#I don’t understand why I pour in so much effort and time so that in the end I will most likely be poured with slop

[astfut]

😕.

[m1d-45]

snapshot

summary: short, soft moments with your lover, featuring tighnari and neuvillette (separately) in that order.

word count: ~1k composite

-> warnings: big mention of bugs in tighnari's ! none shown but theyre discussed, as are bug bites. none for neuvi.

-> gn reader (you/yours)

taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie || @boba-is-a-soup || @yuus3n || @esthelily || @turningfrogsgay || @cupandtea24 || @genshin-impacts-me || @chaoticfivesworld || @raaawwwr || @ryuryuryuyurboat || @undrxtxd || @rainswept || @wanderersqt || @rozz-eokkk

< masterlist >

bug bites were common among forest rangers. a special bug repellent was included in every pack, a black bottle with plain instructions. tighnari put effort into making it easy to apply and easier to understand, constantly finding new ways to promote its usage. if gone untreated, even small beestings can become serious. add onto it the fact that he was the one that inevitably had to treat them, and he had every motivation to ensure it was used. he made sure that spares were easily accessible, included demonstrations in training, and emphasized the importance of proper application before every patrol.

so why in teyvat did you keep getting bit?

every time, without fail, you returned from patrol scratching your wrist or ankle or wherever you inevitably got bit. and every time, he had to be the one to drag you to the medical hut. at least if you acknowledged the severity of the situation and brought your injuries to him on your own, that’d be understandable. he understood that the feeling of lotion wan’t bearable for everyone—he was in the process of transforming it into a mist to make it even easier—and he’d be happy to find ways to keep you inside if that was the case. there was no shortage of small chores to be done, and with collei now in full recovery, you could easily take her place.

but no. of course not. that would be too easy. his partner happened to be the most stubborn ranger on the squad, with the worst affinity for bugs he’d ever seen.

“how does this always happen to you?”

you shrug, pulling his mint plant off the shelf and beginning to tear off a few leaves. part of him is proud you at least know the proper treatment, though it’s quickly overshadowed by the angry swelling on your hand. he takes the leaves and nudges you toward the chair, searching his drawers for the rest of the poultice.

“how long ago did you get bit?”

“maybe half an hour.”

“half an-” he twisted open the tin with too much force, sighing. “and you didn’t come back immediately why?”

he can hear the smile in your voice. “it wasn’t that serious.”

“…what color was it?”

“yellow.”

“really?”

“and striped. probably a wasp.”

he didn’t know how you had the energy to be sassy, tearing the leaves into shreds and mixing it into the tin. your eyes were red with tears and you hissed when he spread the medicine over your wrist, clearly in pain. the area around your bite was hot to the touch, and he could feel his ears pull back in worry.

“why do you insist on going on patrol?” why do you insist on getting hurt?

“it’s not a big deal.” i don’t care about my pain.

“it is.” i do.

he wiped off his hands and grabbed a roll of bandages, wrapping your hand. your fingers flinched whenever he pulled it too tight. how could you insist on putting yourself at risk like this?

he taped down the end, holding your hand in his. “if it gets too itchy, come back to me, okay?” will you let me care for you?

“of course i will.” i’ll try.

he brought your hand to his, pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

maybe this time, you’d mean it.

rain was common in fontaine. gutters lined every road and fountains sprayed wherever there was enough room to put one. carved bricks channeled water out of the plazas, every inch of the city designed with rainfall in mind. steep roofs fell over wide awnings, thick greeting rugs in front of every building. when it rained, it poured, though no puddles lay in the streets. sharp lights cut through the dense fog hanging over ivory walls, lighting up the city even when the clouds blocked out the sun.

but the world did not come to a standstill merely because the weather asked it to. boots were sold covered in waterproof wax, many-layered skirts designed to flick off water in a single twirl. fashion was as beautiful as it was untouchable, the very idea of something being vulnerable to waterlog appalling and confusing. who would create such a thing? who would wear it without an umbrella? and, entirely separate from that: who would ever consider leaving the house without an umbrella?

umbrellas were as vital to fashion as they were to the ever-changing weather. they came in every color and shape, made to match every conceivable outfit one could wear. and if, by some miracle, you couldn’t find one that did, there were a plethora of boutiques offering custom embroidery. the steambird was eager to comment on the shifting designs across officials’ umbrellas, trends flowing in and out of their fashion column like the tide. everyone who worked in the court that had stepped outside on a rainy day—which was about as common as the sun rising—had their appearance meticulously documented; unless they refused being in the paper, of course, in which case other less-reputable sources picked up the story instead.

all were reported on, making the front page if not the headline. all, but one.

the iudex did not carry an umbrella. he also declined to entertain any questions as to why, merely stating that simple fact and moving on with his day. his hair clung to his face, even his suit darker with water. he walked down the less crowded roads so he wouldn’t bump into anybody, seeming entirely unbothered by the rain. sometimes he’d turn a palm toward the sky, as if checking that it was still there, and then continue on his way.

you always hated this habit of his. no matter how many times he insisted that he wouldn’t get sick, it was always worrying to open your door and find your lover soaked from head to toe. no water slips from him to your floors, not even from the soles of his boots, the click of his heels and your worried tone the only sound in the house. it was already late as it was, and there was no point to fuss about details at this hour.

“what happened?”

he shed his coat, suspended droplets hovering in the air around him. “the marechaussee phantom were called to mount automnequi; a melusine was badly injured by a rogue mek, and a fisherman had to pull her from the sea. i paid her a visit after work.”

that would explain things. he lets you wipe off his face, careful not to smudge the eyeliner that never seems to fade. already, the rain was beginning to let up, lightening from a downpour. rain in fontaine was as fickle as it was frequent…

“is she alright?”

“of course. the gardiennage provides excellent doctors.”

“then there’s no need to worry.” cupping his now-dry face in your hands, you pressed a quick kiss to his lips. “she’ll be back in her feet in no time.”

the slightest of smiles crossed his face, his hands keeping yours on him. outside, the skies were clearing, pale blue quickly streaming through the clouds.

perhaps umbrellas would fall out of fashion soon, if rains could cease before they truly had the chance to begin.

[writtenbymoonflower]

can i please request any of the marauders (dealers choice) with a shy quiet reader who’s just a little lonely, and doesn’t quite understand why he (the marauder) wants to be her friend but he just follows her like a lost puppy! if not totally cool- also it can be romantic i don’t mind but i just love the way you write the boys they’re so perfect

definitely did not use this request as an opportunity for MAJOR projection... of course not. Not sure if he's as openly needy as you were wanting, but I hope this is okay! Thanks for requesting hunny! shy!reader x flirty friend!Sirius Black

cw: drinking, smoking, kinda mean friends

1.4k words

Much to your dismay, your drink didn’t look any more interesting than the last twenty times you stared into it. Still, it was better than letting your eyes roam around the party and looking as lost as you felt. The friends you had come with ran off about thirty minutes ago, pulling attractive strangers onto the floor to dance. You were sat on the microfiber settee, swirling your drink and playing with the frays on your jeans. The jeans that your friends had stuffed you into, claiming they ‘make your ass look fantastic.’

Unfortunately, the effort was for naught, because you had been sitting down the whole night. The whole room was a mix of sounds, loud laughter, cups toppling over, the thump of the music from the stereo. You scanned the room, trying to see if there was anyone you recognized, you didn’t have to even look over for someone to call your name. 

“Y/N, love! I didn’t know you were here!” You looked up to see Sirius Black bounding towards you, not having any time to process before you were being hauled up into a hug. He was holding you far too tight to be socially acceptable, considering how you didn’t really know each other that well.

You had met at a party similar to this, one of your friends had a thing going on with someone in their group. Since then, it seemed like anytime he clapped eyes on you, he pulled you onto his arm. 

“Hi, Sirius.” You said quietly, still having the air squeezed out of you by the tattooed boy. He smelled like strong, clean cologne, tinged with musk, hair product, and makeup. It wasn't bad, actually kind of nice. He pulled back, but didn’t let go of you. You noticed he was far too pretty to be fair, smokey and sparkly liner rimming his eyes, high cheekbones topped with glitter that shimmered in the colorful lights, and dark, glossy lipstick, slightly smudged and blotted from his cup. He always looked his best at parties, but he took your breath away extra tonight, maybe because you hadn’t had enough to drink, too scared to run out and go up yourself for a refill. 

“What’re you doing, sitting here all by yourself, you goose.” He playfully scolded, finally letting his arms drop from around you. 

“My friends ran off, I was trying to get drunk.” You laughed pitifully. He was looking at you with enough intensity to make your ears burn. He peered between the two of you to look at your cup of beer. 

“Oh you poor thing, you’re never gonna get drunk enough on that. Come with me, let me fix you up.” He grabbed your free hand and dragged you over to the drinks table, you felt bad pulling him away from the people he came with.

“Aren’t your friends gonna worry? I don’t wanna steal you” You said, setting your red cup down to pick at your nails. 

“Let them worry. Besides, I’d let you steal me any day, dollface.” He winked at you, making heat rush through your body. “Anyway, let me make you a drink.” He picked up a bottle of red juice. “The key is, stay away from things that taste nasty.” He acted like he was teaching a class. “If you want to be drunk, you have to not suffer while you’re drinking.” He poured the fruit punch into another red cup, before grabbing a bottle of tequila and pouring a hefty amount in with it. He swirled the drink before handing it to you. 

“Thank you.” You said, looking at your shoes.

“Anytime.” He smirked at you. You hid your face in your drink, taking a tentative sip. It tasted mostly like fruit punch, with a tinge of warmth as it went down your throat. 

“This is dangerous.” You laughed nervously. “It’s really good, thank you.” You were smiling so shyly and sweetly at him he thought he could cry. 

“No need to thank me.” He shook his head like you were being silly. You looked over to see his usual tribe, smiling and laughing. Your heart burned, wishing you had a group like that. You liked the friends you had come with, but they treated you more like a pity project than anything else, it was embarrassing. Sirius was probably doing the same with you. 

“Well, don’t let me keep you. I’m gonna go outside for a smoke.” You started to turn on your heel towards the patio. 

“They’ll be okay, I promise. Let me keep you at least.” He pleaded. “I could use a smoke too.” He caught up to walk beside you. 

“Only if you want to.” You said, barely looking at him. 

“Can’t think of anythin’ I’d rather do.” You didn’t miss the way his eyes roved appreciatively over your form, making you want to hide and show off to him all at once. He held the door open for you, both of you sighing as the cool air hit your overheated bodies. 

“Thank you.” You muttered again.

“Lose the pleasantries, babydoll. It’s just me.” He shook his head like you were being silly while he pulled out a pack of cigs, handing one to you before sticking another in his painted mouth. 

“I don’t wanna take your stuff.” You said, ashamedly. You were already causing him enough trouble, pulling him from his friends, making him babysit and play bartender, now stealing his substances. You were quickly working your way to mooch status.

He spoke around the unlit stick in his mouth. “You’re not taking, I’m giving. Now c’mere.” He pulled you by your arm, wrapping his hand around your baggy jacket. He grabbed the cigarette from your hand. “Open,” He said, unusually quiet. You scrunched your eyebrows in confusion, making him laugh. “Open your mouth, silly.” 

“Oh,” You said, complying with his odd request. He placed the cigarette on your lips, letting you close your mouth around the filter. You thought your heart jumped into your throat as he stepped closer, cupping his hand around the side and flicking his lighter on, lighting the end of your cig for you. You could feel your pants turn to ash on the spot. 

“There you go.” He whispered, stepping away to light his own. Your brain short circuited, struggling to process the last few seconds. You took a drag of your cigarette before taking it out of your mouth. 

“Thank you.” You looked at your shoes again. 

“Bad girl, what did I just tell you?” He laughed loudly. You took a deep breath. 

“You don’t have to do this, you know.” You whispered, cheeks flaming. He blew smoke out of his nose, face pinched in confusion. “Babysit me, I mean. I know you just feel bad cus’ I was sitting by myself.” You picked at the lint on your coat. He looked offended, making you want to pass out on the spot. 

“I’m gonna let you in on a secret.” He said, hushedly. “It seems you don’t realize it, but I’m mean.” You must’ve looked as confused as you felt, because he kept going. “I’m not really very nice, I don’t do things for the sake of others, not like it seems you think I do. So, I’m not doing this for your sake, I’m doing this for mine.” He smirked at you, his sharp canines glinting in the moonlight. 

“I don’t believe that.” You looked him in the eye for the first time that night. 

“And I don’t believe that anyone would pass up the opportunity to be with you, but here we are.” He smiled at you. “Now, if you’ll let me, I would like to spend my time with the person I really want to see. My other friends will be fine, trust me. They’re probably thanking their lucky stars I’m finally leaving them alone, actually.” He wrapped his hand around your wrist, pulling you into his side and swinging an arm over your shoulders. 

“Okay.” You said, looking at your shoes again, voice barely louder than a mouse. He shook his head again. 

“You’re so fucking cute, you’re gonna be the death of me.” He chuckled, leaning over to press a kiss to your cheek. You let your fingers swipe the area gently. 

They came away with his pretty burgundy lipstick staining them.

[hellshire-harlot]

Father of Serpents | Albert Wesker x Reader Halloween Special

Taglist: @gothghostiie @weskie @destinationtrekk @nomansgunssmoke

The stone altar beneath you is cold, bitterly so, sapping the warmth from your bare skin.

Despite your best efforts, you can’t escape the cruel fetters keeping you bound. Spread-eagle, chained to the slab of granite, you can’t help but writhe, desperate to evade your inevitable fate. It seems like so long ago that you were snatched from the dim street, dragged to this unknown place of shadows and ominous reliefs carved into the stone walls, thrown in a cell to wait. But it hasn’t even been a day; you’d wager the sun hasn’t even risen yet. After all, what better time to perform a ritual sacrifice than on All Hallow’s Eve?

You know you’re being sacrificed, of course. For what other reason would a cabal of silent, hooded men abduct you, strip you naked, and bathe you in rose-water & honey milk? For what other reason would they drag you sobbing and pleading to a stone altar in the center of a spacious sanctum and tie you to it?

Your chest heaves, your lungs unable to get a full breath between your terrified sobbing. You’ve long since given up pleading for your life. You’d done all you could think of- promised not to tell, offered them your money, and when they ripped off your clothes you did your best to play along, thinking your kidnappers were going to simply fuck you and move on. Nothing so far has worked. None of them has even whispered a word. As they washed you in their ceremonial bath, their hands pouring the water all over you and carding through your hair, they never pulled or groped, only touched to clean you. In the beginning, when you had more energy, you struggled and kicked and hit all you could, and one of them evidently had had enough. He’d struck you, a vicious backhand that left your ears ringing and a cruel mark on your cheek.

For whatever reason, the others seemed angry that he had hit you. They led him away, and one turned your face side to side as if to check the damage. Now that you lay on the frigid stone that grows warmer only because your flesh is bound to it, you understand why they cared at all, and it only makes you weep harder.

They didn’t want their lamb to be bruised before the slaughter. It would ruin the meat, wouldn’t it?

Tears stream down your temples as a handful of the cultists circle you. You rest your head against the small cushion beneath it and bite your lip. You don’t want to give them the satisfaction of your terror, but you can only do so much. Your heart pounds as you scan them for weapons. You expected a sacrificial dagger or ceremonial blade, one designed to rip your heart from your chest or cleave your head from your shoulders. But none of them carry any weapons that you can see. Poison, then? Drowning? Smothering? There are many ways they could kill you that don’t involve marring your skin. Your stomach fills with dread as the visions of yourself vomiting blood, writhing beneath a pillow over your face, thrashing against arms that hold your head underwater, parade before your mind. You can only desperately pray for your death to be swift and painless.

As the cultists form a ring around your prone form, you ball your hands into fists and brace yourself. Throat hoarse from screaming and crying, you nonetheless summon your voice once more, a last, desperate plea for salvation. “Please, don’t hurt me,” you beseech, “I- I don’t want to die. Please.”

None of them respond, or even indicate that they’ve heard you. You close your eyes tight, another despairing sob tearing from your chest. I’m going to die here.

You only open your teary eyes when a voice that is not your own echoes throughout the sanctum. “Hac nocte noctes,” a deep-voiced man intones, the words unknown to you but their meaning ominous all the same. You haven’t heard someone speak other than yourself since this ordeal began, and it startles you. Your eyes snap open and you watch as the cultist who spoke raises his arms in prayer, and you glance to the side, heart stopping as you look upon the tens of cultists who now fill the chamber. All of them bow before the altar, heads lowered in prayer, and echo the mantra started by the man near you. Hac nocte noctes.

Another continues, and you can’t differentiate the voices in your terrified state. “Ad te vocamus” and the acolytes follow as your eyes dart around frightfully. You can’t stifle a nervous whimper. You wish you understood what they’re saying.

Vocate nos Patrem Serpentium

Something about snakes, you think? Are they trying to summon some snake-demon out of myth to swallow you whole?

Sicut serpans caudam suam devorat

Bare, spread open like a flower on the altar, you wish you could cover yourself. You try as best you can, grunting as you struggle against the chains around your ankles, but you can’t hide your flushed crotch from view. You hate the way the attention makes you involuntarily heat up.

Tibi hanc oblationem damus

The air around you feels colder than ever. The meager wetness gathering in your core chills, further sapping your body’s warmth. You can feel eyes all over your bare flesh, but with each cultist’s face hidden, you can’t tell if they’re actually looking at you or not. Do they gaze upon your helpless form with unadulterated lust? Do they long to sink their teeth into you and fuck you until you haven’t the strength to say no any longer? Or do they simply size you up like the butcher does his sow? You wish you could say for sure.

In reditu nihil petimus

Half-heartedly, you wonder what god you’re being offered to. Satan? Baphomet? Leviathan? Cthulhu? Kali? Some nameless, formless entity known only to these gathered men? As you were brought here, you took notice of the carved reliefs on the walls. Even now, they surround you, decorating the stone womb you are trapped within. All of them depict snakes, writhing and coiling in on themselves, devouring their own tails and lashing out at unseen enemies. One relief in the far corner depicts a rat in the process of being swallowed whole by a cobra, only for the cobra to be bitten and mauled by a great bear. Another relief, this one continuing the tale, shows the injured serpent biting its own tail and taking new form as a halo behind a humanoid figure, body undefined, unknowable. Then, the halo-snake rides along the arm of the figure, coiling and constricting the throat of a fox. The final relief you can see from your position shows the fox standing at the figure’s side as the same bear from the first relief, accompanied by a jackal, lunges for them. Behind the silhouettes you can make out etchings of roiling flames.

Such evocative, ominous imagery. You can only assume these people mean to sacrifice you to the serpent in their carvings. Do they believe him to be dead, and your blood will revive him? Is he slumbering, and you’re merely bait to awaken him? So many questions, and with not one of the cultists willing to even acknowledge you, each one will die on your leaden tongue and with your terrified heart.

Serva benedictionem intuitus tui

Somehow, you can sense their mantra is nearing its end. Your breathing speeds up. You still can’t see any of them carrying weapons, or anything at all. Each cultist has his hands raised in the air as if offering something to the sky, empty. You pull against your fetters again, to no avail. Do your family and friends even know you’re gone? Are they looking for you? What will they say when you never come home? Your heart aches to think of it. You hope that these cultists at least let your body be found. You don’t want your loved ones to spend the rest of their lives listening for a heartbeat that no longer exists.

You steel yourself. You will face death with gritted teeth, pursed lips, and stony eyes. You will not grant these lunatics the pleasure of turning you into a damsel.

Vivat Uroboros

Now, that phrase you can understand somewhat. Long live Uroboros. Is that the name of their god? Uroboros? Judging by the imagery of snakes all around you, and the mentions of serpents in the chant, you anticipate being swallowed whole by a leviathan summoned from below, or maybe tossed into a pit of vipers.

What you don’t expect is for a suffocating silence to fall over the sanctum.

It feels wholly unnatural, unearthly. Like there’s a bubble that encases you, preventing you from hearing anything save your own frantic heartbeat. None of the cultists are moving. Your breaths become shallow as you try to understand what’s happening, why the shadows in the corners seem to undulate.

And then you look up.

The eyes, unblinking, burn away your bones, leaving only your soul behind. They’re made of hellfire, with only slivers of onyx to act as pupils. They bore right into your own, and you suddenly find yourself even more paralyzed than you already were.

The silence is broken by something new- a low, droning hum, like the gastric functions of some titanic monster. You watch as the void above you shifts, shimmers like oil, distorts into something new. Tendrils- writhing, black, wet, vile, foreboding -emerge from the infinite pitch and encircle you and the altar you lay on, blocking out the rest of the world with moving, living walls. You can barely breathe as those brimstone eyes continue to appraise you, pupils dilating and shrinking as the seconds pass. They come closer, closer, until you can feel them hovering in the air just above your face. You can’t blink. If you do, you’ll die, you’re sure of it.

A nightmare. That’s what this is. All you need to do is wait it out and you’ll wake up at home, hungover from the party, tangled in your sheets and pillows. All you need to do is wake up.

But then, why does everything feel too real? Why does the oily tentacle that prods under your chin, tilting you up to face the unfathomable being it belongs to, feel so utterly visceral?

The appendage retracts, leaving a faint, sticky residue on your skin. Your head falls back against the cushion, your eyes still trained on the nightmare above you. A voice comes to you, a voice that echoes from the depths of your psyche like the death rattle of a vanquished god. It feels invasive, and yet completely native. It feels unearthly, and yet natural.

Hello.

The voice, deep and cold, is overpowering. You finally capitulate, squeezing your eyes shut against the pounding echo of the single word. Bursts of color flash behind your eyelids as the word reverberates, fades in and out, as if your mind is trying to consume it. It’s horrifying, making your skin crawl and your bones itch, but bound as you are, there is nothing you can do. You feel as though you’re being lobotomized from the inside out, the forbidden knowledge somehow contained within those two benign syllables putting a trepanning tool to the inside of your skull and pounding pounding pounding. The pressure builds, your heart running in circles, thrashing against your screaming ribcage, and stars die in your eyes as the pain crescendos and you feel your skull shattering-

And then you open your eyes. Half-blind with tears, you still recognize the form above you, standing astride your hips on the altar.

A man.

The most beautiful man you’ve ever seen.

The shock blasts away all the agony in your mind like a bomb at ground zero. Suddenly you see with perfect clarity, cold calmness draped over you like a paper-thin blanket of hoarfrost. All that is allowed to exist in your newly-cleared mind is the image of him. Tall, with blonde hair slicked back perfectly, not one strand out of place. Pale skin, like bone china, and thin lips, an angular face that simultaneously warns you away, lest you cut yourself on its edge, and beckons you to throw your body into the blade. His eyes, the color of magma, are the only indication that this is the same being that hovered over you moments ago. The same being, now in a new, impossibly-beautiful form. He looks down upon you, eyes harsh and stern but curious. Interested. The midnight leather that covers his body drapes around you, the ends of his long coat transforming into the same tendrils that encased you before. He tilts his head, appraising your naked form.

The same voice that scorched your sanity returns, though its razor edge is dulled. Be calm. It’s a command, one you physically cannot refuse. At the very least, this time it doesn’t crack open your skull and drain from it the fluid within. Like a computer given an executive command, your body instantly obeys. Your heart rate slows, your breathing evens out. You watch as his gaze leaves you, looking out over the prostrate assemblage before him.

It’s the same voice as in your head, but now audible to everyone else, that shatters the silence. “I have yet to be disappointed with your offerings,” he speaks, and he would sound like any other man if not for the way the bones of the earth tremble at his words, “it would be a shame to jeopardize our… relationship now.

“Which is why I can’t help but ask- who among you thought to touch what is mine?” Suddenly the detached cadence of his voice breaks away, revealing the cold, calculated anger beneath. For some reason, be it your exhausted heart or the command he gave you, you don’t feel uncomfortable the way you usually do when so close to such rage. You know it isn’t directed at you, but that hasn’t stopped your anxiety from rearing its ugly head in the past. Somehow, you are utterly calm in the face of the wrath of a god.

There is a pause, long and heavy, that clamps down on the room. For a painful moment, no one moves. Not him, not you, not the cultists around the altar or the assemblage before you. And then, a single figure rises from kneeling to stand tall and stiff among the crowd. Somehow, you know- this is the man who struck you. The bruise on your cheek stings with the echo of his attack.

The deity above you, nameless, hums in unknowable emotion as the perpetrator reveals himself. Like a bolt of black lightning, he thrusts his arm forward, gloved hand splayed out as if reaching for the man. In response, the man convulses, body twitching, doubling over and clutching at his stomach. He remains silent save for a few faint gurgling sounds, pained and sickening. Slowly, the summoned god draws his fingers into a fist.

“I haven’t felt the need to demonstrate what will happen to anyone who thinks they know better than I,” he says conversationally, as though a man isn’t dying in the middle of the room. Some of the cultists surrounding him turn to watch the spectacle, while others remain kneeling, albeit shaking. “But I suppose now is as good a time as ever, hm?” The tendrils that make up his coattails are writhing, charged with vitriolic power, hovering just over you. The sight of the man being tormented makes you sick, and you close your eyes to bite back the bile in your throat.

The voice returns, still gentle in comparison to his introduction, but stern. No, little one. Watch.

You already know you have no choice. Your eyelids open of their own volition, against the signals your brain sends. Now that you’re looking, you can’t tear your eyes away, like a car accident of eldritch proportions. It is nightmarish, and yet, you stand transfixed.

“Let this serve as a lesson to the rest of you,” the unholy being continues, watching with bored eyes as his victim falls to his knees, “this isn’t the most painful way I can kill. Lay hands on what belongs to me, and you will suffer. Am I understood?” In response, the cultists assembled nod their heads vigorously, or else give a terse cry of yes, Serpent-Father. Both reactions serve the same end, and their recipient seems satisfied. “Good,” he concludes with a pleasant tone.

His hand clenches into a fist, and the man’s head explodes into a mass of ravenous black tendrils.

Some of the devotees gasp, others flinch, and some remain still, though clearly at great personal cost. You can’t stop the horrified cry that escapes you, but the command of the voice evidently can. Hush. And your mouth closes.

As the body falls, twitching, to the stone floor, you watch the grotesque spectacle continue, more ebon tendrils eating their way out of the torso and abdomen. They detach from the body, slithering across the floor in unison towards the altar, and you realize they’re not tendrils at all, but snakes. They slide up the altar, over your trembling flesh, and up the legs of the man above you, who welcomes his servants with no issue. They obey their master unerringly, coiling in a braid around his outstretched arm, before becoming one with the shimmering leather itself. They are an extension of him, and so they merge seamlessly. One blink, and they’re gone, leaving behind only their master.

To their credit, the cultists surrounding the altar haven’t strayed from their positions, as much as you imagine they wish to. You look up at him, their patron, this Serpent-Father they’ve served you up to. You wonder if that is his name, or merely a moniker. He glances about the room, surveying the mass of devotees in attendance, and nods.

In response, one of the cultists at the altar begins another chant. The words remain unknown to you, but they set a strange rhythm, one that seems to put your soul into motion. Elsewhere, someone rings out a ceremonial bell, a sepulchral beat to accompany the tuneless song. You can’t help but wonder if this is where you die. If the beautiful, terrifying man above you will be the one to spill your blood, in his own name, and devour your beating heart.

But then, he isn’t above you anymore. He stands at the side of the altar you’re bound to, the other cultists having backed up against the wall with heads lowered in respect. He has free reign to run his gloved fingertips across the stone surface, and across your vulnerable skin. The slow, sensual touch makes you tense, expecting pain where there is none. At the frightened gasp you let out, he tilts his head in amusement.

His voice echoes in your mind again, a baritone murmur that curls against your innermost thoughts. He coils across your deepest self, probing, plucking the synapses of your brain like harpstrings. Each gentle tug coaxes your body into a pliant, heated state. Privately, he speaks to you. My pets gave you quite the scare, didn’t they? He hums, his corporeal hands gliding across the length of your leg, your arm, your side. He touches you with obvious intent, though what that intention is somewhat eludes you still. Are you not a sacrifice? Are you not meant to be killed in his name? Don’t mind all that, dearheart. Set dressing, really. You’re here to give me a different kind of offering.

Slowly, deliberately, he climbs atop the altar and sits astride your hips. He continues his exploration of your body until one gloved hand finds its way to cradle your cheek, an unexpectedly-comforting touch that you can’t help but lean into with a quiet whine. The other trails down, down, until his fingertips caress the sensitive flesh of your cunt. It makes you jolt, which consequently gives him better access to you, and his fingers greedily explore the velvety skin, nerves firing off with sparks of pleasure. As one finger dips inside, coating itself in the slick of your inner walls, you suddenly find yourself understanding the true nature of your predicament. “Oh,” you breathe, any and all confusion draining from you to the beat of the chanting.

You’re not here to give your life. You’re here to give your body. You’re here to fuck a god.

Both inwardly and outwardly, said god chuckles, amused by your wide eyes and heated cheeks. Whatever did you think was going to happen, hm? He asks, despite knowing full well what you expected. Your body responds eagerly to his ministrations, skin heating up, hips bucking against the restraints keeping you prone. You summon your higher brain functions to glare halfheartedly up at him for teasing you, to which he only coos condescendingly. “Did you think I’d eat you or something, little one?” He speaks aloud, voice soft but still cool and dark, “Oh no, nothing so gauche. The only screams that will fill the halls tonight will be of pleasure.”

The line is so cheesy; if an ordinary man used it on you, you’d roll your eyes. But in this place, surrounded by devoted onlookers and helpless before a god, it only makes you keen for more. You arch your back against the stone, meeting the languid thrusts of his fingers with the bucking of your hips. He looks down at you with such unbridled desire that your head spins. Speaking of screaming- he whispers into your head -My name is Wesker. You’re among my acolytes now, you may speak it freely. Don’t be shy.

A second finger, just as deft as the first, finds its way inside of you. It’s so good and yet not nearly enough. You can’t help but writhe beneath the god- Wesker -as he teases you. Your restraints hold fast, chafing against your wrists and ankles, denying you from taking more than what is offered. It’s agonizing, but the pain sears you from the inside out so deliciously. Any modesty lingering within you is burnt away in the wake of his fiery eyes and the horrible pleasure he brings. Your own eyes blown out, misty with tears, you can’t help but stare out at the procession of chanting cultists.

They treat your debauchment as though it’s a sermon. They offer prayers over your escalating moans, and you may be delirious enough to hallucinate but surely you aren’t simply making up the visible tents in some of their robes. The knowledge that they’re aroused simply by watching their god unravel you on his fingers, that they have the discipline to continue their worship regardless, sends a piercing bolt of arousal straight to your pulsing clit.

You can feel your climax sneaking up on you, choking you from behind. “Please,” you gasp, suddenly breathless as you look back to your tormentor, “pl- ah- please, make me cum, ‘m almost- almost there…” it’s as much a prayer as the ones being offered by your voyeurs. You wriggle your torso invitingly, begging him with your body to give you the building ecstasy.

Wesker smiles in satisfaction at the mess he’s made of you. The hand not burying three of its deliciously-long, slender fingers in your sopping cunt comes up, grabs your chin between thumb and forefinger. He drinks in your wrecked expression like the finest liquor. “You can have it, pet,” he coos, lowering his face to hover just over yours, and you’ve never wanted to kiss someone more in your fucking life, “go on. Scream my name while I ruin you.”

And you do. By every strange deity in this cult’s perverted pantheon, you do. Your downright pornographic cry of Wesker echoes through the halls of the sanctum, and the way you can see him shudder at the sound of his own name is what finally tips you over the edge. It’s sinful, the flush that comes to his pale cheeks, but it’s delicious. His being pulses with a surge of power at having his name invoked, especially during such passion as yours. The cultists chant a devoted hymn in unison, voices raised in victory, seemingly empowered by your climax. Your better judgment leaks out of you alongside the juices of your orgasm, pooling in a clear puddle of slick on the granite. Of any fluid from your body to give to Wesker, this is the one you would gleefully offer again.

As you come down from the ravenous high, your wonderfully-foggy mind registers something else prodding at your fluttering hole in replacement of his fingers. It feels hot and hard, and though you can’t crane your head enough to look down and see what it is, you can hedge a bet. The thought of having him fill you, claim you from the inside out, is enough to have you writhing desperately again. You keen pathetically as your chains keep you steadfastly held down, wishing more than ever that they were gone and you could simply wrap your arms and legs around this god and cling to him while he gives you all he has to give. You strain your wrists, your ankles, against the fetters, praying for them to just snap out of existence.

As though sensing your frustration, Wesker leans down, pressing his lips against the side of your head in a strange pantomime of a kiss that leaves your chest feeling unexpectedly fluttery and light. His voice swims in your head. Feeling trapped, are we? He asks rhetorically, the hand not guiding his cock to rest against your winking cunt wrapping around the chain on your right wrist. You nod frantically, babbling out quiet, incomprehensible pleas to be freed. Oh, alright. I know you’ll behave for me. After all, I’m sure you remember what I do to pets I find unsatisfactory.

The small ripple of dread in the pool of hot lust makes you whimper. It’s an unwelcome reminder that though you may be enjoying yourself, you’re not here by choice, and you even have the cold corpse of the man who slapped you to act as visual aid. But you’ll be good. You’ve been good thus far, been sweet and obedient under his ministrations, and you have every intention of continuing that. You’ll be good for him. For Wesker.

With a subtle squeeze, the god in mortal flesh releases your shackled wrist. The chain turns warm, scaly, as do the ones on the rest of your limbs. The newly-transformed snakes, just as vantablack as the ones he summoned to kill the errant cultist, slither away from your wrists and ankles, leaving you blessedly free. They return to their master, merging with his writhing coat, but you don’t care, only concerned with satiating the bottomless lust eating through your core. You take hold of the gloved hand cradling the apple of your cheek, entwining your fingers with his. “Please,” you whisper, summoning your headiest, lustiest voice, “I’m ready. Take me, Serpent-Father.”

The deep, lustful growl Wesker lets out at your usage of the honorific you picked up on from the cultists lets you know you made the right call. You brace your feet against the stone just as he finally enters you, hot cockhead breaching your cunt and stretching you around him. Connected to the divine in a way more literal than most could ever hope for, you moan, utterly lost in the heavy liquid pleasure that fills you. Like molten gold, it keeps you pressed down, prone and pliant for your god, unable to even fathom saying no. A new chant begins, some cultists diverging from the herd in their own hymns and calls of prayer, all to the constant call of the ceremonial bell. It’s overwhelming, and you can’t help but feel the devotion of the assemblage is directed to you as much as it is to Wesker. This feeling, being watched with hungry, obsessive eyes, would normally frighten you. But safe within the solid embrace of your god, spread out for him and him only, it only makes you shudder and clench around him.

Another deep, baritone groan rumbles into you from his chest as he pushes inward, filling you thoroughly and making a pleasant weight in your core. Chancing a look down, you see he’s only about halfway, and your stomach drops out as you realize just how much you have left to take. A firm hand grips your cheeks and forces your head back up to his, though not painfully. “Look at me while I fuck you, little mortal. There is nothing else. Only me.” He orders, and you have no choice but to obey him. The hand not clasped in his and pressed down to the stone slab comes up to press at his back, forcing him closer to you. He chuckles at your insistence, but obliges, leaning in closer until you can feel his hot breath against your face.

The first thrust, once he finally sheathes himself in your cunt, makes you white out in sensation. It isn’t pain, nor pleasure, merely the feeling of being filled so profoundly. But it’s strong enough to leave you gasping for air while your mouth hangs open in a silent scream. The second plants a blooming seed of euphoria deep within you, and the third sees that seed take root and sprout. Wesker lets go of your face, assured of your obedience, and presses the hand instead to your abdomen, where you realize his cock leaves a bulge in your belly. The full-body tremor that shakes you and him both as he presses down, constricting your cunt and his cock in unison, is soul-shattering. The part of your brain not melting out of your ears right now is determined to join this cult after the ritual concludes, if only to experience such glorious sex again. You already know no mortal, man, woman, or otherwise, will ever be able to satisfy you now that you’ve tasted the forbidden fruit. Maybe Eve’s garden was tainted by the serpent, but yours is left bursting with new life by his touch. Your Eden is here, with him and him alone.

The rest of the world fades away, leaving behind only the faint chiming of the bell and the singing of your devotees behind the lewd sounds of leather against flesh. You float in a void of ecstasy in which exists only you and Wesker, you and your god. You cling to his hand like the lifeline it is, being fucked half to death as you are, his inhuman thrusts bullying his cockhead cruelly against your cervix. Never before has anything (or anyone) reached so deep inside you, and you’ve heard it said that having your cervix touched is horrifyingly painful. But all you feel is a profound sense of fullness, near bursting, as he rams against your innermost walls. You half expect him to breach even that and make his home directly in your womb, but thankfully, he doesn’t. Your soul sings out, and Wesker hears it, his presence already entrenched in your mind forever. He pulls the strings of your psyche as though you’re the most beautiful marionette, and he the most perfect puppetmaster. Your body, and all that comes with it, is stripped away, and you feel as if he’s fucking your very soul instead, making his home in the space between your astral projection and the back of your eyes. It’s unreal, unlike anything you’ve felt before, like the protective skin around your clit has been stripped leaving only the bare nerves to be stimulated directly. Without the hindrance of flesh, he drags you upwards to a climax more intense than you could have imagined before.

He holds you there, at the edge of the beautiful abyss, taking his pleasure from you first. Your ecstasy builds, peaks-

And when he brings your entwined hands to his mouth and buries his fangs in the delicate meat of your inner wrist, it crests. Instead of being thrown to the wave, the wave throws itself over you, dwarfing you even as you stand on the mountain of built-up pleasure, washing you away. You hear a high-pitched scream, and barely, you register it as your own. You open your teary eyes, seeing double for a moment as you fall back into your body, and watch as Wesker hungrily sinks his teeth into your wrist. It hurts, yes, and your body jolts at the pain, but it’s quickly washed away by the aftershocks of your orgasm. His eyes never leave yours as he laps at your blood, consuming your life essence while you tremble beneath him in a broken mess of cum and slick. He continues thrusting into you, and you feel his cock twitch, and your own arousal stirs again somehow at the thought of him breeding you, filling you with his seed and making you bear his divine children. All at once, he releases from your wrist, letting out a monumental growl of pleasure as he cums deep within you.

Your body simultaneously feels like it’s completely numb, void of any tactile sensation at all, and also oversensitive to the point of pain. A foreign presence makes itself known in your bloodstream, flowing from your bitten wrist to the rest of you. Somehow, you understand that this is his way of claiming you- marking you. No rival gods, much less mortals, will dare lay their hands on you now.

The exhaustion has caught up to you finally. The room splits into four, your eyes barely able to stay open and your body going completely limp. It’s a little frightening, and you look up at Wesker with fearful eyes, asking for guidance. His hand returns to hold yours, squeezing as if to reassure you. You are mine, he murmurs from within you, there is no turning back now.

His. You are his. Mortal plaything of the Serpent-Father, of Wesker. It should horrify you.

But the thought is comforting enough to make you relax. He brushes gloved fingertips across your eyelids, closing them for you. His voice is the last thing you hear. Sleep, pet.

When you wake, the cold stone beneath you has been replaced by sleek, soft sheets, warmed by your body.

Slowly, delicately, you sit up, taking stock of your body’s condition. You feel fine, well-rested, even. But then the previous night’s events flash before your eyes.

Being tied to a stone altar. A god of unfathomable power taking shape over you. Giving you his name, taking the most beautiful form. Fucking you until you passed out. His teeth in your flesh.

A phantom ache makes itself known in your sex, protesting the rigorous activity of the night. But that’s the least of your concern as you look at your wrist. In place of what should be a healing bite mark, there is a rune.

At least, you think it’s a rune. It’s the color of midnight, pure black, in the shape of a striped 8-sided star, with a snake coiling around it. The mark of Wesker. As you think of his name, an echo of the unrelenting euphoria he showed you last night washes over you. Your face heats up, and you subconsciously rub your thighs together.

There are worse gods to belong to, I guess.

You already know you’re not at home. Your bed isn’t nearly this comfy, nor is it covered in sleek silk sheets. You assume you’re somewhere else in the cultists’ hideout, somewhere offerings such as yourself are left to recuperate from their endeavor. You’re also no longer naked- looking down at yourself, sliding off the smooth fabric, you watch the sheer gown you’re wearing billow out around your legs. Like the bed, it’s black, and you can only assume it’s made of chiffon or gossamer given the weightlessness of the fabric. It hugs your body absolutely perfectly, draping over your skin and leaving your back & shoulders bare. It feels like a dream.

A pair of gloved hands suddenly takes hold of your hips. Gasping, you attempt to turn, only for the grip to tighten, keeping you in place. “Hush,” Wesker speaks, allaying your surprise somewhat, “it’s only me, dearheart.”

His body, hot and firm, presses against your back, possessively looming over you. He kneads your hips idly as you recover from the minor scare. His presence is soothing, reassuring. With his claim on you thoroughly set, you know he will keep you safe, even if it is only to protect his investment. “Where are we?” You ask softly, unsure of how to carry yourself around the god who fucked you so well you converted to his religion.

He hums quietly, hands trailing down to your thighs. “We are in my domain. After the ritual concluded, I brought you back with me. And here you will stay.”

“…what?” You breathe. His domain? As in, his realm of reality? A place outside of the mortal plane as you know it? You’re not meant to be here. You should be home, with your friends and family. You belong back on earth, not as a caged pet to an ancient god. As alluring, as magnetic, as he is, you cannot stay with him.

Wesker laughs, a touch of cruelty entering his voice as he takes in your slight panic. “What, pet, did you think that was a one-and-done affair? That I’d be satisfied with breeding you only once? Think again.” One hand comes up to grasp your face, forcing you to turn towards a large mirror you hadn’t noticed. Your reflection greets you, as does his, looming behind you.

The first thing you notice is the band around your neck. Made of black silver, it circles your neck perfectly, staying in place without being uncomfortably tight or even chafing. A collar, shaped like a snake devouring its own tail. Your collar.

Wesker’s calm voice breaks you from your investigation. “I do hope you like your collar, little one. You won’t be parting with it any time soon.

“It’s as I said- there is no turning back now, my dear. There is nothing else for you. Only me.”

And the rest of existence fades away, leaving only you. Only him.

Only pleasure.

[ridingreeves]

The rain poured down, a soft but steady drumming against the windows, as you stood in the dimly lit apartment you and John had shared for the past few months. The air was thick with unspoken words, and you could feel the weight of them pressing against your chest. John stood by the door, his face as unreadable as ever, but his eyes held a pain that mirrored your own.

You had noticed the change in him recently—how he grew more distant, his silence becoming longer, his touch more fleeting. Tonight, it felt like something had broken, and you were about to find out what it was.

“I can’t stay,” John said, his voice low and gravelly, barely audible over the rain. He didn’t look at you when he spoke, his eyes fixed somewhere on the floor, as if he couldn’t bear to meet your gaze.

Your heart clenched at his words, and you took a step closer, searching his face for something—anything—that would explain why. “John, what are you talking about?” you asked, your voice shaking despite your efforts to keep it steady. “We can work through whatever this is. You don’t have to go.”

But he only shook his head, the lines of his face hardening in that way they always did when he was about to shut down. “You deserve better than this… better than me.” His tone was final, but the sadness in his eyes betrayed the coldness of his words.

“John, don’t do this. You don’t get to decide what I deserve,” you whispered, your throat tightening. You reached for him, your fingers brushing against his arm, but he pulled away, retreating like a shadow into the dark.

He finally looked up at you, and the agony in his gaze almost broke you. “You don’t understand,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “The people I’ve hurt, the things I’ve done… they’re never going to stop coming for me. I can’t keep pulling you into this life.”

“Then we’ll face them together,” you insisted, tears stinging your eyes now. “I don’t care about your past, John. I care about you. You don’t have to do this alone anymore.”

John’s jaw clenched, and for a brief moment, it looked like he might give in, like he might stay. But then he stepped back, his hand tightening around the strap of the bag slung over his shoulder. “I can’t risk losing you,” he said, his voice breaking for the first time. “If you stay with me… one day, you’ll be gone. And I won’t survive that.”

The silence that followed was unbearable, a chasm opening between you that neither of you knew how to cross. The tears fell freely now, and you didn’t bother to wipe them away. “So you’re just going to leave? Walk out and pretend we didn’t mean anything?”

He closed his eyes for a moment, as if the weight of your words was too much to bear. “I’ll never pretend that,” he said softly. “But this is the only way I can keep you safe.”

Without another word, John turned and opened the door. The cold air rushed in, and with it, the finality of what was happening. You wanted to scream, to beg him to stay, but you knew it wouldn’t change anything. He was doing what he always did—sacrificing himself to protect the people he cared about.

As he stepped out into the rain, you called after him one last time, your voice cracking under the weight of your sorrow. “John, please… don’t go.”

He paused at the doorway, his back to you, and for a moment you thought he might turn around. But then, without a word, he disappeared into the night, leaving you standing alone in the emptiness of the life you had tried to build together.

The door clicked shut behind him, and the silence that followed was deafening. You sank to your knees, tears mingling with the rain that had slipped in through the open window. John was gone, and you weren’t sure if you’d ever see him again.

All you knew was that he had taken a piece of you with him, and no matter how hard you tried, that void would never be filled

Hiii I’m very new to this so it probably won’t be as good but I hope you all like it

[idleoblivion]

"Life Cycle of a Maggot" Idia Shroud x GN Reader

Synopsis: The evolution of your relationship with Idia, as compared to a fly.

A/N: I guess I was kind of experimenting with this one, tbh I don’t know how great I wrote his character but enjoy the angst at least. 

Word Count: ~1.7k

Warnings: angst, Idia/reader both implied to be depressed

Phase 1: Egg

Flies deposit eggs into rotting organic material. 

…and there couldn’t have been a better description of him when you found him. Rotting material. 

He spent nearly every waking moment immersed in technology. It felt natural, always having been surrounded by it. It almost felt like home. 

Only almost though. Because nowhere truly did anymore. 

He could never find solace from the painful memories in the forefront of his mind. Despite his best efforts they always stayed there. He couldn’t think of ‘home’ without thinking of his failures, of his regrets, of Ortho…

So he stayed online. In a space he could control, where everything worked the way it was supposed to, where there was no school or anxiety or brother to remember. He neglected himself, his body, in favor of the computer screen. 

He couldn’t name a single other student he considered a friend, and as much as he needed his own space it had started becoming lonely. He couldn’t remember if he’d gotten all of his homework done, and he didn’t particularly care. He couldn’t remember the last time he slept right. Or if he had even had a full meal on any given day. He certainly felt like he was rotting, and he was sure he looked it too. 

And then you came into the picture. 

He knew of you before you met, he’d heard of you in the short moments he spent with the student body. You hardly spoke a word to anyone and could barely bring yourself to make eye contact. Notorious for being shy, nobody could list a single other thing about you.

When he begrudgingly had to partner up with someone for a potionology assignment, he looked around the room with a knot in his stomach. Everyone was finding their partners easily, forcibly reminding him of the wall of isolation he’d created for himself. While he was debating whether or not to just ask for 0 and move on, you were walking up behind him. 

When you lightly tapped on his arm to get his attention, he turned to find your nervous face staring down at the floor. 

“Do you have a partner yet?” He shook his head no at you. “Will you be mine then?”

He considered his options. He could risk getting stuck with someone random, take the 0 like he wanted to before or give you a shot. He didn’t know anything about you, but the more you uneasily rocked back and forth, the more certain he felt you’d be someone he could handle personality-wise. At least compared to your other peers. And unless he wanted to risk ending up like Leona, he really needed to get his grades together. 

“…S-sure.” Is all he offered in response. But that seemed enough for your shoulders to drop in relief, and for you to finally look at him. The small smile you wore confused him, why would anyone be happy they got stuck with him? 

“Thank you. We could just call to work on it if you didn’t want to meet for real.”

That was…surprisingly considerate. He guessed he made the right choice after all. 

Phase 2: Maggot

Maggots will eat the rotting material around them. They thrive in their environment of decaying matter. 

Calls about the project turned into much more rather quickly. It felt like one day you were a stranger, the next you were pouring your hearts out to each other.

Misery loves company, and your company was inexplicably inviting. You made him want to unleash everything he suppressed. All the suffering his pride wouldn’t let him show, he wanted to share with you. Somehow he just knew you’d get it, you’d understand what nobody else could.

He isn’t proud of the trauma-dumping that ensued at the end of a meaningless hang out one day. He’d granted you access to his room, to meet in person for the first time. The reality of which set in immediately after you arrived. That you had accepted his invitation to his space, that he wasn’t alone in that moment. And an innocent “Are you alright?” from you ended up being enough to break him.

He cried, he gasped for air, he thought he remembered screaming but he wasn’t sure. He fell to the floor with his head in hands, sobbing and blubbering about everything weighing on him. He knew he blew it big time, melting down the second you showed up. He knew you’d leave, you had no obligation to help his pathetic self after all.

He didn’t expect tears from you as well. It shocked him so much his crying nearly halted.

You detailed your own struggles to him. Your own struggle to fit in and feel accepted, and the loneliness that came with it. Your own regrets, things you’d give anything to change. You sat across from him on the floor, tears falling gently as you rambled and rambled.

He didn’t know what came over him, but he put his hand out. He flinched when you actually took it, but didn’t let go. He managed a meager smile as he relished in the peace he’d found with you. You sit in silence for a while.

He’s visibly relieved when you agree to try hanging out again sometime. Relieved he’d finally found someone to rot with.

Vent sessions became regular, though not as emotional as the first. You became his only confidant. You were almost always in his space or talking to him online. It was almost obsessive, and he loved it. 

You both fell further into solitude, into your own despair, but together. You thrived in it, and so did he. It was the best kind of miserable he had felt in a long time.

Phase 3: Pupae 

Maggots then encase themselves in a puparium, where the maggot's body will begin changing. 

Of course, it couldn’t last forever.

You started hanging out with him less, turning him down when he’d invite you to play games or vent like you had been. He tried not to take it personally, remembering how much he loved to self-isolate when he was especially down. Maybe you were going through something extra rough right now, and you wanted your space from him. He’s down the same to a lot of people, so he couldn’t blame you. 

Until he realized how naive it was to think that was what had you busy. He was rushing to class to turn in a paper he had to finish without your help when he spotted you in the hall. 

It was nothing like the first time he saw you. Or any time he’d seen you when you two were alone.

You had people around you, a small group. They spoke to you. You spoke to them. You weren’t looking at the floor, you were looking at one of their faces. You laughed at something they said and he felt his chest tighten.

Worst of all, you were positively beaming. 

He immediately felt bad for thinking that. He should want to see you smiling like that. If he cared about you, he would want you to be branching out, making new friends. Especially when you had expressed how alone you felt. 

He did care, just maybe not in the way he was meant to.

Because he couldn’t bring himself to be happy for you. Because he recognized where this was going to head immediately.

You were changing. Somehow, some way, you were finding the strength to grow. Strength he knew he would never find himself.

He didn’t bring it up the next time you met in his dorm. But he felt it, the difference in the atmosphere. Like his negativity and sorrow didn’t reach you the same way anymore. Not like you didn’t care, but like you couldn’t relate the same way. But he pushed those thoughts down for as long as he could, not wanting to admit the reality of the situation.

You were changing. And he simply was not.

Phase 4: Fly

Eventually, a fly will emerge from the casing to leave and continue on with its general life cycle. 

Rain checks turned to missed calls turned to ghosting altogether. 

His pride wouldn’t let him beg for your attention, but he missed it. He mourned it. Grieved the friendship that really never was, but meant so much to him.

He resented you for it, but a part of him couldn’t blame you. You were nothing like him now.

He spent even more time in his room if that was possible. But on the rare occasion he’d leave for class and spot you, you always had people with you. People who could be funny and casual, people who could hold a conversation without saying something depressing, people who you could do activities outside of school with. People who weren’t him, or anything like him.

You were kind enough not to say it, but he could see it with his own eyes. How he had become a burden to you, a weight on your chest. While you were trying to improve yourself he only ever got worse. 

You weren’t content to rot, clearly. You had this ambition, this drive to escape the hell you had created for yourself and start over. You would always understand him and his pain, but you had pushed through your own misery and found yourself happier. And with no room left for him and his lack thereof.

You were moved on. Because what was temporary weakness for you was eternal for him, like his curse.

Had he known that from the beginning, he would’ve never gotten involved. He had to figure out what you were, but he knew right from the start what he was.

You had flown away, sprouted wings and left the rot behind. Like you were meant to.

And he was a hungry, starving maggot. And always would be.

[velchronica]

imperfect love ♬~*.°₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ itoshi sae

maybe i'll cry for a love that isn't perfect yet

but i wanna make endless stories

like the ones hidden inside an old book

or, since meeting you, all itoshi sae wants is a sappy happily ever after with you.

content: established relationship, gn!reader, fluff, sfw

wc: 1.0k

sae falls asleep to the sound of your breaths, the rise and fall of your chest underneath the weight of his arm over your waist. he’d rather fall asleep next to you every night—and most nights he does—but sometimes it simply cannot he helped, so when he’s away from home, he facetimes you until one of you falls asleep or has to go.

he easily falls asleep to your voice over call, phone on the bedside table next to him, and you only hang up once he’s quiet for at least half an hour and is no longer responding to you with a barely-there ‘mhm.’ after all, sae has never been much of a chatterbox to begin with, per se, so it’s not unusual for him to just listen, to savour your voice telling him about your day, to bask in the mimicry of nomalcy as you go about your day as usual on the phone to him, as if he’s there with you.

people are, more often than not, surprised by the sweet and affectionate nature of your longstanding relationship. while you’re all soft smiles, sunshines and rainbows, he’s terse, with sharp edges and a mind and mouth just as sharp. he’s cold, and spares no effort to sugarcoat his opinions nor fake humility to the masses, whereas you are warm and modest, never asking for anything in return for your kindness and hard work. still, despite this, your relationship is built upon strong and sturdy foundations, and the home you have built together is full of love and joy.

where he is can be too closed up, sometimes too wrapped up in himself, you encourage him to be more open-minded and compassionate. where you can be careless and impulsive, he is there to tie up any loose ends you’ve left behind. though your worlds do not excessively collide, they do overlap. while you don’t necessarily need each other to complete your own individual existence, you bring out the better and the best out of one another. you’ve learned through time and patience that symbiosis is often the better alternative to codependency.

there have been ups and downs to your relationships. you’re both only human after all, and no relationship is perfect; with personal flaws can come misunderstandings or miscommunication. the thing that sets successful couples apart from those that break up, however, is how you maintains and manages the things that strain your relationship. to maintain a balance between your independence and your time together is key, especially when sae is away from home so often.

it’s not uncommon for you to fall asleep in sae’s arms, only for the bed to be cold and half-empty in the morning. sometimes his voice or his face over the phone isn’t enough to keep out the doubt and anxiety gnawing at your heart. you don’t want to welcome him home with frustration and tears, but on the rare occasion you do, sae understands. he knows how much trust and faith it takes for you to wait for someone who will leave not long after.

but you also know it was your choice. you knew, when you agreed to start dating sae, that it wasn’t always going to be candy-floss and kitten fluff. you knew how much sae treasured his dreams, his work, his success, how much effort he had poured into crafting the formula to take over the field. you admire him for his tenacity and diligence, and you would never expect him to give up football for you.

you’d never understood why people say you should be willing to sacrifice in a relationship. compromise, yes, but sacrifice? if the person you love can’t accept you for what you are and do, then they don’t love you, not really. at least, that’s what you think.

but that’s why sae is your forever and always. sae loves you for your flaws, not despite them, and that makes all the difference in the world. he never expects you to show him the ‘best side’ of yourself at all times, because he knows how much faith you have in him to bare yourself wholeheartedly to him, to not shy away.

you’re lucky, you think, so unbelievably lucky to have sae in your life. for him to love you. for every day you spend with sae.

unbeknownst to you, sae thinks the same thing. he thinks it so often, hundreds of times a day, and he thinks you’ll say yes if he grabs that little box out of his suitcase and gets on one knee someday soon.

he hopes you’ll cry—tears of joy, not anguish or pain. that way he can wipe them away for you, hold your face in his hands and kiss you like there’s no tomorrow. hold you in his arms like the fool in love he is, so utterly enamoured and enchanted by you.

he doesn’t know how it happened, but he’s not complaining that it did. somewhere along the line he’d ended up completely bewitched by your mellifluous laughter, your sunny smile. there’s something perfect in coming home to you, knowing someone yearns for him in such a way. perhaps it isn’t this penthouse that’s home, but your warm and loving presence. he’s not quite sure. almost, though.

but what he is sure he knows is that he wants to spend the rest of his life with you. where he once wanted to write his name into history with a football career like no other, something deep inside would be wholly content to just have the memories of being yours. he wants to spend every day cherishing you, loving you, never yearning from thousands of miles away, but rather holding you close, lovesick and sappier than ever. happier than ever. happier than he’s ever known.

itoshi sae’s happily ever after is a forever after with you.

he can’t believe what you’ve turned him into. a lovesick, lovelorn fool. but still, waking up to the sound of your shallow, breaths, your body curled up into his, and the warmth of your presence—it’s fine.

this is his happily ever after, an imperfect love it may be.

© velchronica 2024

[bigtreefest]

Chapter 3: Honey Trap

From: You Catch More Bees With Honey Series

Pairing: Mob! Bucky x Farmer! Reader

Summary: A Farmer’s Market and Pouring out your heart over a beer leads to Bucky learning more about his favorite mysterious farmer

Content/warnings: mentions of previous heartbreak and descriptions, a surprising amount of crying/near-crying, soft mobster Bucky, Heartless Jake, Creepy Cole, mentions of blood/period (not graphic and should be normalized because this happens to me all the time and I know I’m not alone in that), excessive drinking and lowkey alcoholism, cowboy hat rule, mutual pining and reluctance towards that, y/n used like three times

Word Count: 5,295

A/N: I didn’t mean for this chapter to be this long, but also, I definitely meant for it to be this long. Sorry for making dear, wonderful, Jake Jensen out to be a bad guy, and NOT sorry for making Cole Turner a creep. Likes, comments, reblogs, and asks are SUPER appreciated. Thank you for reading, I love you *gives forehead kiss*

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

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Bucky knew lots of languages. Country was not one of them. You would think it would be, with how many arms purchasers were from the south, but he kept his dealings with those folk as short and formal as possible. It was better for his sanity and everyone else that way.

He’d been running into a lot of country folk today, helping you run this farmer’s market out of one of your barns. Half of his conversations with people were full of twangy words and phrases he didn’t understand, so he just lightly laughed, hoping that was the right response. The other half were children, asking him what the bump was on the side of his head, the result of the bee incident earlier this week. Before, it was slightly swollen and red, but it was nearly back to normal. Darn kids have keen eyes, though, and no shame. He’d just about had enough. These people were too polite, besides their annoying children. Lucky for him, though, he’d sold off the last of the turnip greens, and his cash box was full, so he made his way over to you at the stand holding the freshly jarred honey you’d successfully, and he’d not-so-successfully harvested earlier in the week. It was just in time to catch the tail end of a conversation he saw you were having with a slightly older woman.

“You’re like our very own honeybee”

“Oh please, Mrs. Jensen, you know the bees do all the work. I just put it in a jar”

“You’re too modest, dear. My Jakey says no one makes sweeter honey than you. I always tell him to come back and help if he loves it that much, but it seems he’s too late now. Looks like you’ve got yourself a new farm hand who’s easy on the eyes”

Bucky glanced up at her through his eyelashes with his signature smirk, raising to a stand from setting the empty turnip green crate at your feet. “Well you know what they say, honeybees don’t work alone. And their hard work makes the world go round.”

For some reason unbeknownst to him, Bucky slung his hand over your shoulder. Was it jealousy he was feeling? Possessiveness? Why, he didn’t own you and he promised himself he wouldn’t fall, physically or metaphorically (although it was far too late physically, and he didn’t want to think about how close he truly was metaphorically). Plus, it’s not like he was having the best time right now. This whole week was a nightmare, and the only reason he was in a decent mood was from seeing your smile as you interacted with the town’s folk today. You were a person of the people, in juxtaposition to how Bucky was often only looking out for himself. So why did the mention of Jakey make this feel necessary and why did it feel so right? Either way, he was proud of you and your hard work and the way it made people beam as bright as Mrs. Jensen. But he’d never say that. Where he’s from, hard work is expected and definitely not praised, although not nearly as manual. But seeing all the effort for that couple jars of honey made him question if the work he was even doing was that hard. Maybe he’d been away from the city too long and was losing perspective. Yeah. That had to be it.

“Well, either way, bless y’all’s heart for putting in the work. I’ll tell Jake you say hello.”

You and Bucky both waved goodbye.

“Well how about it Honeybee, Jakey appreciates all your hard work” he smirked, but watched the smile slide off your face.

“Try telling me that with our awful breakup years ago” you shrugged off with a small chuckle, but Bucky could see the light drain out of your eyes a little. He had obviously struck a nerve, but didn’t want to push farther, at least not now when there were still a few customers aimlessly shopping around for the last bits of produce left. Maybe he’d catch you once the two of you were alone.

You turned away from him to hide your grimace. Thinking back to that whole situation with Jake, on top of serving others all morning had completely drained you and it was quickly catching up.

“Um, why don’t you finish cleaning up the rest of the empty crates after you ask those last few people how you can help them with anything” you waved off Bucky back towards the other end of the barn, head down, starting to look through the cash box he had handed you. You waited until you could hear his receding footsteps on the hay floor to sniffle and take a deep breath. Bucky had keen ears, though, and hesitated hearing your sigh, before he continued on, giving you your chance to regroup. He had never seen you like this before, you were normally chipper and full of energy, often a little too much for his liking, but luckily it was Friday, and after he closed these deals, you both were home free.

Bucky quickly helped the last few stragglers take their rather large haul back to their car. An older man and woman who owned the bar in town had come to get some fresh vegetables for their salads, and Bucky convinced them to take the lot with his charm. That, and he wanted to make sure he didn’t have to carry them all the way back to storage. That was a long way, and you made him walk it. He rolled his eyes when you had told him about the task, too, handing him the handle to a little red wagon with a beaming smile on your face, insisting “that’s how Pappy did it before his first tractor” and “what did you think, I like wasting diesel for food that’s supposed to have a low carbon footprint? That’s why I’ve got you, Bucket.” So Bucky grumbled under his breath at first light, angry, yet amused that the nickname stuck, but still too tired to react any differently when he started the first of his dozen trips to move the produce from storage into the farmer’s market barn. And there was no way he was gonna do that again, so he convinced the couple to take the lot, even offering to carry it out to the car for them, because that was better than the quarter mile walk both ways through the tall grass of your fallow fields to return them.

“Thank you so much for your help, Jamie. You’ve taken such good care of us, you should come by the bar later if you can get some free time from Miss Y/L/N over there. She’s quite the hard worker, maybe bring her along. Drinks on us.” The older lady looked at Bucky with a soft smile.

Jamie, no one had called him that since his mom. Country folk and their want for instant closeness. He hardly knew this lady and already she was trying to be endearing, but her forced charm was nothing compared yours even when you weren’t trying. She looked over Bucky’s shoulder at you carrying a stack of heavy wooden crates out of the barn, hardly struggling, but very determined before sliding them back into the truck. Bucky’s eyes followed hers, a small grin of admiration creeping onto his face at your independence and mastery at everything you do, no matter how simple.

“Yeah, hardest worker out there. I’ll see if I can convince her to take a break.” He turned back and walked the lady to her door, opening it for her to get in.

“Drive safely. Hope to see you later Mr. and Mrs. Carter.” He shut the door and made his way back over to your truck. You had already gotten in and started it with the windows down. Bucky slid into the bench seat to be met by you with your forehead resting on the wheel in between your hands. You took a sharp inhale and shot up, putting on a fake smile, albeit less forced than earlier.

“Ready to go meet Curtis? We’ve just gotta touch base with him and then we’re good to be done for the day.”

“Um, yeah. Sounds good.”

Bucky wasn’t sure how to continue with you in that mood. Should be keep talking? Did you prefer the silence to think? The radio was low on the dash, but not silent, so he decided to speak up.

“Did you see who I was helping? They said they own the bar in town. Maybe we can go for a drink tonight? Celebrate a long week done?”

You sighed. Again. “Um, yeah. I actually think that sounds really good. We both need the decompression. TGIF, ya know?” You forced out a small laugh which Bucky returned and he turned forward as you continued the drive back toward your house.

When the two of you entered the farmhouse, your were greeted by Curtis, your weekend farmhand, sitting at the dining room table. He had already helped himself to a glass of sweet tea you kept in the fridge, mainly for him, which was made from your Aunt’s recipe he loved so much.

“Oh, good, you’re back from chores already.” Curtis had been kind enough to come in today to work on some tasks since you and Bucky had your hands full with the market. He usually only worked Saturday and Sunday since this was his second job, but he’d sometimes come in to help extra, like today.

“Bucket, this is Curty b—oh sorry, Curtis. He’s the one that makes sure things run smoothly when I’m not. He’s a whiz at fixing the machinery, perks of him also being the best mechanic in town.”

Bucky warily stepped forward, eyes narrowed, barely noticeable, and shook Curtis’s hand. Who is this guy who let himself into your house? “Bucky is fine, really.”

Curtis let out a chuckle, “nice to meet you, Bucket. It’s ok, I talked to Y/N about making cheese curds once, and she’s called me ‘Curty boi’ ever since.”

Bucky laughed and shook his head, looking over his shoulder. You just shrugged with a small smile on your face, already more relaxed and relieved to be inside your home with someone you didn’t feel like you had to put up a front for, that was reassuring. Bucky went into the kitchen to get you both a glass of water as you sat next to Curtis at the table, joined by Bucky sitting across after he handed you your glass. The three of you briefly talked about the chores Curtis had done that day, how the farmer’s market went, and what all needed done that weekend.

Curtis seemed nice, not threatening. The visceral tinge of jealousy left Bucky’s body as the conversation went on. If Curtis was going to make a move, he would’ve done it by now, surely. But the two of you were clearly just close friends. Why did Bucky keep feeling like this?

As you wrapped up, Curtis slapped his knees with both his hands and went to stand. “Well, I better get going, sun’s starting to get pretty low.”

Curtis and Bucky had been getting along pretty well, so you spoke up. “Well actually, Bucky and I were gonna go to the bar in town tonight. Care to join?”

“Yeah, I’d love to. There are just a few things I’ve gotta check on in the shop first, but I can drop by after. Does that work?”

“For sure. We’ll see you then” You and Bucky shared a small smile before you closed the door behind Curtis and turned back to the mob boss standing in your foyer.

“Ok, Cowboy. Good job today. Go take a shower, we’re going out.” Bucky beamed, which you returned, and he felt a warmth bloom in his chest at your praise.

“Yes, ma’am, Miss Honeybee” you smiled and rolled your eyes as he ran up the steps, following behind to get ready, yourself. He was really glad your mood was starting to turn around.

As Bucky went to his room to gather his clothing, his mind started to drift towards why he cared how you felt. He was just here for business, right? So why did it bother him if you were sad? If anything, he should want you vulnerable to help him come out on top of your business, but something deep inside of him felt more satisfaction when you were winning. He shook the thoughts from his head. Maybe a cold shower could help him sort this out.

Bucky came down the stairs and sat on the couch just as he heard your hair dryer start up. He had gotten ready quickly, throwing on one of his henleys, his nicer jeans, and a pair of boots Sam had sent him this week when he had heard about the whole ‘borrowing clothes situation.’

He shot Steve a text, telling him that the two of you were going out to the bar with Curtis, to which he replied Have fun, Bucket😉.

Ugh, why did he have to tell Steve about that, it was never gonna go away now. Bucky had gotten a call from Steve each evening giving updates on the business, with Bucky doing the same on his end, keeping it short, only noting the highlights and trying to keep his emotions in check and out of the updates. His best friend knew better, though, even if Bucky wasn’t fully aware of the extent of his feelings yet.

Bucky got up and walked around, looking through the photos and knick knacks in your living room, before stopping by the mirror behind your front door and checking his appearance. This look wasn’t what he was used to. He was extremely dressed down compared to the designer suit he’d likely be sporting in one of his clubs if he were back in the city. He hadn’t even bothered to gel his hair because it seemed you didn’t care when he did, plus, he wanted to save that valuable product for a real occasion, no use in wasting it to go slum with a bunch of hillbillies. He looked to the coatrack next to the mirror to see a hat that matched his boots perfectly and plopped it on his head, swaying side to side to see how it looked.

Just then, you started to make your way down the stairs but stopped in your tracks seeing Bucky in that hat. His head snapped up to look at you.

“What? Does this hat make me look dumb?”

You smiled and shook your head.

“No, not at all” Bucky could see tears well up in your eyes, accompanied by sparkles of fondness and, sadness?

“That was my uncle’s hat. He taught me everything I know”

“Oh, I’m so sorry” Bucky went to take the hat off but you stopped him.

“No- it’s okay. It looks good on you. Go ahead and wear it out tonight.”

Bucky looked back at you with a somber nod as you continued back down the stairs, taking a deep breath to settle the emotions that had nearly breached the surface.

Even in this state, you looked gorgeous. Hair flouncing in the breeze that was created as you drifted down the steps, wearing makeup he hadn’t seen since the first time you two had met and a sundress that blew him away. You were gorgeous in all states because you were you. Bucky looked down, kicking his feet, to pull his magnetic glance from you. He’s really gotta switch up the power dynamic here, and if there was one place Bucky could feel at home after a week of embarrassing himself, it was a bar. He grabbed the keys and you followed with an eye roll, getting into the passenger seat of your own truck. He didn’t even know where he was going, but he looked at you with a sly grin. Like for the first time, he had the upper hand, and that would only come from being anywhere but on your farm.

Bucky was a good driver, despite his statements about some guy named ‘Gio’ and grumbles about Sam, who you had met once before. Besides that, the drive was filled with laughs reminiscing all the mishaps he went through that week, well, mostly you laughing, and Bucky doing his best to hold a smirk from showing too obviously, his eyes narrowed at you in contrast.

The two of you pulled into town as you pointed Bucky towards a decent-sized building which housed the bar, still nothing compared to what he was used to. The two of you hopped down from the truck and walked through the front door, which jingled, signaling your entrance.

Bucky was greeted by the smell of old wood and stale beer, the dim atmosphere lit with old neon beer signs and fluorescent lights which hung over the pool tables. You looked back at Bucky as you crossed the threshold where he held the door for you.

“Hey, all I’m saying is, I bet you wouldn’t last a week in my world the way I did in yours.”

You rolled your eyes as you sauntered up to the bar, taking a seat at the corner, Bucky next to you, and a few more empty seats to the other side of him that would hopefully stay that way until Curtis came. As the two of you had walked up to the bar, you had seen a bunch of girls groups whose heads turned, seeing the stranger that was Bucky make his way across the floor. Why couldn’t he be ugly? And why did you let him wear that hat? Bucky didn’t even notice. His eyes were only on you, besides his trained peripheral vision catching the eyes of men whose heads turned towards, doing the same.

“Oh please, Bucket, you hardly made it through this week. I’ve never seen anyone cut their finger on wheat before. How did you even do that? You were literally up on the tractor… wheat should not have been anywhere near your hands, yet you came to me with several paper cut-looking marks. And what do you even do all day? Your hands have calluses but a totally different kind. You can hardly toss a hay bale a story high into the barn loft. I’m sure it wouldn’t be that hard for me to just sit at a desk, bark orders, and sign paperwork all day.”

Bucky’s mouth gaped open as he feigned offense and put his hand on his chest.

You flashed a fleeting smile at him in satisfaction as you waved down the

bartender ordering two shots of whiskey and two beers.

“Now just because that’s all you’ve seen me do for work, doesn’t mean that’s all there is to it.”

“Oh really? Please, Bucket, then be my guest…indulge me.”

“Well, if I told you, I’d have to kill you, so take that as one of the common requisites.”

He smirked at you, obviously more comfortable in this bar environment before your phone dinged and it was a message from Curtis.

Hey Y/N. So sorry, something came up at the shop. Rain check?

Yeah, no problem. Hope all is good, see you tomorrow?

Yep! Ty

“Well, looks like Curty boi isn’t joining us, so it’s just you and me, Bucko”

At that moment, the bartender set down the drinks in front of you and you and Bucky took a shot together, ordering an appetizer sampler platter to go with your drinks.

As the two of you nursed your beers, you joked more about Bucky’s farm mishaps and talked about all the men you had turned down from Bucky’s organization to get him out here.

“I’ve gotta be honest, I don’t know how you turned down both Sam and Steve. I’m hardly immune to their charms some days”

You laughed and threw your head back. “It’s not easy. They’ve both got these puppy dog eyes they make when I say ‘no’ to them, but they seemed pretty satisfied with the fact I wanted to see you in person.”

“And why exactly was that? You never quite said”

“Well, at first, it started as a way to delay the deal, but then I realized, if I’m going to be making some major changes to somewhere I consider a sanctuary, I wanna make sure it’s with the right partner” you nudged him with your elbow playfully and Bucky gave you a small grin. “But honestly, if I’m going to do something these days, I wanna do it at the source. I hate hearing important news from third parties, I mean, you’ve seen how I do business. It’s all me at the end of the day. Sure, Curtis helps out, but otherwise, it’s better to deal with things on my own and a few trusted people” you finished that statement breathless from your heated ramble. This didn’t go unnoticed by Bucky at all. Where did that come from? At first, to him, you were just another bug to be squashed in order to get more control over his industry, but did he care now? Did he truly care about what was upsetting you? What caused that hurt you were obviously tampering down? Does this have to do with Jakey?

Bucky hadn’t realized he said that last part out loud until you responded.

“No! Well, maybe? Like, sort of?”

“Can I ask? Can I ask what happened there? Only if you want to share”

“Um… yeah, sure, I guess. You’ve embarrassed yourself enough this week so I think you’ve earned this a little bit.”

You took a deep breath and began. “Jake and I grew up together. We met in kindergarten in school and were instantly close. We were the only two gifted kids in class, so the teacher sent us to the side for extra lessons while the rest of the class learned with her. From that point on, we were inseparable. Two smart little twerps who took on the world together, but our lives were so different. In middle school, I started to take on more responsibility on the farm and he started getting into computers, but we’d still see each other. In high school we started officially dating, and I was so happy to be with someone who I felt like intellectually got me. I think it was the same way for him, too. He’d crack such nerdy jokes, and no one got them but me”

You smiled nostalgically at the memory. “When our senior year came along and my uncle wasn’t doing that well, I applied to more local schools, but he didn’t. We had always talked about going off to college and living together, but he wanted that life to be far away from here, and I had obligations. I got into the local college on a full ride for agriculture and civil engineering, and he decided he’d rather go to MIT for computer science. I asked if he’d be willing to stay since he got into college around here, too, but he said he wanted to be around people who were ‘more like-minded to him.’ As if we hadn’t been the only ones who had understood each other for over a decade.”

Bucky gave you a sullen look as your head fell and you looked down at your hands. He signaled to the bartender for a water and two more rounds of shots.

“I just, I just didn’t understand how he could act like that after so long. So I asked him when he was leaving so I could see him off. We were still friends, after all, but he left without a word. When I saw him again over Christmas break that winter, I felt like he had turned into some overweening, highfalutin, jerkwad. I didn’t really know him anymore, and I had enough to focus on already, so I just kinda stopped talking to him. As you could see today, his mom still comes around, but it’s not really the same. I don’t think she ever really truly saw the way he changed, she’s too caught up in having a son who lives in Silicon Valley now, but apparently he still asks for stuff from the farmers markets.” You shrugged and thanked the bartender for the shots, pounding all four before you excused yourself to the restroom, leaving Bucky to sit there shocked.

He had known where you went to college and how smart you are, but things like what happened with Jake don’t show up on paper. However he clocked you before, you were even stronger than that, because despite how you were hurt, you still wore your heart in your sleeve and showed compassion to everyone around.

You washed your face and looked in the mirror. Sure, that experience with Jake sucked, but it’s been years and you were over it now. Didn’t mean it was fun to relive it all. You decided to go into one of the stalls, the alcohol already kicking in and making you have to pee. You sat down and that’s when you saw it: blood. So that’s the reason for the waterworks all day today. That’s why you felt so tired and couldn’t help tearing up at the slightest things. Luckily the girl in the stall next to you had some products. You cleaned up and washed your hands, forcing a smile in the mirror until it became real, honestly relieved at having a reason for your out-of-character behavior. You headed back out to Bucky in a much more chipper mood and he looked up at you with a quirked brow. He figured you’d taken the time you needed. He was appreciative of you being so open with him, and wasn’t going to question the switch-up since he was just so happy to see you being yourself again after a long day.

“Up for a game of pool, cowboy?”

“Oh, you’re signing up to lose, Honeybee”

“Ok, ok, best four out of seven” Bucky whined as you giggled, whiskey shots catching up to you as you held another beer bottle in your hand. Bucky was hardly affected, he essentially rocked this much alcohol in his system by noon on a daily basis. Just then, his phone rang, and he motioned to show you it was Steve. You gave him a thumbs up and started to rack the balls to set up for the next game.

You watched Bucky walk out the door as you felt a presence looming behind you. You turned around and stood up, eyes tracing up a body dressed in brown hues until you reached a set of blue eyes shaded by a cowboy hat brim.

“Oh, howdy, can I help you?”

“I sure hope so. Can I get you a drink? Two whiskey sours” the stranger yelled over to the bar.

“Oh, uh, thanks.”

“My name’s Cole, Cole Turner. What’s a pretty girl like you doing here all alone?”

He was handsome, there was no denying that, but something seemed off. You plastered your best fake smile on your face. You didn’t need a confrontation tonight, not in your favorite dress. You didn’t want to taint the memory of it because of some rando. Wait. Was he a rando? Where have you heard the name ‘Turner’ before? Before you could continue your train of thought, a waiter came over with your drinks. They were very sweet compared to what you’d had all night, just like his demeanor, which seemed like a thin veil over the surface. You tried to channel your drink’s energy into your words to sweetly reply until you could properly remember who he was through your alcohol-fogged mind.

“Oh, I’m not here alone. I’m here with a friend”

“Hate to break it to you sweetheart, but I don’t see anyone around. You up for a game?”

Before you could even open your mouth to respond, he grabbed a pool cue and made a move to break. After that, he was keeping a little too close to you constantly. You did your best to stay kind, but must’ve been sending the wrong signals as he asked you “You wanna get out of here? I’ve got a hotel room down the road.”

In an attempt to change the subject you asked “Oh, so you’re not from around here? What are you doing in town?” Looking towards the door hoping Bucky would be done with his update any minute now.

“Ah, I used to live around here. My family owns a string of dairy farms. I’m here to try and convince these small-town farmers to give up the land.”

Your eyes went wide. Luckily you were facing away from him. He was that Cole Turner. The one whose family ran a packaged beverage empire and prided themselves on squashing the little guy. You were lucky he didn’t seem to recognize you yet, as the last remaining competitor in town. The one he had probably come in to squash. Just then, lost in thought, you felt a hand snake around your waist and you flinched.

“Relax, Honeybee, it’s just me” Bucky whispered in your ear. Your shoulders visibly relaxed as you turned around and threw your arms around his neck, holding on for dear life. You pulled away, but not enough for Bucky’s hand to leave your waist, and looked between the two men, grabbing Bucky’s hat and placing it on your head immediately.

“Uh, James, this is Cole. He’s visiting town.”

Bucky reached out his hand Cole shook it. Cole took a large step back after, respecting the hat on your head, and, was he intimidated by Bucky’s stature? Sensing your discomfort, Bucky spoke up. “Nice to meet you. Shame we’re heading out now.”

You grabbed Bucky’s hand, not looking back, and headed straight to the door as quickly as your numb, wobbly legs would take you. Once you were met by the cool, crisp night air, you sighed in relief and rested your forehead on Bucky’s shoulder.

“Thank you for helping me get out of there”

He shuddered at your proximity and the comfort you felt in this type of contact. It felt natural and he never wanted it to stop. With a soft smile and a glance at the top of the hat, he said, “No problem, Honeybee. Let’s get home.”

He helped you get up into the cab of the truck, sliding you across the bench seat before he got in and started it up.

“So what was the deal with the hat? And that guy?”

You yawned and stretched, settling in against Bucky’s shoulder.

“Uh, when a girl takes a guy’s hat and puts it on her head, it means she’s going home with him. And don’t worry, I didn’t mean it like that, I just wanted that guy to get off my back. We can talk more about that later.”

You wiggled to get more comfortable, your hand still in Bucky’s as he used the other to steer the truck down the old country roads. Your eyes fluttered shut as you fell asleep on him. His eyes flickered between you and the road in the headlights ahead. He luckily had a good sense of direction and was able to remember how to get home from your instructions earlier.

When he pulled into your gravel driveway, your were sound asleep, softly snoring, drool having dripped onto his Henley, but he didn’t mind at all. He lifted you out of the truck and carried you up the steps, taking off your boots before tucking you into bed for the night.

Next >

Bonus A/N: so where I’m from, “Turner’s” really is a beverage empire and they make really good products. I just figured I can’t make a farm AU without putting Cole in it, no matter how inaccurate to character.

Series taglist:

@scuzmunkie

@openup-yourmind

[discotenny]

Gift Giving (hypmic)

Hypmic characters and the gifts they give you

Featuring EVERYONE (excluding Rei and Saburo)

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Buster Bros

Ichiro

I feel like he’s the type of guy to gift you experiences rather than physical items. He’d take you to a fancy cafe you’d been eyeing, maybe a movie you wanted to watch, possibly even plan a surprise picnic!!

He dresses up for the occasion too! Even if you don’t expect it, he’s out of his usual jacket and attire- sporting something he seemingly newly bought. Ichiro will absolutely light up in smiles if you compliment his outfit and effort.

Ichiro feels like his time with you is more valuable than any gift he could give. He has so many other responsibilities on his shoulders so he uses his “gifts” to make up for any time lost.

Jiro

Jiro worries himself over trying to come up with a gift to get you. He doesn’t have much money, with most of his salary going towards helping his siblings. When the time comes to give you a gift, he’s embarrassed- bumbling over himself with apologies for the supposed shittiness of his gift.

But oh, oh, oh he’s so sweet :C. He’ll hand make a card for you, educating himself on paper craft so it’s the cutest it can be. There’s paper cuts that litter his hands as he gives it to you.

Jiro immediately leaves the room, not wanting to see your face as you read the letter, in which he pours his heart out for you to fully see. Run after him and kiss his face will you?

Saburo

404 not found!

Mad Trigger Crew

Samatoki

Samatoki gives you a leather wallet... that he made himself!!

One of the old men who he buys meatbuns from told him about a class that would 'fit his vibe.' And when he begrudgingly took the class, the old man was totally right! Samatoki gets really into the task, hiding the new hobby from you because he wants to surprise you with a gift at the end of the class.

When he hands you the wallet, you can tell it wasn't professionally made. There's stray burn marks on the front, mildly messy seams holding it together, and a tag inside that is signed with his initials and yours inside of a heart. Samatoki is so, so proud of showing you his accomplishment though- and hopes you enjoy it as much as he enjoyed making it.

Jyuto

Jyuto gets you a personalized music box.

It's of your favorite song. One you would always play for him whenever you were given aux in the car- that he would always playfully say was becoming annoying to hear. One he only seemed to tolerate instead of actually enjoy listening to it.

But he knows the joy it brings you to listen to. He sees the smile on your face when you turn the volume louder, the shine in your eyes when it surprisingly comes on the radio. It's why, despite his mild dislike of it, he buys you a music box so you could play it whenever you want. Just so he can see your smile whenever he can.

Rio

Rio is a man of practicality. So he gets you a self care box!

He kind of throws everything into it, multiple body washes and bath bombs, a variety of different scents- he has more experience in self preservation instead of self care. But just from the amount of... stuff inside- it's clear he thought a lot about it!

When he gives the box to you he has a little trouble explaining what it's for. It's a rare sight to see, Rio stumbling flustered over his words trying to explain he wanted to make sure you were taking care of yourself in ways outside his understanding. If you offer to show him how to use all the stuff he got you, he'll gladly accept!

Fling Posse

Ramuda

Ramuda gives you an outfit he specifically designed! In his mind, there's nothing more meaningful than something made from hand.

He’s poured over it for weeks, wanting it to be absolutely perfect for his perfect partner. Ramuda knows your tastes to the smallest detail, so he knew just what to do to make sure you'd like it. And its comfortable too!! Made with the softest fabric he could buy, so despite whatever flashiness it has it's super comfy to wear.

When actually giving it to you, he makes you model it right in front of him! He's kicking his feet and squealing as you twirl around in whatever he gives you, excited to see you in something he created.

Gentaro

mfeafeiafjewamawe Gentaro gifts you a notebook.

It's unsuspecting first, with a plain, brown, leather bound cover. He's unusually casual about it too, handing it to you under his sleeve with a meek smile. Usually, Gentaro would make a show about whatever gift he gives you, jokingly saying you should bow to his feet in praise for his effort.

However, once you open up the notebook, you'd find it's filled with words of love. Poems, short stories, letters, all of it written by Gen to you. It's so, sickenly sweet and romantic you'd never expect it from him. When you look back at him after peeking through, he's red in the face, flustered to hear whatever feedback you may have.

Dice

Dice gives you a special lucky charm!!

He spent months hunting it down. Seeking through pawn shops and all the shady back alley sellers he knows. When Dice gets a good idea in his mind, he sticks to it thoroughly, the only thing on his mind being the joyous reaction he expects you to have.

And what does he give you? The matching piece to his earring of course! If you don't wear earrings, he'll have it converted to a keychain so you can carry it on your bag. Dice thinks it's the perfect good luck charm, both for him and for you :3

Matenro

Jakurai

fewafewafewfeaw Jakurai gets you one of those mini books that's like "30 things I love about you."

You know, the ones that have a different prompt for each page that you have to fill in. Despite the small space, he gets really detailed, and it's so sweet and romantic and yuck !!! They're all wildly different responses, ranging from how he thinks you always look wonderful to how he thinks you truly saved his life just by being in it.

When Jakurai hands the book to you he's shy about it, apologizing about the responses because he wasn't able to fit all he wanted to say. Of course, he'll gladly say it in person if you're insistent 😚😚😚

Hifumi

Hifumi comes to your door with a bouquet of flowers. He's all smiles as he stuffs petals and stems in your face.

Ooh, he was insistent on picking out the flowers himself. Hifumi has a company discount with the local flower shop his club works with- so he was all in on getting as many different flowers as he could find (as in, all the flowers he found pretty[as in, all of them]).

He also put together the bouquet himself!! It's a little messy, with some broken stems and falling petals. However, he's just so happy to give it to you that you can't help but find it adorable.

Doppo

Doppo gets matching keychains for you guys!

He likes being subtle about a lot of things, including his affections. The keychains he gets are the type that look regular on their own, but together they can link to form a heart or your initials or something romantic like that.

Doppo will often link your keychains together in public, smiling to himself as he sees the connection. Whenever he gets anxious in public and he's alone, he'll hold onto the keychain tightly, being reminded of you. Yes, while it was a gift to you it also was a gift to himself, to have a reminder of you with him always :CC

Bad Ass Temple

Kuko

Kuko is so shit at giving gifts I'm so sorry. He has to ask his friends what gifts to get you and they're all so sick of it LMAO. Ichiro tells him to take you out somewhere, and that eventually gives him the perfect idea for a gift.

Kuko says his gift to you is a day of him being on his best behavior. He says it with a smug smile, expecting you to tell him how good of a present it is and is shocked to see your confusion.

He gets legitimately upset when you tell him that his best behavior shouldn't be a gift. The day ends with him promising you that he'll get you an even better gift next time, which leads him back to the drawing board as this dude is just so, so shit at giving gifts.

Jyushi

Jyushi writes a song for you!

He's not the lyricist for his band but he has a heavenly voice to back up whatever he writes. But he puts EVERYTHING into writing the song for you. Jyushi throws in references to your relationship, to specific dates or moments in time, to things only the two of you would know. He sees it as his magnum opus, and is very very proud of being able to perform it to you.

If his band doesn't want to perform the song with him he makes Kuko and Hitoya help him. Sure, it may have taken a few tear filled begs, but with their help he's able to perform the song he spent so much time working on, just for you

Hitoya

Hitoya makes you a playlist!

He's a bit of a classic guy, and would've made you a mixtape if anyone still used those on the daily lol. There's a lot of different memories within your relationship related to different songs, and he wanted to compile all of them for you two to listen together. Hitoya makes the picture of the playlist a photo of you two on your first anniversary, one where you're holding hands by the sunset and smiling.

It's sweet, cause he plays it first without telling you what it is. With every song that passes you recognize where it's from, and he's left smiling like a kid when you beam with joy asking him if he really made a playlist for you.

Dotsuitare Hompo

Sasara

Sasara gets you a build-a-bear bear!!

He goes in store alone to buy it, and goes a little overboard in designing it. Sasara gets a bunch of overpriced accessories, stuffs it a little too much with stuffing, and picks one of the most expensive dolls because it was the cutest.

Sasara records his own voice messages so they could play whenever you squeeze the doll's hand. And oh my goodness, he recorded so many. There's multiple shitty jokes, several wild compliments, and a myriad of 'I love yous' said in various different tones. Just don't hug it too much, he might get jealous ehehe.

Rosho

Rosho gets you whatever you want.

He gets really concerned when trying to get you gifts, worrying over what you would like best, if you already have it, or if you'd think it's too much/too little. So, eventually he'll just go ahead and ask you what you want as a present.

As long as it's in reason, of course. If you say some ludicrous thing like a yacht or a new car, Rosho will get sad and say you know he can't afford such luxurious (why would you do that to him LMAO). But he'll take you to the shops and have you pick out anything you want, buying it with no question as he just wants you to know he loves you so so so much :CC

Rei

404 NOT FOUND!!

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A little late to post on Christmas but fwjhshshshshf. I tried to keep it neutral on the occasion since not everyone celebrates holidays and Kuko canonically doesn't know who Jesus is. I lowk couldn’t think of anything for Saburo so that’s why he’s not here bakbdkdbdksns

This isn't my best work as I was a little too tired to put these into anything else other than thought formatting but whtverrrr

I hope you enjoyed !!! I'll see if I can post anything else b4 the new year but eheheehhehe we all know me

[genshin-obsessed]

Helliuw~ Can I request how Luocha from Honkai Star Rail going after his crush (reader)? Thank you!

𓆩⟡𓆪 Ooh this is a cute one!! Well they all usually are, but I really like this one. Luocha is just so *sigh* 𓆩⟡𓆪 This was also much longer than I intended it to be, i didn't even realize. It may not be entirely compatible with his personality, but I was just having too much fun to change it.

How He Confesses

Luocha is a generally observant person, and he's good a picking up emotions of others. So, it wasn’t hard for him to recognize that his own emotions stirred when he interacted with you.

However, just because he can recognize these feelings doesn't mean he's good at acting on them. He’ll understand them but he’ll try to either deny it or just avoid it for a while in the earlier stages.

Luocha doesn’t want to rush things, which is why he tries to take it slow. But over time, he realizes just how much he loves you.

It does make it harder for him to take it slow, so at some point, he throws caution to the wind and just attempts to confess.

Here’s the thing, there’s a certain rule to confessing, right? Like you don’t just say it to someone’s face that you love them without setting up something. Doesn’t need to be anything grand, but some effort has to go in it.

Well, that’s what he tried. See, he wanted to confess in private, wanting the atmosphere to reflect the love he felt for you. So, he set up a little picnic in a secluded area he’d found. It was perfect, with how easily the stars could be seen, to the way the moonlight poured onto the seating area. It was truly the definition of beauty. The setup was easy, he needed a blanket, maybe a couple of pillows, a bottle of wine, some snacks, and a clear night.

But then apparently it was an extremely windy night? Like, he couldn’t get the blanket to stay, the small rocks weren’t helping too much, the basket flew away, he accidentally spilled the wine before he could even set it up. Like, the date failed before he even asked you to join him.

So, he tried something else. Decided maybe something indoors would be a more neutral choice. Even if it started raining, you two would be fine. So, he set up a reservation, asked to be put in a more private area so you could talk without much noise. The venue was all fancy and stuff, so you'd love it for sure!

But apparently four customers got into a heated argument that became physical. Somehow the fight moved to the kitchen and they ended up starting a fire? Everyone was evacuated and Luocha got a call mere hours before the date that they’d be closed for a couple of weeks due to the damages.

So, that clearly failed. Well, to hell with fancy confessions, he just needed to tell you right? Maybe it was best to confess in person then give you the option to take some time to yourself and think just in case. He was a little disappointed that his other plans didn't work, but maybe it was for the best! Putting you in that situation might force some pressure onto you to give him a response immediately.

The next time you two met up, he decided to go for it. He was running with the conversation and was building up to the confession… when you got a call from Yanqing claiming he had an emergency he desperately needed you for… and you had to leave.

At this point, Luocha had to wonder of it was even in the cards for him to confess. Cards! Oh! Nothing could possibly interrupt a card, right? Sure, it was the tackiest idea ever, but desperate times call for desperate measures!

The process of writing a love letter was much more complicated than he realized. He needed it to be short and concise, but not abrupt. He also didn't want it to be too cheesy with over the top metaphors and whatnot. Honestly, it took him at least 6 drafts before he settled on one that was bearable.

He debated on sending it to you through the courier but decided against it since so much had gone wrong already. Best part about this idea? He didn't need to take up too much of your time, even a few minutes worked as he just needed to explain it. Basically, he gave it to you and instructed you to keep it safe until you got home and then read it, so that you had that privacy. You agreed and he went home feeling somewhat mediocre. On on hand, he finally got the confession out, but on the other, it was such a dumb way- in his opinion (Pocky thinks love letters are hella romantic).

APPARENTLY you lost your entire bag and the letter with it. I mean, Luocha was at his wits end. It’s like the entire universe was against him just confessing. Everything that could go wrong, literally went wrong. Your entire backpack vanished! You wouldn’t even get a chance to reject, which, at some point, had someone stopped being a fear of his due to these bizarre circumstances!

Finally, he gave up and just kept his mouth shut. He realized how much trouble was being caused every time he confessed and decided to save the entire world some grief and just bury his feelings. He’d just die with them.

The days went on, nothing really happened. Like those weird events just magically went away which did make him wonder if he was being set up. He threw that out the window when he realized no other soul other than him knew about his feelings. You two hung out as often as you usually did but you started noticing Luocha’s behavior. It was… odd. Less cheery and more distracted. You tried to ask but he kept saying it was nothing and he was just tired.

Honestly, Luocha hated lying to you. Omitting details for others was easy but for you, it felt wrong. He didn’t want to distance himself but clearly he wasn’t meant to be with you.

Then you did the unthinkable. You just… confessed. Lemme explain:

“I’m ok. You’re worrying again.” Luocha said with a slight chuckle as he raised the teacup to his lips. He easily noticed you weren’t really convinced in the slightest, but he didn’t intend on letting you know anytime soon. Who knows, the entire street might explode to keep him from confessing.

“Of course, I would worry. I really care about you, you know.” Your words were spoken with no hesitation that it made Luocha’s hand pause in the middle of him taking another sip of his hot beverage.

“Huh? O-oh, thank you. That’s really kind of you.” He said, slowly returning to reality and waving his hand a little. As if you didn’t have to say such a thing to make him feel better.

“I mean it.” You pointed out as you leaned forward a little. “I really like you and you being so withdrawn makes me worry a lot.”

“I can assure you, I really am just- wait, what?” Luocha’s eyes widened as he fully registered what you’d just said to him. You seemed confused by his expression and just shrugged.

“Well, yeah. It’s normal to worry about someone you like, right?”

“R-right but you like me. Like… you’re romantically interested in me?” His words were deliberate and he wanted to make sure there was absolutely no confusion between you two whatsoever.

“Yes. I have a crush on you. Well, for me it's a bit more intense than like but you know what I mean.” His eyes immediately darted around and he even turned around to see the area behind the outdoor café. “Luocha? What’s wrong?”

After a moment of silence from him, the blond man sighed and turned back to you. You could visibly see the relief he felt.

“Honestly, I was expecting a skiff to crash and kill us.” You were taken aback by his morbid words, your eyes widening.

“Wh-why?”

“Yeah. Why? That’s my question too.” He replied, rubbing his face. “Wait, no. Forget that, you actually feel the same way?”

“Feel the same? Wait, you like me too!? Why didn’t you say anything?” You asked, leaning even closer. At the simple words, Luocha felt a bitter feeling in his chest.

“I tried.” He replied flatly, pushing his hair back to recompose himself. “But my confession quickly turned into a series of unfortunate events.”

“Oh? What happened?” You asked, eyes filled with curiosity as you waited for him to elaborate. He was about to, opening his mouth to speak before he fell silent once more. What? No! No, he couldn't waste any more time.

“N-never mind that! Let’s talk about us. You like me, I like you. We should just go ahead and just get married.” You couldn’t help but laugh at his words, shaking your head a little. Now, it felt like he was returning to his normal self. Honestly, it wasn't that bad of an idea- technically speaking.

“Marriage? Shouldn’t we go on a date first?”

“Why? Tomorrow’s never guaranteed and we might as well just make it official.” That and… Luocha was a little scared to propose seeing as how his confession went. At this rate, you’d be the one proposing. Well, he actually didn’t hate the idea.

You couldn’t help but laugh again and Luocha felt a smile tugging at his own lips. Ok, maybe he was jumping ahead a little too fast. So instead, he reached out and grabbed your hand, feeling the warmth and comfort of it.

“Kidding. Why not turn this into an official date, then?”

“Yeah, I like that.” You said, nodding and squeezing his hand. "I mean, I don't mind getting married right now but we should probably take it slow."

[impossiblesuitcase]

This You I Choose - part ii.

Part i.

I almost wish I’d come to this conclusion earlier. That even before the first Games I had determined that, yes, I will always love Gale, but I cannot ever love him as mine. I can’t say that I feel nothing for him. I understand why I felt what I did when he lay on that table, whipped and drugged beyond comprehension. But I retract my decision to choose him. I cannot give them both my heart, and I’ve tasted life without Peeta. That’s a malnutrition I can’t supplement with anything else.

I stop wearing the locket, relegating it to a drawer in my room that I never visit. The pearl I keep in my pocket at all times. I showed it to Peeta once like Prim had suggested. He merely glanced at it, let out a soft “huh,” then returned his ardent gaze to me.

Now, having cleared my head of cobwebs, it’s easier around both boys. I chat to Gale casually, comfortably, and I realise that I feel so much lighter without any obligation towards him. The kisses I once thought could mollify him are no longer the currency I use to buy his patience.

Peeta is even easier to be around. I kiss him an awful lot, even more than those fake kisses on the Victory Tour, to the point that I’m surprised by myself. I keep telling myself to slow down, hold back, then an episode of terror and screaming suffocates him and I abandon my inhibitions.

Three weeks into his recovery, we’re enlisted by Plutarch for a propo. He’s been dying to make one since Peeta first arrived, but with no meat on his bones Peeta was in no shape to be galvanising revolutionary efforts. Plutarch and Coin want to show Panem that Peeta is on our side to sweep away resistance from any citizens still on the fence about the validity of the rebellion. I don’t mention that I’m on the fence about supporting this rebellion. 

No, not the rebellion. District 13. Coin. I know Peeta feels the same just from the way he looks at her.

We’re sent above ground to where the rose petals were strewn by Snow’s hovercrafts. Though most have been cleared away, I find some hidden in the mud. It makes my stomach turn.

Cressida and her crew get to filming and we’re instructed to act as though we’re training. We’re given weapons to assemble and drills to practise. There’s a band of at least two dozen other soldiers to fill the shot. They need no practice—they’re trained for combat; Peeta and I are the pretty sitting ducks.

“I want you two close together,” directs Plutarch, gesturing to Castor to zoom in on us. “Keep working but talk a little too. Smile, laugh. We want to show that Peeta is safe and well and with the Mockingjay.”

It’s curious to me that they didn’t make Peeta’s first propo an interview. Surely he could deliver their drivel on those teleprompters more convincingly than I ever could. Maybe they are afraid of what unscripted things could pour off his persuasive tongue.

Peeta and I get to assembling the guns. It’s familiar to me now after a few prior rounds of practice, whereas he is haplessly out of his depth. I instruct him as best as I can and he makes good progress until I accidentally forget a step and leave his gun lopsided.

He frowns. “What did I do wrong?”

Instead of admitting my fault, I perch my elbows on my gun, resting my chin in my hands. “Come on, Peeta, it’s not difficult.”

Peeta dismantles the gun and tries again without my direction. He manages okay until he inserts the spring backwards, groans, and tosses it into his lap.

“Not as easy as frosting cookies, is it?”

He rolls his eyes. “You barely know how to do it yourself.”

I bite back my smile. That’s true.

As I gaze at him, he looks back at me curiously. 

“What?”

“You’ve been teasing me a lot lately,” he says, sounding confused.

I suppose I have been, though not intentionally. For every moment I’ve seen him sobbing or thrashing or whimpering in pain over the past weeks, every fibre of my being has needed to replace it with safety, laughter and that little smirk of his.

Instead, I say, “I like seeing you annoyed with me.” Because it’s cute how your lips curl up, I don’t say.

His lips curl up, as do mine.

“Okay,” Cressida calls out. “We’re going to get some establishing shots. We’ll take five.”

She begins consulting with her crew, pointing in various directions across the barren landscape.

The soldiers next to us are practising tackling manoeuvers. I’m about to ask Peeta if he knows this particular stance from his wrestling days when a soldier lunges on another too aggressively. They plummet to the ground. 

The shriek of agony stops everyone dead.

I shoot up to sprint over to them but Peeta’s hand is locked around mine, freezing me to the spot. I turn to shake him off when I see something dark on his face. He’s trembling. I reach out, steadying him under my palm. “What’s wrong?”

His eyes are squeezed shut. The tremors take over his whole body.

“Peeta? Peeta!” I have seen him like this in the hospital, his instability manifesting in ear-splitting wails and knocked down meal carts. But the doctors were always there to sedate him.

I hurl the guns away from us. Indistinguishable mutters spew from his mouth between choked breaths. I don’t know what set him off; the scream reminding him of a tribute’s death cry in the arena? Or did the wrestling remind him of his brothers, their remains under the charred debris of the bakery?

“It’s not real, it’s not real,” he repeats, “It’s not real.”

I grip his shoulders. “What isn’t real, Peeta? What is it?”

His eyes snap open, pupils rapidly flitting left and right as they stare down at his clenched fists. Panic transfers from his face to my own.

“Look at me,” I plead. “Just look at me. Just breathe, Peeta.”

It’s an active battle. He fights to concentrate on me as fiercely as he has fought mutts and monkeys and mockingjays. His breaths stabilise slowly, and endless minutes later when the trembling releases him, he slumps into my arms.

“Just an episode,” he manages faintly.

“What was it?” I whisper. “What were you seeing?” 

“You,” he says, eyes wide and mournful. I have a horrifying moment where I fear the torture has turned him against me. But no. No one could make Peeta forget that he loves me.

“Me?” I probe gently.

“The Games. The interviews. When they…when the Capitol got their hands on me they…targeted a lot of those moments. Fed me lies about you. I knew they weren’t true, but…when I think of them sometimes I—I don’t feel in control.”

His hands fold around mine and squeeze them and that’s how I know he’s back. He scowls in the camera’s direction. “That makes it worse.”

“The filming?”

“The pretending. I’m sick of it.” He grips me tighter. “I know you’re helping them, Katniss. But it makes me remember: It’s still just a show. A game. Another story to sell.” His breath hitches. “I don’t want it to go back to how it was between us.”

What had been between us was coldness. I wasn’t exactly kind to him that year after our Games and before the Quell. I downright ignored him for a good chunk of it.

“We’re different now, Peeta. We won’t lose each other. We won’t shut each other out,” I insist.

He glares at me. “It was you shutting me out, thank you very much.”

An abrupt laugh tears out of me, a clear, melodic sound. It echoes around us despite the barren acoustics on this wasteland. That’s when I look up. It’s a mockingjay reverberating the sound.

We hear Plutarch start to prattle on about the bird, how they should get some clips of me singing to it. Two Mockingjays: United, he wants to call it. Peeta and I try to hide our laughter.

It’s been so long since we laughed together. Joked the way we did in the cave. That period of avoidance after the first Games is painful now in retrospect and had only served my pride. He was a living reminder that the life I had built was gone. He and the Games were intertwined, his the face of the pretending. But that wasn’t his fault. And even if I hadn’t loved him, I could have had the decency to treat him as a friend.

“I’m sorry for avoiding you,” I apologise.

He shakes his head. “I know it’s different now. If we have to pretend to be in love again for the cameras, I’ll do it. It’s not as bad anymore. You’re nice between the scenes.” He smirks like it’s a joke, and I hate him for being so facetious.

“It’s not pretend!” I burst out. Tears are springing to my eyes and I’m shocked. At him. At myself.

He gapes. “It’s not?”

“No! Maybe before, but not now. Definitely not now.” Couldn’t you tell? I almost ask. But that’s supremely unfair, given how I’ve treated him and our public love story since the beginning.

“...Gale,” he says weakly.

“Sorted.”

“Katniss, I saw you with him in your kitchen after he was whipped. Please don’t feel you have to forget that just because I’m bac—”

I don’t let him finish. My lips are on his and I feel the confusion beneath them, the words unuttered.

“It’s not pretend,” I say against his lips, and in case he didn’t catch it, I inch away, resting my nose along his, eyes milimetres apart. “It’s not pretend. It’s you.”

His eyes, blue and endless, pierce my ribs, lungs, chest, all of it with their warmth. “Since when?”

“Since you came back. That’s when I realised. But I know it’s before that. The train, and the rooftop, the plant book.”

He chuckles. “Is that why you’ve been kissing me every other breath lately?”

I kiss him again. “Complaining?”

He must not be, because for a good while he’s otherwise occupied.

———

We dance together at Annie and Finnick’s wedding. Peeta twirls me under his arm and kisses me and the crowd raucously cheers as though they haven’t witnessed such affection from us before. Which isn’t true. Thanks to the propo circulating of us, everyone has seen Peeta and I kissing when we were above ground, when Plutarch and Cressida were supposedly getting establishing shots.

This makes me jittery now, more than with any Games footage, because for the first time, it’s unequivocally real. 

As he spins me again I notice Gale on the other side of the hall, arms crossed but not tense. He’s accepted it, I suppose, and the more time that passes since I cut his thread loose, the clearer and clearer it is to me. Gale reminded me of the past I desperately clung onto. The simplicity—hunt, trade, care for Prim. But I’m starting to suspect we never would have happened anyway, even if Peeta had not existed at all. In strategy meetings with Coin, Gale begins to propose more radical and destructive tactics. I grow secretly horrified and as he reasons on each decision—the loss of some life to staunch a greater bleed—I fear that I will one day agree with him.

Then Peeta chimes in, my dandelion, opposing such carnage, and I remember that I could never agree with such strategies. Not when my conscience walks the halls with golden hair and ferocious compassion.

No, Games or none, I couldn’t have stuck it out with Gale. But the boy with the bread…

I’m starting to think that any Katniss, in any time, might have been convinced.

———

I have never been an optimist, and I hate Peeta for rubbing off on me. Somehow, I had started to become one.

Peeta is back. He has his episodes, but he is still himself. And he’s getting better and stronger every day. He thoroughly fooled me into believing that he was not broken. That he was still whole.

When Joanna told me in a snarky voice that since returning Peeta is only kind to me, I didn’t believe her. Ignores most of us and is snappy with the rest, she had sneered. How could I believe her? Peeta—my Peeta—sweet and warm and boundlessly gentle?

We’re with our squad heading to the Capitol through a square: Bogs and me and Peeta, Gale and Jackson, the soldiers and the camera crew, when Peeta accidentally triggers a pod that blows up a soldier. 

He is furious. Inconsolable. When one of the soldiers tries to placate him, laying a hand on his shoulder and assuring him that it was a mistake any of us could have made, Peeta snaps. He wrestles him to the ground, his hands locking around his throat. Jackson and Bogs just manage to tear him away.

Peeta screams us all down. My hands shake and eyes water because I simply don’t believe these sounds—this delirium—could come from him. I’ve seen him hysterical, yes, but never to the point of hurting someone. Not choking them. Not on purpose. His bloodshot eyes catch my terrified ones and I expect them to soften. They don’t.

He steps towards me. I retreat back. Gale moves in between us and I let him. I don’t love him, but I still trust him.

A scowl hardens in Peeta’s face as he takes the two of us in.

Bogs eventually manages to move us all along. Peeta is silent the rest of the day. He falls asleep that evening with his head beside my hip, close to me as always as if nothing is different. I am sitting up, having volunteered to take the first watch, but my real motive is to examine him. I trace my eyes over his nose, lips and brow. My hands stroke his hair, trying to feel for a difference, something fundamentally changed in even the very fibres of his being.

“You’re scared of him,” says Gale, voice rough from disuse. He’s sitting across from me with Jackson’s sleeping form between us. We’re the only two on watch yet we haven’t spoken once.

“No I’m not,” I say immediately.

He chuckles, a dry, mirthless sound. “Yes you are. You’ve got the same look on your face you had the first time I taught you to shoot a deer.”

I purse my lips.

“He was tortured, Katniss. I saw some of the instruments they used on the tributes when we rescued them.” Gale brings his knees up to his chest. “I know he’s good when he’s with you, but be careful. He might not always be.”

I say nothing. Peeta stirs beside me and I glance down. He’s so serene now, so unlike what I saw in the square. I try to recall instances of Peeta interacting with people other than me since he was retrieved. He was always harsh with the doctors, but that was only natural given how much they poked and prodded him. He is cold with Haymitch, but Haymitch lied to us. He just...ignores everyone else. But there have been times when I’ve been away from him, and I’m beginning to wonder what Peeta becomes in those moments.

Why didn’t Coin and Plutarch make him give a speech to throw it back at Snow and the Capitol? It would have done more for the fight than a propo of us kissing ever could. Perhaps they tried. Perhaps Peeta was the one who was uncooperative.

No. Unhinged. Unstable.

A whimper leaves his mouth. Peeta begins squirming in his sleep, his nose twitching. His face scrunches in pain, his breathing shallows. He’s having a nightmare. I’ve seen this every night since he came back, when I would watch him as he slept to convince myself that he’s still alive. And every time I see this sign I move closer to him.

For the first time, I move away.

———

We fall apart as my arrow sinks into Coin’s chest.

I go feral. Rabid. Animalistic. My sister is dead. I am locked away. I am a husk of a girl. I forget about Peeta. I forget about myself.

Haymitch takes me to 12 after I am exonerated. I live alone; empty, cold, unclean for weeks. 

When I see Peeta planting primroses outside my house, I don’t remember that we were no longer playing pretend. That we are in love, or we as good as said it to each other. Nothing in me can love now. It was cremated with my sister, charred away with my flesh.

He makes no attempts to romance me, either. He was barely holding on as it was, toeing the line between sanity and lunacy. As he writhed in pain with flesh burnt by the explosion, I think he finally lost the battle. He was detained in the Capitol for a while, apparently being treated by the same drowsy Dr. Aurelius that ‘treated’ me. I doubt it worked.

It’s many, many months before we begin to grow back together. I don’t accept his warmth or accept his bread. I figure in his paintings, bloodied and murderous, and they horrify me. Haymitch is a mediator in our every interaction and often walks away groaning about how “You two couldn’t keep your hands off each other and now you won’t touch each other with a ten-foot pole.” 

I don’t pick up any calls, not from Effie nor my mother nor Dr. Aurelius. I only know it’s them calling because Greasy Sae listens to the voice mails and tells me they’re trying to reach me. She might be trying to reach me too. I only care about her stew reaching my stomach.

Nightmares haunt me at all hours. I am glad that I had decided not to love Gale earlier, because I feel less guilty when I dream of him personally shooting Prim in the heart. In spite of it, I don’t hate Gale, though I know I could never let him into my life again. Peeta rarely features in any of my dreams. He is always a background character, his face obscured.

Then one night, many months into my pariahhood, I have a pleasant dream. Someone is holding me, stroking my hair back. At first, I think it’s my father, but then he never smelled sweet. Always of coal dust and sweat. His hair was never honey dappled in light.

I don’t go to Peeta for comfort when I’m screaming, drowning in my own memories. I go to him when I dream.

It’s the middle of the night that I trudge over, let myself in and sit on the edge of his bed as he sleeps. He doesn’t hear me—I was always the one with the stealthy tread between us.

I watch him until sunrise, then I slip home.

After that, I let Peeta back in, and when he doesn’t sprint over, I invite myself into his life. Just as I had forgotten why I loved him, I now forget why I ever thought I couldn’t. Maybe I don’t know how to love him in a normal way, a healthy way. But I am willing to learn. He is still hesitant and that’s okay. A smile is enough to sustain me a whole day.

On the days he isn’t so accommodating, I have to force myself to pardon him. To push through my defences, the instinct to yell at him and shut him out because how could he hurt me when he knows I have nothing left but him. On those days, I begin to pick up the phone. Dr. Aurelius tells me that Peeta has been psychologically crippled but shows promise for recovery. Apparently, the stimuli that most often returned him to a calm, familiar Peeta was images of me.

It takes effort, but I learn patience. Peeta is a wearier, colder man than the boy I first met. But everyday, I choose this Peeta. And eventually, he again chooses me. 

I offer my warmth and my freshly hunted game. I figure in his paintings—pastel smiles and brushstroke daffodils in my hair—and they heal me. Haymitch heads off early after dinner, content we won’t rip out each other’s throat. Peeta begins smiling at the townsfolk again, distributing cheese buns to giggling children and sneaking bacon to Buttercup when he thinks I’m not looking.

We carve out a space for the two of us and smile and sing and cry doing it. Our burn scars match and if we align our arms just right they look like one continuous line. Shared skin, shared being.

It’s at least a year and a half after our return that he asks if I love him. I tell him I do. We both knew it and yet he smiles. 

“Can you imagine if we hadn’t been reaped? How different things would be?” I ask one day when things are better, as I watch him knead dough under his steady fists. His muscles have returned and are stronger than they’ve ever been. I hate to admit how much time I dedicate on a daily basis to watching them contract and flex.

He laughs sardonically. “We’d be poorer. And hungrier. Probably less scratched up at that.”

I trail my finger through the flour on the bench. “Happier?” I venture.

He looks away from the dough, contemplating. “I don’t know.”

I flick the finger towards myself, gesturing him to come closer, and when he leans in I swipe the flour on his nose.

“Weirdo,” he says, but it sounds akin to sweetheart to my Capitol-perfect ear.

I ponder the thought for another moment. “I think we’d be more scared.” 

I’m not entirely whole anymore, nor will I ever be. I’m riddled with every trauma symptom you could fit in a medical encyclopaedia. I’m terrified of the outside world, of the things that could be coming for us. But I’m not so scared anymore when I’m here at home, with the serene woods nearby and Haymitch across the way and Peeta in my kitchen.

“I would have been scared. You less so,” he asserts. “I wouldn’t have inherited the bakery, not with two older brothers. I don’t know how I would have lived. Meanwhile you would’ve done like you’d planned. Cared for Prim, never married. Hunted and worked. Once she was free from the reaping you wouldn’t need to be scared, so long as there was always a squirrel to shoot.”

It’s interesting that he assigns this version of me as single. Back in the Quarter Quell, he handed me his locket with the picture of Gale in it, bestowing upon me a life with him as the one I would choose. Now, Peeta rarely mentions Gale, not even in this hypothetical. Perhaps the girl in the woods could have tried to make something of it, but Peeta knows that a songbird cannot sing away a bushfire.

“No,” I disagree, “I would’ve been scared for you. I would have been scared for us.”

His arms go taut as they pause on the bench. Confusion is sprawled over his face. “Us? What us? We only connected because of the Games.” I can hear his ‘you said you would never marry,’ though he leaves it unspoken.

Well, it’s not like I’ve said I will marry him. After all, we’re both only nineteen. But, not for the first time, the thought settles comfortably between us. Not for the first time do I see bread like this used one day for something other than a nice Sunday meal.

A foregone conclusion. This future, I choose.

“No. We had the bread long before that. I didn’t have the courage to thank you then. I might not have for a long time.” I curl my hands around his arms and lean up to kiss the remnants of flour off his cheeks. “But this would’ve happened anyway.”

This does. Every time. Any way.

Notes

Thanks for reading. I honestly wrote this as my own way of trying to parse out and understand Katniss's complex psyche in Mockingjay. I’ve also seen some non-hijacked fics where Peeta comes back all smiles and rosy and that always struck me as unrealistic. Even without the hijacking, the torture would have serious psychological consequences which I hoped to convey.

I really think in any scenario they would have to grow back together in the end, because they have a lot to recover from. Their relationship doesn't 'fix' their trauma; they begin to heal and their relationship progressing coincides with that.

@wenslena @distractionsfromthefood @samsicle8 @pitualba2015 @thefinaldefenseofthedying @heartforeyes @unnamednarrator @tetheredfeathers @ohwellokcomputer @gingerale2017

[staylovesmiley]

Collision— Chapter 5

ᯓᡣ𐭩Pairing; Stray Kids x afab!reader

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ᯓᡣ𐭩Summary; You’ve known him for years but you never would have guessed the charming guy you’ve been online gaming with has been an idol this whole time. (masterlist here)

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ᯓᡣ𐭩ᯓᡣ𐭩Warnings; implied afab reader (only they/them pronouns used for reader), mild angst?, pls I haven’t written fanfics since 2018 patience and kindness is appreciated

You weren’t sure how long it had been since you made your way down the corridor of the JYPE building after leaving the practice room. After retrieving your drink from the vending machine you sunk down to sit beside it on the floor, taking small sips as you got lost deep in thought. It must have been long enough for the boys to start to worry since you saw Han coming into view as he bent down to meet your eye level where you sat criss cross against the wall. “There you are! You okay? We were starting to think you got lost.” He said with a soft smile before noticing an off look on your face, his smile falling. “What’s wrong?” You shrugged, fiddling with the hem of your baggy tshirt and making a conscious effort not to meet his eyes again. “The lights in there were starting to make my head hurt and there were so many sounds-“ you spoke only telling half of a lie. Yes, you were starting to feel a bit overwhelmed in there but it wasn’t from the lights and sounds alone but from all the thoughts racing in your mind. “Oh! You should have told me….it’s kinda bright out here too here follow me.” Without waiting for your response the rapper took your hand and pulled you down another hall and into a room. He flicked one of the lights and only the light inside the recording booth turned on to provide a dim light in the studio. “You can stay here until you start to feel a bit better, okay? I sit in here some times too when I get overwhelmed.” You couldn’t help but smile at his thoughtfulness, wrapping your arms around his neck and hugging him tightly. “Thanks Ji- gosh you’re so sweet.” He blushed, hugging you back before giving you some space. He gave a soft nod before heading for the door. “Wait- could um…can you sit with me for a bit? I’ll be okay in just a second but I’m afraid I’ll get lost trying to go back on my own.” His eyes widened like he hadn’t thought of that before he nodded and sat with you on the black sofa against the wall.

You both shared off into the distance, sitting in silence for a while before he spoke up. “You figured it out….didn’t you.” You sighed softly, for a member of paboracha he really was too clever for his own good sometimes. “Yeah-“

Jisung took a deep breathe before playing with the sleeves of his hoodie. “And?”

You furrowed your brows, staring down at your feet. “Why did none of you tell me? Not even Felix….I just- if you guys trust me enough to allow me to stay with you and had me over almost all the time before that, why couldn’t you trust me with this?” You were hurt, upset and afraid you did or said something that gave off the impression that this was something they had to hide from you. Han’s head raised as he looked at you, placing a hand on your knee to get you to meet his gaze. “Hey, it’s not what you’re thinking. Get out of that head of yours for a second, Star.” He chuckled airily, trying to lighten the mood as you looked into his soft brown eyes. “Then what is it?” You poured at him, making sure to hold eye contact. “Ah don’t none of that- don’t give me that look.” He whined, your cute pout too much for him as he started to fluster. “We wanted to tell you but- I know you’re from America and everything is different there but here people are less than not understanding about this sort of thing….” “And what exactly is this thing?” You questioned, wanting him to admit it now they you knew and he knew you knew, for the most part. “We are together, all of us. Since- well since our second anniversary as a group. Some of us longer than that but that was when we all were officially with each other.” He cringed slightly, like he was waiting for you to scold him or be disgusted. Instead you wrapped your arms tightly around his middle with a soft smile on your face. “I’m sorry you guys have to hide it, but I’m happy for you all. If you’re comfortable, now that I already know, you don’t have to hide around me anymore.” You assured him, your eyes meeting as you pulled back from the embrace. “Especially with me staying with you all while my apartment is being fixed….it could become suffocating to hide especially if it’s for my sake or the fear of me not understanding.” Han just blinked at you for a bit before hugging you again, fighting the urge to cry at hearing your support. “I told them you’d be chill about it- Lix too, so you know….he really wanted to be honest with you since the beginning but some of us were hesitant.” You sighed a bit in relief at this, giving the man a squeeze with reassurance. “Thank you for letting me know. Are you ready to head back?” He pulled back with a nod, standing and taking your hand. “Let’s go.”

Once you arrived back inside the practice room Han gave your hand a slight squeeze before raising it up above your heads. “Cats out of the bag, guys. Sorry-“ they all stared at him in disbelief, about to argue over how he shouldn’t have told you before you put your hands out in front of you in defense. “Don’t be mad at Han okay? I figured it out. You know, you aren’t as subtle as you think you all are.” You said with a slight smirk, taking in their shocked expressions before Seungmin spoke up with a dry tone. “Well? You know now….what does that mean?” You raised an eyebrow at him, trying not to be offended at the lack of trust they seemed to have for you in this moment. “You could have told me sooner and saved yourselves a lot of headaches.” There was an audible sigh of relief from the entire room and you walked up to your close friend and smacked him lightly on the chest. “Especially you. I can’t believe you thought so little of me.” You gave him a pout, Felix going from looking like he saw a ghost to looking like he was a child being scolded by a parent. He returned your pout and looked down at his feet with shame. “I’m sorry, Star….I wanted to- but we couldn’t be sure.” You rolled your eyes playfully before hugging him tightly. He recovered from his sulking quickly and hugged back with a squeeze, Hyunjin soon joined to hug you from behind as well and then the rest of the group followed until you began to shout about being claustrophobic and shimmied out of their hold and to the ground where you then crawled out from what felt like a forest of their collective pairs of legs. They all laughed at the display, you included as they all settled down comfortably. “For all of your information, by the way, I myself was in a poly relationship in highschool. Not like this- we didn’t all date each other but it was an open relationship situation.” Now they all stared at you in shock for completely other reasons. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?” Felix gasped, looking at you with mock offense. “You never asked?” You shrugged, laughing at their expressions. “Anything else we should know?” Minho questioned now, ever the curious cat. “Yeah” you started, the sound of your stomach growling echoing in the practice room. “We should probably get something to eat soon.” Everyone laughed and Jeongin pulled out some take out menus from somewhere in the room. The air felt lighter and they seemed even more relaxed than you had realized before that something was causing a tension, that something being them trying to hide their affection for each other.

It was a month and a half later and things were becoming blissfully domestic with living at the dorms. You had never gone to college, choosing to start working straight out of highschool instead for a family friend, but you assumed this is what it would have been like if you ever got to live with roommates on a campus somewhere. Your free time was spent buying groceries with Seungmin and Jeongin, watching dramas with Hyunjin, being a taste tester for whatever recipe Minho decided he wanted to try or for Felix baking endeavors, or sitting in the studio curled up on the couch while 3racha worked on new projects like you were now.

It was pretty late in the evening and you felt yourself dozing as you leaned against an already sleeping Han, whose body was twisted in a way you thought had to be uncomfortable as he snores lightly into your shoulder. You never paid much attention to what they were working on unless they asked for your opinion on something, usually keeping your headphones in while gaming or scrolling through various different social media platforms. You were enjoying your time living with them so much you felt a small pit in your stomach fill with dread every time you remembered it wouldn’t be forever. They had been more openly affectionate with one another ever since you finding out about their relationship, kissing and cuddling in front of you like it was nothing because well- it wasn’t.

You began to open up to them as well, your introverted walls crumbling as you got closer with the group to where you began to be more affectionate with them also. It was healing a part buried deep inside you being able to express yourself how you wanted, your family and others always shunning you for being too emotional. When you would give one of the boys a hug as greeting, or cuddle up during a movie night it was immediately reciprocated and it caused your chest and face to warm instantly at the acceptance of your touch and presence. As you scrolled, trying to stay awake as long as you could, you heard Changbin push his chair back and stand abruptly. “Ya- we’ve been working at this for too long, Hyung. I feel like my eyes are gonna fall out of my head.” He whined, nudging the older with a pout. “Why don’t you take Han and Star home, then? I’m good to keep working for a bit longer…I wanna finish this up before I can stop.” The muscular rapper sighed and shook his head, knowing Chan would likely be there till well into the early morning hours. “Come on, Hannie time to go home.” He said softly, poking the younger’s cheek causing him to whimper slightly in his sleep and reach up to bat his hand away. He chuckled, leaning down to kiss his forehead while looking to you for help. You giggled a bit and reached over to tickle at the young rapper’s side causing him to jolt awake. “Ya! Star how could you- that’s such betrayal!” He whined, pointing a finger at you accusingly. You just laughed and shrugged your shoulders. “You guys go on without me, I’ll stay and keep the old man company.” You teased, standing up and stretching before stealing the spot in Changbin’s rolling chair beside Chan. “Oh woah that was so uncalled for- you’ve been spending too much time with Seungmin.” He laughed, shaking his head at you while you smiled at him sweetly.

“As long as you’re sure….don’t let him stay here all night, yeah?” Changbin begged you, patting the top of your head. You nodded towards him in a silent promise, wishing them a good night and a safe drive home as the door closed behind them.

You started to doze off again soon, almost falling out of the chair causing Chan to chuckle at you. “You sure you wanna wait up on me?” He asked, raising an eyebrow at you. You nodded, covering your mouth as you yawned. “Mhm I gotta make sure you leave before dawn.” You teased, stretching your arms up causing your crop top to raise slightly and show the bottom of your bra which caught his eye and caused him to bit his lip and force himself to look away. “Why don’t you take a nap on the couch and I’ll wake you in an hour and we can go home, yeah?” You felt a slight blush creep up your neck and face at his words. Home, that’s definitely what it was starting to feel like staying with them. Though you mainly stayed in Felix room with him, you had slept over with the other plenty of times while having been staying there for various reasons. Tonight you had texted the younger Aussie that you’d be crashing in the 3racha dorm since you’d been with them so late and didn’t want to wake him up by coming in. He had sent a round of pouting emojis and a message about his bed being too cold without you but that he would manage.

You had blushed like crazy at that, your mind reeling any time he said something of the sort making things feel all that more intimate between the two of you. You weren’t going to lie to yourself, you had realized you had feelings for the other gamer after about two weeks of staying at the dorms when you caught him slow dancing in the kitchen with Leeknow and felt yourself longing to be the one with your hands on his waist while you spun around with him looking into your eyes longingly. It wasn’t so much that you were jealous and didn’t want him to be doing that with one of his partners, but that you wished that title included you and that night you couldn’t help but cling a little tighter to him as you cuddled in your sleep and dreamt of him calling you as such.

Doing as Chan had suggested, you curled up on the sofa and hugged one of the pillows to your chest as you allowed yourself to finally drift off to sleep. It wasn’t for long, it felt as you were being lightly shaken awake by a lightly amused Bangchan. “Ya, Star- it’s been a little longer than an hour but I’m ready to go now.” You grumbled and shook your head, refusing to get up. “M’no way it’s been longer-“ you groaned, causing the older to laugh. “Do I have to carry you to the car? I can if you make me but I’m giving you the choice now cause it’s late and if the others found out I kept you here this long they’ll kill me.” You huffed, only holding turning over as a response. “Alright then, here we go.” He chuckled before lifting you up into his arms bridal style. You nuzzled your face into the crook of his neck, wrapping your arms around him to hold on as he carried you down the hall and out of the building towards his car.

After arriving back at the dorm you fully woke up and rubbed at your eyes sleepily. “Are we home yet?” Chan smiled warmly and nodded. “Yeah, just pulled up. Think you can walk in or do I need to carry you again?” Embarrassed slightly, you chuckled and got out of the car. “I’ll walk this time, thanks for earlier though.” The two of you made it in and you cursed slightly when you made it to his room. “I forgot to ask Lix to drop off some pajama’s for me tonight-“ you cursed yourself mentally and cringed at the thought of sleeping in your jeans. “You can just borrow something of mine, it’s fine.” The Aussie reassured you, going over to his drawers. “Do want sweat pants or shorts?” He asked, rummaging around as he pulled out a pair of sweats for himself. “Um- shorts please?” You asked, remembering from previous sleep overs with the oldest member how much of a human furnace he tended to be. Tossing over a baggy black tee and a matching pair of shorts he turned around to give you some privacy and you did the same as you changed. You had done this a few times, not caring to make the walk down the hall to the bathroom to change and just turning to give each other privacy. You both settled under the covers and you could feel him stare at you for a while before you poking him in the chest. “At least try and get some sleep, yeah?” He smiled, chuckling lightly as he shook his hard. “I’m trying but it’s so hard when I have someone so cute in my bed, wearing my clothes.” He teased making you blush and hit him lightly on his bare chest. “Not funny, Chris. Sleep, now.” You turned around so your back was facing him and felt him drape an arm over your side and pull you flush against his back. “Wasn’t a joke, but good night Star.” He said before you soon felt the deep rise and fall of his chest against you signaling that he was drifting off to sleep. His words flustered you more than usual, being so close and in such an intimate setting with him. That was another thing you had come to realize over your time being here with them was how you seemed to have blossoming feelings for each of them, their charms and humor brightened your days beyond imagine and you felt completely blissful in their presence. Still, you held back those feelings to yourself for fear of interpreting their teasing for something more than it could be and ruining what you had going on as it was, even if you felt they were being obvious about the possibility of them feeling the same way. That little voice in your head told you not to be stupid, that they wouldn’t like you back and that it was all in your imagination and they were just being friendly.

Soon, you too fell asleep feeling the rise and fall of Bangchan’s chest behind you and hearing his snores.

In the morning you woke before Chan, smiling at his sleeping face before slipping out of bed and going next door to shower and get ready for the day. You were met with your four temporary roommates sitting and eating breakfast. “Morning, Star!” Jeongin said with a smile that you returned as you slipped your shoes off at the door and made your way over. “Morning! Sleep well?” The all nodded, all except for Felix who looked at your appearance and huffed. “Lix?” You tilted your head in confusion and made your way over to him. “Missed you.” He said with a pout before reaching for you and pulling you down into his lap to nuzzle his face into your neck. “Hey- I missed you too but i really need to go wash up, yeah?” He whined, but let go nonetheless and you leaned down to place a kiss on his cheek. You weren’t sure why you made the gesture, but something told you he needed the extra affection. You watched as his cheeks heated up and Minho immediately spoke up. “Ya! Why does he get a kiss? I want a kiss!” He shouted, causing you to roll your eyes and approach him as well. Smirking, he turned his cheek to you for a kiss only for you to give it a quick little pat before running off in a fit of giggles to get your clothes and take a shower. “No fair!!” He screeched, causing everyone else at the table to erupt with laughter.

While I’m the shower you heard a knock on the door. “Star? Do you mind if I grab something real quick? I promise I won’t look-“ you heard Felix familiar deep voice call out to you. “Sure! I think I actually left the door unlocked anyways-“ you reply, hearing the door open and soon after close. “I locked it back for you!” He said, and you quickly called back a thanks as you heard his footsteps walking away mixed with the water hitting the tile of the shower.

When you got out and dried off, starting to get dressed you noticed the shirt you had picked out had been replaced and you raised an eyebrow. Holding up the shirt that had been set with your other folded clothes you blushed a bit to see it was one of the young aussie’s shirts, his cologne still clinging to the fabric and causing a soft blush to tint your cheeks as you slipped it on over your sports bra before pulling on your loose fitting jeans. Why he switched your shirt with his own you weren’t really sure, fighting with yourself mentally over the meaning behind his actions. When you exited the bathroom and made your way to the kitchen to grab something to eat before class you felt all of their eyes on you and turned to catch Felix smirk before he turned away and took a sip from his mug. You ate quickly before grabbing your bag from the hooks by the door and slipped on your sneakers. “Bye guys, I’ll see you later!” You called, throwing them all a smile and wave as you started to head out. “Have fun at class!” They all called, starting to get ready themselves to head to JYPE for work.

After class, you made your way to JYPE with the takeout the boys had requested for dinner since they were practicing late that evening. As you were making your way into the practice room you heard a bit of commotion. “You’ve gotta be more careful, Chan! Really, I thought you’d know that better than all of us.” It was Minho, raising his voice as he gave the oldest a look of disappointment. “It was late at night and I was just carrying them to my car it wasn’t like we were caught hooking up or anything!” He shouts back, throwing his hands in the air. You weren’t sure what to do, awkwardly standing behind the door with the bags of food in your hands. “Guys, just calm down we can sort this out but we need to get it together before they get here it will be any minute now-“ Hyunjin said to try and ease them down from more of a fight. “Actually their location is showing they are already here.” Felix spoke up, holding up his phone for everyone to see. You decided to open the door slowly, wincing a bit as all eyes shot to you. “S-Sorry um….I can drop the food off and go back to the dorms if you need some privacy?” You said, walking cautiously towards them and setting the food on the table in the back. Chan sighed, shaking head head. “No, don’t go….some- uh, unfortunate events happened that just have us a bit on edge.” He said, looking back over to Leeknow. “I’ll say. A fan, or reporter one it doesn’t really matter, saw Chan carrying you to the car last night and got plenty of photos that are now all over the internet. Dispatch is having a field day.” He said as he crossed his arms over his chest.

The color drained from your face and you felt a bit faint. “What?” Was all you said, Hyunjin was by your side in a second, placing a hand gently on your lower back as he guided you to a seat. “I’m so sorry I- I don’t know what to say.” “It’s not your fault, so you don’t have to say anything.” Minho huffed, keeping his gaze locked on the oldest member. “Don’t blame Chan either then- it was really late and Star looked so tired in those pictures I’m sure they were out cold.” Changbin spoke up, standing to be beside the leader. “When we left they were already struggling to keep their eyes open and that was way before they got home. “This all goes back to why you shouldn’t be staying so late in the studio, then. Or else this wouldn’t have happened.” Minho spat back, pointing an accusatory finger at the producers. “Please stop-“ you said, looking at them all with worry. “Is there anything I can do to make it better? We could say I’m staff and I wasn’t feeling well?” You suggested, sitting on the edge of your seat now. “That could work- stays would eat that up since Chan is already so kind to our staff.” Seungmin spoke, pondering the idea for a bit. “No.” Felix said, glaring at the floor. “We should just tell them the truth. Star is my friend and they’ve been hanging out at the company with us but stayed too late and fell asleep. It’s the same as if a staff member got sick, Chan is the gentleman he is and was giving them a ride home.” Everyone stared at the blonde, concerned and skeptical faces among them. “It would be less lying and then we don’t have to feel like we are sneaking around…..it’s not like anything scandalous is going on anyways.” He said that last bit with a little huff of annoyance, almost as if he wished there was. You looked down to where you were still in his shirt, blushing a bit. “I’ll talk it over with management before we make any statements but- that isn’t an awful idea…” Chan said, Minho actually nodding in agreement. “It could work. If you’re okay with that, Star….people will inevitably find out who you are and you’ll most likely be pushed into the public’s eye to a degree.” You say and thought it over for a bit, biting at your lower lip as you contemplated the possibility. “Well- if I know anything about fandom culture they probably already know who I am if they saw my face….as in like- my name and stuff. So I can’t see the harm it would do to be honest-“ you shrugged, looking at Felix before leaning into him for comfort seeing he still looked a bit upset. “Then it’s settled….I’ll talk with management once we finish dinner.” Chan spoke, nodding over to the food and everyone made their way over to make a plate for themselves besides you and Felix who stayed in your spots on the couch. “Lix….are you okay? Somethings been off today-“ you questioned him, rubbing his back softly as you looked into soft brown eyes. “It’s nothing- I’ll talk to you about it later, okay? Before we go to bed..” you nodded, biting your lower lip again before rising. “Okay. Let’s go get some food before it’s all gone, yeah?” Smiling up at you he nodded before taking your hand.

The whole rest of the evening you felt your stomach twisting in knots with the anxiety of what it could be that he wanted to talk about when the two of you were alone.

author’s note: ooohh what do we think Lixie is gonna have to say to Star?? ૮꒰ྀི∩' ᵕ '∩꒱ྀིა thank you so much for all the lovely feedback I’ve been getting I try to reply to everyone but sometimes I’m either not sure what to say or I just forget to and then feel like it’s been too long to say something when I do remember to and just- I’m a very anxious person if you hadn’t guessed already heh but anyways I hope you enjoy and look forward to the next update soon ᕱᕱ⊹ ࣪ ˖

tag list (if your name is pink it means I was unable to tag you); @softkisshyunjin @coastinglove @palindrome969 @amara-mars @whiteghostt @ihrtlix @queen-in-the-shadows @soaplickerrr @skzswife

[ghostxrose]

𝑵𝒊𝒄𝒐𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒆 | 𝑨𝒊𝒛𝒂𝒘𝒂 𝑺𝒉𝒐𝒕𝒂 𝒙 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

Summary ~ When you started dating Shota, you knew what you were signing up for. What you didn’t expect to happen was for everything between you both to come crumbling down, leaving you pinned beneath the rubble and Shota not even realizing it.

Tags/Warnings ~ Minors DNI, NSFW content, Inspired by Nicotine by Panic at the Disco, hurt no comfort, angst, failed relationship, past relationship neglect, cursing, break up, sad ending, use of Y/N

Note ~ Hey Lovelies, I wrote this one night when I was craving some angst, lol. I did include some of the lyrics from Nicotine, sorry if it's cringe. Anyway, hope y'all enjoy the read? It is very angst forward so.. I don't know.. trigger warning..? Love and appreciate you, Lovelies! <3

You had shown up to his apartment not long after he called..

Again.

As soon as you were through the door, the two of you had dove right into sloppily making out and pawing off each other’s clothing..

Again.

You two had taken your heaving chests, kiss bitten lips, panted moans, and lust heated bodies straight to his bedroom without having a proper conversation beforehand..

Again!

You let out a loud moan, your orgasm taking over your mind, as Shota gives one last thrust and groans into your mouth in one last open-mouthed sloppy kiss as he cums. He stays on top of you for a moment, lazily making out with you, before he slowly pulls out and flops onto his back next to you.

As you both lay there panting and coming down from your highs you close your eyes. Shota slowly gets up, tying off the condom and heading to the bathroom to throw it away and clean himself up.

The post-orgasm clarity hits you and the feeling of disappointment fills you as you sit up. You let out a heavy sigh as you rub your hands over your still flushed face and swing your legs over the side of the bed. Your eyes scan the floor for your clothes, more negative and heavy emotions stacking themselves on top of the disappointment. Collecting your clothes from off of the floor, you start to get dressed.

“What are you doing?” Shota asks from the doorway of the bathroom, startling you a bit.

You don’t turn around to face him because you know that his face is either it’s usual tired disinterest or it’s occasional tired confusion.

“I’m getting dressed.” You state, attempting to make your tone blank and void of emotion.

“That much was obvious, (Y/N). Why are you getting dressed?” He says, his tone slightly more irritated than normal.

“This was a mistake, Shota.” You bite out, already feeling the sting of tears in your eyes.

You feel the bed dip behind you and hear Shota let out an exasperated breath as he sits down heavily.

“You said that the last three times we.. did this. I don’t understand what the problem i-”

“The problem is that we are stuck in this horrible on and off situation, Shota. I.. I can’t do it anymore..” You say, cutting him off and trying so desperately to keep your tone controlled and even.

“The only reason we’re ‘on and off’ is because you thought that being with a Pro Hero who also teaches full-time would be a walk in the fucking park, (Y/N).” Shota angrily spits, both of you still sitting with your backs facing each other.

A bitter rage floods your body and you lose the will to hold back any longer, “I never thought that, Shota! I knew it would be difficult but I was ready to put in the effort required to make it fucking work! I poured so much effort int-”

“I did, t-” Shota’s raised voice cut you off but you only let him get those couple of words out before doing the same.

“In the beginning you did, yes! But where did it go, Shota?!” You yell, turning around to face him.

“(Y/N)..” He growls out but you don’t let him get any further, once again, as everything that you’ve been trying to bury bubbles out of you.

“It’s been a year since our last date! A fucking year! All we do anymore is sleep, fuck, and go to work! I can barely remember the last meal we shared together! I fucking understood what it was that I had signed up for but it got to a point where I didn’t even feel like we were in a relationship anymore!” You continue yelling, your whole body heated from anger and tears streaming down your face.

“Y- you’re.. You’re worse than nicotine, Shota! I keep telling myself ‘one more hit and then we’re through’ but I can’t fucking stay away from you! It’s like I can constantly taste you on my lips and I can’t get rid of you! Every single day, whether I’m with or without you, fucking hurts!” Your yells crumble into choked sobs and you bury your face into your hands.

Shota is standing across from you, the bed between you both, just staring at you in silence. His eyes are the slightest bit shiny, his face is scrunched up as if he is in pain, and it’s the most emotion that you’ve seen on his face in a year. His mouth opens and closes a few times but no words come out. You compose yourself enough to look up at him with a heated glare.

“Did you even love me back the same way I loved you, Shota?” You ask bitterly. You’re met with more silence and nod your head with a dry, humorless chuckle.

“We’re done for real this time, Aizawa. Don’t fucking call me again.” You spit out as you gather the rest of your stuff and make your way out of his apartment.

You sit in your car for a few minutes screaming and choking on hard sobs over the pain of your heart shattering. “This was the last fucking time!! I fucking swear it!!”  You scream at your steering wheel, praying to any and every higher power that may be out there to give you the strength to resist getting one more fucking hit.

Note ~ Someone please tell me that I am not the only one who will actively seek out angst, sometimes.. Is it healthy? Probably not. Will I continue to look for or write angst? Yes. Anyways, thank you all so much for the love! My amazing Lovelies, I love and appreciate all of you! <3

Divider Credit ~ @k1ssyoursister

[theoutcastrogue]

Bounded Accuracy, why it was necessary, and why it doesn't have to apply to skills

"Why Bounded Accuracy?", by Justin Alexander

"Let’s start by talking about bounded accuracy. Endless ink has been spilt on this topic, but I think one of the clearest way to understand bounded accuracy — what it is, why it works the way it does, how it’s supposed to be used — is to look at the design lineage which created it.

To do that, we need to go back about twenty years to the development of the Epic Level Handbook for 3rd Edition. The concept was to extend play past 20th level, allowing players to continue leveling up their characters forever.

The big problem the designers faced was that different classes gained bonuses to core abilities — attacks, saving throws, etc. — at different rates, which meant that their values diverged over time. By 20th level, the highest and lowest bonuses had already diverged so much that the difference exceeded the range of the d20 roll. This meant that any AC or DC you set would either be an automatic success for some PCs or impossible for others.

The designers of the Epic Level Handbook tried jumping through a whole bunch of hoops to solve or ameliorate this problem, but largely failed. As a result, the Epic Level Handbook was a pretty flawed experience at a fundamental level (and its failure may have actually played a major role in Wizards of the Coast abandoning the OGL and the doom of 4th Edition, but that’s a tale for another time)."

[The Rogue notes: I think the big problem with 3.5 was that the breaking of the d20 roll (where the AC or DC you set could be auto-fail for some and auto-success for others) happened LONG before epic levels, if players made characters with different levels of optimisation. Which was sometimes a result of, well, studying, pouring through splatbooks and looking up combos on the internet, but other times it just happened, without any effort. Some classes had to jump through hoops to keep up with the rest, and that was bad.]

"On that note, fast forward to 4th Edition: The designers knew this was a problem. (Several of the designers had actually worked on the Epic Level Handbook.) They wanted to avoid this problem with the new edition.

Their solution was to level up everyone’s bonuses across the board: Classes would be strong at some things and weak at others, but the values wouldn’t diverge. This methodology was, furthermore, wedded to 4th Edition’s design ethos of “level up the whole world with the PCs” and more or less fundamental to its My Precious Encounter school of encounter design.

Fast forward again, this time to 5th Edition: The 4th Edition of the game had burned down, fell over, and then sank into the swamp, and 5th Edition’s mission was to win back the D&D players they had lost. The whole “level up the world” ethos was widely identified as one of the things people who hated 4th Edition hated about 4th Edition, so it had go.

Bounded accuracy was the solution. Importantly, bounded accuracy was about two things:

Controlling AC & DC so that the target numbers never become impossible for some of the PCs.

Controlling bonuses so that the results don’t become automatic successes for some of the PCs.

In other words, all of the results exist within that boundary. Hence, “bounded accuracy.”

If you go back to the original problem experienced in 3rd Edition (and which metastasized in the Epic Level Handbook), you can see how this solves the problem. It also avoids the 4th Edition problem where your numbers get bigger, but your results never actually improve because the numbers increase in lockstep: As long as the DCs remain consistently in bounds, the moderate increases to the PCs’ bonuses will see them succeed more often as they increase in level, resulting in high-level characters who feel (and are!) more effective than 1st level characters."

– Justin Alexander | The Alexandrian, September 2022

Commentary: Bounded Accuracy and Skills

This very well-written summary was part of an article roasting the 5e skill system, and specifically arguing that Expertise is bad because it breaks Bounded Accuracy, and Reliable Talent makes it worse. And with this, I disagree.

I think that Bounded Accuracy is excellent for combat's standard rolls: attack vs AC, and saving throw vs DC. That's when you need numbers that challenge the whole party: some characters may have a better chance than others, sure, but the d20 roll doesn't become irrelevant because this one is guaranteed to succeed and that one is doomed to fail.

But for otherwise interacting with the world, I actually don't think the numbers need to challenge the whole party. I think immersion and simulation (I like these!) are better served by making such challenges tricky. Occasionally they will be too easy for some, and/or too hard for others, depending on where the characters focused their training. And when that happens, it's up to the party to figure out ways to make up for it, to look for other, creative solutions rather than get stuck on a skill check that one or more of them are doomed to fail, and in the end to acknowledge that some tasks are suited for only some of them.

So maybe half the party auto-failing to scale that wall means they need to find another way in, or use their spells, or have the athletic ones climb up and throw down a knotted rope. That's good! It's a complication that requires a solution other than rolling a single check! Maybe only the Wizard (with 2024 rules) has a chance of making that extreme Arcana check about a long lost artifact. That's great! It makes sense and it's immersive, they should be the only one able to make it. And maybe, if your goal is to stealthily scout ahead, don't send forth the clanging armoured warriors, only send the sneaky rogues. That's fantastic! It's basic tactics! What's not to like?

I have BIG beefs with the 5e skill system, on account that it's half-baked (and 5.5 is somehow even less baked), and doesn't give details or DCs even for the most bog-standard skill uses that you expect to come up at every campaign. A generic DC table from very easy to nearly impossible is great as a guideline for niche cases, and crazy things the players came up with. But things like climbing walls and picking pockets should come with instructions and numbers. As is, the DM is either winging it every time and the players are in the dark, or the DM is doing the designers' work for them, and homebrewing DC tables for everything. But bounded accuracy is not the problem here, imo.

[mythica0]

Laugh a little!

🎂:Fop: A new wish

🧁: Dev

🍫: Peri

Summary: Dev hasn’t had a good laugh in a while, Peri thinks that is blasphemy.

A/N: based on this wonderful art piece by my mootie @randommusicalfluff . Although it has a similar plot, this is not part of the little timeline I have going for my fop fics thus far. Also, yes I know I’ve written the same lee/ler dynamic for all of these, no I do not care. Enjoy! :3

P.S I kinda wish it was longer but whatevs

Laugh a little!

It was a day like any other. Dev went to school, hung out with Hazel for a while, then went home. All very normal.

He didn’t really have any feelings on the day. It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t good either. Just kinda meh.

He was bored. He didn’t feel like doing much of anything, so he just stared at the ceiling.

***

Peri looked on as Dev went about his day, going through the motions. The kid hadn’t changed expression since he woke up. Just a flat, tired face.

After school, the kid just layed down and stared at the ceiling, doing absolutely nothing.

Peri tried to suggest some activities, get the kid to have some fun, but all ideas were denied. Peri decided that Dev needed a dopamine rush. And he knew just how to do it.

“Hey dev.”

Dev slowly looked over at his Godparent, expression unchanging. “Yeah.” His voice was monotone, almost dead sounding.

“How long has it been since you’ve had a good, long laugh?”

Dev shrugged as much as he could while lying down. “I dunno. A while, I guess.” It was a very bland response. This whole day had been pretty bland. “Why.” It was a question, but his voice didn’t raise at the end like a question was supposed to.

“Ah, just curious.” It was as he thought. Peri knew what this kid needed.

Peri waited, as he wanted it to be a surprise. He waited until he had a feeling that Dev had forgotten about the short conversation.

Then, without warning, he scooped Dev off his bed, locking his arm around one of Dev’s.

“What, Peri-“ Before Dev had a chance to finish his words, Peri used a touch of magic to make little, purple feathers brush across Devs ears, neck and face.

Dev clamped his mouth shut. He didn’t want to give Peri the satisfaction of his laughter. It didn’t take long before he was shaking with the effort, his face going red.

“C’mon Dev, laugh a little! You look like you need it!” Peri teased, but also genuinely encouraging the kid to let himself laugh

After Peri took his free hand and scribbled against the kids side and ribs, the dam broke.

“Cccrahahahahap! Ehahahahaa!”

“There we go! It must’ve been killing you to keep it all in like that!”

Dev tried to glare at the fairy, but it didn’t pack the same punch when his face was adorned with a bright smile. Light, happy giggles poured out of Dev, and he made no effort to get away, only flapping his arms to stim.

“Whahahahat thehehehe heheheheck, Peheheherihi!!” He giggled out frantically, not understanding the purpose of the sudden attack.

“You said it had been a while since you had a good laugh! I thought that it was about time that changed. Besides, as I said earlier, you looked like you needed it! A nice dopamine rush!”

Dev continued to giggle and squirm, the tingling feeling coming from his neck and ears pulling giggles and squeaks from him without end.

Peri decided to change things up a little, and then he magiced up more feathers, which then flew towards the boys torso.

Dev’s giggles heightened and became faster, and somehow sounded even happier. Dev used his free arm to hug himself, the feeling of laughter being so overwhelming in the best way.

“Hey kid, why don’t we play a game?”

“Whahahahahat?”

“A game!”

“Lihihihike whahahahat kihihind ohof gahahame?”

“Ah, I’m so glad you asked! This game is a little something I like to call ‘Claw!’ And the best part- all you have to do is laugh!”

“Wahahait, whahaHAHA-“ The ginger was cut off by his own increased laughter, as Peri made a clawing gesture with his hand and then clawed gently at his tummy.

“I gotta get aaalll the laughter out of ya! And a lot is hiding in this here tummy!”

“PeheheheherihihiheeE!”

“That’s my name!”

“Thahahahahat tihihihickles sohoho muhuhuch!!” What else was he supposed to say? Thats all that was running through his head at the moment- just how much it tickled.

He felt so light and happy, every nerve in his body screaming at him to laugh himself silly. Which is exactly what he did. Laugh. And then laugh some more.

“Aww, does it? Too bad, there’s still tons of giggles trapped in here! I gotta get em all out! We wouldn’t want them stuck in there, now would we?”

“Whahahahat dohohoes thaHAt evehen mehEHEAN”

“You don’t know what happens when giggles get trapped?”

“Nohohoho!”

“Well, let me tell you.” His voice grew a fake ominous tinge. “When giggles get trapped.. they fester. They don’t show up immediately, you might not even realize they’re there. But secretly, they’re growing, and growing, and growing until they’re so big they can no longer stay. That’s when they-“ He paused to blow a raspberry on the kids tummy, causing his laughter to peak once more. “Burst out of ya! And they don’t stop either- you’ll be trapped in perpetual laughter!”

“Buhuhut ihihisnt thahat whahaht yohohoure dohohoing rihihight nohohow! Trahahahapihing mehe ihin lahahaughteheher?”

“Huh.” Was all Peri replied with, continuing to tickle his godkid silly.

After a while, Peri could see that Dev was running out of breath, and stopped. He set him back down on his bed, where he continued to giggle, holding his tummy that still felt all fluttery.

“Hehahahaha… Whoo.” He breathed out the last of his giggles. “What was that all about?”

“You seemed kinda.. meh. Thought you could use a bit of laughter.” There was a small pause. “Feel any better?”

Dev smiled. “I guess so.”

The rest of the day didn’t feel so bland anymore.

———THE END————————————————

[kierancaz]

Soo I saw that you were looking for some writing inspiration/requests and I was wondering if you would be interested in writing a Thorin x Reader fic where Reader is part of the company and both of them really admire each other but are too afraid to admit it at first and before they confess their feelings there's some sort of miscommunication?

This just came to my mind and I hope it could inspire you a little :)

hey !! thanks so much for requesting something !! I tired my best but I have not written for Thorin before so sorry if he's a little ooc haha. Also sorry this took so damn long I kept starting and stopping and also screwed up my sleep schedule and then 3 days in a row kept getting stomach aches and just couldn’t write more than three lines T_T. If it feels inconsistent or confusing I’m sorry I got lost in the sauce and COULDN’T FIGURE OUT WHAT I WAS DOING but I hope you enjoy anyway :)

warnings : none details : reader is human, marriage plot that isn’t super important besides like ^^ the request

pre-post edit: I just went back and read the request again and this might not actually be what you asked for so uh, I’m sorry, but I’m gonna post this anyway bc well it’s written but if you don’t like it lmk and I will try again :)

𝐀𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐌𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

It was safe to stay that Thorin was not the happiest camper when you joined the company, but he couldn't deny that you intrigued him a bit. Only a little though, you must understand.

You had joined the company a fair bit later, when they were stopped by the tolls. You had arrived just before Gandalf and saw the group tied up. You were going to ignore them and just carry on your way, after all it wasn't any of your business. But watching the little hobbit try and stall for time while none of the dwarves caught on was amusing enough for you to lend your aid. You had a talent for sneaking around, you made no noise when you walked, had no scent you left behind, and with little effort could blend into any environment.

You crept up onto the rock behind where the group of dwarves was tied and dug around in your bag until you pulled out a mirror. The sun was coming up and just peaking over the rock that the trolls had been staying behind. Laying down flat you brought the mirror in front of yourself and moved it until it caught the sunlight and began to reflect it. You bounce it around for a moment, attempting to get a good angle. Finally, you hit the troll standing farthest away right in the face, there was a small noise it made but it was cut off by it's mouth turning to stone. Quickly its head and shoulders and chest also turned to stone.

"Huh, you say something?" The one troll that had been talking to the hobbit said as he turned around along with the other one that was standing over by the fire. They both gasped and the one that had been talking to the hobbit rounded on the little guy again, "what did you little ferret do?!"

"Ferret?" The hobbit stuttered for a moment, doing his best to hop away but fell on his butt. "N-Nothing, I- we didn't do anything."

"Why you little-" The troll made to grab the hobbit but you quickly adjusted your mirror and light been to hit the troll on the side of the head. It started to turn to stone and in an attempt to stop it the troll reached up to block the light but only managed to turn his hand to stone. The other troll shrieked in terror.

"The dawn will take you all!" Cried someone from atop the bolder with a booming voice. A second later he slammed his staff down and the bolder cracked in two, letting the sunlight pour through. All the trolls turned quickly to stone and the dwarves set quickly to setting themselves free. You slid back down the bolder and pocketed your mirror. For some reason, you didn't immediately leave.

"I think we owe someone our thanks." Said a older white haired dwarf as he walked up to you. Gandalf followed him.

"Y/n, fancy running into you here, though I can't say I'm upset." The old wizard smiled at you. You smiled back at him.

"Good to see you too, Gandalf." You turned and offered a bow to the old dwarf and "the name's Y/n, at your service."

The old dwarf smiled, he seemed very pleased with your politeness, and bowed back, "Balin, at yours."

"Is this the company you mentioned Gandalf?" You asked turning back to your old friend.

"What do you know of this company?" Came a rumbling deep voice from your left. You hadn't realized that someone else had joined you. His arms were crossed and judging by the slight crease in his brows he was not very happy.

"Ah- well," you cleared your throat and looked to Gandalf for help but he offered none. "You must be Thorin," you bowed the same as you did for Balin. "I know of your journey, Gandalf told me." Yes, blame the old wizard, that's fine.

Thorin turned to Gandalf with a glare, silently demanding an explanation from him. Gandalf cleared his throat and shifted his weight on his feet slightly, "I first asked Y/n to be our burglar, however she refused me."

"I had family business to attend to at the time." You said and Thorin turned his glare onto you, you stiffened slightly and suddenly wished you didn't say anything at all.

"What are you doing here now?" Thorin asked.

"Well... I was looking for you guys. I figured if I followed your road I'd come across you eventually."

"Why?" Thorin was not looking very pleased. You felt small under his stare and began to fiddle with your hands.

"I was hoping that, well, you may have room for another walker in your company?" Your expression changed into something unsure as you shrugged your shoulders. All Thorin did was stare and you glanced at Gandalf for help.

"She can be of use Thorin, she's very quiet this one, great for sneaking around." Gandalf nodded his staff towards you.

"She also did just save our skins." Added Balin and you were very grateful he had not walked off.

Thorin thought for a moment, but it felt like en eternity. He eyed you up and down before turning away and beginning to walk off. "Fine. But don't slow us down. If you do you'll get left behind."

You've been traveling with the company since then. So far you've made very good friends with everyone but particularly Fili, Kili, Balin and Bilbo. Over time you've also begun to greatly admire the leader of this company, Thorin.

You couldn't deny that you thought he was attractive, you had thought that from the moment you met him. But it was more than just looks you liked about him, you admired how much he cared for his people, his sense of duty to bring them back to their home in Erebor. He carries such a huge burden all on his own and is able to do it with grace and dignity, you understood a little of what that meant, though on a much smaller scale. He was brave and even though he was a king he was always first to throw himself into a fight to protect those around him. And even though he seemed cold on the surface it's very obvious that he cares for all his companions and would do whatever it took to make sure they were safe.

"Watcha lookin' at?" You jumped, Kili had his face right next to yours leaning over your shoulder. He laughed and sat on the rock next to you with his back facing the fire, you smack his arm.

"How long were you there?" You grumbled.

"Oh I don't know, long enough to notice you staring dreamily off at my uncle." He clasped his hands together out in front of him and bat his eyelashes at you in a teasing manner before bursting out laughing like someone told the most hysterical joke known to man.

"I was not! I was just thinking and I zoned out..."

"Sure, sure, whatever you say." Kili said once he stopped laughing. "You know you're so obvious right? Everyone sees it."

"Sees what?" You asked with a raised eyebrow and Kili rolled his eyes.

"That you're in love with him!" Kili hit you on the shoulder. "I think it's a good thing personally, Thorin needs someone like you. Someone fun who can lighten his mood, he's always so stoic these days, believe it or not he used to be fun."

"I'm not in love with him." You said and put your chin in your hands, your mood had soured and Kili didn't understand why. "I'm due to be married."

Oh. Oh. Thorin stopped listening.

He had realized you're staring a while ago. He thought, or maybe hoped, that you where staring at him, but it seems you really where just zoned out and didn't realize you where looking in his direction. He started paying attention more when Kili wandered over and tuned in when the two of you started talking. But now he didn't want to listen, you were probably going to go on talking about whoever it is that you're going to be married to and he didn't want to hear it.

"You ok there laddie?" Balin asked appear at his side.

"Yes, why wouldn't I be?" And it came out a little more snappy than he would've liked.

"No particular reason, just looked like you were staring off into space. But by your tone it sounds like something is on your mind?" Thorin thought for a moment before deciding he shook his head.

"I'm going for a walk." Was what he settled on and he got up and left.

"You what?!" Kili said in shock. "What do you mean?"

"I mean exactly what I said. Once I go back home I am to be wed."

"You don't sound very happy about it..."

"I'm not." You said. "I don't want to marry him."

"Then why are you?" Kili sounded almost mad. You furrowed your eyebrows at him.

"Because I have to Kili. I'm the oldest in my family and with our dad dead I have to be the one to bring in money somehow. There aren't many jobs for women where I am and this guy has enough money to keep my family off the streets and well fed. The reason I decided to seek out this company and join the adventure is because this is the last one I'll be able to go on..." Kili was silent.

Suddenly he shot up on his feet and rounded the rock to stand in front of you. "Thorin is a king. We are going to reclaim our home that is filled with mountains of gold. Tell Thorin you love him and then you can be happy and save your family! It's as simple as that!"

"Thorin is a king. It's not as simple as that."

Kili was making that face he does when he's confused and upset. Eyebrows creased together, pouting, and over all looking like a sad puppy dog. "Get up," he said and tugged roughly on your arm to pull you to your feet.

"What are you doing?!" You half shouted at him as you tried to pry yourself free. "Let me go you lunatic!"

"I'm looking for my uncle." He said and you froze for a second before beginning to fight him again. "He deserves to be happy and so do you, all it takes is for you to admit your feelings to him."

"How do you know that's all it takes?" You snapped and stopped struggling for a moment. "How do you know he thinks of me in the same way I think of him?"

You were every serious, Kili however was not and was looking at you like you had just said the stupidest thing he had ever heard. He sighed exasperatedly, your face crumpled in confusion. "Where is he? Do you see, Thorin?"

You took a look around the fire, "um, no, I don't."

Thorin was walking through the woods, he could still see the campfire and hear the voices of everyone so he wasn't far if anything went wrong, but he was far enough that he couldn't properly see any of the individual figures. You had a fiancé? You were going to be married. Thorin didn't know how to describe how he was feeling in this moment. Upset? Mad? Disappointed? Perhaps blindsided was the word, but how could just being blindsided by this information be enough to make him feel this bad. Why did he even care so much?

Well actually he knew why he cared so much. It probably had something to do with that intense warmth that spread throughout him whenever he looked at you. That tightening in his chest whenever you smiled, even if it wasn't at him.

He had noticed a while back the way he was beginning to think of you, but he shoved it down. Hid it away in fear that it would start to interfere with this quest. He needed to make a conscious effort to treat you the same as everyone else. But he still always caught himself wondering if you were tired and needed to rest, if you were warm at night, if you had enough to eat or drink. After a battle or after running away from orcs he always made it a point to check on you personally and he couldn't relax until he did so.

When you first met he thought you were attractive. Just a passing acknowledgement that, for a human, you were nice to look at. But over time, after seeing the way you would blend with the others in conversation, how even though you were the best fighter you still valued the others safety and were willing to put yourself at risk, how much Fili and Kili liked you. You were so kind and unassuming and you always offered to help.

One thing that stood out to Thorin, and that he especially admired about you, was that you stood up to him. It might sound weird, but he liked that you questioned him, and when you thought he was wrong you pointed it out. It didn't happen often, but when you did say he was wrong about something you were usually right. You argued with him when no one else did and somehow he thought that was very attractive of you.

He let out a long sigh and rubbed his temples, all of this thinking was useless. And also making him feel worse, like the hole in his chest was growing. The laughing from around the fire tuned him fully back into his surroundings and with one last look around (so he could at least say he was checking the parameter) he started to head back to camp. As he exited the trees and came back into the little clearing he heard the sound of his nephew.

"Aha! There he is!" Looking to his left Thorin saw Kili and he was pulling you with him. Well, not so much pulling as he was dragging, you were tripping over your own feet with every step and looked about ready to fall.

Kili then yanked you forward, practically throwing you into Thorin with a grin on his face that Thorin just knew meant that Kili knew something he didn't. Thorin reached out and caught you before you could face plant. "Kili, what's going on?" You scoffed as you stood up straighter and brushed yourself off, you had a very sour look on your face that just made Thorin more confused and slightly concerned.

"Y/n has something to talk to you about." He said and winked before running off to go whisper about something with his brother. There was a long stretch of silence and it was very quickly becoming awkward.

Thorin cleared his throat, "there's something you wanted to talk to me about?"

You jumped slightly, Thorin was standing there, hands clasped behind his back and face as un-telling as ever. You chuckled, "oh, uh, it's nothing really. Not that important or anything, you know Kili this is just one of his- uh- things..."

Thorin just grunted in response and turned away. You probably could've used this opportunity to run away but for some reason you didn't. There was another long silence, the two of you just standing next to each other and looking at the rest of the company sitting around the fire. At some point you saw Gandalf look over at you two and when he looked away you could've sworn there was a knowing smile on his face.

"I hear you're getting married once you return home after the journey." Thorin said suddenly.

"What?" You said whirling to face him, "how do you know about that?"

"I over heard you and Kili talking about it." He answered simply and without looking at you. You creased your brows before turning back to look at the company and the fire. Thorin glanced at you, "whoever he is, he's a lucky man."

"And I an unlucky woman." You said with a huff. "I don't want to marry him."

"Oh? Why not?" Thorin asked and turned to you.

"Why? Well for one he is the most arrogant self righteous man I have ever met. He thinks he's the gods gift to man and that everyone he interacts with owes him something. The only reason I even agreed to this arrangement with him is because if I don't my family will lose everything. I much rather marry-- someone else."

After your rant Thorin was feeling significantly lighter. He caught your stutter at the end and the side of his mouth corked up. "Y/n, what was it Kili wanted you to tell me?"

You turned to look at him, eyes wide, but were comforted by the smile on his face. "Well," you said looking up and away to avoid eye contact and clasping your hands in front of you. "Kili wants me to tell you that I'm in love with you. And I am, in love with you I mean."

Thorin chuckled and you peaked back at him, he had a soft smile on his face. "Maybe you're not as unlucky as you thought armâlimê.”

You opened your mouth like you were going to say something, but then what he said seemed to register. You paused and then looked over at him, “what did you just call me?”

He smiled at you softly and took your hand and looked down at it as he spoke, “we can figure out what to do about your family’s situation after the quest, I trust it won’t be to hard to find a solution then.”

Silently your hand tightened around his, touched by what he had said. “And just for the record,” he added looking up into your eyes, “I love you too.”

From a little ways away, over by the fire, you could hear whispered cheers and groans, and the clink of coins being exchanged. You looked over and Kili grinned back, shooting you a thumbs up and you couldn’t help but laugh feelings as light as air and happier than you ever have before.