But even then, he'd be fighting an enemy he could never truly defeat, and would eventually die either fighting that enemy, or slain by his own pupil after succumbing to mara.

Dan Feng's ending would've been very different, though, in that it wouldn't be an ending at all. He wouldn't truly die, or go insane. Everything would stay exactly the same, and that's exactly the problem. He wouldn't die, but he'd never be able to live either. That said, although the presence of people he loved was definitely part of what drove him to turn on the Xianzhou, I think eventually he would have betrayed them regardless eventually.

Then there's Baiheng. Her presence was the ray of light, the hope that was supposed to bind all these broken lives together. Except, it only makes the whole thing sadder, because she never had a chance to begin with. She was one person. It kind of seems like a cruel joke played by fate (or, you know. the writers.) - putting her there as a way of suggesting that there might be some chance of a happy ending when it was never really a possibility.

[blackjack-15]

Glad to know that you ship georgia and joe! I was wondering why it took them so long to be together? especially georgia? At first, I thought it was unrequited and then there are times when we saw she in fact clearly feels something for him but why ignore it and hurt Joe at the same time?

thanks for the ask! i love these crazy kids and their ridiculous chemistry

as for why it took them so long to be together -- though they're not officially 'together' even by the end of s3, they've just Acknowledged that they want to be -- i think there's a handful of factors there

the first is their past; by about halfway through the first season, they already know who the other is and both have refused to acknowledge to the other that they know who they are. this could be in part to not look stupid/desperate (depending) if the other turns out to not remember/not hold it in as High Esteem as they do. this sort of self-protection from georgia specifically(protection for her feelings, not from others or for her kids) is a rarity, and we really only see it associated with Joe, which illustrates the depth of their connection and how seriously she takes it

the second is timing, pure and simple. with zion and paul in S1 (joe's aborted confession speaks to this), paul (not to mention cynthia) in S2 (quoth georgia, "i'm gettin married"), and the everything in s3, it's not like either one has had a ton of time to sit down and hash out a relationship. it's not til more than half of the way through S2 (in one of my favorite and the best joe/georgia scenes) that both acknowledge who the other is and that they're a Romantic Figure (or have been a Romantic Possibility) to the other.

the third and most interesting (for me, anyway) factor is georgia herself. when christmas blows up and she runs to joe (which is an INSANE thing to do, and he rightly brings it up in their discussion in S2) it's the most...line crossing? i'll say? thing she does in their relationship. it's the first time we actually get a sense of just how deep this runs for georgia because the woman who relies always on herself and rarely on ginny instead goes and seeks him out (the delivery from his actor of "you seek me out" lives rent free my gosh); while she says she just happened to see him as she drove by, it's p clear that that's georgia-code for "i was hoping you were here".

his cafe is a place of Safety for her -- notably it's the one place we see her slap gil's hand away without fearing repercussion, and where she actually connects a bit with her half-sister, and where there's always a drink and a listening ear for her. her bridal shower is there for heaven's sake. it's explicitly text.

but right. back to what i mean it's georgia herself preventing them from being together. in that christmas discussion when she "drops by", she asks him why he's there and not with family; he responds that his parents are in california and he'll see them and his sister at NYE. so far, so (mostly) normal, but then georgia says something that honestly took my breath away:

"i don't know much about you"

and i went HOLY EFF WE'RE ACKNOWLEDGING IT

(his "no, you don't" knocked me flat too. the layers to that man i swear)

because georgia, like all cons, thrives on information. the more she knows, the safer she is. add to that her constant craving for connection that causes her to get to know people and to ask them questions and learn about them, and you have a woman who likes to know things, and goes out of her way to do so. joe's from the town, she could have asked anyone about his family. she could have asked him -- he's Safe to her, so there's no danger there. it could have come up while her half-sister was in town. joe volunteers the information freely, so it's not like he's hiding it.

and so the reason georgia doesn't know is because georgia's breaking her rules and pattern with him. she's actively trying not to know about him. she does it so well that the average viewer forgets that we know Little about him as well. that we don't even get his surname until season 3 at the town hall meeting thing. not because she doesn't like or trust or want to know about joe, quite the opposite -- he's an 'indulgence' that she's just not allowing herself to have fully. Passing conversations, winks, food and wine and having her daughter work there -- she spends her time, for lack of a better word, microdosing on him, allowing herself a little but never enough to Formally Get Attached. she doesn't want to hurt him -- especially during the trial she takes Careful Steps to make sure he doesn't get hurt. but she doesn't also want to be without him

it doesn't work, of course. she needs him anyway. to once again mention joe's words, she seeks him out, especially by mid S2, because the small doses she's let herself have pre-Christmas just aren't enough anymore. even when he's angry with her at lawnfest, even when she feels jealous and a bit betrayed knowing he slept with cynthia (S2 was a joe/georgia feast, even with how few scenes they actually had Together), she keeps finding reasons to push them together, because at that point with all the Glitz and Glamour (such as it was) of her life swept away, joe is left standing where no one else is -- he chooses to be left standing -- but she goes to him again and again not because there's no one else, but because's he's the one she's been drawn to for 3 season and 15+ years.

she tries to keep herself away from him because she wants to be around him, because she wants to have him around her constantly. because the 'joke' is that they were always gonna be together, they were always gonna end up together, well before him punching gil and bringing food and her bolstering his business repeatedly and coming to him at christmas. before even making him cater the sophomore sleepover.

all the way back to a half a sandwich and a pair of sunglasses.

[pepsiiwho]

Hey I’m just very curious- do you think you could expand on your thought here: “Persephone isn't a good mother and, imo, would have a very strained, tentative relationship with her actual son (and now daughter hahahahah damn....)”? It’s not a common take I’ve seen- at least in the parts of the fandom I frequented- and I’d like to know more about where you’re coming from. Like I know Nyx isn’t a good mom- particularly to Hypnos- but it’s way less common that I see people saying Persephone is a bad mom.

To be clear, I’m not disagreeing or being confrontational or anything- I’m genuinely curious to hear your thoughts. Also what’s all this about the timeline implications? I don’t have a computer to play the early access on and so I have to hear about it second hand. All to say if you could tear yourself away from Hades 2 long enough to formulate a coherent response I’d be eternally grateful.

Sure! I just got to the final boss in hades 2 so I probably need a break. Ignore the shaking and cold temperature of my skin, I'm normal! Long post under the cut!

Okay lets see, first thing: any nyx or Persephone freedom fighters out there who wanna defend their mommies or whatever do it somewhere else, I don't give af. This isn't directed at you, I just gotta cover my bases. Anyway,

Don't get me wrong, I'm sure Persephone (Pers) loves zagreus, I won't say she doesn't. She lost him once and that grief drove her to leave hell entirely, leaving her husband and home behind for solitude of her own creation. You don't get grief like that unless you loved someone, or the thought of someone, deeply. But, having said that— she was gone for (functionally) all of Zagreus' childhood, adolescence and a non-zero portion of his adulthood. A charitable read of their situation was that she wasn't absentee by choice, not knowingly at least, and if she knew she would've never stayed away as another woman raised her child and her husband abused said child because of her toll on his mental. My read is that she left, abandoning her husband and baby and when Zagreus went to find her she wouldn't even come back with him. He reached out, found her, begged her to come back and she wouldn't. The reasoning for WHY is something I've forgotten honestly, I haven't played HADES story mode all the way through in years, but regardless she didn't instantly come back and will herself into her son's life. Any deniability she had was gone by that point, imo.

And let's say, for argument, she came home and instantly was heavenly and kind and loving and everything zagreus needed then— doesn't change the fact she abandoned them.

I don't think you get to be a good parent when you missed all of your child's most formative years. That sort of loss is something you don't get back, time that doesn't get to rewind just because you made a mistake. I think a common fandom take with hades fans is that the family is fractured but whole by the end and everything is okay. That's nice, I guess, but I think it's boring and uninteresting. I much prefer a read that zagreus moved heaven and hell (literally) to get to his mother and he finally got what he wanted and still wasn't satisfied. She wasn't the goddess he expect. Not the. mother he expected. She was .... something else.

Theres a degree of negligence in her actions that just are unavoidable.

Unless I'm completely misremembering the events of the first game, (which is a real possibility, me and my best friend have done so much insane HC talking over the years canon and Fanon get blurry quickly—) I think she's a bad parent. And this isn't even touching on how her absence made Hades a worse parent and abusive figure to his son. I think of that quote from... somewhere, that was something to the effect "an abused child's saddest realization is that they didn't have a normal parent and (1) abusive parent— they had (2)" Zagreus had to have thought that if she hadn't left, abandoned him, he wouldn't have to endure what he does.

As for time line mess: it's too vague. (It's funny you sent this when you did, I actually was just talking about this with my bestie, all of 15 minutes ago. You cursed me, witch)

So assuming I understood hades lore, with only the first game as our point of reference (no myth, no outside media, just the in game text) Hypnos, Zagreus, Than and Meg are around the same age. Thanatos and Hypnos are twins, meaning they're the same age and it's implied that meg grew up around the twins and zagreus as well. Zagreus openly references their shared childhood with nyx and achilles and probably other characters I forgot. But what matters is that if they grew up together that tells us one of two things:

Gods are functionally made like human children are. Not for a purpose or function but just because the parent wanted them (or had an accident) and then a aspect is applied to them at birth/conception OR

Gods are created by their parents to fulfill some sort of need that the parent didn't/couldn't/shouldn't do themselves. This seems to be the more textually supported answer, if Nyx and her fucking high school football team worth of children mean anything.

Neither option is one I like, because they don't make much sense to me in relation to humanity but that's neither here nor there. Personally, I think godhood should work like the concept of storks do in that when humanity needs a new figure to pray to or invoke, a child is 'born' and delivered to the parent. So, by this logic, the base needs of human begins would come before all else right?

So just within Nyx's family, the ages should really go Chaos > Nyx > Fates [?] > Hypnos > Than > Charon > etc etc etc. Because human beings must sleep before they die and then die before they're transported to hades and so on and so on.

But in THIS model, Hypnos and than would be considerably older then humanity and everyone else in the house, hades included. Which means they'd be far too old to have grown up which zagreus. Or maybe zagreus is way too old to be acting so childish? It's hard to say. Neither answer is particularly satisfying. That also doesn't even bring into account the olympians. And don't event get me STARTED on Melione. God. The timeline has major implications for her and her story depending on where she falls on it.

But that's a whole other rant. Like this is already getting long as shit. I hope this made sense and I'm glad you asked! I enjoy going on my senseless rambles.

Well, back to the horrors (hades 2) <3

[ghostinthegallery]

Can you overanalyze Zahndrekh and Obyron. They are my two favorite named necron characters.

Ah yes, the mad nemesor and his loyal bodyguard. The ineffable husbands of wh40k. The bond so deep you can't talk about one without the other.

First, credit to Nate Crowley for Severed the story that really drove the amazingness of this relationship home for me. Man knows how to put a space robot (and me) through the emotional ringer.

Okay, so...how about that time Obyron was about 2-5 minutes away from actually murdering Zahndrekh?

Put a pin in that, we need some background first.

Obyron and Zahndrekh are amazing because on paper I feel like the relationship between them should not work. Obyron is suffering so deeply as he watches the people around him, who he fought with and cared about, fade away. And this is a pain Zahndrekh fundamentally cannot share because Zahndrekh doesn't realize it's happening thanks to his intense denial about biotransference (sort of, put a pin in that too). Add in some command protocols and power imbalance and this should be a tragic combo but it isn't. It's possibly the most wholesome relationship in the 40k universe between two of its best characters, and I credit that to some fantastic writing.

First off, it helps that Zahndrekh is a genuinely good person (or close as 40k can get anyway). He's honorable, he has a sense of humor, he respects his enemies, and doesn't kill when he doesn't have to. He's clever, cultured, and a brilliant tactician. He's also way too trusting because he assumes everyone is as honorable as he is. That should have gotten him killed ages ago but it doesn't because of Obyron. Obyron protects him from threats immediate and more subtle. He's not just a meat shield, Obyron is shrewd and he outplays Zahndrekh's enemies politically as well as physically. And yes, it is Obyron's duty to do this. He's a vargard, he's programmed to protect his lord (because biotransference constantly finds all new ways to suck) but there's more to it than that.

Taking the pin out, let's talk about that attempted murder.

So in Severed, Obyron believes that Zahndrekh's mind has finally snapped. If someone doesn't take over their armies, their mission will fail and a lot of their people will die. Obyron's comrades (what's left of them) have already died. The only way to salvage the situation is to kill Zahndrekh and take over. And after a disastrous battle (plus some emotional manipulation from Zahndrekh's shitty ex) Obyron decides to do it. He is literally about to go kill his lord, he is just taking a quick moment to prepare himself which...yeah fair.

Except Obyron sees Zahndrekh and chooses not to kill him. Luckily for all, it turns out Zahndrekh is no more insane than normal and the merry adventure continues.

Emphasis: Obyron chooses not to kill him. And I think that is a hugely important for their relationship because it shows that Obyron isn't with Zahndrekh because of programming or doctrines, he is there because he wants to protect him. Zahndrekh drives him up the wall sometimes, but when the chips are down, Obyron chooses him. He would literally jump into the abyss for him. Obyron loves him.

Zahndrekh knows full well if Obyron wanted to betray him, he would be dead. Obyron could become an overlord, and the only reason he hasn't is the loyalty and love they have for each other.

"What can love but a being with a soul?" might be one of the most incredible lines in a 40k book (or maybe just a book). Because aside from being unbelievably sweet, itshows that Zahndrekh does see the pain Obyron is in. And he finds a way to comfort him that fits within his...creative worldview. How much of the necrons' situation Zahndrekh does understand is a liiiiiiiitle ambiguous, but he definitely has his coping mechanism for everything: just enjoying life and focusing on the good, and he wants to share that optimism with Obyron. He realizes that Obyron fears what being a soulless machine means, but how can he truly be a soulless machine when he can choose love over ambition?

If there is one thing the necrons demonstrate, it is that immortality sucks. They all need some purpose to keep from going insane, and for Obyron and Zahndrekh that purpose is each other. Zahndrekh lives in his own reality, protected physically and emotionally by Obyron. And Obyron finds purpose in protecting the person who shields him from his own despair.

And I cannot get enough of it.

[ask-missparker]

Okay, who’s driving? ~ Marvel Blurb

Pairing: Mia x Nikolai, Liane x Ethan, Rick x Luna, Cole x Jeremy

Friendship pair: Josh & Bella

Summary: Moments like this the universe just wants to make it harder on us. In other words, they should’ve just called Cole…

Other characters included/mentioned: Rochelle, Michelle, Cole, Rick and Luna

~~

Warning: Slight small mention of labor, but it is mostly comedic relief to move the story forward more than anything else. Nothing graphic or informative or insane. So you’re fine. ANYWAYs, please chaos from the young avengers and family members enjoy 😉

Note: Sorta OUAT but also could be Marvel fic haha (depending on how you look at it 😊)

A/N: This was a fun idea that could be seen as crack too, due to how much going on in the fanfic. Please enjoy!

~~~~~

It was supposed to be a simple afternoon—well simple for the average group, due to them all hunting down the potions and stuff to stop the tide coming their way. A wicked protection spell.

You know save the day and explore that kinda thing?

So in response they were all sent a little goose chase and hunt for it at the docks.

It was good, they found the hidden gems and a piece of the puzzle to make the potion for later. Even broke half of the curse, destroying the spell, thanks to Liane, Joshua and Bella—restoring memories back for everyone. Yay, everything is safe and sound.

Just as things were going well at the docks with everyone talking and deciding to go back to the town square, Mia felt something off. She gripped Nikolai’s bicep and winced slightly.

“Love, are you alright?” He asked softly placing a hand on her lower back for support.

Mia chuckled awkwardly, “Eh, he he, well, either that was a Braxton Hick or a real one…”

“You’re a two weeks early, t-that’s not possible.” He replied in surprise, his tone sounding calm despite him internally freaking out.

“Yeah, well, since when have your children ever been one to surprise us by coming late?” She added jokingly.

Ethan, who was walking with Liane, looked up noticing his friends in distress. He knew his question would sound stupid, yet he still asked, “Are you guys alright?”

“You’re about to be an uncle again.” Mia murmured before clearing her throat once the contractions left and smiled in relief.

“Oh shit! I’mma be uncle again, I wasn’t there the first time around and now I am! This is exciting news—”

He was swiftly cut off by Nikolai who chuckled, “Uh Ethan, buddy, can you help me get everyone in the cars? Mia, where are the keys?”

Liane gasped, “You let her pregnant ass drive us to the docks?! Have you no shame?!”

“No! We took her car and I drove us here, I gave her the keys for safe keeping afterwards!”

“That still doesn’t make sense to me! You got magic and you couldn’t drive yourself!?”

“My car is getting fixed at Tony’s shop! We did needed another form of transportation here, and I will have you know I drive pretty well.”

Liane grinned, “Well in that case I’m driving! Me and the kids in one car. Ethan, Nik and Mia in the other. To the hospital people! Chop chop!”

The blonde sounded way too confident and overly proud of herself with that statement.

Everyone else looked at her like she was nuts. Yes, they were all vastly skilled in their respective fields but they all had their weaknesses. Everyone and their mother knew that Liane wasn’t the best driver per se.

Ethan loved his wife too much to say anything about it, as he was too busy in shock that Liane snatch the keys out of his hand. Joshua rolled his eyes and groaned at the idea, rubbing his mother’s shoulder in comfort. Even he was a better player in driving someone around.

Nikolai whined knowing it wasn’t the best idea to have the blonde drive both teenagers around to the hospital.

The only one truly brave enough in the chaos at the moment, despite being awakened by the curse to speak up was youngest lady there.

“Absolutely not!” Belladonna exclaimed snatching the keys out of her mom’s hands. “Are we really going to listen to her? Josh back me up here!”

Liane gasped in offensive frustration, “Um excuse you, young lady, but who do you think you’re talking to, sweetie?”

“Mom, I love you, but unfortunately you’re not the best driver.”

“I’m an experienced and excellent driver, sweetie.”

Bella muttered under her breath, “Yeah, when we were cursed and under that damn spell…”

“BELLA?!” Liane screamed in shock and gasped. “My own daughter this is—”

Joshua sighed speaking up, “Aunt Lia, she’s got a point. Last week you decided to give an another driving lesson and crash into a mailbox.”

Liane eyes widen and scoffed, “Well if I ever…it was one time!”

Joshua smirked, “It happened more than once. Also I think I should drive.”

“Him?!” Ethan yelled putting stuff in the car and bumping his head against the trunk.

“You?!” Liane added dramatically, “You’re both children you don’t even have you—”

Bella smirked as well nudging for Joshua to pull out his drivers permit, as he showed it to the others. Liane’s jaw dropped as Ethan blinked. Nikolai was rubbing his wife’s back and snickered at their reactions. He was proud.

“Since when did you-?!” Liane yelled breaking the silence.

“Back in New York, I got it.” Joshua added simply, a hint of confidence in his tone.

Bella couldn’t help but crack a smile and tease him, “Yeah, sure, it took him almost 6 months but he got it..”

Soon enough, different set of bickering broke out between the 5 of them.

“They are both babies they aren’t drive!”

“Liane not the time!”

“I can’t believe you decided to tell us now, Ethan?!”

“What you yelling at me for?!”

“I don’t know, it just feels right to yell.”

“Oh my god..”

“Are you sure we can’t all just drive together in one car?”

“Not a bad idea…out of both of us, who was the biggest space?”

“Idiot, how would that work, Nikolai?”

“I’m brainstorming, shut up.”

“Cause you guys stop fighting please? It’s not helping. I can take us three there, while Ethan gets there first.”

“Joshua, you’re a child!”

“I’m 17!”

“It was worth a shot, Bella…”

“Just let me drive!”

“Mom no!”

“Bella, please, the adults are talking.”

“You don’t even the slightest directions to the hospital!”

“THERE IS GPS FOR A REASON!”

“Shouldn’t we just call an ambulance?”

“That would take too long, Ethan!”

“Oh my goodness my nieces are gonna be born on a dock!?”

“No they ain’t!”

Mia finally shouted over everyone, “GUYS!”

“What?!” They all yelled back.

She sighed pointing to herself in a sing song tone, as if stating the obvious. “Hello.” She added hands on her hips for added effect.

The group was silent before getting the hint all making “ohhh!” and “ah, oh yeah, right.”, along with a bunch of apologies being given by the others. She couldn’t help but roll her eyes and smile despite the mild pain she felt, coming and going.

Ethan spoke up as they followed the lead to the cars and asked, “Wait, wait, who’s driving?”

“I am!” Liane added, as if it was obvious.

She quickly got a bunch of objections and heads being shook in disagreement over her statement. Some rapidly shouted, “NO!”

Nikolai put a hand on his wife’s shoulder in silent support and turn to the group firmly, “Ethan’s driving us, Joshua’s driving you guys.”

“Yes!” Joshua exclaimed happily as him and Bella fist bumped.

Bella called shotgun and scurried over to the car.

Liane opened her mouth to speak wondering if Nikolai was serious or not, but one firm look from the brunette and she shut up completely.

——

———

Soon enough they all arrive to the hospital, Joshua was left to park both cars as Ethan and Liane helped Mia into a wheelchair.

Nikolai was filling out forms when he noticed their friends all there. He stood there in shock, “What hell-? How did you guys—when did you guys get here?”

Michelle smiled sitting in one of the waiting chairs, “You really think we would miss this? Dude, it’s my nieces being born. Plus it’s gives me a chance to give Alexander the middle finger if he arrives.”

“I—But I didn’t call you! No one texted you.”

Bella smirked looking up from her phone, “Oh, when Josh was driving I texted Michelle. Figured she would like to know, but I didn’t expect her to come.”

Rochelle rushed in from one of the hospital rooms and smiled, “Oh hey! You’re here, that’s great, well me and Luna were already here anyway when Michelle called me.”

Mia, who was sitting in the wheelchair rubbing her backside, was about to ask what happened when the loud screams were heard down the hall. They belonged to Rick. Along with the insults.

“Long story short, Ricky got hurt earlier while experimenting on something with the kids..” Rochelle added, “He’ll be fine.”

Bella and Mia both rolled their eyes as Nikolai stayed quiet shaking his head.

Just before anyone could anything a cloud of magical thick smoke appeared. As the smoke cleared away, it showed Cole looking annoyed, angry and worried. The man was enjoying a peaceful afternoon in his shop, with his husband Jeremy while babysitting the children, when he got the damn news. He was in the middle of teaching one of his nephews, George, some cool spells! So he wasn’t happy.

Liane froze meanwhile Ethan signed looking at his brother.

“You should’ve call me!” Cole exclaimed loudly rushing over to the group. “Why did I just get a damn text from Bella that my angels are coming?! You idiots, you could’ve just call me instead of arguing over who gets the bloody keys?! UGH!”

“Cole, we can explain.” Liane started but was cut off.

“Ha! Please tell you didn’t drive, last week you hit my mailbox.”

“THAT WAS YOURS?!”

Ethan and Michelle snorted loudly but was stopped short by a glare from Cole.

Rochelle stay quiet running away to go check on Rick and Luna, not wanting to feel Cole’s wrath today. The redhead almost bumped into a wall rushing away from the group.

Besides Rick yelled, “WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON OUT THERE?!”

Luna shouted over him, “Ricky stay still! The doctor is trying to remove the nails and splinters!”

Cole looked at Nikolai and pointed, “And you! What were you thinking?! As her husband I would believe you would have some sense to inform me or not waste time—”

Nikolai raised both eyebrows and furrow his eyebrows, “Don’t even start with me! I was more focused on my wife than calling anyone. None of us expected this to happen and we would’ve gotten here sooner, if it wasn’t for Liane’s performance.”

Liane gasped, “Me?! I offered to drive but you all refused to take me seriously.”

Bella and Ethan shared a look, slowly wheeling Mia away from the group and into her hospital room. Michelle got the hint, scurry off to follow them into the hallway as well, not without snapping pictures for blackmail later.

Joshua walked in a few minutes later, after successfully parking both cars, seeing his father, aunt and uncle Cole fighting.

“What did..?” He started before being dragged away by his best friend, “Gah, son of—!”

“Come on I’ll explain later.” Bella remarked ushering him into the room.

“Bella what did you do?!”

———

—————

Hehe I agree nothing! Also the poor mailbox 😂

Let me know what you guys think!

Tags: @ask-starrk @missstrawbs2001 @purpleprincessonfyre @wizzzardofoz @thechoooooosenone @rickb-chaos @luna-d-marsh @marvelsfavoriteuncle @elzabeth-stark @sci-fi-lexcon @jackiequick @blueboirick @gcthvile @aidanxsophxoxo @meiramel @trulysummersprivate @gaminggirlsstuff and etc

[circledemptiness]

Show me what you like

Fandom: Batman (Arkham Knight) Pairing: Edward Nigma (The Riddler) x Reader Rating: Explicit +18 Tags: First time, masturbation, vaginal sex, romance ✦ Read on AO3 – Older work (and it shows) ✦ Read the revised version "Show Me What You Dream Of"

Edward Nigma never had the opportunity to be intimate with anyone else before, and the years spent recluse, obsessing over the caped crusader, didn't help. A story about Edward's difficulties to interact with others, and his first time having sex.

Edward Nigma, the Riddler, Gotham’s one true genius, had no time for friends. He had plans, a design, a revenge to take. Getting close to someone seemed grotesque, an absolute and utter waste of his most precious time ––and for what? He had everything it required to function ; he never needed anyone for anything .

Working for days and nights, plotting and scheming, he never realized the weeks, turning into months, turning into years passing since he left the GCPD to become the man he was today. And from this unfruitful era, Edward did not keep many mementos; at best there were newspaper clippings retelling his temporary successes and eventual downfall thrown seemingly carelessly on one of his desks. Sometimes, he’d get back to them, unsure why, and look at the picture of this man, ten years younger, a few dozen pounds fuller, all cocky and pretty. Before the big old Bat drove him insane and recluse —though he’d never admit it.

When he does, he can’t help but graze his fingertips against his face, as if to persuade himself that he was not the shell of this man, once bubbly and charming. He rarely takes a look at his reflection, but when he accidentally does, the reality hits him like a punch in the guts, cuts the air from his lungs. Not that it matters, really. Surely, time does that to a man; he was not a thirty-something years old young man anymore, he was now in his mid-forties. Surely, this was the reason why his body changed so much. Nothing to do with his degrading mental state and hostile life habits. And who cares anyway.

Edward was always a busy man, with great designs and aspirations. Even ten years ago, he didn’t have many friends. Waste of time and energy. Didn’t date either. Back then, he pushed the idea aside, putting his love life on hold, too busy developing his new life as the Riddler. He’ll figure it out later. He just needs to finish corrupting this network, then he can think about it. Admittedly, Edward wasn’t opposed to the idea of dating anyone, back then. He could use some company from time to time. Or just a way to empty his mind. Take a break from his hard work. There was another reason why he was interested in dating, much less… noble , perhaps. 

He never got lucky , when it came to being intimate with someone. It weighed him greatly when he was working at the GCPD, still vigorous and lovable. Not that he was that interested in having sex in the first place, but the thought crossed his mind a few times. He did feel the overwhelming feeling of desire from time to time, but he always took care of his needs himself. A quick handjob every once in a while did the trick for him. Edward never needs help with anything.

Still, he did try to lose his virginity in the past. A few times. Pursuing someone he found attractive at a bar, trying to engage (poorly) with a coworker… alas, his burning ego usually pushed everyone away. Frankly, the man sounds like an arrogant jerk. He couldn’t get the hint however, didn’t understand what was wrong with them —because, evidently so, they were the ones at fault, not him. Why would there be anything wrong with him? He was smart, funny, and honestly not too bad looking, then. What else could anyone possibly wish for?

Things changed, a few years later. When his mind turned to fury-fueled mush, obsessed over the caped crusader. Didn’t think much of it. Didn’t feel lonely. Didn’t think of his sex life. Or lack thereof. In fact, he gradually stopped jerking off altogether and feeling anything other than anger, pride, and torment. His life, no, his purpose was greater than the vulgar nature of sex, and he was too busy to get involved with others –which made him noticeably unpleasant to be around. As if he turned into a feral beast, the more isolated he was.

People didn’t like to hang out with him. He knew it. Of course he did. Because they are too stupid to get him. Because he’s misunderstood. Not his fault. He is surrounded by morons. Either way, he’s not surprised, nor hurt; in fact, he doesn’t have time for them either, and most people bothered him greatly in general. Though, a couple of them were merely tolerated around him. Such as yourself.

Not that you were anything special. You were not . But you would frequently hang out at his workshop, under false pretenses, asking him questions that “only he could know the answer to”, complimenting his hard work… Stroking his ego in a way that makes his chest swell. So you were tolerated. Allowed to stay for a couple of minutes. He still didn’t understand why you were here, most of the time. Couldn’t quite decipher your expressions, everytime he greeted you. Didn’t matter. You seemed to acknowledge his brilliant intellect, and that was good enough for him.  

He never reciprocated. Never said anything nice about you. Besides a few backhanded compliments, sometimes. “You’re less stupid than you look.” “I’m actually impressed, you’re not a total moron.” Things like that. Things that are insulting to everyone else. But they actually mean something to him. Not that he cares , or anything. It’s just the best that he can do, the best he can say to another person while always being in control and always reminding them that he was superior. When he does, there’s a look on your face that he can’t describe; furrowed brow, the light in your eyes turning dark. And then, you abruptly leave the place. Couldn’t tell why. You’re so complicated.

Edward is usually good with his words, but around you it seems like he’s speaking another language. You don’t react the way he thought you would. And this frustrates him. Why must you be so complicated? Why can’t you be happy with what he says? Why can’t you see that he’s trying to interact with you? 

Worst part is how frantic his heart beats when you’re around. Pumping so much blood at once, his entire core and face feel like burning. Can’t think straight. Feels dizzy. Uncomfortable. Unacceptable . 

It gets to him, at times. More than once, your presence troubles him so much that whatever he’s feeling turns into visceral anger, and he snarls at you, orders you to leave him alone, to leave the building at once. He’s busy. You’re distracting. Can't you see? And the worst thing is that you do it . Stop seeing him for a few weeks at times. And it drives him insane. Why would you not come back ? Crawling? Begging? It’s not that he misses you. He does not .

When you do come back (you always do) he feigns indifference. His body trembles, his hands shake, there’s even a comfortable warmth building behind his navel, and he hates all of it. Hates how you make him feel. But he plays nice. Merely bothered. Polite. Not that he doesn’t want you to leave, no. But he needs to be the bigger person in the room. Remain superior at all times. And every time he greets you with disinterest in his voice, he can’t read your face. You cock a brow. There’s a veil in front of your eyes, like you’re hurt. Are you hurt? Disappointed? Why aren’t you smiling anymore?

This weird tango has been going on for a while now. You come, he endures, until he snaps. You leave. And then he can’t sleep. Tosses and rolls in bed. Wonders where you are. With who you are. What you do with them . And he hates thinking about it. Hates thinking about you . Hates how you make him feel. Weak, vulnerable. The Riddler isn’t weak. 

But then, why does it hurt when your smile fades from your face the second he asks you what you’re doing when you accidentally touch his arm? What’s in your eyes at this moment? You have to tell him, because he will only suppose. Hope . He wants more than a hypothesis. He wants confirmation. Proof. And so he silently pleas with you. Lock eyes with you, in a very uncomfortable manner. It burns his eyeballs, burns his soul, makes his whole body tingle and he can’t think straight. But he keeps drilling his eyes into yours. Trying to make you see something. Understand something. You make me feel something and I don’t know what to do about it, please help me. But you don’t understand. Or maybe you do, but chose not to react. Either way, it hurts.

You just stand still, right in front of him. Are you waiting for something, too? Your eyes go down on his mouth for a brief instant, and you part your lips slightly. Sigh. It does things to him. Makes his face flush. Cuts the air from his lungs. And, even more embarrassing, his cock gets semi-hard. Then, your eyes go back to his. Expectantly. He feels like he could grab you by the waist right now, devour your lips, sink his teeth in your neck, leave marks to remind you of this instant. In a matter of seconds. But he won’t. That would be improper. He wants you to want him back . And this is such a fucking weird feeling. One that makes no sense to him.

Eventually, you break the silence. A question. So simple he blinks twice and asks you to repeat yourself.

“Would you like to go to that Italian restaurant on 5th Avenue tomorrow evening?”

Edward’s mouth hangs open, he stares at the void, malfunctions. Like, a date? The thought of it makes his face flush, his heart pumps blood at a very worrying pace, his mouth dries. No word remains in his throat when he tries to answer. He nods. Positively. And the light goes back on your face. The light that makes you look even more beautiful. And you smile. It does things to him. God, you do things to him .

When you leave the building, Edward melts on his stool and remains immobile, shocked, thunderstruck. I’m going on a date. And then, the terror. The stress. The anxiety.

Edward hasn’t been on a date in a decade . A million questions race in his head, as he tries to establish a mental checklist, acting methodically. He is not panicking. What is he supposed to do? Should he bring you something? What should he wear? Does he have anything to wear that isn’t completely nasty and covered in paint? 

Should I bring condoms?

He immediately smacks his hand on his face and grunts loudly. What is he thinking about? What does he imagine? That he’s going to fuck you tomorrow night? This is embarrassing. 

What if she wants it too?

Now, he’s being ridiculous. He bangs his fist on the table, metallic tools dancing and echoing on the surface, and groans audibly. Leaves the place. Can’t focus at work anymore.

Edward fucked his hand two times, that night, your name on his lips.

_____

_____

Edward’s hands shake as he’s buttoning his clean forest green shirt. He spent the day getting ready for tonight. Took a well deserved shower. Washed his hair. Shaved his beard. And when he’s looking at his reflection, he sees a glimpse of the person he used to be. Underneath all the grime and exhaustion. A man who is confident in himself, more charming than the filthy hermit he was a hour ago. He debated whether he had to get you flowers or not. Thought it’d be too intimate. Too romantic. After all, it was probably just a casual dinner. Nothing more. He licks his lips, nervously. 

He’s still nervous when he’s at the restaurant. Fifteen minutes early. Touching the silverware. Turning the glasses, as if one side was better than the other. Fingertips drumming on the table. Why is his heart so loud tonight? He can’t even hear himself think . What if you don’t come? Even worse, what if you do?

A rushing feeling makes him shiver, turns his blood cold, flips his stomach. This is a mistake . He shouldn’t be here. This shouldn’t be happening. What was he thinking about? He’s the Riddler! What is he doing at a restaurant with, with–– Argh! Edward stands up, grabs his coat, ready to abruptly leave the place, when a friendly voice interrupts his chaotic train of thoughts.

“Oh, you just arrived! Thank God, I thought I was being late…”

Your voice startles him. He turns his head, and realizes that he does look like he just arrived, about to remove his coat instead of putting it back on. And as soon as he sees your face (perfect), your smile (delicious), and the dress you’re wearing (exquisite), he removes his coat and sits down. Changed his mind, somehow. His face is now crimson red, and there’s a burning sensation in his belly. Almost comfortable. He could get used to this feeling. He looks at you and hears nothing else but his heartbeat, his blood pumping into his veins. You asked a question, but he didn’t hear it. He hummed nonetheless. You giggle. His heart sings.

He doesn’t care about the food. Doesn’t care about the music. Doesn’t care about the waiter. There’s only you in the whole restaurant. Every part of you shines, and he tries his best not to show how excited you make him. Probably does a poor job at it. So he does what he does best: he gloats. A whole monologue about how intelligent he is, how Gotham will fear him, a description of his latest invention and why it is so glorious, praising his abilities and power. You nod, smile at him. 

Then, he gets painfully aware. Aware of how he’s the only one talking. How he hasn’t asked you a single question. How he’s just acting the same way he always does, even back then, when he worked at the GCPD, when he tried to get the attention of his coworker at the coffee corner, or when he’s at a bar and there’s this stranger smiling at him. Shut up . The words pour out of his mouth like a torrent of arrogance and pride, and he can’t stop, because he doesn’t know what else he’s supposed to do. Shut up . For half a second, even that, you briefly looked somewhere else. Why did you look somewhere else? Are you bored? You’re talking too much . Edward talks. Edward talks, because he’s scared of the silence. But he’s even more afraid of losing your interest, so he doesn’t finish his story, he crashes it brutally.

“Anyway…”

He clears his throat, looks down on his plate. Barely touched anything. Too busy talking. There’s a painful feeling tearing his chest apart. An insecurity swallowing him whole. He hasn’t been on a date in so long. Hasn’t spent any time with anyone else but himself for years. He forgot. Forgot how to act. Forgot how to please. He’s clenching a nervous fist on the table, knuckles turning white, until his fingernails carve half moons in the palm of his hand. Then, as if you read his mind, you put your hand ––infinitely more delicate, softer, warm–– on top of his ––calloused, tired, tense. He forgets how to breathe for a second, feels something hot inside of him.

“I’m having a great time, Edward.”

His heart shatters in his chest. Daggers stabbing the pumping organ. She’s having a great time . That’s good, right? Of course it is. It means he’s doing well. Good. I mean–– of course. As expected . He tries to convince himself that he’s in control. Because if he doesn’t control the situation, he’s uncomfortable. Disoriented. 

“You know, it reminds me of something that happened to me…”

When you talk, you sound like an angel. You are so expressive. Your hands move on their own, draw patterns in the air. Your eyes shine, your lips twist into a smile. Sometimes, you giggle. Edward isn’t used to listening. But if it’s you, he could do it all night. He drinks your words eagerly, and each one of them brings him closer to you. He’s learning about you. He will memorize every single thing you tell him. He needs to know everything about you.

Occasionally, he feels your eyes lowering, sitting on his lips, just like you sometimes do. It makes his heart swell and core tremble. He looks at your lips, too. Wonders how they feel. How they taste. Wonders if you’re thinking the same thing right now. His breath quickens, until he looks back at you. He feels his head spin lightly. Then, the conversation resumes.

_____

_____

Edward pays for your meal. You protest. He insists. Feels like a date. You squeeze his arm gently and thank him, and he nearly dies .

He walks you home. The weather feels nice tonight. The air is cool on his burning face. Helps him calm down, a little bit. It’s dark enough that you might not see his face flush every time you laugh, every time you compliment him. He wishes he could articulate how beautiful you look tonight. 

Your hand finds his, even in the dark. Your fingers brush against his, delicately. At first, it feels like a mistake, an accident, so he removes his hand. But your touch gets more precise, until you hold his hand, unafraid. Slip your fingers between his. He doesn’t fight back. He’s shaking, can’t breathe properly, can’t even walk straight. His heart forgot how to function for a moment. But he allows it. It feels nice . So nice that he wishes you’d never let go of his hand. Never let go of him . But he won’t admit it. The rest of the walk is silent, but it isn’t uncomfortable. Everything feels right. 

When you both stand in front of your apartment, he struggles letting go of your hand at first. There’s another silence, but this time it’s uncomfortable, painful, and he swallows hard. You look at him, and there’s something in your eyes that seems dangerous. Your pupils are dilated, your lips very slightly parted, your cheeks subtly rosy. He probably looks as agitated right now, grabbing the door frame so harshly his knuckles turn white. You look beautiful, your face distorted with want, and need. For him?

“Do you want to come inside?” you whisper. Yeah, yeah he wants to. He wants it so badly his heart might explode, his cock already twitches in his pants. He’s not naive, he knows the meaning behind this invitation, coupled with the way you’re leaning against the door, your hips slightly tilted forwards, almost imperceptibly so. A rush of adrenaline hits him like a punch in the guts, it takes his breath away, and makes him forget about his entire alphabet. Instead, he nods. A smile, mischievous, lustful, but also tender, appears on your face, and he nearly cums in his pants.

When he enters your apartment, everything looks, well… like you. He can see more of you, your personality, in the decoration, the books on your shelves. It feels intimate, more than he’s used to anyway. The most intoxicating thing about your apartment is your scent, floating everywhere. While you remove your coat, he closes his eyes briefly. Gets surrounded with the smell of you. He wishes he could smell you all day. It’s sweet, fruity, delicate. It’s you.

Your hand snakes along his back, and he feels himself shake, silently hissing at your touch. You grab the collar of his coat and gently tug at it, inviting him to get comfortable. Your eyes lock while he undresses, and there’s this stare, again. Everything feels intense, his heartbeat drumming inside his head, your breath quickening, his face burning surely turning his skin and the tip of his ears crimson red, his cock full of blood that he tries to conceal by folding his coat around his arm, covering his pants. A futile move. Not fooling anyone. But at this moment, he feels too exposed.

With the same gentleness and starving eyes, you raise your hand and cup the back of his head. He’s not sure what he’s feeling right now; a mix of pleasure from feeling the soft skin of your fingers wrapping around his hair, excitement for what is eventually about to happen, and terror of the unknown. He licks his lips, tentatively wraps an arm around your waist. When you allow him, Edward gets bold, pulls you closer to him. The warmth emanating from your body envelops him, he’s melting against your touch. You lift yourself on your toes to compensate for the clear size difference between the two of you, and put your lips on his. A tender, chaste kiss, to let him get used to you.

Edward closes his eyes and surrenders completely to the almost foreign, now unfamiliar feeling of being kissed. Your lips are heavenly; soft, plush, warm. His heart is going at a feral pace now, and he just wants more of it, more of you, so he grabs your waist tighter, pulls you closer; so close that he feels your lower body against him, and this is driving him insane, lits a furnace behind his navel.

You kiss him more, and deepen your touch. Force his mouth open, penetrate it with your tongue. Oh . Your tongue is wet, burning. Tastes like the wine you ordered, and something else, something surreal that makes his cock painfully hard, makes his body hot and dizzy. You moan between two kisses, he sighs and hisses. He drinks all the noises you make, gets drunk on the reactions of your body. You’re subtly grinding against him, just enough to make his cock twitch, throb, leak; your other hand explores his chest over his shirt, he’s sure you can feel his frantic heartbeat through it.

Your touch gets more insisting, more possessive; tugging at his hair hard, granting you a low moan from him, pulling him as you backwalk through your apartment. Guide him on the couch. You both sit down, only briefly; you’re quick to pull at his collar. Rolling on your back, opening your legs. An invitation. He’s quick to get on top of you, kissing you, sucking on your tongue, biting your lips. Starved. There’s a tight feeling in his chest, followed by a wave, the longer he kisses you and feels your hands exploring his body. Your touch leaves marks on his soul, and there’s something dangerous building inside of him when he feels your hands on his back, his neck, sides, grabbing at his strong arms. He gasps when you moan, and it’s worse when you start grinding against his clothed erection, rocking your hips deliciously. Oh . Oh no .

The feeling is overwhelming, too overwhelming. It hits him like thunder in his whole body, and suddenly his body jerks, he groans against your lips, feeling his cocking twitching, spasming, and finally releasing his seed. Edward freezes. He holds his forehead in his hand and stares at the void in disbelief. No, no, no, NO! He curses himself, realizing that he came in his pants, from making out with you. What is he, a teenager? An intense feeling of shame surrounds him. A crippling insecurity. His mind is spinning. He doesn’t look at you anymore, his eyes are the ones of a terrified animal. You seem to notice something, slowing down your kisses, until you simply caress the back of his neck, a quizzical look on your face.

“I have to go…” he mutters, and you open wide eyes. You tell him something, but he didn’t understand, didn’t listen. Can’t hear anything anymore. She’s probably disappointed . He leaves the couch you were on, gets his coat. He feels your hand on his biceps, gentle, comforting. She’s pitying me . He removes his arm from you, and leaves your place in a hurry, running down the stairs.

When he’s back home, Edward reaches the bathroom and quickly undresses, as if his clothes were burning his skin, as if they were covered in his shame, soaked in failure. When his hands slip in the elastic of his underwear, pulling it down slowly, it reveals his cock, wet and sticky, the fabric covered in cum. He groans, throws away the proof of his weakness in the laundry basket, and takes a shower. An attempt to wash away the humiliation.

He scrubs his skin, hard. As if it would remove the memory of this night. Convincing himself that none of this ever happened. The warm water runs down his tense body. Feels good. Edward lets the drumming drops crash on his burning skin, wraps himself in the comforting warmth of the shower. After a while, he eventually calms down, a little bit. He presses his forehead against the tile of the shower wall, closes his eyes. Focus on the water pressure against his shoulders, but something in his chest twists, stings, a knot forms in his throat.

His mind wanders, thinking about his evening. The way you laughed when he made a joke at the restaurant. How soft you brushed his hand when he felt insecure. How desired he felt when you pulled him against your heated body. 

It was going so well, everything was so good. It was supposed to be a perfect evening. He could have had you, that night. 

Why did he have to ruin everything?

_____

_____

Edward is in a terrible mood, the next day. When he makes a simple mistake in his calculation, he violently bangs his fist on the table. Cursing loudly at everything. Even the Riddlerbots seem like they’re mocking him. He looks at their robotic faces with rage. Pathetic , they seem to call him. He throws a wrench on the floor, sits down on his stool and holds his face in his hands, trying to compose himself. His phone vibrates, and sure enough it’s another message from you. The third one today. 

He deletes it before reading it. Pretends none of it ever happened. That you don’t exist. That he doesn’t care. He’s not hurt. He never needed anyone in his life. He just has to come back to the person he was before he met you. Just has to bury the feelings he had for you. He can do it; he’s been doing it his whole life. Being alone. And who needs love anyway? Not him.

Another day goes by, and Edward’s mood is still sour. Less angry, but more sad. You stopped messaging him, it hurts for some reason. He’s hurt that you stopped caring, even though he was the one to ignore you, push you away. How he wishes you could just understand him. A part of him wants to call you, see you, hold you tight in his arms and never let go of you. But the other, more dominant, wants to rip his heart off his chest and lock it in a box.

He’s looking at his phone. Why aren’t you texting him? Did he successfully make you run away? Of course he did, he creamed his pants in the middle of a kiss and then escaped your apartment. Stupid . Incompetent . 

His chest feels heavy, his breath is labored. He feels confused, hurt. Lonely . He hates feeling that way. Sometimes, he wishes he never met you. And sometimes, he wishes you could be here and hold him, like you held him two nights ago. He misses your smell. Edward melts on his chair, and sighs. His face twists in anguish. He removes his goggles and buries his face in his hands, trying to collect himself. Why must everything be so complicated?

“You never answered me back” is all you say when you’re next to him, startling him. He didn’t even hear you approach him. He looks at you, eyes watery, and his heart pounds hard. You drag a chair next to him. He can’t look at you right now. It’s okay, you were not finished.

“Did I do something wrong?”

He shakes his head. Of course not. It’s not you, it’s me.

“Did I misinterpret something?”

He buries his forehead in his hand, and shakes his head again. It was all he’s ever wished for. No mistake here.

“So… is it because you..?”

Edward grunts. Of course she noticed. He wasn’t very subtle. Jerking like a teenager, stomach flipping. The humiliating feeling comes back, crawling under his skin, clawing at his heart, and his pain turns into anger, as he snarls at you.

“What are you doing here?” Please do not leave , is what he meant to say. Your eyes turn dark, and you furrow your brow. He knows this feeling, you’re angry. No, furious .

“If you want me to leave, I will leave. But be very careful with your answer because I won’t come back this time.” Your words are sharp, they translate all the frustration you’ve built over the months you’ve been hanging around Edward. He knows it. 

“So, do you want me to leave?” You repeat. Edward looks at you, feels cornered. He doesn’t like this feeling, he feels humiliated. Exposed. Weak. But also, he understands that he’s going to lose you if he doesn’t take a step in your direction. And he does not want to lose you. He shakes his head. You sigh, and all the muscles of your face relax, you look as soft and tender as before. The light is back in your eyes. Gently, you put your hand on top of his. Instinctively, he grabs it in his. Feels good. He missed you.

“I don’t care about it, Eddie.” You whisper softly. “It was… it felt amazing, didn’t it?”

Edward exhales, a faint smile flashing on his face. Yeah, it did.

“It’s been… a long time for me. I got carried away, rushed it. Sorry.” Why is she apologizing? Edward clears his throat, and figures that he should explain himself.

“Well… Technically I suppose you could say that it’s been a while for me too.” Edward mutters under his breath.

“What do you mean?”

His face goes red, and here goes the humiliating feeling again . His jaw is clenched.

“Oh, you mean you’ve never…?

– No. Never.” He interrupts you. He removes his hand from yours and looks away, embarrassed, and angry. But mostly embarrassed. You sigh, softly, and pull at the sleeve of his shirt, making him look back at you. You offer him a smile. It does things to him. Like you’re taming him when he just wants to throw a tantrum. He’s not sure how you do it.

“I don’t care, Eddie… I don’t feel any less attracted to you.” What does she mean “attracted”? She’s attracted to me? Edward swallows hard.

“Would you… be interested in a do-over dinner soon? I’ll take things slower this time, I promise” you coo, in a soft voice. Edward opens wide eyes. Not only are you interested in him, but you want to try again even after his bafflingly disappointing performance? This feels… surreal. But he nods. Firmly.

“That would, that would be nice…”

Edward stutters, his heart racing in his chest. You seem pleased, no, thrilled by his answer. You immediately lean closer to him and kiss him on the lips. It’s soft, like a caress. Edward shivers, and hums appreciatively. When you break the kiss, his mouth hangs open, already craving more. You giggle, and press your lips on his once again, softly. A simple kiss, as tender as a feather.

“Come back to my place tonight? I’ll make us dinner.” 

Edward nods, and this time he leans in to kiss you back. Feels nice. When you leave, it feels like a weight is off his shoulders. He feels lighter, calmer. Happy.

_____

_____

When he knocks on the door, Edward still feels as nervous as he did on your first date. It seems like there is a much bigger pressure, this time. Don’t ruin everything again , seems to scream his mind. Your words calmed him a little bit, but he still isn’t sure if you were just saying things to reassure him or if you sincerely didn’t mind the accident . Either way, he jerked off a couple of times a hour before leaving for your place, for good measure. Hopefully, this will make him last longer this time. 

His spine shivers when he’s thinking of his failed performance, but he doesn’t have the time to overthink as you’re already at the door, looking as beautiful as ever, inviting him inside. Time to shine, Nigma .

_____

_____

His heart is pounding. It always is, when you touch him. It pumps violently, echoes in his skull, flushes his face. A burning sensation radiates behind his navel, makes his chest swell, when your delicate hands brush over his shoulders, embracing him. He’s hesitant at first, always afraid of hurting you with his hands that are more familiar with engines than soft flesh. Your mouth finds his, trembling, unsure. A soft kiss pressed against his lips, gentle enough to make him close his eyes.

Your fingers brush against his hand, as you pull him kindly, making him follow you to your bedroom. A wave of apprehension and anxiety crashes inside of him, but his cock twitches with interest, so he complies. 

Your scent is everywhere, it’s like penetrating a garden of flowers. Edward lets you guide him to the bed, he sits down. The bed sheets are soft under his hands, like a cloud. He’s never been to anyone’s bedroom before, he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do to make it right. Thankfully, you seem to always know what is on his mind. You sit on his lap, straddling him. Your fingers slip through his hair, and he wraps trembling fingers around your waist. For a moment, all you do is caress each other; his fingers run on your spin, yours caress the back of his neck. Soft content sighs fill the room, he feels your shared heartbeats as he presses your body against his. Your chest feels soft and warm against his toned body. He curiously explores the supple flesh of your thighs, morphing against his fingertips, while you deepen your kisses.

Edward sighs and breaths quickly when you suckle on his tongue, nibble on his lip, moan in his throat. Eventually, his cock throbs, hardens, pressing against you. He’s nervous, wondering if you‘ve noticed him getting hard, but the now rocking motion of your hips tells him you have. He hisses at the friction, grabbing your waist slightly more tightly, closing his eyes. Trying his best to maintain his composure. 

Still leading the way, you pull your dress over your head, revealing more flesh than he’s ever seen in his entire life, your most intimate parts covered in satin and lace. Edward’s face turns cherry red as he takes a look at your tempting body, a nervous smile on his face, almost amused. Of course, you’re wearing green.

“I love the color” he murmurs, his chest tightening. You chuckle softly, caressing the back of his neck.

Edward places a trail of short and soft kisses on your shoulders, your neck, your collarbones, while his hands explore your now uncovered waist. Your hips rocking against his member encourages him, as his grip gets tighter on you. His teeth and tongue replaced his lips, as he’s suckling on your neck, biting the fragile skin. Marking you. He’s always been the kind to sign his work, isn’t he? 

You moan under his touch, tugging at his hair more firmly, your movements getting more insisting. His hands crawl on your back until they reach the clasp of your bra and he closes his eyes, focusing on its mechanism. It takes him only a second to figure it out and unclasp it. He works with much more complicated engines on a daily basis, after all.

Your bare chest makes his mouth water. Your nipples are already erected, like two tempting fruits, and Edward is starved. He lowers his head and tentatively takes one of your nipples in his mouth, and the way you moan makes his cock throb in his pants. He’s careful, discovering what to do, and he realizes that this is oddly familiar: learning, experimenting, his mind laser focused on figuring out how you function. Taking mental notes, gaining experience as he sucks on your nipple, licks your breasts, kisses your soft flesh. His hand soon joins his mouth, caressing your sensitive nub, twisting, pinching, rolling. Following the noises you make, studying the way your body jerks and shivers. Edward feels excited, probably more excited than he is horny. Discovering something new, and mastering it, is what he does best. The absolute rush of adrenaline he’s feeling right now makes him feel dizzy, and when he removes his head from your breasts to give you a sincere and exhilarated smile, your face turns red.

In a flash of courage, Edward holds you by the thighs and flips you on your back, nested between your legs. You look so beautiful, laying on your bed, open to him, neck covered in love bites, a thin layer of sweat on your stomach. His eyes wander, from your lips, your breasts, navel, to your panties. He notices a dark spot between your legs, from the fabric being soaked, and it makes his cock leak. Delicately, he inserts his fingers around your hips, inside your panties, and removes them slowly. A generous string of your fluids connect the fabric to your aching cunt, and the obscene view makes Edward hiss.

Your legs spread, your cunt is completely exposed, open. Glistening with desire. Edward swallows hard, feeling his heart drumming in his chest. There’s so much he wants to do to you, he wouldn’t know how to begin. A veil of anxiety and stress appears and suddenly takes over, as Edward panics and realizes that he does not know what to do. He’s caressing the inside of your thighs, his mind racing, calculating, developing scenarios. You notice his perplexed look, as always.

“Are you alright?” you ask, softly, in a comforting voice, pulling him out of his thoughts. Edward looks at you and clears his throat.

“Show... show me how you like it. Please.“ there is something oddly surgical in his voice, almost serious. You open wide eyes, destabilized, until you realize that this is not Edward Nigma speaking, but the Riddler, desperate to solve this completely foreign and new riddle. A faint smile appears on your face. You sit up to kiss him adoringly, then lay back down. 

You tilt your hips comfortably, relax your thighs around him, your fingertips brushing against your stomach. Under the observing gaze of Edward, caressing your thighs, your hand slowly crawls between your legs. He swallows thickly.

You briefly run your fingertips along your entire slit, open your lips, as if to present Edward your whole cunt. You hear him gasp softly, then move your hand higher, laying it on your pubic bone, your middle and ring fingers now carefully placed around your clit. You describe a familiar pattern, circling your sensitive nub. You moan softly, looking at Edward’s crimson face, completely hypnotized by your motion. He’s biting his lip, studying, learning, his chest lifting up and down rapidly. He sometimes looks up at you, and his beautiful eyes make you shiver, and moan his name. The first time he hears you sing his name, his mouth opens and he can feel his cock throb. He wonders if you ever touched yourself this way, moaning his name, when you were alone at home. He resumes his attention on your cunt, and clears his throat. It makes you smile.

Feeling the heat growing in your core, and the juices dripping out of your cunt, you slip one finger in your aching hole, soon followed by a second one, pumping them slowly in and out of you. You feel Edward’s grip on your thighs tightening, as he pants, visibly aroused by the view of you pleasuring yourself. Your body shivers, you tilt your hips slightly upwards, encouraged by Edward’s burning gaze on you. 

Edward slowly puts a trembling hand on your pubic bone, and you look at him curiously. A low moan escapes your voice as you feel his thumb on your clit, repeating the same movements you showed him earlier. He experiments with speed, pressure, following your reactions, and it is so perfect, simply perfect. You wail under his touch, burying your fingers inside of you and curling them, touching your sensitive spot, making you moan louder, and there’s a very curious look on Edward’s face, who seems to try to understand, decipher what you’re doing inside of you. And there’s only one way to find out.

While he’s still playing with your clit, Edward’s other hand tugs at your wrist gently. You remove your fingers in a soft sob, looking at him while your heart pounds in your chest, and Edward slowly penetrates two fingers inside of you. They are much bigger than yours, more calloused, and the way he spreads your aching cunt feels so good, it makes you moan deeply. 

Edward pants. You’re so wet, warm and tight. The faces you make, the way you moan is making him salivate, make his cock throb and leak profusely in his pants. Your body jerks under his touch, and he feels excited, thrilled. He tentatively thrusts his fingers in and out of you, and the obscene wet noises it creates make him groan. But it isn’t what you were doing. You had your fingers buried inside of you, stimulating something. He knows that there is a sensitive spot hidden somewhere, he just needs to discover it.

Edward sinks his fingers inside of you and you wail. He’s filling you so good, stuffing your tight hole with his large fingers. You feel him curl his fingers, rotate them, caress your walls. He’s definitely looking for it , your so special spot, and he’s so close to it, you’re already panting in anticipation. 

When he does find it, your entire body jerks and tense, you moan loudly and beg him to keep doing what he’s doing. Edward’s face lights up, a genuine fire burning in his beautiful green eyes, a wide smile flashing on his face. Right now, he feels like the king of the world, he feels triumphant .

He keeps stimulating you, caressing your insides, rubbing your clit, and fuck it feels good, so good you could cry, overwhelmed with pleasure. Your voice breaks, moaning and yelling his name, and you swear you heard him chuckle, excited. And he is, excited. He always is, when he solves a riddle.

There is a familiar pressure building behind your navel, and you beg him to keep going, tell him that you are close, and Edward looks at your face with interested eyes. He wants to see you orgasm because of him, he wants to see all of you. His gaze pierces your mind, it feels encouraging, adoring, and you feel the wave crashes against your core, electrifying your whole body, your spine, your clit, and your walls clenching, spasming around Edward’s fingers, as your orgasm comes and makes you yell his name, over and over.

Edward slows down until he stops completely, delicately removing his fingers from you in a wet noise, looking at the puddle of sticky juices underneath you. Your cunt is flushed, lovingly swollen, and the view makes him salivate. His hands shake when he removes his shirt, and you extend a hand to caress his chest, his stomach, still exhausted from your orgasm. But Edward is excited, ecstatic, euphoric. Kissing your lips, your jaw, your neck, he undresses quickly, and you cannot help but chuckle at how eager he is right now.

When he removes his underwear, his fat cock bouncing on his stomach, glistening in precum, your heart is racing. Edward feels exposed for a moment, vulnerable and almost shy, but you brush your fingers against his bicep in a comforting manner, before sliding your hand between your two bodies, delicately grabbing his perfect cock. Edward hisses and twitches. You fist it tentatively, pump him a few times, but Edward looks like he’s already on the verge of his own orgasm, panting and gasping, so you figure you’ll take care of him another time.

Your other hand grabs his hip, as you pull him closer to you, guide his cock to your entrance. When the tip pokes at your entrance, making him moan, you release your hand and caress his thigh, encouraging him. Edward gets your hint, and looks at your eyes. He wants to see your face when he will penetrate you for the very first time. His hips move forward slowly, and the tip of his cock enters you. Your mouth hangs open, a soft moan escaping your lips, as Edward progresses inside of you. 

He pants heavily when he’s fully inside, and everything is so overwhelming. The warmth, the pressure, the tightness, the wetness. He gasps loudly, his breath is labored. He knows he won’t last, but it’s alright, his mind is already in the stars right now anyway. Meanwhile, you softly sob, feeling his length spreading you deliciously, filling your hole perfectly. He lowers his body, supporting himself on his forearms and kisses your lips. You adjust yourself, lifting your thighs slightly, allowing him to penetrate you deeper, and fuck it feels so good. You look so beautiful under him, your cheeks flushed and pupils dilated. Edward presses his forehead against yours and briefly rubs his nose against yours, closing his eyes. Feeling content, loved .

Then, his hips start rocking and he nearly dies. The way your cunt clenches around his cock makes him moan, his balls tighten, his stomach jerk, and you can’t help but sob at his overwhelming gentleness, his pace slow inside your still very sensitive core, spreading you so good. His shaft caresses your walls delicately, and his mind is blank, unable to process anything else, overwhelmed by this foreign feeling of pure bliss.

He tentatively thrusts faster and loudly curses, as you moan and dig your nails in the skin of his back. He’s already close, and he hates that he’s probably gonna cum in a minute, but it feels so good he doesn’t want to slow down. Instead, he decides to fully chase after his orgasm and now frantically thrusts inside of you. The bedroom is filled with vulgar noises of skin slapping against skin, wet friction, moans and grunts. 

Edward gasps and sees stars, his mind going blank as his stomach jerks, thrusting irregularly and erratically, until he cums in a loud groan of pleasure, being milked by your clenching walls. His whole body shakes then collapses against yours, exhausted.

You feel his cum dripping from your cunt, his cock still reasonably hard and buried inside of you. You also feel his frantic heartbeat against your chest, his labored breath next to your ear. You caress the back of his head, kiss his cheek tenderly. Edward melts some more under your touch. Once the blissful feeling calms down, he rolls over, laying on his side, and looks at you. There’s so much tenderness in your eyes, so much comfort, and he wishes you would always look at him this way.

You roll on your side, and there’s a quiet exchange between you two, as you rub your nose against his and smile at him. So much he doesn’t say but is heard, understood. He kisses your lips tenderly and closes his eyes, wrapping himself in a veil of happiness, eventually falling asleep next to you.

[kyogre-blue]

Oh believe me it's WORSE (this is at the beginning of part 2, I don't think you'll care but warning you just in case) Lingsha goes "well, why don't you toss him into the sun like we do in the zhuming, there's always ways of killing the unkillable" and for hoolay the answer is "the people he hurt WANT him to suffer" but like...why didn't BLADE try that..........if it's an established practice in the zhuming........which Blade's master is arbiter-general of..............(I can't believe huaiyan is still alive jfc)

I actually really like fantasy politics, even with the xianzhou's bullshit I can just use the yarn to spin it in a way I like in my head, but their unwillingness to paint Jing Yuan in the wrong or unprepared even ONCE never fails to take the enjoyment out of it. The closest it comes is Sword Essence but since hoyo is allergic to their characters having flaws we're never going to really dig into all the ways Jing Yuan feels he has failed Yanqing. Hell, I'd take digging into the ways he feels he failed Dan Feng - I can't believe the fact that Jing Yuan was the one who had to read out the death sentence has never come up so far.

Reflecting upon it, it really says a lot that out of the hcq the one I like most is the one who accidentally created a monstruosity that killed over a thousand people.

lol

I do think politics stories can be interesting, but they're very brain intensive, and making it possible to keep track of who is who and what they all want without requiring the audience to actively keep notes on the side takes some pretty hefty skill from the author. So there's just so much room to do politics badly that it's kinda... hard to feel enthused.

But also I'm suuuuper basic in what kind of storylines I like. I like heroic stories about heroic characters where, maybe it doesn't all work out, but the sentiment and moral stance is important. What you did and felt mattered. The fact that you tried and reach out to help someone made a difference. That kind of thing. If things get too fucked up, I kind of start checking out because I don't see how any of it can be treated or resolved in a way I would find satisfying. Like Dan Feng, there's still no consensus on what actually happened, but he still used the corpse of an emanator, risking the exact consequences he got (or I guess you conspiracy theory that he was set up to a crazy degree, which instead removes the emotional weight of the story in a different way). He killed a hell of a lot of people and drove two of his friends insane. What do you even do with that? It's just "welp, guess that sucks" backstory and that's it.

I guess in a similar way, I find political plots to often devolve into the most petty and pathetic motivations, with a whole bunch of very petty and selfish people, but they have massive, sweeping consequences on a national level, and trying to resolve any of it is a micromanagement nightmare. It just feels stupid. Like Jing Yuan being accused of causing the Arbor to appear, we were there, we know he didn't, the accusations are being made by some faceless entities, so how seriously can you take any of this? And then it's resolved really quickly too, I think. I checked out of that part.

Jing Yuan in general is just... someone who is supposedly powerful, supposedly smart, supposedly morally upright, and he still can't get any shit done AT ALL. He's been serving longer than basically anyone, he should be actively outliving all potential problem makers, and yet his ship is infested with double agents, cultists, who knows what. He left Dan Heng to be raised in prison by people who hated him and sure didn't hide it (at best) and then kicked him out with basically nothing, like, he's lucky Himeko picked him up and not the actual slavers we know exist in the setting. (Dan Heng and Aventurine meet in a slave fighting pit AU, I guess)

Anyway, the Luofu is just soooo frustrating to me, I find it so unpleasant at every turn, and yet everyone completely under-reacts (imo) and we're going to be going back forever...

Kinda hoping that Amphoreus really does last the whole year and we just don't leave the entire time, so we can't be forced back to Luofu. (Well, I'm hoping that now, but who knows what Amphoreus will pull out soon enough.)

[microraptorreactor]

Im just. gonna hammer out some thoughts about Ep 17/18. Because man I have thoughts. Spoilers (and bad words) below the cut.

So the very base of the story, Golden Cheese herself, is fucking heartbreaking man. She's lost everything, her friends, her family, her kingdom, and it drove her insane. She built a massive digital city where everyone she lost can live in utmost luxury, but she still isolates herself to a small circle of cookies, probably to try keeping an airtight seal on the true nature of the kingdom. Her deepest desire is to keep her citizens happy and she'll do just about anything to achieve that. Because what is she without her treasure?

And her conversation with Rasine at the end TT-TT Those two bounce off each other so well. I hope they kiss.

And then there's Smoked Cheese!! God, after ep 17 I really wasn't sure about him, but he's such a fucking good character. He's just as scared as GC, if not more. But unlike GC, he's not quite as clouded by grief. He realizes that his god-queen is delusional, and quite possibly has realized for some time. OF COURSE, he'd flip his shit when he finds out DE is back and GC plans on doing nothing! He watched the kingdom burn down for the first time! And he has to watch these cookies who it's his job to protect, that he quite possibly grew up around, walk around like nothing's ever gone wrong. He has to keep up a facade that everything's fine and there isn't another massive threat looming over the city while his queen berates him for questioning her. He has every right to be angry and scared! And I can't particularly blame him for turning on her and airing out the truth. Trying to blow up the kingdom was 100% a dick move tho. But the scene where he's LITERALLY BEGGING GC TO KILL HIM??? It's my personal interpretation that he was terrified to go back to the Digital City, and therefore going back to ignoring all the trauma of the war.

Honestly, I feel like SC's whole villain ark might have been avoidable if GC and her little circle of friends sat down and had a heart-to-heart about the Dark Flour War, but that would require any of them to be emotionally vulnerable. Something that everyone in this kingdom is alergic to, apparently.

Mozarella cookie I certainly have. Feelings about. Her whole deal with erasing cookies memory so that they don't catch on to the digital kingdom is a detail I really like, but as a character, I just don't really care for her. It's probably just my personal taste, as I like the angsty characters and she just doesn't have that going on. I haven't finished the mineing missions story so maybe she has some in that. I feel the same way about Burnt/Basque Cheese, he's cool he just doesn't have enough going on in the backstory department for me to care.

Fettuchini Cookie's concept is terrifying. She's slowly losing herself to factors outside her control. There are literal bugs eating her brain. But the narrative doesn't really do anything with that? She's just kind of Olive Cookie's weird adopted child. To be fair the story is long enough, both chapters together clock in at about two and a half hours assuming that you have the best possible team. But she could have been so much more with that concept! Especially since she's playable instead of actually-really-important Smoked Cheese.

Olive Cookie is Olive Cookie. She's there to be an exposition archeologist. She serves her purpose in the story. I have no complaints about her. Y'all are being too harsh.

anyways, back to working on my OCs!

[nabibeans]

Save you

However, he soon meets Seonghwa, his brother’s Neighbor. Seonghwa wants to save Hongjoong from his past, but Hongjoong isn’t so sure he can be.

TW//: Blood, violence, drug usage (weed), underage drinking ( HJ is 18) , self harm scars, physical and verbal abuse mentioned in the past, sexual assault mentioned.

Chapter 1: new beginnings

Hongjoong was finally getting out of there. Out of the childhood home he’d been beaten and abused in. It felt surreal, that he’d finally be away from his mother and father; his mother who had done everything she could to kill him and failed every time, his father that forced him to strip naked and do unspeakable things. It had driven Hongjoong to the point of using drugs and alcohol to cope. Sneaking out late at night with his friends to drink his pain away, only to be stumbling home at 5 in the morning and vomiting every few minutes. Realistically he still smoked and drank, though Bumjoong would more than likely ask him to stop under his roof.

“Hey, you ready to go? I want to get you out before they come home.”

Hongjoong looked at his brother, Bumjoong was both a mixture of paranoid and angry at the moment; angry his parents had made his little brother’s life a living hell, paranoid they’d arrive home any moment to see the brothers fleeing.

“Yeah I am, trust me I want out as bad as you do. I can’t believe it’s finally happening.”

Hongjoong grabbed his bag, throwing it over his shoulder. The two brothers made their way to the car, leaving as fast as possible.

“I got you a new phone, mom and dad will probably shut yours off once they find out you’re gone. Sorry I couldn’t transfer your phone number like I promise.”

Hongjoong shook his head, looking down at the cracked iPhone XR in his hand. The screen was still readable, but it was clear it needed put out of its misery.

“It’s okay hyung, I’m sure my contacts will transfer with my iCloud. I’ll probably just toss this old thing anyway.”

Bumjoong smiled, ruffling his brothers hair as he drove.

“You wanted the pink one right? You’re lucky they had one left in stock when I went.”

Hongjoong nodded with a smile across his face, Bumjoong had promised him that as soon as he was out of his parents house he’d buy him the not so new iPhone 15; he had kept his word unlike his parents.

“Seriously!? You’re the best bro!”

The brothers spent the rest of the drive to Bumjoong’s apartment chatting about how things would go from now on. Hongjoong already had a job lined up he’d start in a week, he’d look into colleges with his scholarships he had, he’d also be closer to his online friends. Bumjoong suggested meeting them in person and hanging out while he gets settled. Arriving at the apartment Hongjoong’s jaw dropped, this place was nice; way nicer than he was used to.

“Holy shit- bro this is insane! You live here!?”

Bumjoong chuckled, ruffling Hongjoong’s long hair.

“I do, the receptionist is very kind. They’re trans like you.”

Hongjoong smiled at that, he’d transitioned in such an unsafe environment. Been forced to have sex with men just so his mother could keep calling him her daughter. Nausea bubbled up in his stomach that he quickly swallowed down. His asexuality had stemmed from that trauma, now sex disgusted him; he didn’t want any part in it.

“That makes me happy, though I’m mostly excited to have an actual bed to sleep on. And a proper shower, food.”

His life at his parent’s house had been rough. He’d be starved, forced to sleep on the floor or outside on the porch like a dog, he doesn’t even remember the last time he actually showered since graduating. Bumjoong laughed and nodded,

“How about you go shower, you do stink. I’ll have the movers bring your stuff up. It’s the third floor, door has 24 on it.”

Hongjoong nodded heading into the apartment complex. It was nice, far nicer than anything he’d ever had. The elevator dinged open , a few people walking out allowing Hongjoong to slip in. Pressing the button to the third floor he removed the jacket he’d been wearing. Dark red, pink, and white scars ran up his arms. A grim reminder of all the times he’d tried to harm himself to escape his parents torments, the times he’d been hospitalized for bleeding too much. That wasn’t going to happen anymore, he wouldn’t cut himself anymore. He was going to be clean. From cutting, drugs, alcohol. All of it.

The elevator opened, allowing the boy to walk to the apartment his brother had said and opened the door. It was a rather large apartment, the kitchen was spacious, the living room as well. He’d explore later, right now a warm shower was calling his name. Entering the bathroom Hongjoong eagerly turned on the water and stripped his dirty clothes, no amount of soap would be able to get the alcohol and weed smell out of them; he’d just toss them since Bumjoong bought him all new clothes. Stepping under the spray of the shower Hongjoong moaned in relief. The hot water washing weeks of dirt off his skin, even some old blood he hadn’t realized was there. It felt nice to finally have a shower, to get all the grime off his skin, finally be clean.

Once he finished in the shower Hongjoong looked at himself in the mirror. His tan skin now clean and glowing, his chest looked better too, the scars from his top surgery faded more than he’d originally thought.

“I actually look like…a person.”

He touched his face, there were a few pimples but nothing he couldn’t get rid of with his skin care products.

“Wow is that my little brother? What happened to that dirty little gremlin.”

Bumjoong was holding clean clothes for the younger, a smile on his face.

“I’m still a gremlin don’t worry. Just a clean one now. Fuck it feels amazing to actually be clean!”

Taking the clothes Hongjoong quickly began to get dressed, the clothes fit nicely; he would definitely be making the shirt into a crop top though. Once he was dressed he helped Bumjoong move in the rest of his stuff, once all the boxes were inside Bumjoong helped set up his new phone. Transferring all the data and ultimately deciding to get rid of the old one so Hongjoong would be safer and couldn’t be tracked.

“Okay, I have to go to work now. So the place is yours until midnight, you can order food with my debit card; don’t talk to strangers.”

Bumjoong ruffled the boys hair. Hongjoong nodded, already comfortable on the couch and wrapped up in a blanket. Since Bumjoong was a nurse he worked long hours, meaning Hongjoong would be alone more often than not.

“Okay, I’ll probably take a nap. Love you, see you later.”

Bumjoong kissed his brother’s cheek then left the apartment. The only sound being the air conditioning and the tv playing some drama Bumjoong had been watching earlier. It was nice, not having to worry about getting hit or assaulted. Hongjoong curled up on the couch, texting his friends in the group chat they had on discord.

Joongie💕: I’m finally out of my parent’s place and in Seoul. I’ll get to see you guys more now, this apartment is nice! I actually got to take a shower and eat proper food, have an actual drink. I’m gonna get used to this fast.

Youngie 🐈‍⬛: AHHHH IM SO EXCITED FOR YOU JOONG! You deserved this!

Putting his phone down Hongjoong curled up and drifted to sleep on the couch.

•

It was around 8pm when Hongjoong finally woke up, ordering food and changed into a cropped tank top and shorts to go to bed in after he ate. The apartment was now illuminated with led lights that turned on automatically, there were even some in Hongjoong’s bedroom that really made it feel cozy. A knock on the door came a few moments later, the small boy moved to open the door and grab his food. At the same time the neighbor opened theirs, for the same reason it seemed. The two made eye contact across the hall, Hongjoong’s cheeks heated up.

The man looking back at him looked to be a tiny bit older than him, maybe 19 or 20; long black hair was tied into a ponytail. He had peircings, an eyebrow and industrial. Hongjoong had them too, his ears, septum, and belly button. This guy, was exactly Hongjoong’s type.

“Oh hello! You must be Bumjoong’s little brother, I’m Seonghwa nice to meet you. I’m 20, I’ll be a freshman in college this August.”

The stranger, Seonghwa; held out his hand to Hongjoong who shook it.

“I’m Hongjoong, I’m 18. I’m going to college too, and I’m gay- I mean no not gay, actually I am gay but…aish!”

Hongjoong blushed while Seongwha laughed.

“I’m gay too, it’s okay. You’re very cute Hongjoong I hope I see you more. Do you have KakaoTalk?”

Hongjoong nodded, taking out his phone so they could exchange kakao IDs.

“I hope I get to see you more too Seongwha, sorry for being weird.”

Seonghwa shook his head, “I like weird. I hope you have a good night.”

Hongjoong watched as Seonghwa grabbed his food and entered the apartment across the hall, waving to the smaller boy as he closed the door. Grabbing his own food and walking to his bedroom Hongjoong immediately opened his chat logs on discord.

Joongie💕: cute boy alert! Really cute boy! And I totally fucked up and said I was gay and embarrassed myself! I have his KakaoTalk though! So I’m excited to get to know him.

Sitting on his bed Hongjoong began to eat his food while turning on an anime he’d been watching. This was the start of something better, especially if there was a cute boy only a door away.

[hungergamesheadcanons]

And So I Ran

*Lucy Gray's POV of Coriolanus losing his mind*

I was only supposed to be gathering katniss.

Sure it was a little early in the season for it, but unfortunately in District 12 we aren't blessed with a wide variety of plants. Plus neither Coryo nor myself were great hunters.

I left him there with the guns. I figured he'd make the best decision anyway - this sort of scenario was far from my forte. I'd gather some katniss, we'd eat tonight and I'd save some for the journey ahead, and then we'd sleep and continue moving in the morning.

But then I heard him.

He sounded angry, or insane, and my first thought was that he'd found something. Maybe it was the shawl I'd taken off - I'd hung it on a tree so that it wouldn't get snagged while I was on my hands and knees in the dirt. After all - katniss was a root plant, and that shawl was precious. I was about to yell out to him, to find him and tell him why the shawl was off, when I heard it.

Mockingjays. Gunshots.

I think my subconscious understood what happened before I did - that I wasn't safe, even though I loved him. I guess if the Hunger Games is good for anything, it's keeping you on your toes, as before I even knew it I was running away. I think the gunshots must have covered the noise I made, as he didn't seem to pursue me, despite the constant snapping on twigs beneath my feet and my stumbling around due to my shoes (while stylish, they weren't exactly made for this kind of terrain. I was a performer, after all, not a hunter).

By the time I was far enough away that I thought myself safe, I could hear him faintly in the distance. My name, coming out of his lips angrily, the occasional gunfire, before silence rang out.

I wanted to go back.

I also wanted to go far away.

I hid behind a large tree for what felt like hours. I was half expecting Coryo to come around the side of it - whether to kill me or kiss me I just didn't know. Similarly, I don't know if I was relieved or disappointed that he didn't come.

Maybe he thought he'd killed me. Maybe he thought I was long gone.

But I had to move forwards. I knew now that despite how pure and kind he had seemed, how gently he'd treated me in the Capitol and how generous he had been, he would not hesitate to kill me if he thought I was in his way.

I was a lovesick fool, and it had come back to bite me.

I had to eat a couple of the roots before moving on - despite the fact I hadn't eaten much during the Games, and had never had the most constant food supply, I was starving. Maybe it was the panic that had sucked all the energy out of me, but I wasn't sure.

All I knew was that I needed to get far away from 12 as soon as possible.

For all I knew, Coryo was heading back right now to tell the peacekeepers my plan. They could be out in the forest in droves searching for me - to execute me on the same tree poor Sejanus had died on.

So I packed away the roots I gathered, cutting a few more for the journey while I was here. My choices were to run, or throw myself into the lake and let nature take care of it.

That wasn't an option.

And so I ran.

[bbgoldfish]

hi i just wanted to say your fic made me so wildly happy holy shit it was one of the best things I've ever read and like. drove me insane in the best way possible?? I WAS GIGGLING KICKING MY FEET AT HOW GOOD IT WAS DSJKMSA

!!!!!! omg . 😭😭 thank you so much for reading it!!! and for going out of your way to send me an ask !!!!

i was genuinely hesitant on posting it at first because like. impostor syndrome and what the fuck ever but i’m glad i did in the end anyways!! and hearing from you (and anyone who leaves a comment really) makes me happy too!!! i’m glad that whatever johnshi my evil brain’s cooked up made you giggle just a little bit! 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

thank you so much again!! <333

[smol-warrior-1258]

Email is not for casual conversations the way it was in the early 2000s when I was younger. That aspect died off pretty fast once other options became available because that's not what email is best suited for anyway. Now it is mainly a transactional platform, and you gotta treat it that way. There should be a cooperative efficiency between sender & recipient(s) that aims to use as few emails as possible to achieve the desired result - vague, causal, and incomplete emails like in the previous reblogs only end up extending the process for no reason.

I could not be more glad I no longer work a job that involved primarily email contact with clients. The constant back & forth to wheedle necessary information (that should have been provided in the first place, I might add) drove me absolutely insane. Readability & formality/professionalism aside, it was mind boggling that all these people would be failing to just tell me what they wanted/needed in response to direct questions. Like I'm providing you a service at your request - tell me what you want!

So maybe I won't quite think less of you if I get emails in a professional setting that look like they were typed into a chatbot, but if I'm trying to plan your event and you are inexplicably giving me nothing, I am damn sure gonna lose patience faster and care a lot less if it didn't go exactly the way you were hoping. I can only imagine how much more frustrating it is when the topic is more dire or important.

Something to think about.

not to sound like a boomer, but I need some people to learn how to write emails in a semi-professional (at the very least) format so you're not cold emailing a business/potential employer/any other stranger about formal matters in the exact same way you'd DM a close friend on instagram

the formality/language can loosen up in the email chain once you've established a rapport and you match the other person if they're being less formal, but please don't have the very first email you send a stranger be written in all lowercase ultra-casual sms slang with no greeting or signature and a billion emojis