#Mantra Bracelet | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

humaling · 3 months ago

Text

Between Your Hands and the World.

pairings: jealous!finnick odair x victor-f!reader

summary: finnick isn't particularly fond of the gift you received from one of your sponsors.

warnings: allusion to finnick's prostitution, the usual hunger games

word count: 5.2k

Breathe in. Breathe out.

You repeat that mantra in your head, over and over again, as you stare at yourself in the mirror. Your reflection feels foreign, almost unrecognizable beneath the layers of Capitol perfection. The gown you’re wearing is nothing like the ones you wore before the Games; it’s heavier, louder, a statement crafted to draw eyes and hold them captive. Iridescent silk clings to your figure, shifting between shades of deep teal and midnight blue as the light catches it. The fabric cascades into a flowing train of sheer organza, cut to resemble twisting fins and seaweed, edged with tiny crystals that glint like salt spray. The bodice, sculpted from mother-of-pearl and opalescent glass, curves tightly around your torso. Silver thread traces delicate patterns across the surface, mirroring the movement of ocean currents, with scattered pearls embedded so precisely they almost seem to pulse with life.

Atop your head sits a crown of twisted silver and coral-shaped branches, thin chains of pearls and crystals dangling from its frame to brush against your cheeks. The weight of it is surprising, a quiet reminder of how much the Capitol loves to dress up its victors like dolls. Your makeup is haunting; smoky shades of deep blue and emerald sweep across your eyelids, blended so flawlessly they resemble the depths of the sea. Tiny pearls are glued to the corners of your eyes, and your lashes are tipped with iridescent beads that catch the light each time you blink. Your lips, painted in a bruised plum gloss, gleam with a wet sheen that makes them look just kissed—or just dangerous. Small pearls and crystals trace along your temples and collarbones, giving the eerie impression of salt and seawater drying against your skin.

Silver armlets twist around your biceps like seaweed caught on driftwood, the metal cool against your skin. Long, dangling earrings shimmer like jellyfish tendrils as they sway with each breath you take. Even your hands are decorated—rings with pearls and shells wrapped around your fingers like delicate sea creatures. You look less like a victor and more like a siren—designed to lure, to captivate, to destroy. And the Capitol expects you to play the part perfectly.

You don’t recognize yourself in the mirror. All you see is someone else. Someone who had to throw their morals and dignity out the window to survive the Games. Someone who tainted their hands with crimson liquid for the sake of survival. Someone who glorified the inhuman acts committed inside the arena because that’s what the Capitol demanded—a show, a spectacle. And you gave it to them.

It makes you shudder, knowing that someone is still you. A part of you. No matter how much you want to tear it away, to separate yourself from the choices you made, it clings to you like the salt in the air back home. It disgusts you to no end, makes your skin crawl beneath the delicate silk of the gown they dressed you in. How could you go from being a sweet, bubbly girl from District 4—someone who would sit on the docks weaving seashell bracelets with your younger siblings—to a cold-blooded murderer who learned how to kill before learning how to live?

The Capitol dressed you up to cover the damage. They wrapped you in pearls and mother-of-pearl, in iridescent fabric that glitters beneath the harsh lights, but no amount of beauty can hide the blood beneath your nails. You see it in your own eyes—the hollow sharpness that wasn't there before the arena. You might look like a siren now, but the Capitol knows the truth. They turned you into one.

“You look like you’ll puke any moment.”

Your head jerks to the side, snapping you out of your thoughts when the deep voice cuts through the thick silence. Your eyes go wide, your hand darting toward the nearest object—a silver hair comb—to use as a weapon. But when you see the familiar bronzed hair paired with sea-green eyes, you let out a breath, the tension seeping from your muscles as the comb slips from your hand and clatters against the marble floor. The sound echoes off the walls, sharp and jarring, but you barely hear it over the pounding in your chest.

Finnick watches you carefully, his gaze steady and unreadable as you stare back at him with a mix of relief and shame. You don’t know how to feel—relieved that he’s here, that he always seems to show up when you’re unraveling—or sick with despair, knowing that Finnick knows. He knows what you did to survive. He knows the blood on your hands, the weight you now carry. And yet, he stands there, calm and still, like he’s waiting for you to fall apart.

His eyes sweep over you, not with judgment but with quiet understanding. He sees it—the storm brewing beneath your surface, the haunted vacancy in your gaze that wasn’t there before the Games. Finnick knows this feeling better than anyone. He saw it in his own reflection after he got out of the arena, after his first night pleasing a Capitol client during his victory tour. He knows the weight of survival and how it corrodes you from the inside out. And he knows you weren’t built for this. You’re strong, but not for this kind of cruelty. He knew that from the moment your name was called out during the reaping.

Finnick blames himself. He swore he’d protect you, swore he’d keep you safe from this twisted life. But the odds are never in his favor. Snow’s grip is too tight, his reach too deep. And Finnick knows—sooner or later—Snow will push you too far, and you’ll break. He just hopes that when that day comes, there’ll still be enough of you left for him to save. Until then, all he can do is try to make this twisted version of victory a little less unbearable. And hope that his sweet girl—the one who used to make seashell bracelets by the shore—can hold on long enough to survive it.

“You snort, eyes flicking toward him. “What a keen observation you have, Sherlock.”

Finnick’s lips curl into a lazy smile. “Well, you’re not exactly subtle. You keep staring at yourself like it’s going to move and swallow you whole.”

“Wouldn’t that be nice?” you mutter, arms crossing over your chest.

Finnick’s gaze darkens, the teasing edge softening just a little. “I suppose it’s better than going back out there.”

You force a smile onto your lips, but it fails miserably. It fades almost immediately when you decide to meet Finnick’s eyes. His expression is unreadable—steady—but his eyes are soft, tracing over your face like he’s searching for something you don’t know how to give him.

“You know, if you’re trying to play hard to get, it’s not working,” he says, lips twitching into a smirk. “People will only want you more.”

You scoff. “Am I that transparent? I want you. I need you. Oh baby, oh baby,” you tease, voice dripping with sarcasm as you step toward him. Your gaze drops to his outfit, and damn—you’d be lying if you said he didn’t look good.

The Capitol dressed him like bait. His outfit mirrors yours in theme but with an edge designed to exploit him rather than elevate him. A shimmering, open-front jacket made of seafoam-green silk hangs loosely off his broad shoulders, the sleeves lined with silver embroidery resembling ocean waves. But it does nothing to conceal him—his chest is bare beneath it, smooth skin catching the light as if he’s been dipped in seawater. A thin chain of pearls drapes across his collarbone, leading down to his abdomen, where it disappears beneath the waistband of his low-slung pants—tight, dark blue, and threaded with silver in swirling patterns that mimic the pull of the tide. The Capitol didn’t dress him to look powerful—they dressed him to be devoured. He’s a prize on display, a body meant to be admired and claimed. And yet, even standing there with every inch of his beauty exposed to the world, the most dangerous thing about him is still his eyes—the quiet strength in them, the way they soften when they land on you.

Finnick smirks when he notices you staring. “See something you like?”

You roll your eyes and step past him, walking toward the black box placed on the table behind him. It’s wrapped in a silky pink bow, a small envelope resting neatly beside it. The Capitol’s idea of subtlety.

Finnick moves behind you, his front pressing lightly against your back, and you freeze. His breath fans over the nape of your neck, warm and steady, and it makes you shiver. He’s so close you can feel the rise and fall of his chest with each breath. The heat of his skin bleeds through the thin fabric of your gown, and your fingers tighten around the edge of the box.

“Who’s it from?” he murmurs, his voice low and rough in your ear. His lips brush dangerously close to your pulse point, and you swallow hard, trying to mask the way your heart hammers beneath your ribs.

You shrug, your hand reaching up to tug the ribbon loose. “No clue. One of the Avoxes handed it earlier when I was getting ready.”

The bow falls away, and you lift the lid. Inside, resting on a black cushion, is a delicate seashell-designed hair clip. The silver metal catches the light, glinting with an otherworldly shimmer. The center is studded with pearls—different sizes, some round and smooth, others irregularly shaped like drops of frozen seafoam. When your fingers graze over it, you realize with a start that the pearls are real. Heavy. Perfect.

“Wow…” you breathe out, awestruck.

“Wow,” Finnick echoes, but his voice is cold. Flat.

You’re too preoccupied with the gift to notice how tense he’s gone behind you. His jaw ticks, his smile gone, sea-green eyes darkening as they narrow on the clip in your hands. Who would give you something so personal—something tied so closely to District 4? And how would they even know to get you this? His hands curl into fists at his sides. Someone gave you this. Someone thought they had the right. Who?

“Isn’t it so pretty?” you chirp, holding the hair clip delicately in your hand as you turn toward him.

You don’t notice how close you’ve gotten—how his face is just inches from yours. You don’t care. Too absorbed by the pretty thing in your hand, you beam up at him, bright and careless. Finnick’s expression remains carefully neutral, but his eyes burn beneath it. Years of experience and training keep his smile intact, even as his body hums with jealousy.

“Not as pretty as you are,” he says smoothly, reaching out to take the clip from your hand. His fingers graze yours, but before he can place it back in the box, you stop him.

“Can you put it on me?” Your voice is soft, hesitant. Sweet. Like you’re almost too shy to make the request—but you know exactly what you’re doing.

Finnick’s lips part slightly. He wants to say no. There’s no way in hell he’s letting you wear something from a stranger—something that wasn’t from him. But then you flash that sweet smile of yours, your lashes fluttering just so, and he’s done for. He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

“Sure,” he says, his voice strained.

Your eyes light up, and your smile widens. You tilt your head to the side, offering him the perfect spot. Finnick’s large hands lift to your hair, taking off the crown and smoothing out a few curls as he tries to figure out where to place the clip. His touch is gentle, reverent, his fingers threading through your hair with a tenderness that makes your chest ache.

And you—you're too busy watching him to notice much else. From this close, you can see everything. The Capitol dressed him like a creature pulled from the sea—a weapon disguised as a gift. His skin gleams under the lights, faint mermaid-scale patterns dusting his neck and jawline, shimmering every time he shifts. His freckles—sun-kissed and soft—spread across his nose and cheeks, barely visible beneath the faint blush that tints the apples of his cheeks. His lips look fuller, glossed with something subtle that catches the light, making them look distractingly soft. His blonde lashes curl upward, framing those impossibly green eyes of his—the color of the ocean after a storm. Blue eyeshadow dusts his eyelids, dark at the edges and lighter toward the center, resembling the shifting hues of deep water. Small pearls are glued to the corners of his eyes, catching the light with every blink, like drops of seawater frozen in place.

You wonder if Finnick knows how beautiful he looks—how haunting he is. If he does, he doesn’t comment. His brows furrow slightly as he focuses on securing the clip into your hair, his fingers brushing over your ear as he adjusts it.

“There,” he murmurs, stepping back to admire his work. His eyes linger on you longer than necessary. His lips twitch into a half-smile. “Perfect.”

But his gaze flicks down to the clip again, and the tension in his jaw returns.

The Capitol spares no expense when it comes to a victory party. The grand hall is suffocating in excess—gleaming marble floors, ceilings strung with crystalline lights that mimic a starry night sky. Towering floral arrangements line the walls, spilling over with exotic flowers dyed in unnatural shades of violet and emerald green. Gold-accented columns frame the room, their surfaces etched with intricate patterns of sea creatures—tributes to your District. The theme is so on the nose it almost makes you laugh. They’ve turned your trauma into decor.

The people are worse. Capitol elites float through the space like they own it, draped in fabrics so heavy and layered that they might collapse under the weight if not for their sheer arrogance. Their faces are painted in unnatural hues—bright blues, shimmering golds, and jeweled embellishments—and their bodies are adorned with pearls and netted silk, a cheap imitation of the oceanic beauty they try to claim as their own. They laugh too loudly, clutching glasses of champagne and exotic cocktails with long, jeweled fingers. Every smile is too sharp. Every touch lingers too long.

You stand stiffly at the edge of the room, the satin of your gown cool against your skin. Your head is starting to buzz when your escort suddenly appears at your side, their hand pressing lightly against your arm.

“Come,” they say brightly, the falseness of their smile barely concealed beneath the layers of powder on their face. “There are some very important people who’d like to meet you.”

You’re pulled away before you can protest, guided through the throng of bodies until you’re standing before a group of Gamemakers. Their robes shimmer under the low light, gold and crimson and deep navy, each one embroidered with symbols of their status. They greet you with indulgent smiles, their eyes sharp despite the pleasant expressions they wear.

“It’s an honor to meet you,” one of them says, grasping your hand briefly. “We’ve been watching you closely. You showed such… promise.”

You smile stiffly, thanking them, while trying not to recoil from their touch. After a few more minutes of stilted conversation, your escort discreetly tugs at your elbow and whispers, “Why don’t you go enjoy yourself now?”

You don’t hesitate. You cut through the crowd toward the dessert table, drawn in by the delicate towers of candy and pastries shaped like coral and seashells. You pick up a pastel-colored macaron, bringing it to your mouth. One bite in, and your face immediately scrunches in disgust—it tastes like perfume. You swallow it down with effort, already regretting it, when you sense someone approaching from the side.

“Careful,” a voice says lightly. “The Capitol likes to make things look better than they taste.”

You turn, still chewing, and your eyes land on a tall figure with sleek dark hair and sharp, fox-like features. He smiles at you, eyes glittering beneath the glow of the lights. It takes you a second to place them—he was with the Gamemakers earlier.

“I don’t believe we’ve been introduced,” he says smoothly, extending a hand. “I’m Lysander.”

You take it hesitantly. “I’m—”

“Oh, I know exactly who you are,” Lysander interrupts with a charming smile. His eyes drop to the hair clip nestled in your curls. “Ah, it looks even better than I imagined. I knew it would suit you perfectly.”

You blink. “You gave this to me?”

“I did.” His smile widens. “It reminded me of you. Strong, elegant… dangerous.”

Heat rises to your cheeks at the compliment, a soft flush creeping up your neck. Maybe—despite everything—you were still you, even if a Capitol man was the one making you feel this way.

“Thank you,” you breathe out, your hand drifting up to your hair. Your fingers graze the cool metal of the clip, tracing the curve of the delicate shells. “I really liked it.”

Lysander’s smile widens, his eyes gleaming with quiet satisfaction. He tilts his head slightly, a smug glint sharpening the edges of his expression—like he knew you would like it.

“I’m glad you did.”

Finnick’s eyes narrow as he watches you laugh at whatever the hell this Lysander is saying to you. His jaw clenches so tightly he swears he feels his teeth grinding. Across the table, one of the Careers—Gloss—follows his line of sight and smirks.

“Careful, Odair,” Gloss drawls, swirling the deep red wine in his glass. “You might break that pretty smile of yours.”

“I’m fine,” Finnick mutters, eyes still glued to you. Lysander’s hand drifts just a little too close to your arm, and Finnick’s grip on his glass tightens.

“Oh, you’re not fine,” Gloss chuckles, leaning back lazily. “I’ve seen you pissed before. This is worse.”

Cashmere leans in, chin propped on her hand. “I don’t know,” she says, amused. “I think it’s cute. Finnick’s jealous.”

Finnick shoots her a glare. “I’m not jealous.”

“You’re practically vibrating,” Gloss snickers. He leans in close, his breath brushing Finnick’s ear. “Y’know, if you don’t make a move right now, he might steal her away from you.”

That’s it.

Finnick shoves his wine glass into Gloss’s chest without a word and strides toward you, cutting through the crowd with dangerous precision.

You’re laughing at something Lysander says when an arm slides smoothly around your waist. Warm fingers press lightly against your side, and the scent of salt and citrus washes over you a second before Finnick’s voice hums beside your ear.

“Well, isn’t she a beaut?” he says smoothly, his smile bright and dangerous. “I’m the one who chose the outfit.”

You freeze, eyes widening as Finnick’s hand slides up to graze the shell of your ear, his thumb brushing over the edge of the hair clip. Lysander’s expression shifts, polite but guarded, as Finnick’s gaze flickers toward him.

“But,” Finnick murmurs, his voice dropping into a low, intimate register that coils through the air like smoke, “you’re more breathtaking without it.”

The glint in his sea-green eyes is sharp, predatory as he tilts his head toward Lysander. He winks—slow, deliberate—and the effect is immediate. Lysander’s smile falters at the edges, thinning like a blade. An awkward chuckle slips from his lips, but the gleam in his eyes remains calculating as he shifts effortlessly back into the conversation.

“You see, Finnick also has quite a few admirers,” Lysander says, swirling the golden liquid in his glass with lazy precision. The amber reflects the glow of the chandeliers above, casting rippling patterns on his hand. “They’re very… passionate. You might find yourself with a few of your own soon.”

A crease threatens to form between your brows as your lips pull downward. What did he mean by that? You glance toward Finnick, searching his face for answers. His smile remains fixed, charming as ever—but the tick in his jaw betrays him. The muscle flexes, tension carving sharp lines into his perfect features.

Lysander’s gaze flicks toward Finnick, his smirk sharpening. He lifts his glass in a lazy toast—toward Finnick first, then toward you—his brow quirking upward in a silent challenge.

“Careful, Finnick,” Lysander drawls, voice silk-smooth but laced with poison. “You know how possessive the Capitol can be.”

Finnick lets out a low, hearty chuckle, the sound vibrating through his chest as his arm tightens around your waist, pulling you flush against his side. His fingers splay across your hip possessively, as if to remind both you and Lysander exactly where you belong.

“I’m sure we can handle ourselves just fine,” Finnick says smoothly, though his smile hardens at the edges. His knuckles turn white where they grip your waist, and his eyes glint dangerously beneath the flicker of candlelight.

Lysander’s smile widens. He sets his glass down on a passing tray and steps toward you, invading the space Finnick has carefully claimed. Finnick’s grip tightens, but Lysander only smiles. His hand finds yours, his touch light but deliberate as he lifts it toward his lips.

His eyes never leave yours as he presses a soft kiss to your knuckles, lingering just long enough to make Finnick’s hand twitch at your waist.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, (Y/N).”

Lysander’s eyes flick toward Finnick—just a flash of triumph beneath his lashes—before he slips effortlessly into the crowd, swallowed by the sea of Capitol excess.

Finnick’s arm remains locked around you, his hand still pressed against your hip. His smile doesn’t return. His eyes remain dark, fixed on the spot where Lysander disappeared.

“What?” he says at your questioning look, his voice low and edged with something sharp. “Couldn’t let him have you all to himself.”

The music swells, a slow, haunting melody carried by the soft hum of strings and the delicate trill of a harp. Golden light from the chandeliers above reflects off the marble floors, casting flickering shadows across the velvet-draped walls. The Capitol’s elite swirl around you in a blur of silk and sequins, their laughter mixing with the music like a distorted symphony.

Finnick’s hand slides down to yours. His touch is steady, warm, grounding—but there’s an edge to it. His thumb brushes across the back of your hand as he steps toward you, his sea-green eyes dark under the soft glow of the lights. He doesn’t speak. He just waits.

You hesitate. Your pulse thrums beneath your skin, too loud, too fast. Lysander’s words echo in your head like a ghostly whisper:

"You might find yourself with a few of your own soon."

What did he mean by that? You’ve had admirers before, of course—you’re a victor now, and victors are Capitol property whether they like it or not—but Lysander’s tone was different. Knowing. Almost… possessive. Like he knew something you didn’t.

Or maybe he just wanted you to feel that way.

A sharp tug brings you back to the present. Finnick’s eyes search yours, his brow pulling into a subtle crease. His hand is still waiting, open, patient—but there’s something tight around the corners of his mouth, like he’s not sure you’ll take it.

You slip your hand into his. His fingers curl around yours instantly, and without a word, he leads you toward the dance floor.

The crowd parts around you as Finnick turns, his other hand sliding to your waist with practiced ease. His palm presses into the small of your back, pulling you closer. Your breath catches as his chest brushes against yours, and the warmth of his skin seeps through the thin silk of your gown.

Finnick’s eyes flick to your mouth before meeting your gaze. “Relax,” he murmurs, his voice low enough that only you can hear. “I don’t bite.”

You let out a shaky breath as he guides you into the first step. His movements are fluid, effortless, like he’s done this a thousand times before—which, of course, he has. Finnick Odair, the Capitol’s golden boy. The heartthrob of Panem. The victor who could seduce a room with nothing more than a glance.

But right now, the sharpness in his gaze isn’t meant for the crowd—it’s meant for you.

Your hands settle on his shoulders as he steers you through the room. You can feel the strength beneath his skin, the tension humming through his muscles. Finnick’s jaw tightens every time another pair of eyes lands on you—hungry, possessive eyes. The Capitol’s gaze feels like a thousand knives pressing into your back.

And yet, Finnick keeps you steady. His hand on your waist, his thumb tracing slow circles through the silk of your gown. His lips hover dangerously close to your ear as he leans in.

“You’re thinking too hard,” he whispers, his breath ghosting against the shell of your ear. “Whatever Lysander said—don’t let it get to you.”

Your hands tighten on his shoulders. “How do you know that?”

Finnick’s mouth curves into a small, knowing smile. His hand slides further around your waist, drawing you so close that the thin barrier of your clothing feels nonexistent. His voice drops, low and rough:

“Because I know you.”

Your chest tightens painfully. You want to believe that—that Finnick knows you, that someone understands you—but Lysander’s words are still coiled in the back of your mind like thorns. What if Lysander was right? What if you were already losing yourself to the Capitol?

Finnick’s hand at your back presses more firmly. His green eyes glint under the light as he tilts his head toward you. “What else did he say to you?”

You hesitate. You think about how Lysander also mentioned how the Capitol likes to show off sometimes. You didn’t think of it at all at first but when he started referencing how the victors of the hunger games are some sort of objects, to be praised, and show off as trophies; it had you navigating the conversation to another topic. Too scared to dwell on a sensitive topic like that. Not wanting to know what’s lying ahead for you in the future.

The music shifts to something softer, the strings slowing into a lilting cadence that urges you closer.

“He said… How he would like to show me off like they do to others.”

Finnick’s grip on you tightens almost imperceptibly. His mouth flattens into a thin line.

“Of course they do,” he says, his voice losing some of its softness. “You’re beautiful. That’s the whole point.”

Your heart twists painfully. The whole point. To be admired, desired, paraded like a doll in silk and pearls. That’s what the Capitol does to victors—it makes them beautiful so it can break them more easily.

“Finnick,” you whisper, your voice barely audible over the hum of music. “What if that’s all they ever see?”

His eyes flash. His hand at your waist tightens, dragging you flush against him. Your breath stutters as his mouth lowers to your ear, his voice hard and sharp and dangerous.

“Then they don’t deserve to look at you.”

Your breath hitches. For a moment, the world blurs—just you and Finnick and the heat of his body pressed against yours. But then, movement from the edge of the room catches your eye. Lysander, standing at the edge of the dance floor with a fresh drink in hand, his eyes gleaming beneath the crystal light. His gaze locks with yours—and he smiles.

Finnick notices it too. His hand slides from your waist to the curve of your hip, his palm pressing possessively against your side. You feel his breath stutter as his mouth ghosts against your ear.

“You want to know why Lysander gave you that clip?” Finnick’s voice darkens, his eyes fixed on Lysander’s smirking figure. “It’s not because you’re beautiful. It’s because he thinks he can own you.”

Your heart hammers painfully in your chest.

Finnick’s hand finds your chin, gently tilting your face toward his. His green eyes burn through you, fierce and protective and something deeper, something raw beneath the surface.

“But he’s wrong,” Finnick murmurs, his mouth a breath away from yours. “Because you only belong to yourself.”

The music swells. You don’t know if it’s the heat of the room or the weight of Finnick’s gaze, but suddenly it’s hard to breathe.

Finnick’s lips curve into a slow, dangerous smile. “Shall we give them something to talk about?”

Before you can answer, Finnick spins you effortlessly beneath his arm, his hand catching yours just as the music shifts into a faster rhythm. His laugh—a low, rumbling sound—brushes against your skin as he pulls you close once again.

From the corner of his eyez he sees Lysander’s smile fades at the edges.

Finnick’s smile widens, slow and knowing, before his gaze flickers back to you. His hand rises to your hair, fingers brushing delicately against the strands as he works at the clip. His touch is so gentle, so precise, that it sends a shiver racing down your spine. Despite the distraction, neither of you miss a beat—your steps remain perfectly in sync with the lilting rhythm of the music.

You lead him across the floor, your hands resting against his shoulders as he follows your movements effortlessly. Finnick’s other hand lingers in your hair, carefully undoing the clasp. His knuckles graze the nape of your neck as the clip loosens, making your breath hitch.

When the cool weight of the clip leaves your hair, Finnick’s arm shifts. He twirls you beneath his raised hand, the silk of your gown swirling around your legs as you spin in the center of the dance floor. Your laugh bubbles out unbidden, mixing with the soft strains of the strings.

As he pulls you back toward him, his eyes glint mischievously. An avox passes by, head lowered as they weave through the dancers. Finnick’s hand moves so smoothly you almost miss it—a single swift motion as he slips the hair clip into the avox’s pocket without breaking stride. His arm snakes back around your waist, his hand splaying wide across the small of your back as he draws you flush against him once more.

“There,” Finnick murmurs, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Much better.”

Your hair, now loose and tousled from his handiwork, spills over your shoulders in soft waves. Finnick’s eyes flick over you, satisfaction curling at the edges of his mouth. His hand shifts, his thumb skimming the bare skin of your back where your gown dips dangerously low.

You raise a brow at him. “Did you just—”

“Return it to its rightful place?” Finnick interrupts smoothly, his smile turning dangerous. “Let’s just say Lysander might have a hard time finding it again.”

Your chest tightens as Finnick’s hand presses more firmly against your back, leading you deeper into the dance. His eyes darken as they flick toward the edge of the room—where Lysander stands, his smile thin and cold as he watches you both. Finnick’s mouth curves into a knowing smirk.

“Now,” Finnick purrs, his hand gliding from your waist to the small of your back, his gaze sharp and unwavering.

“Would you like to see the garden with me?"

#finnick odair x reader #finnick odair #finnick odair x you #hunger games finnick #the hunger games

821 notes · View notes

padmespetal · 3 months ago

Text

my love mine all mine — bruce wayne

synopsis: the weight of loving a man like him.

word count: 984

warnings: none, mentions of blood

note: my first fic i’m posting <33 sorry if there are mistakes english is not my first language i used a bale batman picture but you can imagine any version of bruce you want, hope you enjoy reading !! 🤍

Everyone always says you are so lucky to be Mrs. Wayne.

They say it in whispers behind champagne glasses at charity galas, in the sharp-edged comments of online forums dissecting your every move, in the glossy spreads of magazines that parade you like a prize.

They say it like a mantra, like an undeniable truth—because to them, you are the woman who won.

The tabloids adore you. Or rather, they adore picking you apart.

They scrutinize every dress you wear, every way you style your hair, the minute fluctuations in your weight as if it were a stock market chart. Did you gain a pound? Lose two? Was that diamond bracelet new, or just an old piece resurfaced to keep up appearances?

The public treats you like a living exhibit, a fragile doll encased in glass, standing at the side of Gotham’s most infamous bachelor-turned-husband.

No one thought it would last.

Bruce Wayne, the Bruce Wayne, had been through more relationships than anyone could count.

Women entered his orbit and just as quickly disappeared, leaving behind only the fading scent of expensive perfume and speculation in the tabloids.

He was a playboy. A heartbreaker .

The kind of man who could smile just right, make you feel like you were the only woman in the world—only for you to wake up one morning and realize you’d just been another name on his list.

And yet.

You had to be different, didn’t you? Because somehow, against all odds, against the expectations of an entire city, you weren’t just another chapter in his book. You were the last page.

But no one ever talks about what it actually means to be Mrs. Wayne.

They don’t know about the weight of it, the exhaustion, the sharp edges that come with the soft silks and diamonds.

They don’t see the sleepless nights spent staring at the clock, waiting for him to come home—wondering if this will be the night he doesn’t.

They don’t see the way your hands shake as you press them against his bloodied skin, patching him up in the dim light of your bedroom, biting back the tears because you knew what you signed up for.

Because crying never stopped him from going back out there.

They don’t see the fights, either. The yelling that ricochets off the walls of Wayne Manor like gunfire, your voice raw from screaming at him because how dare he be so reckless—because does he not realize what he’d leave behind if he didn’t come back?

“You don’t get to be careless,” you had shouted once, eyes burning with unshed tears. “You don’t get to act like your life doesn’t matter.”

And Bruce—stoic, unshakable Bruce—had just stared at you, jaw tight, breathing heavy, as if he wanted to argue. As if he wanted to tell you that Gotham came first. But the words never left his lips.

Because Gotham might be his city, but you—you and the messy, complicated family you built together—you were his home.

Everyone thought it was impossible for him to let someone in. Even he thought so.

Batman never thought he’d find someone who could understand.

He had learned the hard way that loving him was dangerous. He had been burned before. He had loved and lost, and he had told himself that it was better—safer—to be alone. And for a long time, he believed it.

There was Selina, of course.

The woman who had come closer than anyone else before you. The one he almost, almost married. But they were fire and ice, drawn together by their similarities yet always breaking apart because of them. They wanted too much from each other—too much change, too much compromise, too much that neither of them could ever truly give.

But you…

You weren’t like the others.

You didn’t fall for the mask. You weren’t enamored by the money, the power, the legacy of the Wayne name. You didn’t flinch at his darkness. You saw him—not just the billionaire, not just the vigilante, but him.

And that terrified him.

You saw through the careful facade, through the charming smiles and effortless grace, through the masks he had perfected over decades of hiding.

He tried to push you away. Oh, how he tried.

But you were persistent. Stubborn. You told him you weren’t going anywhere, that you’d rather walk through fire with him than live a life without him.

“You’re a fool,” he had told you once, voice low, rough.

“And you love me for it,” you had whispered back.

He married you months later.

So yes, being the new Mrs. Wayne was glamorous.

It was champagne-filled nights at high society events, breathtaking gowns, luxurious vacations, and a life most people could only dream of.

But it was also bruises hidden under expensive fabrics, exhaustion masked by perfectly applied makeup, whispered arguments behind closed doors.

It was being Batmom to the family of misfits and broken souls he had adopted along the way—learning to navigate the chaos of a home filled with vigilantes, each carrying their own wounds and ghosts.

It was being the one person who could ground Bruce, the one who reminded him that he was more than his mission, more than the cowl, more than the trauma he carried like a second skin.

It was waiting up at night, staring out at the city skyline, waiting for the Bat-Signal to disappear—because that meant he was coming home.

It was waking up to the sound of him slipping into bed beside you at dawn, his body aching, his mind heavy, but his arms pulling you close like he needed you to breathe.

It was love, in all its messy, painful, beautiful glory.

So let them talk. Let the tabloids speculate, let the world watch and judge and never understand.

Because they’ll never know what it truly means to be Mrs. Wayne.

And you wouldn’t trade it for anything.

tags:

832 notes · View notes

a-d-nox · 5 months ago

Text

how can you glow up: your 1h - your look

to work off my recent post about glow ups. today i will be taking a closer look at 1h themes regarding glowing up.

paid reading options: astrology menu & cartomancy menu

enjoy my work? help me continue creating by tipping on ko-fi or paypal. your support keeps the magic alive!

1h aries (1°, 13°, 25°), 1h mars, and/or mars aspecting asc

style

embrace boldness: strong, eye-catching styles. opt for tailored cuts, statement pieces, and/or vibrant colors like red, black, and/or deep maroon.

minimalist edge: minimalist outfits with sharp, clean lines work well. think structured blazers, fitted jeans, and sleek dresses.

athletic influences: bomber jackets, chunky sneakers, or athleisure pieces that combine comfort and power/strength.

statement accessories: leather belts, combat boots, and/or metallic jewelry.

beauty

defined features: use makeup to emphasize strong features, like sculpted cheekbones (contouring), bold brows, and/or a fierce cat-eye.

bold lip colors: reds and deep tones are perfect for making a statement.

effortless hair: low-maintenance but striking styles suit these people. try tousled waves, a slicked-back ponytail, and/or a pixie cut.

skincare for vibrancy: redness or sensitivity are common for this placement. incorporate calming, anti-inflammatory products (aloe vera, green tea, etc) while also enhancing your natural glow with gentle exfoliation.

body language & presence

command attention: walk with purpose and exude confidence in every movement.

strong posture: your body should radiates strength, so maintain good posture and carry yourself with self-assuredness.

active energy: use expressive gestures and/or physical activity to channel your energy into dynamic actions that captivate others.

mindset mantras

“my energy is magnetic."

"i am unstoppable.”

“i glow when i embrace my strength.”

1h gemini (3°, 15°, 27°), 1h mercury, and/or mercury aspecting asc

style

play with versatility: you are adaptable, so lean into styles that allow you to switch things up easily. opt for pieces that can be layered, mixed and matched, or dressed up or down. modular wardrobes and quirky accessories can also keep things fresh.

focus on youthful, playful vibes: embrace fun patterns, bright colors, or playful silhouettes. think cropped tops (careful if you in corporate - office sirens are a tiktok thing they not real lol), sneakers, and relaxed tailoring.

highlight the hands and arms: gemini rules the hands and arms, so accessories like rings, bracelets, and polished manicures draw attention to you. potentially experiment with finger tattoos (i would say only if mercury beneficially aspecting mars and pluto), colorful nail art, or layered bangles.

embrace intellectual elegance: incorporate "smart", polished touches, like well-fitted blazers, statement glasses, or minimalist yet clever jewelry.

beauty

fresh-faced makeup: aim for light, natural-looking makeup that emphasizes radiance. think glossy lips, dewy skin, and fluttery lashes. experiment with subtle eyeliner or shadow to create a playful but polished eye look.

experiment with hairstyles: don’t be afraid to try new cuts or colors. bangs, layers, or multidimensional highlights could add to your playful energy. accessories like barrettes, headbands, and/or clips can reflect your quick-changing vibe.

skin-care for a luminous look: focus on lightweight, hydrating products that enhance your natural glow without feeling heavy.

body language & presence

curiosity: you should aim for being naturally inquisitive and engaging. a warm smile (ugh hate telling people to smile more) and attentive posture amplify your charm.

express with your hands: use gestures when speaking to showcase your animated and captivating energy.

keep your energy light and flexible: you come alive in conversations and movement, so let your personality shine in how you interact with others.

mindset mantras

“i am curious and adaptable.”

“my versatility is my superpower.”

“my playfulness enhances my every look.”

1h libra (7°, 19°), 1h venus, and/or venus aspecting asc

style

classic elegance: timeless, sophisticated looks. aim for chic silhouettes, neutral tones, and soft fabrics like silk or cashmere. tailored blazers, flowy dresses, or polished trousers.

balance in outfits: libra thrives on symmetry and balance. counter balance proportions (i typically do fitted top with wide-leg pants as someone with this placement) and pair bold elements with subtle ones.

romantic details: incorporate feminine, romantic touches like lace, ruffles, and/or floral patterns. accessories like pearl earrings (my fav).

matching color theory / finding flattering colors: usually these people are in a soft palette. so pastels and harmonious shades like blush pink, light blue, or cream highlight your natural beauty.

stylish accessories: beauty is in the details. think statement jewelry, a chic handbag, or elegant shoes can complete your look.

beauty

glowing skin: prioritize your complexion via hydrating skincare. face mists, illuminating primers, and natural highlighters can give you that venusian glow.

perfecting your brow shape: symmetrical beauty is a libra venus and rising thing, so well-groomed, balanced brows enhance your natural beauty.

soft makeup: opt for soft, romantic looks: rosy blush, nude or pink lips, and neutral eyeshadow. slight winged eyeliner adds a touch of drama without being overpowering.

the art of hair: best suited in polished hairstyles. consider sleek ponytails, loose waves, or elegant buns. highlights or balayage in warm, subtle tones can add to your perceived sophistication.

body language & presence

charm: smile often (i hate when people tell me that) and project warmth. libra risings have a natural charisma that attracts others.

posture: a graceful, upright posture enhances your air of elegance. yoga or pilates can help develop this poise.

be approachable: your energy is diplomatic and magnetic, so lean into your ability to create harmony in social interactions.

mindset mantras

“i am the embodiment of beauty and grace."

“my elegance is effortless.”

“harmony begins within, and it radiates out.”

1h sagittarius (9°, 21°), 1h jupiter, and/or jupiter aspecting asc

style

go bold: embrace bold colors and lively patterns that reflect an adventurous spirit. flowing, luxurious fabrics like satin or silk mirror the abundance you bring.

elevate with elegance: invest in quality over quantity. timeless pieces, like tailored blazers or elegant dresses, will amplify your glow.

cultural inspiration: styles inspired by travel or cultural motifs (like patterns, jewelry, or textiles) resonate beautifully with this aspect. of course in a non-appropriative manner .

comfort is key: ensure your wardrobe blends style with comfort. think soft, flowing cuts or boho-chic aesthetics.

beauty

radiant skin: focus on achieving a healthy, radiant glow through skincare. hydration and nourishing products are essential.

bright and open makeup looks: go for makeup that enhances your natural warmth. think luminous foundation, bronzer for a sun-kissed look, and golden highlighter work well.

hair with movement: jupiter’s energy loves freedom, so hairstyles that are loose, flowing, or natural-looking (like waves or curls) suit you best.

body language & presence

confident posture: you have a natural charisma. stand tall and own your space to project confidence effortlessly.

engaging smile: let your smile be your signature. a genuine smile enhances your approachable energy.

generous energy: exude warmth by being present and enthusiastic when engaging with others.

mindset mantras

“my positivity is my greatest glow.”

“i radiate abundance and confidence.”

“growth and self-love are the foundations of my beauty.”

1h pisces (12°, 24°), 1h neptune, and/or neptune aspecting asc

style

dreamy, flowing silhouettes: soft, fluid clothing. opt for dresses, skirts, or tops with flowing, romantic designs. sheer or satin fabrics amplify this vibe.

whimsical details: lace, embroidery, or shimmery accents add a touch of magic to your look. layering pieces like shawls or cardigans can evoke a dreamy, layered aesthetic.

soft colors: pastel shades, muted tones, or oceanic hues like lavender, pale blue, seafoam green, and silver.

beauty

luminous skin: enhance a natural glow. use hydrating skincare and dewy makeup products, like liquid highlighters or illuminating primers.

soft, diffused makeup: focus on dreamy, blended looks. think soft, smoky eyes, blush with a watercolor effect, and sheer lip glosses.

hair with flow: loose waves, soft curls, or tousled styles. hair accessories, like pearl clips or headbands, add a whimsical touch.

body language & presence

graceful movements: move with calmness and fluidity. practices like yoga or dance can enhance your poise.

mystical energy: lean into your mysterious vibe by being introspective and allowing your presence to speak louder than words.

soft gaze: your eyes are likely a standout feature. enhance your connection with others through warm, soulful eye contact.

mindset mantra

"i radiate beauty and grace effortlessly.”

"my creativity is my greatest assets.”

“i glow when i align with my inner magic."

1h ruler in the 4h

style

comfort meets elegance: blend cozy and chic. think knitwear, flowy fabrics, and soft layers that make you feel at ease yet polished. fabrics like cotton, linen, and cashmere resonate with the homey yet refined vibe they should aim for.

heritage-inspired looks: incorporate cultural or familial influences into your style, like heirloom jewelry, vintage pieces, and/or traditional patterns.

neutral/earthy tones: soft, calming colors like beige, cream, sage green, or light blues create a harmonious, approachable aesthetic.

classic, timeless staples: opt for timeless pieces that feel like a second skin, like well-fitted jeans, crisp shirts, and/or a versatile trench coat.

beauty

natural glow: emphasize a fresh, radiant complexion. focus on nourishing skincare and light, dewy makeup that enhances your natural features.

relaxed hair styles: loose waves, soft braids, and/or simple updos work well; they reflect their easygoing, comforting energy.

soothing beauty rituals: prioritize self-care routines at home, like face masks, at home manicures, or aromatherapy.

body language & presence

grounded confidence: project a calm, steady presence that reflects your inner security.

emotional connection: share your personal story or background when appropriate - it can make your presence more relatable and magnetic.

warm, inviting energy: your glow-up is amplified when you make others feel at home around you.

mindset mantras

“my glow begins from within.”

“i balance comfort and beauty effortlessly.”

“when i feel at home in myself, my light shines everywhere.”

have ideas for new content? please use my “suggest a post topic” button!

return to nox’s guide to metaphysics

return to nox's hypotheses

#astrology #astro community #astro placements #astro chart #natal chart #astrology tumblr #persona chart #astro notes #astrology chart #astrology readings #astrology signs #astro #astro observations #astroblr #venus persona #venus persona chart

676 notes · View notes

nsharks · 1 year ago

Text

bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part thirteen —other parts

pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!reader words: 3k tags: death. blood. cannibalism mention. zombies of course. AFAB reader. single dad ghost. there will be sex but it isn't here yet. slow burn!!! enemies to lovers. summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival.

"Twix."

Blue says your name in a single exhale of relief. You didn't expect her to be awake. She sits with her legs outstretched by a barely-there fire as you enter the cabin, the busted door groaning shut behind you. Fatigue sinks you to the floor beside her. You're about to curl your numb hands within the long sleeves of your new jacket, but the burn on your fingers makes you wince from the friction.

“You're filthy." She reaches for your hand, gently inspecting the burn. "And someone hurt you."

"Well, technically, I hurt them."

Blue shakes her head, the tone of her voice hardening the moment she drops your hand. "You shouldn't have gone."

"It was important—"

"It was stupid. You saw how those guys tried to kill us!" She huffs out a breath before snapping her gaze back to the flames. "You... you didn't tell me you were leaving. You didn't even say goodbye. I just woke up and you were gone.”

"I didn't want to wake you this morning because you needed rest,” you reason.

"That's a shitty excuse," she grumbles back, gesturing to the pink bracelet on her wrist. "I may not have a lot of friends, but I do know they're supposed to tell each other things like this."

Your eyes trail down from the burnt skin on your fingers, red and bubbly, to the cheap, plastic beads encompassing your wrist.

"You're right," you speak softly. "I should have told you."

A few minutes lapse in thick silence. In the midst of it, you swallow a few chalky pills to help with all the pain. You've been conservative in using them so far, but with your additional score of medicine, you figure you can afford some relief. There's no way you'll be able to sleep with your bitten wrist throbbing incessantly.

You're about to lean against the wall and let your eyes flutter shut when Blue speaks again, this time her voice so quiet you wonder if you're imagining it.

"You know, I was excited to go on this trip," she whispers, still looking at the fire. "I even secretly hoped we'd run into other people, just because—" she pauses to swallow, "—because I never get to meet any. And the ones we have met, my dad always kills. Except for you."

She drags her sleeve over her face and it’s now you notice she is crying. A knot forms in your throat and, after the day you've had, you struggle to find the right words.

"He kills them for a reason," you settle on, voice equally hushed. "A lot of people are—"

"A threat, I know." Blue repeats the words like a bitter mantra, then looks at her bandaged leg. "What does it feel like?" she asks after a moment, sliding her glossy eyes to yours. “Killing a person. Ghost told me it feels just like killing an animal or a Grey."

You inhale, then fix your stare to the dark ceiling. "No— I don't think it feels the same. It's much worse. I still get sick from it,” you admit.

"How many have you killed?"

"I don't remember anymore, but not that many." Certainly not as many as Ghost has. "It was always in self-defense. Always because I had to."

"I wish nobody ever had to," she says.

"I know. Me, too.”

With a sigh, she carefully scoots closer to you. "I'm sorry for getting mad. I just want to go home.”

"Don't be sorry. I’m the one who is sorry." You shake your head and offer her a shoulder until both of you have your backs against the wall. Her hair tickles your cheek. A small hand slips around your waist in a tender embrace, her fingers latching onto the fabric of the jacket. The sore muscles of your core flex instinctively from the touch before you finally force yourself to relax. It’s just Blue.

"Your dad says we're going back tomorrow,” you whisper, jaw grazing the crown of her head. “Sleep. It'll be a long day again."

"A long day for you maybe," she murmurs against your shoulder. "I get to ride on his back."

"Lucky you." You drape the heavy blanket over your bodies. Together you are warmer, if only by a little.

Deft wind whooshes through the trees, kissing your wet skin. Splotches of wriggling orange and red follow the water's current, along with a trail of brown muck as you scrub your breasts, hair, and cheeks. The sight of fish makes your stomach grumble. It's been far too long since you've had anything but squirrel and deer and berries, but this is not the time or place to ponder a way to catch one. The blue wash of early morning lightens with each second that passes. You wring out your hair, rewrap your wrist, and put your clothes back on before carefully climbing up the slope, satisfied enough with your icy bath.

"Ready," you announce, blowing a white breath into your hands and rubbing them together. Ghost crouches down so Blue can teeter onto his back. The backpack full of ammo hugs his front. He appears exceptionally bulky with all the baggage, and yet, he makes it look effortless.

Together, you head towards the infamous bridge, if one could call it that. Silvery fog makes it hard to see more than ten meters ahead of you, but Ghost seems to have the area memorized. Your hands ball up in your pockets, feeling empty and useless. With no bow, you have to rely on Ghost to get you back. It's a weird thing. Though, you suppose if there's anyone you'd want to be stuck out here with, it would be him. His presence alone offers more safety than the measly knife around your ankle.

"Ghost, we should go behind her," Blue says when you reach the beam.

He steps aside to allow you on first. "Try not to go for a swim this time."

A flush of pink bites your cheeks, though you blame it on the cold. It's hard to believe just four days ago you slipped off this thing. With his hands preoccupied, Ghost can't hold onto your shoulders like before, but he lingers close behind and repeatedly orders you to keep your eyes on the bank.

Once you're all across, a calm quiet settles, a vast contrast to how talkative Blue was the first time around. It makes you absentmindedly pick the skin around your nails. By the time you reach the road, you've looked behind your shoulder at least ten times, half-expecting to spot a burnt face hiding among the trees. Squirrels prattle by. A starling calls above your head. But no people. You force your eyes onward and take a deep breath.

"So, uh, would you rather get mauled by a bear," you break the silence, stepping over a stray tire, "—or be struck by lightning?"

It takes a second for Blue to respond. "Oh. That's a good one. Do I have a gun while the bear attacks me?"

"No. No weapons. Just you and the bear."

"Then lightning." She pats Ghost's shoulder. "Could you take a bear?"

"On a good day, maybe," he answers.

"What about you, Twix?"

"No," you instantly scoff, kicking at a rock. "A bear would rip me apart. I would choose lightning because it'd be quick."

"Okay, I have one," Blue quips. "Would you rather be ripped in half, or fall off a tall building?"

"Ripped in half by what?" Ghost asks, tilting his head back.

"It doesn't matter." You can hear the roll of her eyes.

"It does matter. Might change my answer."

"Fall off a building," you interject. "The way down would suck, but I bet you don't feel a thing once you hit the ground."

"But you'd look like a dead bug," says Blue.

"I don't care what I look like. I'll be dead."

Ghost clears his throat. "My turn, then."

"No! You have to pick one," she exclaims.

"Building," he drawls. A shadow of movement passes to the right of you. You naturally flinch closer to them, but it's just a doe hunkering down tall weeds that reach out of the concrete. A chuff of breath leaves your lips as you look away, only to find Ghost staring at you. For a few seconds, his eyes flicker between you and the deer before he goes back to focusing straight ahead.

"Would you rather," he begins, "—chop off all your fingers, or take out your own eyes?"

"What do I use to take out my eyes?" Blue asks.

"Knife."

"I guess my eyes," she winces. "I mean, I'd rather get rid of two things than ten."

They both glance at you expectantly. A frigid gust of northern air takes hold of your hair, so you tuck the unruly strands behind your ears. "Uh, fingers," you decide after a moment. "I could probably live without them."

In the village, the air stinks enough for Ghost to come to a halt. Before, he was able to pass right through. This time, a group of fourteen or fifteen Greys seems to be trapped on the main street between a crumbled wall and a fallen telephone pole. He has to decide between expending ammo or time. It's not long before he nods to a small building and the three of you scale the rusted fire escape. From the safe distance of the roof, he takes out the Greys one by one with an accuracy that barely leaves a dent in the ample stockpile of cartridges. With the route cleared, he's saved at least an hour or two of precious daylight.

The fog lifts. The ambery sun tries to peek through the clouds, but the sky is bent on staying grey. By the time you are back, your blisters have blisters. Blue has fallen asleep, cheek smushed against the back of Ghost's neck. Relief, thick and palpable, tastes sweet on your tongue. The fence, the rabbit hutch, the much-cozier cabin; none of it is home to you, but still, it calls your name in a welcoming coo.

You have to aim Ghost's flashlight so he can unlock the gate. Blue stirs, but her eyes remain closed even when he pushes inside the cabin. It's shrouded in darkness. You prop the flashlight on the table as his boots scuffle against the floor.

He puts her to bed. As he does, you feel around for the sofa and nearly choke when your worn fingertips graze shabby fabric. Not icy water or solid wood or muddy ground, but something soft. You're about to sink into it, your bones desperate for the springy cushions, when he returns to the threshold of the hallway with an ugly, flannel sheet in his hands.

"Here."

It's hard to be certain if you thank him or not; your brain conjures up the words, but your voice doesn't seem to function quite right. One thing is certain: you accept the sheet, tuck it on with urgency, and then lay down, burying your face in the crook of the pillow and arm. You kick off your boots and let the darkness take you, swift and heavy. It could be a coma or death disguised as sleep, and you figure you'd still slip into it without fuss.

Those first days back are quiet. Blissfully uneventful. You sleep and sleep. In fact, you don't move from the couch except to relieve yourself and eat a little. Ghost and Blue don't seem to do much, either. Or maybe you just don't notice.

At one point, you wake up to a small stack of shirts beside the couch. All black. One long sleeve, the rest short. You change into one and continue sleeping.

At another point, Blue hovers above you with a whisper that draws out a groan from you. "Hey. Ghost is making me skin some rabbits. Apparently, it's the only chore I can't get out of. Do you want to help me?"

"I think I'm good." You stuff the pillow over your face to make your point.

"You've been sleeping for three days, you know."

"I could go for another three."

She takes the hint and staggers away. Walking now. You hear her right leg drag a little.

The sleep is good until it's not.

On the fifth night, you're no longer fatigued enough to keep the dreams squandered. They start as whispers. Hoarse and gritty. Then they get louder and louder, shouting your name until they are so loud it feels like someone is screaming in your ear. Different voices blend into an indecipherable cacophony. One screams in pain; another in anger. You feel someone's cold fingers take hold of your neck and are finally pried awake, flying up against the couch with fiery pants burning through your lungs. But all that's there is a dark room.

Sweat clings to every inch of you. It feels like everything is on fire, and all you want to do is cool down. You haven't bathed since the river. Catching your breath, you swing your legs down and quietly pad to the bathroom where you hope a little water is left. Luckily, in the glint of moonlight, you find a bucket used for washing hands and scoop some to your face. Then, you comb it through your sweat-laced hair.

You unwrap your wrist and brush your fingers over the bite. You dab some water on it. You can't see well, but you feel the constellation of congealed scabs beneath your fingertips. Scars. Wounds. Your nostrils flare as a you wonder if one day you'll be so covered in them you won't even look like yourself. It's a good thing there is not enough light to spot the reflection of your face in the mirror, because you're not thrilled to greet the one now on your brow.

On your way out of the bathroom, something solid and immobile blocks your path. You startle backward, sucking in air as you peer up at a masked face. Ghost. It's Ghost. You haven't spoken to him since getting back, and in this moment, you long for the ability to push past him, but his wide shoulders consume the narrow hall.

It's silly to think you can avoid him when you sleep in the same space now. The thing is— you have no idea what to think of him. Before, it was easy to settle on fear of how easily he could snap your neck, and annoyance for how he treated you. And then, when forced to, you could engage in a pragmatic conversation about how to keep yourselves alive.

But now, you don't know what you are supposed to feel around him, and you have spent zero time reflecting on it so far.

"Sorry. I was just, uh, washing my face."

"In the middle of the night?" he rasps, tilting his gaze down.

You teeter back a step, keeping a healthy bubble of space between your bodies. You're not sure why he hasn't just moved out of the way, or what he would be up and about for at this hour, but briefly, you wonder if he is suspicious of you. If after everything you went through, he still thinks you're trying to do something and might send you back to the shed. The three of you relieve yourself outside the cabin since the plumbing doesn't work, so it certainly does seem odd that you'd be in the bathroom during the night.

"I was sweating a lot." Inwardly, you curse at yourself. "I mean, I haven't bathed since we got back, and I..." You trail off in a whisper.

"And you what?"

"I don't know." You fiddle with the hem of the oversized shirt he gave you. "I'm not trying to kill you or your daughter in your sleep, though, if that's what you're thinking."

He simply stares at you. It feels like he can see right through you, and your eyes drop to your wool socks. Then, he murmurs, “I wasn't thinking that."

"Okay," you reply carefully. "Could you... please move, then?"

Finally, he steps out of the way, but you feel the burn of his eyes on your skin as you brush past him.

"Twix."

You pause, looking back. "Yes?"

A shake of his head. And then: "Take a proper bath tomorrow. You could use it.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. "Will do."

With that, you crawl back onto the couch.

#simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #cod #ghost #simon ghost riley x reader #zombie apocolypse au

1K notes · View notes

misscherry-26 · 9 months ago

Note

I saw you were taking requests for Bellamy Blake and I haddd to send one in!! Could you please write a lil spice fic, where they’re in the woods and get in a fight or sum n he js suddenly kissss her. Thank you twin!!

Unspoken Feelings

Pairing: Bellamy Blake x Reader

Author's Note: Hi!!! Thank you so much for this!! My first request for Bellamy Blake. Oh the things I felt while working on this...👀 By the way I had to make a few changes, this is my most polished draft, haha. I'm so excited to share it, though I don't know how good I did with the spicy. I hope you like it!! Thank you for requesting. ❤️

There could be grammar mistakes, English isn't my first language.

He really thinks he’s the leader, the king of the earth. Self-centered egoist of a man. He can go fuck himself. You think as you walk through the woods in search of the plant that Clarke needs for Finn, who was attached by the grounder that kidnapped Octavia.

They managed to get him

to the ship, but now he was struggling for his life. The problem was that the knife he was

stabbed with was infected. Bellamy and his group got the grounder and tortured him to get information. Of course he refused to give it, that until Octavia threatened him to harm herself with the poisoned knife. Finn would live, but Clark needed more medicinal plants for him.

But of course, Bellamy Blake had to give his ultimatum that no one would leave the camp, no

after realizing that you aren’t the only survivors of earth. He could care less about saving people, but you for sure didn’t. You don’t know Finn completely but, he deserves to live.

Since the ship landed on Earth, You and Bellamy have been at each other’s throat every single

moment. It’s like you are locked in a never-ending battle, a constant clash of wills. Every decision he makes seems to deliberately oppose yours, every step he takes is a challenge to your very presence. He thrives in the chaos, you can see it in the way he strides trough camp, shoulders squared, head held high, daring anyone to question him. His motto—whatever the hell we want—rings in your ears like a taunt, a reckless mantra you can’t ignore. He embodies

it with every decision, with every command he gives without caring for the consequences.

When he encouraged the others to rip off their bracelets, you felt the sting of frustration

burning through your veins. To him it was a bold declaration of independence from the Ark, but to you, it was a hasty move to those above thinking Earth wasn’t livable.

And then, there was the Grounder. The way he’d dragged the man into camp, beaten and

bloodied, as if his very existence was a crime that needed punishing. You left the room when he ordered the torture, convinced that brute force was the only answer. The look in his eyes

then—cold, calculating, determined—was a look that left a bitter taste in your mouth.

He’s always there, hiding on the edges of your vision, challenging you. It’s infuriating, the way

he dismisses anything resembling compromise or collaboration as weakness, how he scoffs at your attempts to hold onto something resembling order or morality.

Yet, there’s something in his attitude —something in the way he glances at you, a flicker of underdetermination, a tension that thrums between you like a wire. It’s in the way he

steps closer when you argue, his body taut, like he’s gearing up for a fight he both craves and dreads. You feel it too—the tightness in your chest, the burn of frustration that’s more than just anger, something deeper, more complicated. You don’t know whether you want to scream at him or—

But no, you won’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he gets under your skin.

You take a look at the sky losing its light with each minute that it passes.

Taking a deep breath, you continue.

After what feels like hours of searching, you finally spot the familiar shape of the plant you’re

looking for. You remember the details Clark gave you. Crouching down you carefully pull a

small bag from your pocket. You work quickly, plucking the plants and stuffing them into the

bag, your movements precise and purposeful.

But then—a sudden rustling, a low whisper of movement through the leaves nearby. Your

heart stutters, and your breath catches in your throat.

Instinct takes over. You drop low,

pressing yourself against the cold ground, hiding behind the broad leaves of the plant. Grounders, maybe.

They could be watching, waiting.

You squeeze your eyes shut for a moment, listening for the sound of footsteps, for the snap of a twig or the rustle of leaves that would betray their presence. But instead, you hear a low chuckle—soft, mocking, and far too familiar.

Your eyes snap open, and you whip around, breath catching in your chest.

There, arms on his waist, is Bellamy. His eyes, dark and sharp, are fixed on you like a predator who has found his prey. His brows are drawn together, the muscles in his neck tense, and there's a fire in his

gaze that blazes hotter than any annoyance you've seen before.

“I see you like to test my patience, Princess.” His deep voice cuts through the silence, pulling

your gaze upward. He's standing right in front of you.

You get up immediately, your breathing and muscles relaxing at the notice that you are not in

danger.

“What are you doing here?” You ignore his previous comment, turning around and continuing on getting more plants.

“I remember telling everyone to not leave camp, and that includes you too, you know? There’s no special treatment here.” You hear him from behind.

“I wasn’t going to sit around. Clark needs this for Finn.”

“He’s stable enough; we don’t need anyone else getting hurt over this.” Bellamy insists, his

tone sharp.

You clench your teeth and turn. “Look, I couldn’t care less what you think. I don’t go by your

rules.”

Bellamy scoffs and grabs your arm. You let go of his grasp as soon as he starts walking.

“Don’t touch me!”

Bellamy watches you, wondering why you are being stubborn right now. Hell, he even wonders why he came here for the first place. Was he worried about you? Why did he come here? He questions himself. Bellamy’s mind races, battling with the tangled web of his feelings. He’s been fighting to keep everyone safe, to enforce rules that seem cold but necessary, and yet, here he is, breaking his own rule because of you.

Truth is, you have been nothing but a burden to him every single day since they put a foot on earth. Your defiance, your refusal to follow orders, your reckless bravery—all of it has been a

thorn in his side. Every day, you challenged his authority and decisions, and yet, despite all the friction, despite the constant arguments and the resentment, there’s something about you that pulls at him.

He can’t quite distinguish it, but it’s there—a magnetic pull that makes him question his own

motives and feelings. It’s in the way you stand up for what you believe in, even when it puts you at risk. It’s in the fire and determination in your eyes, something that resonates with him

on a deeper level than he’s willing to admit.

The frustration he feels is braided with an

unspoken admiration, a bittering respect that complicates his emotions even further.

Bellamy is torn between his duty and the sudden impulses of something else—something he can’t easily define or control. It’s a vulnerability he hasn’t allowed himself to explore, and it confuses him.

All he knows is that despite the danger and the defiance, he can’t seem to turn his back on you. His frustration is laced with a deeper, more complex emotion that makes him question why he’s so determined to keep you safe.

He thought you would be this scared of everyone and everything type of girl, but you prove

him all the opposite.

“Let’s go back—”

“I won’t.” You cut him off, not giving him a chance to say anything. You turn again and continue with your job.

Of course, you hoped that he would go and leave you alone. You hoped.

Next thing you know, your feet aren’t touching the ground and you are being lifted up by him. A few leaves escape your grasp, so you make sure to close the bag.

“Let me go!” You protest.

“Stop screaming, you are putting us in danger” He doesn’t listen to your request, instead he walks back to camp.

You scoff, moving frantically. “If you cared so much about safety, you wouldn’t be carrying me

off like I’m just another pack to you!”

Bellamy's jaw clenches, and he stops abruptly, eyes scanning the surrounding woods.

“You’re

the one making noise,” he retorts, setting you down but not releasing his grip entirely. “Keep

quiet or—”

You hear it then—a rustling of leaves, far too close, far too deliberate. Your breath catches in your throat. It’s not just the wind. Bellamy stiffens beside you, his grip on your arm tightening reflexively.

For a split second, your eyes meet, and you both know: the Grounders.

“Run,” he whispers, urgency dripping from the word.

But there’s no time to argue. You both take off, feet pounding against the damp earth, adrenaline coursing through your veins. The sounds behind you grow closer—footsteps, which makes your heart race even faster.

Up ahead, you spot a dark opening—a cave, half-hidden by foliage. You yank Bellamy toward it

without thinking, and for once, he doesn’t resist. Both dive inside, pressing against the cold

rock. The cave is narrow, suffocating, but it’s cover.

Outside, you hear the murmurs and footsteps of the Grounders drawing near. You hold your breath, every muscle tense. Bellamy’s hand is still around your wrist, and you can feel his pulse racing just as fast as yours.

“We’re not going anywhere until it clears. We need to stay inside.” he mutters, barely audible.

Bellamy presses a hand against the small of your back, steering you deeper into the cave, his touch firm, almost commanding. You feel the heat of his palm through your shirt, and it sends a

jolt of anger through you.

“Get your hand off me.” You snap, jerking away from his touch. But the cave is too narrow, and he doesn't give you much space to maneuver.

His jaw tightens, and he steps even closer, his eyes dark and unreadable. “I’m trying to keep you from getting killed.”

You dig your heels in, resisting just to spite him. “I don’t need you to save my life, Bellamy.”

He laughs, but there’s no humor in it—just a sharp, bitter edge. “You think I want to be stuck here with you? Trust me, Princess, this is the last place I want to be.”

You whirl around, stepping closer, your chest brushing against his, both of you too angry to care. “Then why are you here?” you fire back, your voice louder than you intended. “Why do you always have to control everything? Who made you the boss of me?"

His hand, still on your back, clenches into a fist, pulling you closer instead of pushing you away.

“Maybe because I’m trying to keep you alive!” he spits out, his face inches from yours, his breath hot. “You are always doing this—taking risks, getting in my way. Do you have a death wish?”

Your heart pounds in your chest, anger flaring into something more intense. “No, but maybe you do,” you whisper fiercely. “Coming out here, risking your life for someone you supposedly

can’t stand. What is it, Bellamy? Why do you even care?”

He grits his teeth, and you see something flicker in his eyes—a momentary crack in his armor. “I don’t!” he snaps, but his voice lacks conviction, faltering on the last word.

“Liar,” you accuse, stepping even closer, your forehead nearly touching his. “If you didn’t care,

you’d have let me go. You wouldn’t have come after me, wouldn’t have—”

His grip tightens on your arm, and his other hand moves to your waist, his fingers digging in

just enough to make you gasp. “You think you know everything, don’t you?” His voice is low, almost a growl. “You think you’ve got me all figured out?”

You tilt your chin defiantly, eyes blazing. “Why don’t you just admit it? All this, you’re not really

angry. You’re scared. Scared of what might happen if you lose control. Scared of what it means

if something happens to m—"

But he doesn’t let you finish. In the blink of an eye, he’s on you, lips crashing against yours with a force that takes your breath away. The kiss is rough, almost bruising, a mixture of frustration

and something deeper—something desperate. You freeze for a moment, caught off guard, before the shock melts into anger again, and you shove against his chest.

He doesn’t pull back. Instead, he presses you harder against the cold, cave wall, his body flush against yours. His hands move up, one sliding to cup the back of your neck, holding you in place while his mouth claims yours with a furious intensity, like he’s trying to silence every word, every

protest.

Your heart is racing, your thoughts a tangled mess. You should push him away again, should

shove him back and yell in his face, but instead, you find yourself kissing him back just as fiercely, your hands fisting in his shirt. It’s like all the anger, all the arguments have boiled over

into this—this raw, heated clash of mouths and tongues.

When you finally pull apart, both of you are panting, breaths coming fast, and his forehead

rests against yours, his eyes still dark with emotion.

“Why do you care?” you whisper again, but this time your voice is softer, less certain.

His thumb brushes your cheek, and his gaze is intense, almost searching. “I don’t know,” he mutters, but there’s something vulnerable in his tone, something that makes your heart ache even as your anger simmers beneath the surface.

“Maybe I’m frustrated…so damn frustrated

because—” He hesitates, a half-smile tugging at his lips. “—because you’ve got a way of getting under my skin, and it’s driving me crazy. But yeah, there it is. I’m worried. Happy?”

His lips are so close you can feel his breath on your skin, and for a moment, it’s like the whole world has narrowed to just the two of you, trapped together in this cave, trapped by something

you can’t name.

"Bell..." you start, but he silences you again, this time with a softer kiss, one that seems to ask for something instead of demand it.

His hands slips down to the curve of your waist pulling you even closer, and you feel a shiver run down your spine, heat pounding low in your belly.

Your hands find their way to his hair, fingers locking on his dark strands. The kids deepens, growing more urgent, desperate, as if both of you are trying to pour all this unspoken feelings into a single, shared breath.

And you know that whatever this is, you are not ready to stop it. Not yet.

#misscherry 26's answers #misscherry 26's requests #bellamy blake angst #bellamy blake x reader #bellamy blake #bellamy blake x you #bellamy blake x female reader #bellamy blake x y/n #bellamy blake imagine #Bellamy Blake fic #the 100 bellamy #bellamy blake smut

485 notes · View notes

ninguitar · 7 months ago

Text

୨୧　GUESS　˒˒　AU ( PT.2 )

─── ﹙🎱﹚with the label of "casual" put on yours and giselle's relationship, all you could do was continue it, which meant letting your feelings linger, or break it off completely, but fuck, was it difficult with aeri uchinaga being just so, her. INSPIRED BY GUESS BY CHARLI XCX FEAT. BILLIE EILISH.

pairing. aeri uchinaga x f!r genre. fluff & a lil angst wc. 1k+ notes. hope this ending was good enough for u guys ♡ part 2 of guess !! (MASTERLIST.)

now playing ⋆ i've seen this movie before by hyejin

AERI, AS MUCH AS SHE DIDN'T WANT TO ADMIT IT, was smitten by you; sure, you were just a hook-up at night, but during the day, you were her best friend—the one person she could depend on. you were the girl who she confided in—the one who knew everything about her, down to the brim.

so why continue a casual relationship with you? giselle didn't know either; it just felt all too perfect, like a dream, being able to find solace within the warmth of you. why ruin something perfect, aeri thought. and in giselle's head, you were the only exception to every single, little thing in her head; she never cared for sappy, sentimentalities, but your existence had completely eroded that. as mere "friends," she'd let you get matching bracelets for the two of you, and she always claimed they were childish and silly. nonetheless, she wore them always.

it was like you guys were attached to the hip surgically.

truthfully, you were everything aeri wanted—the perfect girl. and she almost poured out everything to you—keyword, almost. you may not see it, but each and every "unrequited" confession of giselle's consume her thoughts daily.

and today, the thought of you consumes her mind. it was like a mantra in her head, hearing your name in it over and over again, until aeri could come to terms with herself. against her will, the memory of your guys' argument flashed through her mind. staring at the ceiling, giselle felt tears crack down her cheeks, curling into a fetal position.

fuck was she stupid.

she squeezes her eyes before grabbing her phone, hastily dialing ningning's number. if anybody could give her an honest opinion, it was obviously ning yizhuo. her phone ringing omits through her bedroom, as aeri huffs, rubbing her temples.

"hello?" ningning's voice echoes through giselle's phone, as the japanese girl quickly sits up, leaning against her bed's headboard.

"fuckin' finally, ning. you took like years to pick up," aeri exaggerates, extending her groan.

"be grateful i'm even giving you the time of day. what do you even want anyway?"

"just… issues with a girl—one of my "situation-ships," or whatever. we had some fight about our label, and i think i ended it with her, i don't know, ning. 's just all weird and shit," aeri rants, a sigh drifting from her lips, as she bites the inside of her cheeks.

a giggle escapes ningning's breath, "shit, you want her, don't you? that's like so, unexpected given your history."

as much as giselle didn't want to admit it, she did have a lot of hook-ups that mattered nothing to her, but you were an exception, just like you were to everything else.

"shut up; she's just, well, her," aeri mutters against her phone, pulling her blanket to her chest.

"just talk to her, gi. it's not that hard; just grow some balls," a chuckle escapes ningning's throat, before she continues, "anyway, 'rina says hi."

"are you serious? you're airing this out to jimin too?" giselle huffs, embarrassed, as her cheeks flush.

"winter, too," ningning snorts before hanging up the call, leaving aeri to dwell on the chinese girl's words. maybe ningning was right, and giselle should talk it out, but how would she get you to listen to her?

your eyes open to the faint knocking against the glass doors of your balcony arch. a soft groan lingers in the air, as you get off your bed, your eyebrows furrowing. as you approach the balcony, you reluctantly pull the curtains open.

a soft gasp escapes your breath, "aeri?" you mumble under your breath, as you freeze in your position. it was like, 1 in the morning—what was she doing here, especially after your guys' fight?

"jesus, if you think i'm letting you in—" before you could continue your threat, giselle huffs audibly, despite the glass barrier separating the two of you.

"please?"

and it was like no other plea, especially when aeri uchinaga gently mumbles it, her tone dulcet, making you indulge in your temptations. you slide your glass doors open, inevitably making giselle fall into your arms, her weight resting on yours.

"so, talk," you mutter, your voice dull and monotone.

"i—" aeri begins, her tongue heavy with the weight of the words she's trying to form, "i'm sorry, okay? i just couldn't come to terms with my feelings. i fell in love with you—not from the hook-ups, but from the real you."

"gi—aeri," you correct yourself before continuing, "no- no, no—"

giselle sighs, and it's as if months of pushing and pulling her heartstrings burst all at once, "you're the one i want—not those stupid, snobby one-night-stands i have."

"don't say no just to make me go away; i know you, and you know better. only say no if you don't want me."

you're practically at a lost of words, your mind sent into oblivion, as your hands rest on aeri's chest, keeping distance between the two of you. you're so sure you've already lost your voice, a hollow breath of air lodged in your throat.

instinctively, you press giselle against the rigid glass doors of your balcony, closing the distance between the two of you. your head continues to reel, though this time, it was due to aeri's eager, tentative kisses against your lips.

pulling apart, you mumble, "i'm not settling for a situation-ship, or something casual." your hands rest around aeri's neck, while giselle's arms are snaked around your waist all tuck.

"whatever you want, 'm fine with; i just want you."

her blunt admission sends a chain of shivers through your body, as you nod, "girlfriends, that's all."

"then we're girlfriends," aeri pauses while whispering against your ear, before planting kisses trailing down your jaw. the warmth of your guys' body envelopes you guys, as giselle presses her lips against yours, deepening the kiss. her eyes, baring a glaze of tears, bore into yours with sincerity.

"I JUST WANNA BE YOURS," AERI UCHINAGA SOFTLY HUMS.

i don't wanna say too much

shouldn't have to wait for your love

taglist. ୨ৎ @yoohtonyy @yeetaberry127 @ourlovesarang @multiliker @eunzkkrua

@le3-r1n @imfearlessblog @spidrgamer @r4cjh

#fics 　.#kpop imagines #kpop x reader #aespa x reader #aespa imagines #aespa giselle #aespa giselle x reader #giselle uchinaga #aeri uchinaga #giselle x reader #aeri uchinaga x reader

245 notes · View notes

angelicsjn · 12 days ago

Note

how would the yanderes react to a reader who feels insecure compared to the boys former relationships? like maybe they think they’re not good enough

btw love ur writing:)

YOUR SEVEN YANDERES

A N: Ooo, angst... Delicious.

A B O U T: You are insecure about their past relationships.

W A R N I N G S: Insecure reader, overthinking.

— ROMAN BEAUREGARD.

Roman's exes are all attractive, and due to his lifestyle, it doesn't take long for him to meet attractive people and date them.

Sure, he'd never loved them the way he loves you, but that doesn't mean he hasn't had plenty of exes for you to analyse and overthink based upon their appearances.

His previous relationship before you, the subject of your insecurities is a slim-legged, clear-skinned beauty, successful in their career, speaks three different languages with a soft Spanish accent to match their soft features; and God, you stalk their social media like a mantra.

From their workout reels, travel vlogs to monthly posts where they seem to glow up within each post.

What broke the camels back was when you saw them at one of the races, their photos posted online, 'Roman Beauregard's ex found in the paddock once more after three years since the split'—it made you sick.

Seeing them in person, drinking champagne with the paddock pass around their neck, almost hauntingly, you felt the dread fill you up instantly.

Dressed enough to show skin but still appear 'respectful', they easily stole the show that weekend as social media blew up with their appearance; donning the famous red on Sunday as they supported Ferrari.

Him. Roman. They were supporting him.

When Roman notices—in his usual perceptive manner—how you pick at the bracelet on your wrist, the same bracelet he bought you for your birthday, how your cheeks hollow, your teeth biting into the sad flesh.

He assumes initially it's due to the masses. Maybe you were overwhelmed until his eyes landed on the subject, the screen panning to his ex with their name, subtitled, 'Roman Beauregard's former partner' underneath.

He takes your hand gently, pressing a kiss against your knuckles before leaning in, 'you look beautiful', his accented voice whispers into your ear before peppering a few small kisses against the side of your head.

Roman doesn't bring it up, but every time he sees you mentally dip, he pulls you closer and shows you that there's nothing to worry about.

— LATEN REED.

Laten's exes derive from short-lived relationships, all attractive, popular, cool—but they meant nothing. They were all an attempt to feel something.

But that doesn't stop you from manifesting those nasty thoughts and emotions.

Are they cooler? Funnier? Better looking? Did he prefer them? Their body?

Laten is fit, he's gorgeous, and he's talented. He can be with anyone and he chose you... you couldn't understand why, not when his ex attends the same class as him, tagging along with the friend group between lessons, old posts online from when they'd all hang out.

So, yeah, you're insecure.

Laten doesn't pick up on this until you're all hanging out and they join in. You stiffen in his arm as they sit down, making their presence known—only then does he pick up on it.

He holds you extra close, his thumb rubbing over your thigh affectionately as he laughs at his friends joke.

Once everyone's gone their separate ways, he's quiet for a few moments as you walk down the street, hand in hand, his emerald eyes scanning over you to try and read your thoughts.

"Are you okay?" He asks, his eyes are wide, worried, slightly sad; a pool of emotion in a mossy lake and your heart hurts, his hand squeezes yours a little.

You're honest. You always are with him, he's so understanding and such a good listener.

But he laughs a little before pulling you into him, your bodies swaying as he crushed you in his arms, "You're so silly." He laughs, pressing kisses against your forehead.

There's nothing to worry about. If anything, he's relieved it's something as silly as that because he was worried you were losing feelings for him.

— JAE 'NIKO' LEE.

Jae's exes are usually silent ones due to how South Korea is towards idols and dating. Nobody knows his exes, only rumoured ones.

But you know his most recent, and they are also an idol, beautiful, talented, and famous; every time they show up on screen, you feel yourself shrivel into the seat.

You didn't voice this insecurity, of course. To keep the peace between the two of you, afraid that it'd cause an argument, or worse: he'd use it as ammunition.

Jae's personality is volatile, rough, and rude—his looks betrayed this with a unique beauty that captivated the world, including you. So, within that, it wouldn't be hard for someone else to steal your place, that's what you think, anyway.

To him? You're everything. That's why he's so rough, so toxic. He's never lost anything, so his exes? He doesn't care about them, hence why they are exes.

But as you tune in on the variety show that he's recently been a guest on, you watch as he lounges beside you, his leg lazily draped over your lap as he runs a hand through his inky hair.

What he didn't tell you. Or what you didn't expect. They're also a guest...

Around a table, the two sit beside each other, drinks in hand, and food on the table as they discuss various topics with the hosts—your heart stops in that moment, everything hurt.

They laugh loudly at his jokes, tap his arm when he says something kind, and their eyes glitter when he smiles his famous smile.

And, fuck. You hate it.

He's oblivious, watching the show, making idle comments on how the camera men humbled him with the angle or how the chicken was too cold, he doesn't notice your anguish.

As the show progresses, your interest withers vastly, and it becomes clear as you stare at the fabric of his joggers, pressing down on the hills of the creases.

His eyes, dark and wandering, linger for some time, his brow raised in confusion as he attempts to understand why you're so bored. "Not interested, huh?" He asks, his voice is bold but quiet, you shake your head with a lame attempt of brushing it off, "I'm tired."

Jae knows better and you known that, he notices the frown in your skin, the unsureness in your eyes.

"Tell me the truth." He demands with a gentle tone, almost in an inviting way as he leans up.

You hesitate as you tell him, but as he switches off the TV, you watch him with apprehension.

"They are an ex for a reason," he brushes it off, waving a careless hand. "Why you so upset for? I'm with you, aren't I? Why would I want anyone else?"—anyone else who can put up with his bullshit, he means, but he doesn't verbalise that.

— KAIDAN WOLFE.

Kaidan is an influencer, meaning that it's so easy to meet people, to have sex, to get into relationships and to put yourself out there.

A lot of his relationships, sadly, come from a place of influence. He's well-known and loved, meaning that the majority of his past relationships were false. Not to him, but they saw it that way. He was a stepping stone, a person to gain a following from.

If you've dated Kaidan Wolfe, you've gained a ticket into being famous.

So, realistically, you have nothing to worry about—you're his only real relationship!

But with the off chance that an ex crawls out, looking for more Internet coverage, you hate it.

Kaidan never says no to a collaboration, to expand his name, to help others. He's always so giving, even to those who used him; gullible and easily led.

You see this, you see them using him again and your insecurities exist due to how absorbed he becomes in the moment—he doesn't see that it would hurt your feelings. To him, he's made a friend.

"I'm hanging out with Val again together," he says, your stomach twisting at the sound of their name. "Something for their account."

Kaidan's smile falters when your lack of response hangs heavy in the air, "we good?" He asks.

We. Never you. We. If you're sad, so is he.

His movements are soft as he makes his way towards you, his hands—tattooed and large—gently clamp around your arms, his brows furrowed.

"I mean, they're your ex.. it's just weird?" You say, your eyes barely meeting his.

But in that moment, it sort of clicks. You think it's weird. You think he's cheating? His mind spirals because no? You two are perfect? So why would you say that?

"Oh." He whispers, not really understanding it.

"Would you like it if I hung out with my ex?" You shot back.

"No." He says, his jaw tensing at the idea, a thing that was your current reality. Only then does he understand. "I'm sorry, angel. I didn't see it that way, it's just a collab."

He cancels on them and they're history, nothing gets in between you two.

— HAYDEN WEST.

Our precious boy has no exes, no previous experience, the only thing is a crush...

His crush, short-lived, and an attempt to move on from you; he never told you that, though.

He's now tutoring them and the idea of them being close to him makes your skin crawl.

"Do you have to tutor today?" You ask, sprawled across his bed as he slots his notepad into his bag.

"I know," he pouts. "I'll be fast, then we can order food and watch that movie you picked."

It wasn't enough. He didn't know why you didn't want him to go, you wouldn't tell him that because it's silly. It was a stupid crush, one that he claimed existed for two weeks.

"It's not like they'll pass that exam, anyway." You mutter, now pissed off. He laughs, shaking his head before slinging a strap from the bag over his shoulder.

"I know. But I'm getting paid to do it." He says, needing the money. You knew this, you admired how he took any opportunity to push towards gaining experience, a career, money.

But why them?!

You watch as he leaves, counting down the minutes until he comes back.

Hayden: I miss you, almost done.

There's nothing to worry about, deep down you know this. Hayden is a good boy.

— JOSHUA WHITE.

Much like Hayden, there is nothing to worry about. But unlike him, and the other boys—his ex, one of one, lasted quite a few years.

They were technically together long-term, a couple that people become used to seeing, hearing, and pairing together.

When they're back in town, people comment on how weird it feels seeing them in the same room again but not together—as if you aren't there.

Your hand tightens around his bicep as the fourth person makes the same comment. They had been back for a week and all you have heard since is their name and how good their relationship was with Joshua.

"Are you okay?" He asks, his voice low with soft eyes.

"I'm good." You breathe in, drinking from the glass that shakes under your grip.

Joshua has brushed off each comment, uninterested in their opinions, in how his ex is. He's focused on you, on the now, and he's noticed your flinching at the mention of their cursed name.

Until a week back, you didn't even know of their existence, never mind a full blown five year relationship, so, yeah. You are aggravated.

His arm tugs away from your grip and instead wraps it around your waist, pulling you closer, "let's steal a bottle and get out of here, hm?" He whispers, his voice both reassuring and suggestive.

Honestly? Seeing you react like this? It gets him going...

— BLAKE CROSS.

Blake has bedded plenty but he hasn't dedicated his time and feelings to many. There's only a few that he's dated, one being a famous person that everyone knows. A model to be exact.

The relationship that still gets mentioned three years later, where pictures circulate from festivals that roll around each year or the first photo that pops up when you Google his name.

It's his sisters birthday, a big meal with her friends and family. His ex being one of her friends.

Seeing them across the table, it puts you off your food as you fork the food around, your eyes glued to the table and away from their presence as they laugh and chatter with his family.

Blake sips from the flute of champagne, his eyes flickering your way for a moment, "not hungry?" He asks.

You don't want to cause a scene, it's not your day. It's his sisters and you want his family to like you.

"I'm fine!" You act. "Drank too much champagne."

He sees right through the act as his lips thin, noticing your eyes while they shift towards his ex.

Looking towards them and back to you, his face hardens, "is it because they're here?"

You nod slowly, your chest burning.

They're perfect. I mean, fuck, they're a model. Of course it's because of them.

"Come." He says, pulling you with him. "We're going to find something stronger to drink." He says before dragging you out.

"What are you doing?!"

"Showing you how much I love you." He grins, pulling you into the bathroom.

#darling reader #darlingcore #yandere #yandere oc #yandere oc x reader #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere oc x y/n #yandere oc x you #yandere x darling #yandere character

59 notes · View notes

jenzcoxg · 5 months ago

Text

Best Friends Friend

• Renjun x f!reader

• includes/warnings: Mark is reader BEST friend, mention of readers mom, lots of laughing (not really a warning, lol), reader uses Tumblr, jerking off, spanking, slapping, unprotected sex (please just wrap the damn pp), reader makes renjun angry one (two?) times, crying,

•Requested!

•AUTHORS NOTE: I started writing this the second i saw the request . I think this is the best I have wrote so far.

You and Mark have always been good friends. His mom was friends with your mom, and you both just clicked. You both always supported each other. Mark would take care of you when you were sick, then vice versa. When he got accepted into SM, you were so happy for him.

But when he became an idol, you hardly saw him. You would go to almost all his shows to, of course, support him. Every time you would see him, all he would talk about is his members and how sweet they are.

He would take you places but his members of course had to be there too.

Coffee Shop

"So how long have you known Mark for?" Chenle asked you. You were surprised, thinking they wouldn't talk to you for some reason.

"Oh!" Your thumb tapped your cup, "Uh, a long time." An awkward smile grew across your face.

"Longer than me?" Haechan smiled at you.

"I don't know-"

"Do you sleep with socks on?" Jaemin randomly asked.

"Huh?"

"Guys, leave her alone. you're overwhelming her." Renjun added, taking another sip of his drink. You look at him, nodding as a thank you.

The Mall

"Jeno, buy me this." Haechan begged Jeno.

"Dude, just get your own damn money. You're in 127 and Dream, so you should have more money than me." Haechan rolled his eyes, you let out a small laugh.

"Wait! We should buy this and play it sometime!" Mark pointed to the shelf, Halli Galli.

A mantra of "Ohhhs" and "Ahhhs" could be heard from all of them.

"You gotta teach me how to play again, I forgot." Jisung put his shoulder around Jaemin.

"I think I beat you last time we played." He poked Jisungs chest, causing him to wince.

Looking around the shop, you couldn't really find anything until you found this adorable charm bracelet with cute little teddy bears. For some reason, you stared at it for the longest time. You eventually grab it and look at the price tag, then put it back on the shelf.

"That's cute!" You jumped as Renjun appeared from behind you, he laughed. "I saw your face when you saw the price. How much is it?"

You took it back off the shelf, "30" His eyebrows raised with surprise.

"I'll buy it for you." He offered.

"No no no you don't have to do that-"

He smiled at you. "Its fine, really, I'll get it for you. But you buy my coffee next time."

"I will!" You smiled, happy you got the bracelet.

-------------------------------------------------------

The more you went out with them, the more you fell for Renjun. He was like an angel. He was so pretty, his face, his body, his eyes, everything. Sometimes, when you go out with them, you will purposely sit yourself close to him or be near him. He made you feel happy and good.

Every day, you would log onto Tumblr to post about your day. Fun stuff, sad stuff, just random stories that happened throughout the day. You started to post about how you fell in love with your best friends' friend.

● mysterybunny33

Today was fun! I went shopping with my friend and his friends. So when I went to this one store, I saw this cute charm bracelet and (Let's call him, X) X bought it for me! X is my best friends' friend. X is also really funny and kind! I think I'm starting to fall in love with him...

Replies*

*starrynight12* - Omg that's so cute! I bet he's hot.

*mysterybunny33* (creator) - He is 🙀

-------------------------------------------------------

You started searching for renjun smut everywhere. It was like your new favorite hobby, finding a new fic to read. You read before bed, getting ready in the morning, all the time.

One day, you were at marks house, just having a fun movie marathon with him and a couple of his group members, jeno, chenle, and renjun. You had just finished a movie and everybody got up to leave. You stayed for a bit after, just to help clean up.

"Hey Mark, I gotta use the bathroom real quick." You say as you put the popcorn bag in the trash. He looked at you and nodded.

"Okay."

As you walked down the hallway, you heard a noise. At first, you thought it was Mark accidentally dropping something, but the sound came from Mark's bedroom. You walk in, confused by what you were hearing.

You heard a loud groan which startled you. You turned your head around the corner to see Renjun in Mark's shower. Fuck. What the fuck is he doing here? You quickly swung your head back around, scared he would see you.

You heard moan after moan. Was he jerking off? Why was he in Marks shower? As fast as you could, you ran out of there.

"I'm gonna go home. Bye!" You slammed the door behind you. Mark was confused about why you left in such a rush.

-------------------------------------------------------

*mysterybunny33*

Today was a good day! I watched movies with my friends. We had so much fun. I saw X again, but I saw him doing something, so I'm feeling a little weird. I feel dumb. Anyway, that's all!

replies

*d33zznuts* - What did you see?

*mysterybunny33* (creator) - I don't wanna tell.

-------------------------------------------------------

It was around 6 pm on a Friday. You were just laying in bed reading fanfiction. Ding!

You have 1 new message from Mark

Mark: Hey, do you want to come over tonight to the dreams house? Since you're not doing anything.

Y/n: Yeah, of course!

You soon got out of bed, did your hair, makeup, and got dressed, you were wearing a cute crop top with a pretty pink skirt.

It took you about 30 minutes to get there. As soon as you pull up, you see Mark running to the front door to greet you.

"Hi! We were just playing a game, if you wanna watch." You nodded in response, Mark smiles and walks back into the house.

You sat on the couch, watching them play whatever game they were invested in. All of a sudden, you felt the couch dip next to you. You turned your head to see Renjun sitting there. He was wearing a plain black shirt and gray sweatpants.

He turned to you, "I don't like that game." You hummed. "So, do you want something to drink, I can get it for you."

"I'll take water, please." He nodded and got up to go to the kitchen. You were zoned out, not really sure why you came over, they were probably just gonna play that stupid game the whole time.

"Here you go." Too deep into thought, you didn't notice Renjun handing you the water. "Hello?" You snapped your head to him

"Oh, sorry. Thank you." You took the water from his hand, taking a big gulp. You jumped when you heard Chenle yell at the game, making Renjun giggle at you.

You were there for an hour already, bored out of your damn mind. All you did was twiddle with your thumbs, drink your water, and watch them play the game for a minute or two.

Renjun was just sitting there quietly, scrolling through something on his phone. Sometimes showing you a reel or a picture he thinks you would find funny.

You got up three or four times to fill your cup with water again. Placing your glass under the faucet, filling the cup then walking back to the couch.

About 10 minutes later, you heard Mark, "Guys, let's play again!" You rolled your eyes at his words. Why did you even accept his invite? You started scrolling on your phone.

As you scrolled, you got more bored. At this point, you wanted to go home. The sudden urge of having to pee hit you like a brick.

"I'm going to use the bathroom." You ran off.

Renjun noticed your phone was still open. He wanted to get your number. He searched through apps til he finally found it. As he tapped his thumb down, he realized he pressed on the wrong app, Tumblr.

He was about to exit out of the app when something caught his eye. The number of tags you followed that said 'Renjun smut' or something similar to that was crazy. He scrolled through some, seeing you've liked them.

As you walked out of the bathroom, you noticed Renjun was gone. "Hey, where did Renjun go?" you asked.

"He said he was going up to his room." Jeno answered. You hummed.

As you sat back down, you noticed that your phone was gone. Thinking Renjun grabbed it, thinking it was his.

You walked up the stairs, seeing a door slightly ajar, you figured it was his room. As you knocked you saw him there, looking right at your phone.

"Renjun, t-thats my phone." he didn't answer you. Instead, he continued looking at it.

He got up, "sit."

"What?-"

"I said sit." confused, you sat on the edge of his bed. He went to his door to close it.

He walked back to you, "Here, take it." as he handed it to you, your stomach dropped.

"How did you find this?" you questioned. He looked at you.

"Want to read it to me?" He sat back down, this time next to you.

"No." You answered just staring at your phone.

He snatched the phone from your hand, "Renjun put his hand around your neck, squeezing till you couldn't breathe. As you gasped for air, he said, 'This is what you like, fucking slut.' He pushed into you fast, not-"

"Stop!" You try grabbing the phone from his hands but he's to fast.

"I thought I could trust you. And you go behind my back and do this? You wanted me to find out, didn't you." Your mouth was wide open. He scoffed, then put the phone on the table.

"Lay." He said. You looked at him, confused. "Are you dumb? I said lay." He meant on his lap.

As you laid down, he gripped your thigh, forcing you down.

"Can you count?" you heard him ask.

"Wha-" a loud smack was heard as Renjun slapped your ass.

"Renjun, stop." You whined. Another slap to your ass cheek.

"I don't hear you counting. Now we have to start over." you whimpered at his words. He slapped your ass cheek again.

"One."

"Good girl." another slap

"T-two." he hummed. the pain was shooting straight to your core. He slapped your ass cheek for the fifth time.

"Three." Your voiced cracked. He took a little longer than he did for the sixth slap. You slowly move your hips on his bulge. He quickly slapped your ass again.

"Don't do that. lift your hips up." You listened to him.

This time, the slap was to your cunt. You screamed.

"I don't hear counting." he said in a teasing way.

"Six?"

"Good job." he smacked your cunt 2 more times before he stopped. "Now get up." You slowly got up, standing in front of him.

"Take your clothes off for me, yeah?" not wasting any time, you started to undress. He watched carefully. "So pretty, just for me." He stood up.

Renjun grabs your shoulders and pushes you to the nearest wall. He starts kissing you, everywhere. On your forehead, cheek, neck, collarbone. He lifted his head to kiss you on the lips.

He didn't let go. He tilted his head to the side to deepen the kiss. Your tongues clashed together. He bit your bottom lip, making you whimper. Renjun put his knee in between your legs, lifting you up so he can carry you.

You could feel his bulge when he lifted you. He gently put you on the bed. "Stay there." He said before he started to undress.

As he takes off his boxers, you finally see him, all of him. He was huge. He moved back to the bed, getting on top of you.

"Wait, flip over." You flipped onto your stomach. Renjun put two fingers in his mouth, getting them wet. You slightly jumped as you felt his cold fingers graze your cunt, coating it with his spit.

"You ready baby?" He asked. You nodded. "I need words baby."

"Y-yes." you whined.

Before you knew it, he slammed his hips into yours, not giving you any time to adjust to his size.

"Oh fuck, baby, you're so fucking tight. Just for me, hmm?" He spanked your ass.

"Yes, mhm, fuck." you let out. He let out a teasing laugh.

The way your hips were hitting each other created wet noises. He tightens his grip on your waist to go faster. The little grunts that came out of his mouth were so pretty.

"You're so pretty. I have had a thing for you ever since I first saw you-fuck- I love you." The words that came out of his mouth were surprising to you, but at the same time, so sweet.

"I also know you saw me jerking off in Mark's shower. I saw your head peak the corner." He confessed. You giggled.

"Renjun, I'm close." You whined, moaning as he hit that one spot over and over again.

"Me too baby. Can you hold it for me?"

"Y-yes."

You needed to release so badly. It was hard when he told you that. You couldn't hold it anymore. With a couple more thrusts, you came undone around him.

"You're so perfect baby and- oh my god, did you just cum?" He asked, you whimpered in response.

"Flip over."

You were now facing him. Your legs were burning at this point.

A harsh slap landed on you cunt, you screamed.

"That's what you get for not listening." he pushed back into you with no warning again.

He spread your legs as far as they could go, to go deeper.

His thrusts had gotten sloppier. "Fuck, baby. I'm gonna cum-" his hot liquid shot right into you.

Tears ran down your cheeks as he flipped you both to where you were on top of him.

"Oh, baby, you're so sweet to me." He ran his fingers up and down your back.

"Do you want anything?" He asked.

"Water." Your raspy voice made him chuckle.

He laid you on the bed so he could get up. tired, you fell asleep. Renjun looked at you and smiled. He put on his shorts and shirt, then walked out the door.

As he walked down the stairs he heard clapping.

"The Huang Renjun has finally done it." Jeno yelled from the couch.

"Shut up." Renjun rolled his eyes.

Mark got up to go to the kitchen where Renjun was.

"Yo, dude, if you wanted to fuck my friend, why didn't you say so." Mark grabbed a bag of chips from the cupboard.

Renjun grabbed a glass, filled it up, and grabbed a cloth from the drawer.

"Too late. She's mine now." Renjun smiled.

"I knew you liked her." Jaemin said.

"Yeah, like when you bought her all that stuff." Jeno added.

Renjun blushed. He's so lucky to have someone like you.

#jenzcoxg #nct dream #nct dream smut #nct smut #renjun #nct #renjun smut #mark lee #jeno lee #lee donghyuck #na jaemin #zhong chenle #park jisung #renjun x reader #huang renjun smut #huang renjun

100 notes · View notes

saltyfreejewelry · 2 months ago

Text

Armband Geschenkideen für Freunde und Familie

Es gibt Geschenke, die immer gut ankommen – ein schönes Armband Geschenk gehört definitiv dazu. Egal, ob für einen Geburtstag, ein Jubiläum oder einfach als kleine Aufmerksamkeit zwischendurch: Armbänder sind zeitlose Begleiter, die Stil, Persönlichkeit und Bedeutung perfekt verbinden.

Wenn du auf der Suche nach Inspiration bist, was du deinen Liebsten schenken könntest, dann bist du hier genau richtig. In diesem Blog stellen wir dir kreative Armband-Ideen vor, die nicht nur gut aussehen, sondern auch echte Emotionen wecken. Und natürlich zeigen wir dir auch, warum ein Männer Bracelet eine besonders coole Geschenkidee sein kann.

Lass uns gemeinsam eintauchen!

Warum ein Armband das perfekte Geschenk ist

Armbänder sind mehr als nur Accessoires. Sie sind Symbole – für Freundschaft, Liebe, Familie oder besondere Lebensabschnitte. Ein Armband Geschenk kann eine Geschichte erzählen oder einfach täglich daran erinnern, wie wichtig jemand ist.

Außerdem passen Armbänder wirklich zu jedem Stil: Ob minimalistisch, sportlich, klassisch oder extravagant – es gibt für jeden Geschmack das passende Modell. Und das Beste? Sie sind flexibel in der Größe und brauchen keine große Anprobe-Session wie Ringe oder Kleidung. Einfach auswählen, verschenken und Freude schenken!

Die schönsten Armband Geschenkideen für jeden Anlass

Hier kommen einige inspirierende Ideen, wie du ein Armband zum echten Highlight machen kannst:

1. Personalisierte Armbänder

Eine Gravur macht aus einem schönen Armband ein einzigartiges Erinnerungsstück. Ob Initialen, ein besonderes Datum oder ein kleines Symbol – personalisierte Armbänder zeigen echte Wertschätzung. Ideal für beste Freunde, Partner oder Familienmitglieder.

Tipp: Auf Saltynfree findest du wunderschöne Armbänder, die sich perfekt für eine persönliche Note eignen!

2. Freundschaftsarmbänder

Freundschaftsarmbänder sind schon lange nicht mehr nur für Teenager reserviert. Stylishe, hochwertige Modelle aus Leder, Edelstein oder Edelstahl sind heute angesagter denn je – und ein tolles Geschenk für den besten Freund oder die beste Freundin.

Ob identische Armbänder oder solche, die sich ergänzen: Damit trägst du eure Verbindung immer am Handgelenk.

3. Männer Bracelet für stilbewusste Herren

Wer sagt, dass Schmuck nur Frauensache ist? Ein cooles Männer Bracelet aus Leder, Edelstahl oder Naturmaterialien ist das perfekte Geschenk für Brüder, Väter oder Partner. Dezent, maskulin und vielseitig kombinierbar – ein Armband unterstreicht den individuellen Stil, ohne aufdringlich zu wirken.

Besonders angesagt sind aktuell Modelle in dunklen Tönen oder mit maritimen Details – ein Hauch von Abenteuer inklusive!

4. Armbänder mit Bedeutung

Manche Armbänder haben eine ganz besondere Symbolik: etwa Schutzarmbänder, Glücksarmbänder oder Armbänder mit spirituellen Bedeutungen. Solche Geschenke zeigen, dass du dir wirklich Gedanken gemacht hast – und können dem Träger Mut, Zuversicht oder positive Energie schenken.

5. Set-Geschenke

Warum nur ein Armband schenken, wenn du gleich ein kleines Set zusammenstellen kannst? Kombiniere verschiedene Materialien oder Farben zu einem stylischen Layering-Look. Besonders bei Frauen sehr beliebt – aber auch Männer freuen sich über eine clevere Kombination aus schlichten und markanten Modellen.

Tipps für die Auswahl des perfekten Armband Geschenks

Bevor du ein Armband auswählst, überlege dir ein paar Dinge:

Was für einen Stil trägt die Person normalerweise? Elegant, sportlich, lässig oder extravagant?

Aus welchem Material sollte das Armband sein? Leder wirkt robust und maskulin, Edelstahl ist modern und pflegeleicht, während Stoff oder Perlen einen legeren Touch verleihen.

Welche Farben passen zu der Person? Neutrale Töne passen immer, aber manchmal darf es auch ein Farbakzent sein.

Soll es etwas Persönliches enthalten? Gravuren, Symbole oder kleine Anhänger machen das Geschenk besonders individuell.

Ein bisschen Aufmerksamkeit bei der Auswahl macht oft den Unterschied zwischen einem „netten“ und einem „unvergesslichen“ Geschenk.

Wie du dein Armband Geschenk schön verpackst

Ein liebevoll verpacktes Geschenk macht schon beim Überreichen Freude. Hier ein paar schnelle Ideen:

Geschenkboxen: Edle Schmuckboxen lassen das Armband sofort hochwertiger wirken.

Seidenpapier: Wickele das Armband in feines Papier und lege eine kleine handgeschriebene Karte dazu.

Naturmaterialien: Für eine besonders charmante Verpackung kannst du Naturpapier, Juteband oder getrocknete Blumen verwenden.

Schon mit kleinen Details zeigst du, wie viel Herz in deinem Geschenk steckt.

Fazit: Kleine Geste, große Wirkung

Ein Armband Geschenk ist eine wunderbare Möglichkeit, Gefühle auszudrücken und Erinnerungen zu schaffen. Egal ob schlicht, personalisiert oder voller Bedeutung – mit einem sorgfältig ausgewählten Armband machst du deinen Freunden oder deiner Familie eine echte Freude.

Gerade ein Männer Bracelet ist eine stilvolle Wahl für Herren, die Wert auf dezente, aber aussagekräftige Accessoires legen. Es zeigt, dass du den Stil und Charakter des Beschenkten wirklich kennst und wertschätzt.

Wenn du jetzt Lust bekommen hast, das perfekte Armband zu finden, dann schau doch mal bei Saltynfree vorbei. Dort findest du eine große Auswahl an hochwertigen Armbändern für jeden Geschmack – ideal für dein nächstes Geschenk, oder vielleicht auch für dich selbst!

#männer bracelet #armband geschenk #armband für männer #mantra armbänder #armbänder schweiz

1 note · View note

ryin-silverfish · 11 months ago

Text

A side-by-side comparison of Nezha's backstory in JTTW and FSYY

(Sth I've been working on for a while, as quick reference material for Nezha's story in the two novels specifically that doesn't go into the broader mythos.)

JTTW's Nezha:

-Born with the characters "Ne/Na" on one hand, and "Zha" on the other

-Has 2 older brothers and 1 younger sister: Jinzha, who worked as a guardian deity and attendant of the Buddha, Mucha, who was the disciple of Guanyin, and Li Zhenying, who's said to be 7 years old in JTTW (Chapter 83).

-There's also Diyong/Lady Earth Flow, the adopted mice sister that had eaten the Buddha's candle, was captured by Li Jing and Nezha, and spared on the Buddha's order.

-She shows up in Chapter 80, as a demoness who kidnapped Tripitaka for the purpose of marriage, and is subsequently recaptured to face celestial judgement.

-Three days after his birth, Nezha went off into an unknown ocean, stepped on a crystal palace and toppled it, and caught a flood dragon to use its tendon as a belt

-After that, Li Jing tried to kill him for being a menace, and Nezha did the "Return his flesh and bones to his parents" thing in anger

-His soul then drifted off to the Buddha's place, who performed the Lotus Resurrection Thing by reciting a mantra

-He then subdued 96 caves of demons, and went after Li Jing to take revenge for the "forced suicide" thing

-Li Jing pleaded to the Buddha for help, who gave him a pagoda with Buddhas sculptured on every level, and told Nezha to call the Buddha (on the pagoda) as his father from now on.

-The weapons he used in his Three-headed Six-Armed Form: The Demon-slaying Sword + Demon-cutting Blade, Demon-binding Rope + Demon-subduing Vajra, Embroidered Ball, Fire Wheel (held in his hand)

FSYY's Nezha:

-Is the reincarnation of Taiyi's oldest disciple, Spirit Pearl/Lingzhu Zi

-Is destined to be the Vanguard of the Zhou army in the upcoming War of the Investiture

-Has 2 brothers: Jinzha, disciple of Wenshu Guangfa Tianzun, and Muzha, disciple of Sage Puxian. (FSYY's quirk of making popular Buddhist deities into Daoist sages in a trenchcoat is at play again.)

-Mother was pregnant with him for three years, gave birth to a ball of flesh

-Jumps out of the ball of flesh when Li Jing cuts it open, wearing his Qiankun Ring as a bracelet, Huntian Sash wrapped around his stomach

-Was immediately taken by Taiyi as a disciple the next day, who told Li Jing that, born in the hour of Chou, Nezha is destined to break 1700 prohibitions against killing

-A 6 ft tall 7-years old (FSYY's sense of scale is really weird, like all old novels)

-Asked to go out and play in the river during summertime, unknowingly created a shockwave in the water with his sash that shook Ao Guang's palace in the East Sea.

-Ao Guang sent a Yaksha to check it out. Nezha sassed the Yaksha, who attacked him in a fury and got insta-killed.

-Ao Guang's soldiers reported the Yaksha's death. Ao Bing overheard the whole thing, asked to go deal with this random brat, and was granted permission by his father.

-Ao Bing rode out of the waves on his steed, and went "Who are you, sassy lost child, and did you just kill my Yaksha?!" And Nezha was like "Yeah, so what? Talk shit, get hit."

-Ao Bing charged Nezha with his weapon in a fury, got dragged down his steed by the sash, and was promptly bonked on the head by the Qiankun Ring, which reverted him to his dragon form.

-Nezha then pulled out his tendons to make a belt for Li Jing's armor and returned to Chentang Pass. Furious, Ao Guang hurried his way to Li Jing's mansion and accused him for the whole multiple homicide thing.

-Li Jing's first reaction was "My kid's only 7 and never goes out of the door, he can't possibly kill yours!" Then, when he indeed asked Nezha, Nezha flat-out admits it and went out to meet Ao Guang like "Yeah, sorry, doesn't know that's your kid. Anyways, here's his tendons, undamaged and untouched."

-Ao Guang, unsurprisingly, did not take it well and stormed off to press charges to the JE. Faced with his angry crying parents, Nezha also knew he had fucked up, and went to his master Taiyi for help.

-Taiyi's advice? Go ambush the dragon king on his way to complain to the JE and beat him up, mobster-style. Which Nezha promptly did, forcing Ao Guang to turn into a little snake and stay in his sleeves, to be carried back to Chentang Pass.

-The beatdown does not convince Ao Guang not to press charges. In fact, he said he'd get the other dragon kings of the Four Seas to press charges together. Li Jing raged at Nezha again, who assured him that it was alright, like, his master said he was destined to assist some Sage King and stuff.

-He then wandered into the back garden, picked up the Qiankun Bow and Sky-shaking Arrows of the Yellow Emperor that were, uh, just kept there in the family attic, and decided to do some archery practice.

-Sadly, he didn't know how far that arrow would go. It flew all the way to the White Bone Cave, abode of Lady Shiji the Rock Demoness, and went straight through the throat of one of her two disciples, the Verdant Cloud Boy.

-Since Li Jing also carved his name onto the arrow (…), Lady Shiji headed immediately to his place and whisked him away with her treasure, the Eight Trigrams Hankerchief.

-At her place, Li Jing pleaded that he really didn't do it, since the Qiankun Bow was a mystical ancient weapon no one could use in a long, long time, and Shiji released him back to Chentang Pass to find the true culprit. At which point he put two and two together, found out it was Nezha again, and told him to go answer to Shiji together with him.

-Nezha, who did not think this was his fault, smacked Shiji's other disciple, the Colored Cloud Boy on the head with his Qiankun Ring, when he came out of the cave on his master's orders. Shiji was even less happy about that, took his weapons away with a single swipe of her sleeves, then chased him all the way to Taiyi's place.

-At which point Taiyi was like "Well, if you want Nezha to pay for his crimes, how about we go to the Jade Emptiness Palace together and let my master (Yuanshi Tianzun) sort it out?" Shiji refused, stating that he was just using his master's authority to lord over her and unfairly protect his disciple.

-Taiyi then revealed the Chan-Jie division that would later become a huge thing in the War of Investiture, and basically went "Sorry that your student died in Nezha's archery accident, Lady Shiji, but it is literally Fated to Happen, which means you totally shouldn't be mad at me or him."

-Shiji did not buy that explanation at all, and they fought. Taiyi blocked her hankerchief when she tried to use it, then threw the Nine Fire Dragon Bell Cover over her head, burning her to death and reverting her to her true form——a rock.

-Taiyi then informed Nezha that with JE's permission, Ao Guang had gathered the other dragon kings to go after Nezha's parents. Nezha begged him to save them, and his advice was...well, "kill yourself and the dragon kings will let them go". Literally.

-So Nezha did, which was very graphically described in the novel, after which his soul drifted off to Taiyi's place.

-Taiyi told him to go to his mother and tell her to build a temple for him at Mt. Cuiping. He did, and Lady Yin woke up from her dream crying.

-Upon learning the reason why, Li Jing yelled at her for crying after Nezha had brought all these troubles upon their family. Nezha's soul then haunted her in her dreams for a week or so, until she finally relented and built him a temple in secret.

-Half a year later, Li Jing found out about the temple while Nezha's soul was out and away for some unknown reasons. In a fit of rage, he smashed Nezha's statue and burned the temple down (I talk about how this resembles the destruction of 淫祠, illicit cults in IRL history here).

-Nezha returned to his temple only to find it in ruins, at which point he went back to Taiyi, who did the Lotus Resurrection thing and gave him back his weapons, together with a new spear, the Wind-Fire Wheels and a golden brick.

-Nezha immediately rushed back to Chentang Pass to take revenge, stating that after the whole "returning his flesh and blood" thing, they were basically unrelated and didn't owe each other anything, so he was perfectly justified to go after Li Jing for the destruction of his temple.

-They fought. Li Jing, quickly exhausted, turned tail and fled using the Daoist arts of Earth Travel, at which point he ran into Muzha. While they were talking, Nezha caught up with them.

-Muzha was like "How dare you!" and Nezha replied with "Who the hell are you?" Only after Muzha said his name out loud did he recognize his brother and recount the whole story.

-Muzha retorted that "Parents can do no wrong". Nezha pointed out that after his suicide, they were no longer father and son, and told him to stand aside.

-Muzha whipped out his sword to fight him. Concerned that Li Jing might get away in the meantime, Nezha threw his golden brick at Muzha, hitting him in the back and knocking him down.

-The chase continued. Li Jing, knowing that he couldn't run away forever, was ready to commit suicide instead of facing the disgrace of being struck down by his son.

-However, Jinzha's master, Wenshu, suddenly showed up to rescue him. Nezha demanded that Wenshu release Li Jing from his abode, and if he didn't, he'd poke three holes in Wenshu instead.

"And who are you, to make such claims?"

"I am Nezha, disciple of Master Taiyi!"

"Never heard of you. You can throw a tantrum elsewhere, but not here, and if you keep this up, you are in for a spanking."

-Nezha attacked him. In return, Wenshu unleashed his treasure, the Flying Dragon Pillar, tying Nezha onto it. He then summoned Jinzha, handed him a walking stick, and told Jinzha to give him a good whipping.

-Then Taiyi showed up to rescue him, telling Nezha to bow to Wenshu, his Daoist uncle (Context: Taiyi and Wenshu are both among the 12 Immortals of the Chan Sect), and scolded Li Jing a bit for the temple-burning thing.

-Then he told the two to get along and go their separate ways. Nezha was delighted, seeing it as basically a free pass to resume his revenge the moment he was out of his master's sight, and indeed, he did.

-Then Sage Randeng (also of the Chan Sect) showed up, gave Li Jing a buff, and told him to fight Nezha again. Nezha, having witnessed the whole thing and reached an impasse in the fight, attacked Randeng in an attempt to disable the buff.

-Randeng was not happy about this "unprovoked" attack on an innocent bystander, so he dropped a pagoda out of his sleeves and onto Nezha, trapping him inside.

-On Randeng's command, flames ignited inside the pagoda. At last, Nezha pleaded for the sage to release him, under the condition that he'd call Li Jing father (grrrr grrrr) again.

-He was planning to pull a second "resume patricide arc" the moment Randeng left, until the sage gave the pagoda to Li Jing and told them to go back to Chentang Pass and Taiyi's place respectively, to wait until the War of Investiture formally began.

-And they did: Nezha was sent to rescue Huang Feihu during his escape from the Five Passes in Chapter 34, while Li Jing only showed up much later in Chapter 64, to kill a fleeing Luo Xuan after he got all of his fire-based treasures neutralized and taken away by Princess Longji.

-I will not do a full campaign-by-campaign summary of Nezha's performance in the War of Investiture proper, for this post is already long enough.

-The broadest overview: together with his senior Daoist brother Yang Jian, Nezha was one of the biggest powerhouses on the Chan/Zhou side.

-His total kill count in the novel (only counting the named/deified ones) is 15, which is actually more than Yang Jian's (12-13).

-Much like Yang Jian, he was often the one who survived lethal attacks and AOE plague spells while the others were taken out. His lotus body also made him impervious to spells and treasures that work directly on the soul, usually by pulling it out of the body.

-After suffering an injury from the Blood-melting Knife of Yu Hua/his master Yu Yuan, Nezha was given his final power-up at Taiyi's place via three cups of wine and three "fire jujubes", enabling him to transform into his Three-headed, Eight-armed Form.

-At the end of the novel, Nezha, together with Li Jing, Jinzha, Muzha, Yang Jian, Weihu and Lei Zhenzi, became "Sages in Flesh"——which I understood as "a better sort of gods/immortals that don't receive their godhood via death and deification".

-The 6+ weapons he has: Qiankun Ring, Huntian Sash, Fire-tipped Spear, Golden Brick, Wind-Fire Wheel (in its most popular "hot wheels" depiction), Yin-Yang Swords, Nine Fire Dragon Bell Cover

#chinese mythology #chinese literature #journey to the west #investiture of the gods #fengshen yanyi #xiyouji #Nezha

252 notes · View notes

lelengerine · 3 months ago

Note

johnny + you - nct dream + fem reader

͙͘͡★ right where we left off

song prompt. “we knew each other in our childhood, but we drifted apart—except i just found out we’ve unknowingly been in the same class for weeks, and now i can’t stop staring at you, wondering if you remember me.”

pairing. childhood playmate!johnny x reader

tags. plot inspired by you [nct dream], college au, childhood friends to ??? but its cute (trust), lots of fluff and a hint of teasing, written with fem!reader in mind but no prns are explicitly used

wc. 1.0k words

notes. this is my first time writing for johnny (and the first work for my drabble event) so im really thankful for this req 🥺 hope you enjoy reading it!! likes, reblogs, and feedback are very much welcome!

꒰ m.list | event m.list ꒱

johnny suh used to be the tall kid who lived next door, but it all feels like a fever dream now—one of those memories so golden-hued and fleeting that you wonder if you had simply dreamt it.

but he was real.

the easygoing boy with scraped knees and a reckless grin, the one who smelled like sun-warmed asphalt and a hint of mischief. the one who, for one dazzling summer, made you feel like the world was brighter just by being in it.

you two weren’t exactly friends, not in the way childhood best friends built forts together and swapped friendship bracelets, yet he noticed you, saw you in a way no one else did back then.

“hey,” he had said one afternoon, standing over you as you sat on the curb with a book in your lap. his shadow spilled across the pages, and when you looked up, the sun framed him like something out of a coming-of-age movie. “you live next door, right?”

you had blinked at him, startled. it wasn’t that you hadn’t seen him before—you had, a lot—but he had never talked to you. not like this. not like he wanted to.

“um. yeah?”

“cool,” he said, rocking back on his heels. the, with a lopsided grin, “wanna learn how to skateboard?”

spoiler alert: you were terrible at it, but he was always patient when it came to you. he laughed when you nearly crashed into a mailbox, pulled you up when you fell, and—despite your complete lack of skill—told you, “you're getting better.”

you called him a liar then and there. still, you’d like to think that was the moment it happened.

the beginning of your crush.

it was the kind that snuck up on you in small steps, cautious yet welcomed. the kind that felt like a warm embrace, making your stomach dip every time he so much looked your way. the kind that had you replaying every little interaction before bed, searching for meaning in the spaces between his words.

but then—just as suddenly as he appeared in your life—he was gone. his family moved away before summer even ended, and you had stood in your driveway, watching their car disappear, pretending you weren’t a little heartbroken.

you still remember how words of empty consolidation filled your mind like a mantra, telling yourself to quickly get over it—that it was nothing more than some puppy love and how it’d fade over time.

years passed by, and that had managed to stay true… until it didn’t, because sitting two rows ahead of you in your 8 am lecture—lounging in his chair like he has all the time in the world—is the same johnny suh.

you nearly choke on air.

how had you not noticed him before? how had he not noticed you? you’ve been in this class together for weeks, and yet—

he stretches, arms lifting above his head, and you swear the entire room shifts around him. he looks different now, but that’s to be expected. he’s grown taller, features sharper, and his presence seems more striking in a way that has the whole class on him.

seriously, how have you never noticed him?

and though some things have changed, the way he tilts his head, the lazy way he scribbles in the margins of his notebook? it’s still somehow him.

you find your heart doing something weird, a mix of nostalgia and sheer what are the odds disbelief. maybe that’s why you’re slow to register him suddenly looking up from the pile of papers on his desk to stretch.

his eyes skim over the room, disinterested—until they land on you and make contact. he pauses, brows furrowing slightly, lips parting, and you see it—the flicker of something almost there, a memory trying to slot into place.

and then—

recognition.

a slow smirk tugs at his lips before he mouths, i know you.

oh god.

your brain screams at you to look away, to try and play it cool, but you’re frozen, caught in the gravitational pull of his gaze.

he turns back to the front of the class with a satisfied look on his face, leaving you to piece your embarrassment together, so it doesn’t come off as a surprise that as soon as the class gets dismissed, you’re already making a beeline for the door, fully prepared to pretend this never happened.

but fate—or rather, he—has other plans.

“hey.”

his voice—deeper than you remember, but still so effortlessly warm—makes you stop in your tracks.

when you turn, he’s standing there, hands in his pockets, wearing the smuggest grin you’ve ever seen.

“you were staring,” he says.

“i was not.” you splutter, gripping the strap of your bag a little tighter.

he raises an eyebrow, amused. “i caught you, though?”

oh my god. he’s utterly the same—slightly infuriating, confident, and completely, ridiculously charming. and you? you feel like you’re twelve again, sitting on the curb, looking up at him like he hung the stars in the sky.

“didn’t think I’d see you again,” he says, tilting his head.

“yeah,” you breathe, still processing. “it’s been a while.”

his gaze flickers over your face, as if committing it to memory, the grin on his lips returning after a brief second “you still skate?”

you let out a laugh—nervous, ever so slightly breathless. “not after you left me with zero guidance.”

“sounds tragic,” he sighs, shaking his head. “guess I’ll have to make it up to you.”

your heart does a somersault. “oh?”

“coffee.” his expression turns teasing, “unless you’re still avoiding me.”

you blink, completely baffled even though you know he’s only messing with you. “i just saw you again.”

“exactly,” he says. “that’s, like, years of lost time. we’ve got a lot to catch up on and i’m not losing my chance a second time around now, that’d be stupid of me, no?”

the giddy warmth bubbling in your chest spreads like sunlight breaking through storm clouds, leaving no room for hesitation. it’s almost ridiculous how easily the words form on your lips, like they’ve been waiting for this moment just as much as you have.

“okay,” you say, tilting your head with a playful smirk. “take me out then.”

and when he smiles in return—easy, familiar, like no time has passed—you realize it: some feelings don’t disappear. they just linger, quiet and patient, until the moment is right.

#lelengerine: youth lovesome 🩷#nct fluff #nct 127 fluff #johnny fluff #nct drabbles #nct 127 drabbles #nct imagines #nct 127 imagines #johnny imagines

71 notes · View notes