#and an hour is a perfect amount of time for at least two games but im like

[xxplastic-cubexx]

since Rivals!Erik is such a beefcake, he would be bursting out the seams of the fc outfit. It’ll just be strips of fabric covering his more private areas 😭

😶

[ceesimz]

Her Perfect Delusion

She's carefully curated the perfect lie, and you're at the centre of it.

There’s one thing about life that you don’t quite understand; how fast you can go from loving someone to hating them.

Those two things are a phenomenon that have coexisted together since the start of humankind, though it’s a hard thing for most people to accept. They’re arguably the two strongest feelings, there’s no choice in experiencing them, they come when they’re least wanted. What are you supposed to do when they occur at the same time?

When you first read that text message, the one that kept you up at night and has done for two weeks, it was as if you were the rope in an endless game of tug-of-war, being pulled back and forth relentlessly by an angel and a devil, by the resentment and longing that fought it out in your mind, each pulling with an equally unbearable amount of force. It prevented you from deciphering your true feelings, only making the whole situation a hundred times worse. 

You hated her, with every fibre of your being, yet you couldn’t shake that godforsaken, overwhelming, self-sacrificial pit of love that refused to leave your heart. Your own organs, both your heart and your mind, were entranced by her, betraying your own common sense to despise her and forget her. 

We can’t tell the team yet. I will pick you up tomorrow morning and we will carry on as normal.

That was it. No other explanation, no clarification, no mercy. 

It came mere minutes after she walked out of your apartment when she had broken up with you. Apparently she had the guts to end your year-long relationship in a heartbeat, but was too much of a coward to give you any say in person about telling your friends. 

And you followed her instructions wordlessly.

How could you ignore her, forget her, hate her, love her, when even after she had broken up with you, she forced herself into your life with no care in the world? 

Part of you thought something was wrong with her, because for a while now, you hadn’t recognised her as the woman you loved. Her breaking up with you just solidified that – she was completely unrecognisable. The sympathetic, caring side of you which she once adored, it craved to wrap her up in your arms, lead her back to bed, and talk for hours as the sun set and subsequently rose until you figured out what was going on inside her mind. Before you got together, you spent far too long trying to unlock that side of her. Maybe you never truly saw it in the first place.

You refused to leave the club, even though staying would mean seeing her almost everyday. Alexia might be Barça, but it was your club too. Your family too. Whether you were overstaying your welcome or not, you weren’t about to let a failed attempt to build a life with someone else stop you from keeping a life for yourself. Barcelona was home. Alexia had been too, you weren’t about to lose two at once.

If you told people, you would be alone. It was Alexia’s club before you joined. Your friends were her friends before she introduced you. Barcelona was Alexia’s home before it was yours. There wasn’t a part of you that doubted she’d turn the whole of Catalunya on you if everybody knew the true state of your relationship.

So the morning after that text, you clambered into her car, a suffocating, thick silence seated in the car with you both, and that was that. Weeks passed before you without even realising it. The hate wore off and the love only got stronger.

Every morning for training, she picked you up, you walked in together, feigned smiles on your faces that physically hurt deep in your chest. With Alexia, you had given her thousands, if not millions, of genuine, joy-filled smiles. All you were left with was tear-filled eyes instead, drowning in the love lingering, blinking them away near enough every second you spent with her. 

It took far too much force to withhold the smile, though it soon became second nature. You got a routine down with her, and you were so focused on keeping up the act, you trained on auto-pilot. The scaffolding it required to pin the smile to your face was heavy, and it was like one strong gust of wind, one act of affection that brought back a whirl of memories, whether that be an arm around your shoulders or a kiss to your cheek, was all it would take to knock the bars out and let it all come crumbling down. Perhaps that would be for the best.

Just a shame you were in too deep to realise that.

“You guys want to come over for dinner tonight?” Irene asked from Alexia’s left. You were on the captain’s right, hands swinging between you. It was the image of happiness, of how soft your love had once been, though that was merely a figment of the past. A piece of your heart you’ll never get back, a piece Alexia held onto and flaunted in your face with how she held onto your hand, and you simply let her.

“We have plans already, no?” Alexia turned to you, a look in her eyes that had you agreeing easily. You didn’t have the strength to verbalise your willingness to fall at Alexia’s feet once more, so you settled for a nod.

“Ah, a shame. Another time.” Irene smiled, a genuine one that you envied. 

God, how pathetic. To envy someone over a smile.

“Por supuesto.” Alexia confirmed, waving at her friend as she made her way to her own car. 

Like always, you put your bag in the trunk of her car, and climbed into the passenger side. As you did everyday, with no complaints. Why didn’t you complain? Is that really how weak you are?

“What are you doing on Saturday?” Alexia asked you this time, her lips in a thin line as she reversed out of the parking space. Her voice was cold, stern, distant, completely devoid of the gentleness she once addressed you with. She almost didn’t sound like Alexia. 

“Um, nothing I think, I don’t h-”

“Good. You will come to dinner with me and my family.” 

It was a demand, not a question, not an invite. The shy, heart-warming excitement she spoke with when she asked you to join her family for dinner for the first time didn’t even feel like something that had once happened anymore. It was such a contrast from that treasured memory, you had to cover your mouth to stop the sob that wanted to suddenly escape.

However, that heartbreak of a reminder wasn't even the main thing on the forefront of your mind at that moment. Instead, all you could focus on was the fact she hadn’t told her family yet. This wasn't part of this fucked up ordeal.

There was no way, in good conscience, that you could look her mother in the eye and lie to her. 

“You haven’t told your family about us?” You said in an insecure voice, chancing it and looking over at her. There was no need; she wore the same expression she had adorned since the breakup, one of stoicism and carelessness. One that exuded control, one which relished in that fact.

“Do not start. Do not pick a fight right now.” Was all she replied, and if there were ever two statements to sum up the state of your relationship, it was those. 

Her hands clutched the steering wheel tighter, her nostrils flared in frustration with her lips pursed into a thin line, meanwhile you cowered into your seat like a scolded child. Throughout this whole situation, each day Alexia had slowly beaten down your confidence, a piece of your self-esteem cracking and falling away with every word that she spoke. You were losing yourself in the process, and having already lost the other half of your soul in your break-up, you didn’t know if you would survive any longer. 

There had been one fight so far, but Alexia refused to let it happen again. Any time you showed the slightest bit of disagreement, she’d say something that would silence you in an instant. You knew it was unfair, and toxic. You didn’t do anything about it though. Of course you didn't.

“I’ll pick you up at eight. It’s at my Mami’s house. You will not say a word about us, you understand?” She pressed sternly, glancing away from the road for a second to give you a piercing glare. It only provoked that pit of nausea that cruelly reminded you of your current position every time it made an appearance. 

“I understand.” You whispered in a voice that Alexia knew too well; there was a lump in your throat that you had to fight past to speak.

This time, when she turned to look at you, you swore you saw a hint of regret in her eyes. Before you could get your hopes up though, she was focused on the road in front of her again, brows furrowed and her usual frown on her face. 

You got a physical break from her the next day, but not a mental one. A two day respite had been given to the team, the Friday and the Saturday, and you loathed them. You cursed yourself for that, because why could you find issue with time off but not the vicious cycle you found yourself in? 

Every second of that Friday was spent in bed, submerged by a blanket that faintly smelled like her, in your bedroom that was still decorated as if someone loved you, with pictures all around and traces of small details which only existed as a result of being wholly adored, like you once had been. They were glimpses of the past, evidence of the affection you had a taste of, yet had been pulled away just as the disbelief began to wear off.

Even a year down the line, you were just waiting for the other shoe to drop. From the moment you met her, the moment she asked you out on a date with her voice trembling and her hands fidgeting, you were in a near constant state of disbelief. Never in your life did you picture yourself in such an idyllic relationship, with a woman not even your wildest dreams could have imagined. Maybe you were right to cling onto your insecurities, because in the end it did turn out to be too good to be true.

As a matter of fact, it had been your heart that was dropped, shattering into fragments too small to be fixed back together. Instead, you were shoved to the side and thrown to the floor like a child that lost interest in a toy. Even still, Alexia didn’t have the same emotional maturity that a child had to give you your space to grieve, choosing to parade you around on her arm like the pain she’d caused was the greatest achievement of her life. 

You didn’t move, get up, talk to anyone, nothing. Those tasks felt too big to approach, you felt too small, too undeserving. So you subjected yourself to thirty-six hours of nothing but overthinking. What else was there for you to do? You had nothing else going for you except your broken relationship, there wasn’t exactly a lot of options. 

Any memory that came to mind, you thought about it, hashed over every moment of it, looked at every viewpoint you could think of from Alexia’s perspective, until you rinsed it dry and tears soaked your pillow. All these times where her disdain towards you was glaringly obvious, yet you still didn’t have the strength to break apart the love you stored in your bones. You found yourself defending her, coming up with excuses for the way she acted, and no part of you stopped yourself. 

Eventually though, the tears dried out, just in time for you to start getting ready for dinner with her family. 

Her family, who were none the wiser to the despicable actions of their daughter, sister, niece, cousin. They thought the world of her, the star of the family, heart of the city, the best athlete of her sport that could do no wrong, personally and professionally.

Was it wrong to end a relationship out of convenience, yet still pretend to be in love to avoid the dull task of sharing the embarrassment that it hadn’t worked out as planned? They probably wouldn’t think so. They would take her side, paint you as the villain, and shower the Ballon d’Or winner with the support and care they believed you never gave her. You did, Alexia knew that, yet you couldn’t imagine a world where she’d stick up for you anymore.

That was just another example of how lonely you’d be if anyone found out what had happened. You decided, in the end, you had no choice but to continue this act. The realisation that the greatest loss in all this wasn’t the love you had to fake, but the person you became to keep the lie alive, was so soul-crushing. What hurt more was that there wasn’t a thing you could do to fight it.

You had to redo your makeup twice before Alexia texted saying she was waiting for you, not because you were crying, but because your hands trembled with adrenaline, the only saving grace for this dinner. You couldn’t get through it on your own, maybe this was the one time your anxiety would come in handy.

Her mother greeted you warmly, rambling about how long it had been since she last saw you, and how exhausted you looked. Alexia, of course, wasn’t far behind nor out of earshot – you could bet your house on the fact she wouldn’t leave your side for a second throughout this torture, desperate for another glimpse of the wounds she was leaving – with a flash of a warning in her eyes for you to keep your mouth shut, before the warmth came flooding back and she greeted her family with a smile she once gave to you.

Food was passed up and down the table in heirloom dishes, recipes that had been family tradition for longer than any of them could remember filling Eli’s home with a concoction of scents, all of which were heavenly and not an ounce overwhelming. Though, despite the sweetness in the air and the deliciousness on show, you couldn’t quite find your appetite. Alexia noticed and turned her head, her lips by your ear, murmuring about ‘growing up’ and ‘not coming across as rude’ and ‘not making a scene in front of her family’ before pulling away with a kiss to your cheek. Some of her family caught on, grinning and winking and teasing her for such a deliberate display of affection, and she brushed it off with some gently-uttered Catalan, which had them all cooing and smiling brightly at you.

Then, the questions came. Wine, sangria, beer, they’d all loosened the Putellas’ tongues. 

When are you popping the question, Ale?

How many children do you plan to have?

It’s about time you bought a house together, no?

How many carats in your ring, hija?

For reasons you didn’t care to delve into, it was them that snapped you out of the daze you were in. The numbness faded. The emotions came barrelling in. The hate outgrew the love, brewing and simmering, rising, until it bubbled over and erupted.

Though, you still had some decency, where the same couldn’t be said for Alexia.

The questions stopped when you slowly stood from your chair, your adrenaline urging you to move quicker but your sense overshadowing it, as you pulled your hand from Alexia’s grasp. It tightened for a moment, trying to keep you in place and under her control, where she was able to contort and twist your view of yourself, your view of the world and what you believed was acceptable for yourself. But for the first time, you slipped away before she could do anything to stop you. 

Silently, like you should have done weeks ago, you walked away from her and out the front door. As soon as you were out of sight, the door closing softly behind, you ran. 

You ran because you could, because now was finally time for you to relish in the strength that had been out of reach for longer than you could remember. You ran because your adrenaline was shouting for you to, needing an outlet for all that had built up and led to this moment. There were emotions coursing through you again, compared to the numbness that had consumed you, and you didn’t know what to do with the rush that came other than run. It was a madly cathartic feeling, unlike anything you’d ever experienced before.

Until you crashed. And everything crumbled down on top of you. 

You stopped running. You looked around. 

You were in a neighbourhood just outside of Barcelona that you didn’t recognise enough to be able to navigate how to get home. The reason for that? It was your girlfrie- no, your ex-girlfriend’s mother’s neighbourhood, Alexia’s hometown, where everyone there knew the Putellas-Segura family not just because of the height of the captain’s success but because of how close-knit the community was. They didn’t know you, but they surely would when word would spread like a wildfire about the events you had caused. Yet more people that would be against you.

Your phone was buzzing wildly in your pocket, and that numbness, the anxiety, the mental paralysis that struck whenever Alexia reached out to you tried desperately to take over. But you had made it this far, you weren’t about to ruin all your progress. So, you declined her call, and despite the fear that had your hands shaking and mind racing, you blocked her contact.

The calls stopped immediately, as did the messages. And where you stood then, there were no physical traces of her in your life. No toxicity bleeding through your phone and making a place for itself in your mind. It was the first time she couldn’t contact you, couldn’t force herself into your head, couldn’t control you.

Every decision you made then was entirely your choice.

You called a taxi. You waited on the side of a road, having to stumble through the pronunciation of the street you were on to the poor driver on the other side of the phone, and waited. Your eyes didn’t stop scanning the area around you, worried that Alexia would somehow be right behind you, desperate to verbally lay into you for the rest of the evening.

However, the cab arrived before that could happen, so you clambered into the back of it and slammed the door shut behind you with a little too much haste. The driver glanced back at you in the rearview mirror, and you smiled apologetically, before relaying the address of your apartment. 

It wasn't relief or gratitude that filled you during that car journey. That would be too good to be true. No, instead it was a deep, burdening feeling of... unknown. These weeks of unsettlement and unfamiliarity hadn’t prepared you for not being the puppet that Alexia controlled with the strings at her fingertips. Your heart beated wildly in your chest, thumping away with the rhythm of your thoughts which were far too convoluted for you to make a clear plan of action.

What were you going to do once you got home? Just... go to bed? Then wake up in the morning and head to training like nothing had happened? As if your life hadn't just burst at the seams, flipped upside down, imploded, for the second time in only a few weeks?

And as it had done for so long now, your mind began to betray you. One could class it as second nature at this point. Because, how could you do this to her? You did cause a scene in front of her family, and in the process, probably burnt every remaining bridge you had in Barcelona.

This wasn’t something to celebrate. That feeling of catharsis earlier? Merely a distant memory. All you felt was regret. A few friends had warned you in the first place about everything to do with your move to the Spanish city. Why move so far from home? Why uproot everything you ever knew? And many more along those lines.

Yet, the ones that stood out the most were all to do with her.

How could you fall in love with your captain? Wouldn't a breakup between you both ruin the team? She's the best footballer in the world, what are you doing with her? Out of everyone she could have, why you? She could have anyone in Barcelona, what is it about you that she could surely find in anyone else?

Maybe all their doubts were right. It really was doomed from the start.

And as you unlocked one door to your flat after arriving, you looked around at the space that once brought comfort, the only thing it gave now was... cold, but deserved loneliness.

All you could do was stare and reflect on how the dull, desolate, dark and dismal space only represented the punishment of your actions. You did this to yourself; there was nobody coming to save you, nor did anyone even want to.

Except one, but help was the furthest thing on her mind.

“Open this door right now!”

You could recognise that angry, demanding voice anywhere.

“Do you know what you have done!?”

Of course you knew. That's what killed you the most. There was no coming back from this, not when she was outside your door with more fury in her words than you had ever heard before.

“Will… will you just let me in? So we can talk?”

When she spoke then, there was an ounce of sympathy in her tone, which you grasped onto as if your life depended on it. She had you wrapped around her finger, and she knew it. You were pretty certain she revelled in it.

A second passed between her plea and you rushing to let her in. Perhaps even that was generous.

Her shoulder shoved into yours as she rushed in, immediately beginning to rant a tad aggressively in rushed Catalan. For a moment, you feared her, afraid of the capability she had with her words. One of the many things you had learnt about her in the weeks that had passed was that her need for control and her willingness to express that had no boundaries at all.

On the other hand, your earlier discovery that you did indeed have a backbone sparked something inside of you. If you didn't act upon it now, didn't take advantage of the rare situation where you had some faith in yourself, you'd never make it out with your self-worth in tact. You didn't want to build your future on a foundation of lies and deceit. You didn't want to trade in your potential for a lifetime with someone that did nothing but wear you down to the point that you didn't recognise the person in the mirror.

You knew who you could be if you just took your life into your own hands, you saw that earlier, and the figure that looked back at you when you did your hair in the morning and brushed your teeth at night was a brave woman that deserved more than what she had put up with these last weeks. You had a life before Alexia, one full of actual joy and unbridled excitement which had led you to this city in the first place – that same person deserved a life free from the restraints of a shameful, dishonourable relationship that hadn't been real for months, nevermind the weeks of theatrical, Oscar-winning performances that came from a place of hatred, not love. It was never love on Alexia's behalf, not for a single fleeting moment.

“No, Alexia, you do not get to come here and do this. I refuse to sit back and be the punching bag you use for your own fucked up ego!”

Her scathing rambling in her mother tongue came to a halt. The silence that followed was oppressive to Alexia, a feeling she'd inflicted upon you countless times yet never been on the receiving end of. For you, the silence was nothing but an opportunity to finally take back the reins of your life.

“YOU broke up with ME!” You shouted, and instantly felt a rush of adrenaline surge through, just like it had done earlier. “But you won't let me leave your life! You won't let me grieve our relationship! I wa-”

“I told you it was better if we c-”

“No, it is my turn to speak. You have spoken more than enough recently.” The glare you sent her way physically hurt her. She knew she deserved it but it made her sick. This had been a long time coming. “I have spent every second these past few weeks trying to be good enough for you and if anybody asked me why, I don't think I could come up with a truthful answer. Maybe it's because I hoped you would see just how much I loved you, that you would change your mind and say you regret breaking up with me. But now... I just have to thank you.”

Her face pinched together in confusion, and all she wished for in that moment was a chance to explain herself.

When she sent that text, however long ago it was, she never planned for it to end like this. She wasn't in her right mind as she typed it out and hit send. Tears burnt her eyes and dropped onto the seat of her car whilst the regret that tried to save her from drowning was out-strengthed by the shame that pulled her under. If she could take back the break-up, she would in a heartbeat. That was something she realised the moment she saw your first tear drop, when she heard the first poorly disguised sniffle from the person she still loved, whilst she wrecked the beautiful relationship you both had built, in less time than it took to say the alphabet.

That was no excuse, she knew that. It was just far too little, and far too late.

“Wh-what? Thank me?” She repeated. The defeated look on her face would have wrecked you once. On this occasion, you had to stifle a grin that would border on being a little too psychotic. Revenge was a dish best served cold.

“Yes. You showed me your true colours, Ale. I planned on spending the rest of my life with you, so thank you for showing me who you truly are before we were in too deep. You hurt me more than I could ever express these last weeks. You ruined me. But I know I am ten times the person you'll ever be, and I know that I can pick myself up and put myself back together. I don't want you around to see that, you don't deserve it.”

There it was, the statement Alexia had feared for weeks: you didn't want her around anymore.

Those words were the reason why she had barely let you out of her sight, why she always cut you off at the first sign of conflict. If she kept you under her watchful eye and within arms reach, she could pretend, even for just half a second, that the pair of you were still wrapped up in each other's love, like Alexia hadn't broken up with you. ‘Selfish’ hardly scratched the surface in reference to her actions and this one-sided deal. But if it all ended, the two of you would just be teammates again, which somehow hurt worse than being strangers. And should you ever leave the club, she wouldn't even have an excuse to talk to you everyday. Maybe that would be better than playing football together whilst having to pretend there wasn't a year's worth of history, of adoration, of pure and whole-hearted love between you.

You clasped your hands in front of you as you waited for her to process your words, just another grace you gave her that she never did you. Everytime in the past that she had said something that felt like a blow to the stomach, she swiftly moved on before you could compute what she said. She seemed speechless, which was a first.

“I… no, you have the wrong impression, mi amor, I didn't-”

“You don't get to call me that anymore. You lost that right the second you started pulling away before you even ended our relationship. But please, go ahead and try to dig yourself out of this mess.” Every time you spoke and returned the harshness she previously addressed you with, the pained expression to her face only intensified.

“The person you saw since we broke up, that's not me, I swear!" You couldn't help but scoff. “I mean that honestly. I... I don't recognise that person. You must know that, no?”

Her lips could lie, but her eyes couldn't hide her true thoughts. She was clutching at straws and coming up empty for reasons about her arrogant, toxic behaviour. Choosing to stay silent despite the pleading look on her face, you sighed exasperatedly.

“I am sorry, and I will make sure that you know that. I have regretted breaking up with you from the moment the words left my mouth. Even more when I asked you to do this deal. It's not right, or fair, and I don't know why I thought it was acceptable to ask you to do it. All I know is that I did it because I love you. And I couldn't bear to let you go.” She spoke slowly but with desperation clear on her face and in the way she moved. 

Whilst she was talking, her hands never stopped moving in front of her, though she ended her point with the palm of her left hand, the one that always held yours no matter what, landing on her heart. Under her soft skin there, with the lines there you were sure you had memorised, she felt the rapid beat of the organ that was slowly, at a tortuous pace, being torn in two. And it was entirely because of her own doing.

“That isn't how you love someone, Ale.” You said simply, ensuring she felt the full effect of those words.

The first tear of the confrontation fell at that precise moment. It didn't come from you.

“I know.” Alexia whispered, her voice cracking as the dam she’d worked so hard to build for the last however long finally burst. 

Even after all that had happened, all the pain she'd handcrafted for you and the irrevocable damage she'd caused, you would be lying if you said the sight of her crying didn't make you feel guilty. You weren't the type of person that made people cry. It took all the will-power you had to remind yourself that the blonde in front of you had dug her own grave and it was time for her lay in it.

“I’m not going to sit around and be the outlet for whatever identity or moral crisis you're going through. I deserve better.”

“And I know that, I promise that I do." She sobbed. “You do deserve better and I'm sorry I couldn't be that for you.”

“There you are.”

Your words shocked you just as much as they did Alexia, they came out before you had even registered them as a thought. Apparently the adrenaline was doing more work than you assumed. It wasn't ideal, but you weren't sure how you would cope without it. Acting like this was so out of the norm for you, if it wasn't for the addictive rush throughout your veins, you dread to think of what you would have done when the midfielder initially arrived. The most likely outcome was… you breaking down into tears, falling to your knees, and apologising in such a pathetic manner that Alexia had no choice but to take you back into her arms with an awkward, pitiful grimace on her face.

Thankfully, nothing remotely close had happened. If anything, it was the opposite. The tables had turned to an extreme degree. You had every bit of control in this scenario, and though you didn't doubt that Alexia could flip it around whenever she felt like it, it was your opportunity to recover your sanity and make the most of this one time where the cards were in your hands.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Alexia questioned.

“The woman I fell in love with, who has a heart and actual feelings." It was a comment that almost crossed an invisible line by your standards. Not like you could take it back though, so you had to settle for pursuing vengeance and continue by explaining yourself to the clueless woman before you. “Who thinks of the person she’s talking to as an equal rather than someone she towers over. Who reali-”

“I have never thought of you as below me, why would you say that?” She interrupted you in a panic, but you ignored her.

“Who realises that her actions actually do have consequences, and that people won’t stick around when she doesn’t show she appreciates their company. Where have you been all this time?” You laughed in spite of her, to which her eyes widened and she took a step closer. She tried to reach out for your hand, but you moved it out of her way.

“I have been right here, I haven’t gone anywhere!” Alexia argued. It was funny really, just how quick her entire façade had subsided and gave way for such a ridiculously victimised mindset.

“You and I both know that’s not true at all. For the last quarter of our relationship, you’ve been a completely different person. So distant and… unbothered. Unbothered about me, you didn’t show for a second that you cared for me and loved me. And instead of a seamless split where we both can grieve in whatever way works best for us individually, you drag me around on your arm, flaunting how detached you are!” You were shouting, you recognised that, but you didn’t care. The neighbours can have their fun and get a front row seat to it all. “I thought you, at the very least, had the common human decency to not be selfish and let me work through my feelings, where I was completely heartbroken may I add, with no distractions and no games. But no, you forced me into this excruciatingly difficult and painful experience that h-has wrecked me!”

Tears hit the wooden slats beneath the pair of you, both looking through blurry vision and barely being able to stomach the sight of the other in such states. Never, in the time you’ve known each other, did either of you think it would ever end like this. 

“I’m sorry.” It was all Alexia could think to say. And it wasn’t good enough, she never had been.

Pulling your sleeves over your hands, you turned away from her for a moment and dried your face from the endless stream of emotion that overwhelmed you. As you did so, you took a few quiet deep breaths in, an attempt to gain back some composure. 

“The last thing you will do for me is telling people the truth.” You began when you turned back to her. “You won’t leave out a single bit of detail. You will tell everybody we had in our life together what you did to me, what you made me do.”

“I already told my family. After you left.”

That caught you off guard. You didn’t expect her to have the guts. 

There was a brief period of time between you getting home and Alexia arriving that you don’t really remember. It was a blur, mostly, not that you were surprised considering the anxious cycle of spiralling you found yourself in. 

You found enough satisfaction from the way she murmured that admission that she felt a deep amount of shame, and possibly a hint of embarrassment, meaning her family had hopefully lay into her about her actions. Maybe they were on your side after all.

“There are still many people to tell. You’re not getting away with this, Ale. I will make sure you never do this to anyone else, ever.” 

For Alexia, who foolishly had a speckle of hope remaining, had all her dreams about the future shattered with that last sentence.

“I cannot get you back? Ever?” 

Even if it did frustrate you, you couldn’t just forget a year-long relationship in a flash.

“I don’t think so.” You told her, because you couldn’t give her a straight no.

She nodded on instinct, until she stopped, because a fresh wave of sobs consumed her, and she had to cover her mouth to muffle the sounds of them. She only allowed a couple to escape, before she forced down all that emotion and glanced back at you.

“I know I deserve that. It doesn’t make it hurt any less.” This time, you nodded, because you agreed with her. 

The Barcelona captain had hurt you immeasurably, yes, but after all, love always went in hand with hate. And despite the fact the latter was a much stronger feeling now than it had been since that day in your apartment with a stoic, indifferent blonde in front of you, you couldn’t ignore the feelings you still held for her. They had taken a backseat throughout this, though as the argument gradually came to a natural end, the events of the day depleting both your emotional staminas, those same feelings came creeping back. In all honesty, you didn’t think they would ever fully leave. That was an issue to tackle another day.

“I understand. But you have to learn how to deal with that because I don’t think it will ever change.” You told her, a little less sternness in your voice now that the fight was beginning to leave you.

“I will. I will do everything you have said, I promise.” Her last promise to you.

There wasn’t much else to say after that, apart from…

“I think… I think you should go now.”

So, with a single nod of her head, Alexia slowly made her way to the door and you trailed after her. You saw the tremor to her hand when she reached for the handle, and heard the shake of her breath when she breathed out. Then she opened the door, and with one last look back at you with glossy eyes that held far too many emotions within them to be unpacked right now, she stepped out into the corridor and closed it behind her.

The sole company you were left with was the silence that cloaked your apartment. It was deafening, and the only thing it did was heighten the emotions you were left with. 

All you could do, in that moment, was slump back against the wall by the entryway, slowly slide down it until you were seated on the floor, and cry out every last tear you had left inside you.

[asunflowerana]

how to crash a date

summary: friends are the best thing in our lifes, with a big talent for crashing dates.

with: Tsukishima Kei, Akaashi Keiji, Iwaizumi Hajime and Kenma Kozume (and their respective "besties").

⊛ tsukishima kei: be oblivious!

Kei has been planning this date for a week already. Take you to the carnival, walk with you hand in hand, buy you some sweets, win you a teddy bear and maybe get some kisses on the way, the perfect plan. Even if he doesn't enjoy going outdoor, he's feeling excited for tonight, knowing he’ll have plenty of time to spend with you alone.

At first, things were going so well that he actually pondered going more to those carnivals.Though his main motivation wasn’t the colorful scenario, or the funny attractions over the booths; his eyes could only focus on your bright smile, luminescing the place better than those lanterns hanging above your heads.

Everything was great. Until two morons noticed your existence.

“TSUKI!” His body automatically stiffens after recognizing the voice of his two teammates, Tanaka and Nishinoya. Grimacing, he slowly turns sideways, hoping that he’s just hallucinating and the two annoying boys waving at him aren't actually real. Of all places in Japan, they had to be at the same place as him? Really?

It didn’t take long for them to approach and introduce themselves to you. “It’s nice to meet you,  ______. Tsukishima didn’t tell us he had a girlfriend. Not that we thought he could date someone.” Tanaka humored, making Noya chuckle along and Tsukishima’s face reddened with pure loathe. Before he could protest, Noya excitedly pulled you towards a game booth, breaking Kei’s hold on your hand, which made him even more annoyed. First they interrupt his date, and now they steal his girl? Tanaka rested his hand on the blonde’s tense shoulder.  “Thanks for the invite, man. We’ll have a great time together!”.

It was the worst two hours of his life.

He had to watch and control his boiling temper as his teammates spent the entire time playing and chatting with you. At least, you seemed to be having some fun with them by your expression and non-stop smile, and that only made Tsukki even more grumpy. It was his time to make you smile, not theirs.

By the time they left, it was too late for him to have a quality time with you there, so he ended up taking you home. He was already planning to punch the boys the next morning for ruining his date, but to his surprise, the night wasn’t a complete failure.

“Thank you for tonight Kei. I know it wasn’t what we planned, but I had a lot of fun.” You said genuinely, embracing him and giving his cheek a gentle peck. And for the rest of the night, Tsukishima smiled like a fool in love.

⊛ akaashi keiji: be clingy!

Akaashi and Bokuto are lifelong friends. They go to school together, have the same classes, eat at the same time, play on the same team and even return home on the same path. Literally five of the seven days of the week, Akaashi has Bokuto’s company. But as every human being, he needs an amount of time for himself and others. Especially time for you, his girlfriend of almost a month. On your days, he plans to spend time with you only, dismissing his other obligations; however, it is easier said than done when it comes to dismissing Bokuto.

Bokuto doesn’t quite understand that his friend needs space sometimes, so he gets sad when he receives a ‘no’ as an answer to his invites. Don’t get him wrong, he doesn’t mind if you’re going to be with them, he adores you. He just doesn't get why he can’t tag along with you guys.

He doesn't like to feel left out, so he decides to follow the two of you on a coffee shop date one day, to express his feelings. Yes, he was not invited, but what’s the harm, right? He’ll just sit at a table closer to yours, and wait for the right moment to make himself noticed.

Meanwhile, you and your boyfriend are chatting about your weeks, his right hand intertwined with yours on the table. Keiji’s so focused on you, that you’re the one who noticed the white-haired boy trying to hide his face behind the menu two tables from yours. 

“Kei, isn’t that guy Bokuto?” He goes mute as soon as you pronounce his best friend’s name, turning his head dreadfully in the direction your eyes indicated. Finding the noisy owl, he sighs in frustration, raising from his seat and walking toward his friend. “Bokuto-kun, what are you doing here?” He hisses to not make a scene, but his friend, emotional as he is, reacts oppositely and raises from his chair with his arms crossed and pouting like a three-year-old toddler. 

“I wanted to spend time with my friends…” He confesses gloomy, making even you feel a bit conscious at the same time amused by the scene, as Akaashi rolls his eyes. Before the brunette could reject his friend again, you decide to invite the ace to join you, receiving a confused look from Keiji in return. You simply couldn’t resist his sad puppy face. Without thinking twice, Bokuto lifts up a chair and puts it between your seats before sitting down with a huge smile on his face — much to Akaashi’s dismay.

It’ll take a while before Akaashi finally gets some time alone with you.

⊛ iwaizumi hajime: be overbearing!

Even though he’s quite popular at school for being an athlete, Hajime isn’t a flirtish guy like the rest of his friends. That doesn’t mean he can’t win a girl, it’s simply the fact that there weren’t many girls he found interesting. And after finding you, he doesn’t see himself with anyone else. But regardless of that, his friends always thought he had difficulties with romance, especially Oikawa: which explains why the brunette got so concerned when Hajime told him he asked you out on a date.

Toru didn’t want things to go wrong on this date, especially since his friend is clearly smitten by you, something that doesn’t happen often with Hajime. So he offered (imposed) his help, giving tips and tricks to turn his friend into the king of romance. The problem is that Oikawa’s a very intense teacher, wanting to give lectures every day and every time, making the brunette go crazy for good. It didn’t take three days before Iwaizumi refused further assistance, assuring his friend that he’s capable of handling a date. 

Did Oikawa listen though?

The night was going so well. Hajime took you to a friendly pub, which helped to dissolve the awkwardness of the first minutes, and made you both feel more intimate as you spoke about multiple topics. You two got along so well through the afternoon, that you already looked like a long-term couple, laughing and enjoying themselves. While Hajime told you one funny story of his childhood, he noticed something unusual through the pub’s round window, in front of him.

It’s Oikawa, waving at him while holding a sign written in bold blue letters: “Say she looks beautiful, and don’t forget to clean your teeth!”

“Can you excuse me for a second, sweetheart?” He was so nervous that didn't notice the pet name coming through his mouth, nor the way you got bashful when he said that. He just wanted to finish Oikawa’s life right there, and as soon as you nod at him, he quickly walks out for that. 

“Yo-hoo!” His captain waves as he exits the pub, smiling like a proud dad. “Iwa-chan, thought you needed a-” He doesn’t finish the last sentence since Iwaizumi hits his arm hard with the cardboard sign, making Oikawa yelp. “WHAT? WHAT DID I DO?”

⊛ kenma kozume: be noisy!

Almost all of nekoma’s volleyball team sees Kenma as someone who needs to be taken care of, even if he’s perfectly capable of doing that. When they find out that their setter started dating from other sources, everyone gets curious to know how things are going with the new couple, even if it had nothing to do with their lives, as Kenma “gently” reminded them once. Some even followed you around school sometimes, just to get to know the girl who stole the mechanic heart of their friend.

They immediately took the hint when Kenma announced one day that he needed to leave practice early for something important: it must be something involving you. Ten minutes after he left,  Kuroo, Yaku, Yamamoto, and Fukunaga initiated a secret mission to follow their teammate to his destination. Throughout the journey, Yaku kept whispering how bad spying on Kenma was, but still continued to follow the path, just as curious as the others. Kuroo didn’t waste the chance to snicker at him. 

The path leads them to a public park not too far from school, and they get just in time to witness the most surprising scene only a few bunches away: Kenma and you sitting on a red towel on the grass, having a cute picnic together. Kenma was chuckling so carefree, while you were throwing small cubs of apple into his mouth,  and no sign of his console beside him. 

The boys quickly hid behind a large bush near the spot, spying on the couple’s moment with a content smile on their faces. “Own, look how happy our Kenma is. He’s so hooked.” Kuroo says, a prideful grin taking on his expression. It’s good to see his best friend having that type of experience. 

“What are you guys doing there?” Out of nowhere, Levi appears near them, his loud voice attracting the couple’s attention and revealing their hiding spot to everyone around. The boys grimace as soon as they’re discovered, all of them feeling Kenma’s fulminant gaze. “Oops… my bad.”

n/a: i promise they had good intention 😂

© asunflowerana 2024 — all rights reserved.

[ilguna]

☼ whisper of the beast (Finnick Odair) ☼

summary; on your own, you try to find your boyfriend in the arena. instead, you run across something much, much worse.

warnings; swearing, death, weapon usage, ehhh gore, blood mention.

wc; 2.5k

prompt; 11. "Just keep breathing. In and out. You're doing great."

—

There is something seriously horrifying going on with this arena, and each time you think you get close to figuring it out—it changes.

The only consistent factor in each of your theories is the jungle, and that’s because it’s the root of the fear. When you travel through the greenery for long periods of time, a creeping feeling grows on you, one that you can’t shake unless you make your way back to the beach.

Which is far from safe, itself. Especially since there are nine other tributes alive here, roaming around, hunting for lone victors. For it only being the second day of the Games, it’s remarkable that so many are dead, already. With six of them dying today, alone.

It makes you think that you’re being overly paranoid, because you’re out here by yourself. It’s a completely new experience to you. The first time around, during your Games, the Career alliance lasted up until the very last second. You never had to keep an eye out for yourself, because you had others with you that were doing the same thing.

You were under the impression that you’d be doing that for these Games, too, but nothing has gone according to plan. You and Finnick had a long discussion the night of the interviews on what to expect regarding corralling Katniss and Peeta into the alliance. Neither of you thought it would be easy. Worst case scenario, you’d grab one and he’d get the other, and the two of you would meet up somewhere in the middle. 

The Gamemakers really must have it out for you this year, determined to keep you and Finnick apart. That’s why they decided to put you on the opposite side of the Cornucopia, keeping you from seeing Finnick. While also putting Brutus in your water wedge, to ensure that you wouldn’t be able to reach him.

By the time you fought off Brutus and got to the Cornucopia, all three of them were gone. The only option you had left was to wait for Johanna and Blight, but with them still in the water and the Careers coming to take over, you had to leave. There wasn’t a choice in the matter.

Since, you’ve spent your time traveling through the jungle and taking the occasional rest on the beach, in the hopes that you’ll run across your boyfriend. The search was casual yesterday, as you were more worried about finding drinking water than the rebel alliance. Now that the numbers are spiraling, you know that the rescue plan is right around the corner.

You’re confident enough to say that they won’t do it today, but it’s got to be tomorrow or the day after. They won’t have Katniss and Peeta openly in danger like this for longer than they have to. You likely have less than forty-eight hours to find them, or else you’ll get trapped in here and taken by the Capitol.

You would say that you wish you had a general idea on which direction they went in yesterday, but it probably won’t make much of a difference. With the amount of people dying in these trees, you’re sure Finnick is directing them the opposite way, just in case. 

It’s another reason why you can’t stand to be in the jungle for long periods of time. From what you’ve gathered, at least half of the tributes that have died today so far, have come from somewhere in the trees. It makes you think that something is out here, and it’s more than just a rogue tribute.

In fact, it would make more sense for it to be a mutt of some kind. In the last Quarter Quell, they were everywhere. There was not a single animal that a tribute could trust to be friendly. On top of that, there were aspects of the arena that took them by surprise. 

It appeared to be the most breathtaking place imaginable. The Cornucopia was in the middle of a vibrantly green meadow, the sky a perfect blue, with fluffy white clouds. In the distance, there was a snow capped mountain, one that looked straight out of a picture book. On the other side, a healthy forest with plants you couldn’t name.

Of course, it was all too good to be true. The mountain was revealed to be a deadly volcano, the plants were poisonous, the water was infected with a disease, the insects stung and the flowers could kill when inhaled too closely. Everything that was placed in that arena was working against them.

Who’s to say it’s not the same for this one?

You pause next to a nearby tree to rest your feet, because they’re throbbing in your shoes. You lift one, stretching your thigh, feeling the immediate relief that comes with being off the foot. After a minute, you switch, but it doesn’t feel as good this time around.

When you reach up to run a hand through your hair to smooth it back, you find that your scalp is wet, soaked from sweating so much. It feels much hotter today than it was yesterday, like the Gamemakers are trying to boil you alive. It’s brutal enough being in here, do they really need to make it any worse?

You dip your head, eyes closed while you take a deep breath, sighing it out. You return to walking, paying attention to where you place your feet.

It might make more sense for you to go down to the beach and wait for Finnick, Katniss and Peeta to show up. The issue is that you’re not willing to take the risk of the Careers spotting you while you’re down there. The four of them could easily get you pinned down. You’ll be dead before you can call for help.

A branch rustling behind you makes your next step stutter. Your eyes widen, as you slowly look across the fern in front of you, to the left of your vision. With sensitive ears, you adjust the spear in your hand, turning your body halfway to look behind you, at the tree you were just standing at.

There’s nothing.

You take a minute to search the trees around you, backtracking to get a better look. Even if it’s just a critter, you want to know. If there’s living animals out here, that means there’s a water source—and you won’t have to depend on your sponsors to keep you hydrated.

There’s not a trace. At least, that’s what you think, until your eyes catch the hoof print in the mud. Your face contorts, you drop into a crouch to get closer, curious on what could’ve made a mark like this. As far as your knowledge on the jungle goes, there shouldn’t be anything that could leave this behind.

The goosebumps that crawl up your arms are involuntary, stomach dropping. The safety blanket that the jungle had been providing seconds ago, is gone now. There’s something in here with you, and it was smart enough to run when it made noise.

You raise your head, thinking about the best way to handle this situation, when your heart seizes in your chest.

What the fuck is that.

In one fluid movement, you jump to your feet, turning in the direction of the beach, and beginning to sprint down the slope. A screech cuts through the previously quiet air, piercing your ears enough to make you wince at the pitch.

And then you can hear it galloping behind you, hands and feet pounding against the spongy jungle ground. A scream rises in your throat, terrified to look behind you to see how fast this thing actually is.

You take the chance when you swing around a tree, stealing a glance over your shoulder. 

Whatever it is, it’s demonic.

You’ve never seen anything like it. It’s coming at you on all fours, there’s hooves where its feet should be, with long and pointed nails on its fingers. Its fur is so black that you can’t make out where its eyes are, or if it has any skin exposed at all. It’s a beast straight out of one of your nightmares.

It isn’t fast by any means, but it’s not slow, either.

You can hear it tearing up a path behind you, trampling through the bushes, ripping bark off trees. As the path between the trees narrows, the jungle becomes more condensed. You hear less of it coming in contact with the ground, thumping replacing the noise.

Until it stops altogether.

Your instincts take over, jerking to the right, shoulder slamming into the tree. You watch in silence as the beast flies by where you were a second ago, claws out and ready to latch on. It comes into contact with the ground about ten feet away, head whipping unnaturally to see over its shoulder.

“No, no!” You let out, beginning to weave through the trees.

A snarl rips through its throat at the idea of you outsmarting it. It’s coming for you, and there’s nothing you can do besides run for your life and dodge it each time it tries to attack. 

You play this game for what feels like an hour, but it can’t be more than twenty minutes. You make it half a mile down the slope, knowing that the beach can’t be that far away from where you are, when you realize that it’s gone. The monster that has been chasing you has given up.

You lean over your knees, mouth watering, throat beginning to close. As you gasp for air, your body tries to expel some of the heat by making you sweat, but all that’s doing is making you sick. You think you might throw up. 

Right as you’ve come to terms with losing all the water and food in your body, spit falling from your mouth in long strings, a shadow on the ground grows larger. Your face twists, thinking that something must be falling, like a leaf.

It hits you, literally, flattening you against the ground, head hitting the dirt. It digs in, nails cutting through skin as it tears through your back and arms, shredding your jumpsuit. A scream leaves your lips, a white hot and blinding pain smothering you all at once.

Your hand tightens around the spear, cheek against Earth as the beast presses into your shoulders, keeping you from moving. Still, with the small amount of mobility you have, you swing the head of the spear up, toward yourself, narrowly missing your left  shoulder.

It lodges into the beast, causing it to roar in pain. You shove the pole further back, hoping that it pushes into its body deeper. The weight on your shoulders disappears, you can hear it stumbling away.

In the window you have, you get back to your feet, ignoring the screaming pain your entire backside is in. You just need to make it to the beach, it’s not that far away, you’ve covered this distance in your sleep before. It’s harder to do, though, when every hard step you take makes you grit your teeth to keep from crying out. 

The beast is catching up with you, recovering from its wound. It’s faster than you are, and it’s completely disregarding everything in its path. Nothing can slow it down. You can see the golden sand through the trees, you’re almost there.

A body jumps out from behind a bush, making you run into it. For a moment, you’re sure that it’s an exact replica of the monster behind you, but once you realize that you’re staring at another tribute jumpsuit, the panic subsides. But only for a second.

“Move!” You shriek, trying to get around him. He grabs the sides of your arms, holding you there.

You look up, finding that you’re standing face to face with the male tribute from Ten—someone who is not part of the rebel alliance, and doesn’t care whether or not you make it out alive. When you glance over your shoulder, you can see that the beast is getting closer. It’s not going to stop until it gets its hands on somebody.

And it won’t be you.

The only choice you have is to sacrifice him, so that’s exactly what you do. You jerk him around, switching places with him, forcing his back to the beast. His eyes widen, mouth opening to say something, when you pull back from him, lifting your leg to kick him in the chest.

The beast takes him gratefully, landing on his back. He stumbles forward, struggling under the weight of the beast. You watch in horror as its jaws unhinge, revealing razor sharp teeth. It throws its head back, before whipping forward, mouth securing around the tribute’s neck.

And with no resistance, he rips out a chunk of the flesh. A spray of blood hits you in the face, and it coats the jungle floor. You back away with wide eyes, watching as Ten’s legs can’t hold him up anymore, body collapsing in the dirt beneath the beast.

A cannon fires.

You turn, making the final push for the beach before it can come after you, too. 

The moment your feet hit the sand, it begins to drag you down, keeping you from running as far away as your mind is screaming for you to go. You make it a few feet before landing on your hands and knees, sucking in sharp breaths and letting them out aggressively. 

That was almost you. That could’ve been you.

You try to crawl, hands forming in fists in the sand, tears falling from your eyes.

“(Y/n)?” You hear. There’s a headache forming, black spots coming to eat away at the corners of your vision. “(Y/n), hey.”

A hand touching your lower back makes you swing a hand up to get them off. Your wrist is caught, eyes meeting Finnick’s, finding him worried. 

“You’re okay, honey. I’m right here.” He pulls at your elbow to make you sit up on your knees. 

You grab onto his shoulder, struggling to breathe, “It—it… The—” 

Finnick takes your hand placing it against his chest. “Follow me.” He takes a deep breath, you try to follow, stuttering. He blows it out, you sob. “Come on, (Y/n). Just keep breathing. In and out.” You mimic his breaths, allowing them to even out. “You’re doing great.”

“Finnick.” You cry, head falling forward.

He cups your face with both hands, lifting your head. He’s only a couple inches away from you. “You’re safe with me, I’m not going to let anything happen to you.” He wipes your tears away with his thumbs. “Do you want to tell me what’s in there?”

You look away, eyes too intense to stare into. “A monster.”

--

this was part of my 3k celebration!!

[lordprettyflackotara]

after hours || eyeless jack

SMUT MINORS DNI 18+. mutual masturbation? jacks a lil horny freaky fuck

Jack stumbled into his bedroom, gritting his teeth as he slid his hoodie over his head.

He had an abnormally awful day, one that ended with him being hungry and angry. Typically when Jack went hunting he was confident in his ability to leave on a full stomach. Instead he was abruptly interrupted by a force of nature, one that was shaped in the size of a small child. Truly, how was Jack supposed to know his victim had children? With the economy in such a tragic state Jack had every right to assume the regular humans would stop reproducing. Or delay that desire at the very least.

Nevertheless his meal was interrupted by a curious child, one whose innocence reeked off of its skin. Jack couldn’t even tell if it was a boy or girl, the peering in through the dark doorway enough for him. Its presence threw Jack off of his game, his moral dilemma scratching at his brain. It landed him hungry and annoyed, the demons stomach growling. He shrugged off his mask, tossing it aside on his bed. He took a deep breath, inhaling through his nostrils. It was then he smelled a scent so intoxicating he’d recognize it anywhere: your arousal.

Your affair with Jack had started many summers ago. Jack had done a pretty job of keeping his heat cycles under wraps. You were almost as old as he was and you hadn’t had the slightest clue why the demon disappeared like clockwork every early summer. It was this ignorance that led you searching for him unknowing of the sinful things rummaging through his mind.

Jack was sitting in his room, back hunched as he jerked his cock. Muffled whimpers managed to escape his lips, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip to silence any further sounds. His chestnut brown hair stuck to his foreskin, his eye sockets screwed shut. You showed up at his bedroom doorstep, blissfully unaware of the unholy acts he was committing on the other side of the door. Jack’s mind was so scrambled, so lost in a daze that he didn’t hear your knocking. It was the same preoccupation that resulted in him forgetting to lock his bedroom door. The demon didn’t know what to think, staring at you blankly as you stood in his doorway. There was no concealing it, his tip leaking precum as you stared back at him.

Your doe eyes were so large he swore he saw stars dancing in them. Your lips were slightly parted, your evaluated heartbeat audible to Jacks ears. He expected you to be revolted. To despise him and the ground he walked on. Instead you awkwardly cleared your throat, unzipping your jacket.

“Want some help with that?”

It was that question alone that led to your arrangement. Every early summer, you both would disappear together. Jack had never considered having a mate before, the concept overly tedious in his day to day life. But during his heats? He considered marking you every single day. You needed stress relief and living amongst a mansion full of killers, you were reasonably picky about whom you allowed to assist you. Jack had never considered entangling himself with a mansion resident. He didn’t like the idea of the drama or any of the other bullshit. You were the perfect solution. During the rest of the year the two of you remained friends from a distance. No one would’ve ever guessed the late nights you had spent in his room. Or the amount of times he had buried his head in between your thighs.

But the moment he went into heat? He could smell you from a mile away. Your scent became intoxicating. His body yearned for you. To be buried inside of you.

Yet as he ran his fingers through his hair he froze. He wasn’t in heat. Not anywhere near it. It was autumn, the cool breeze coming through his window enough to prove it. Jack had never once thought of you this way outside of his heats. After all, he found it disrespectful. But now? The hunger in the pit of his stomach was raging on. The longer he smelled your arousal, the hunger for organs subsided and the craving for something more intimate arose instead. He swallowed, shaking his head. Jack had never approached you for sexual favors outside of his heats. How was he supposed to go about this?

He mind racked itself for an answer, his feet carrying him out of his room. He trudged past the other residents rooms, ignoring the sound of faint moans and loud music as he went to head down the stairs. What was he even supposed to say? Jack was anything but subtle during his heats. His aching cock usually did all of the communication for him. He headed down the hallway, landing himself outside of your bedroom door. He sighed, raising his hand to knock on the old chipped wood. It was then his eyebrows raised, your door cracked open. Unsurely Jack inhaled again, ensuring your presence in your bedroom. He peaked through the door, knowing his nose had landed him in the right place.

It was then he saw you, a scene straight out of the filthy depths of his mind. You were almost completely exposed, minus a crop top pulled above your breast. Your head was tilted back, whimpers so quiet they were almost inaudible falling off of your lips. He watched you bite your bottom lip, your fingers going in and out of your drenched cunt. Your beautiful eyes were fluttered shut, Jack freezing in place. Surely this was his sign to turn around. To go back to his room and follow through with his original plan. Yet you looked so angelic like this, mind lost in pleasure as you fingered yourself. Jack could feel his own ache arising, his cock threatening to burst out of his pants.

He felt like a dirty perv, turned on by the sight of the display in front of him. You didn’t even know he was here, yet you made his cock throb in agony. Jacks large hand had a mind of its own, trailing down to his shaft. He sucked in as he palmed himself through his jeans. His hands and lower arms were still coated with dry blood from his failed meal. He watched as your other hand twisted and toyed with your nipples, the exposed buds only growing more perky from the crisp autumn air. Jack bit the inside of his cheek, knowing what he was going to do next was utterly absurd. It went against his morals, it went against his entanglement rules with you.

Yet none of that mattered as he unbuttoned his jeans. Glancing nervously to his left, he realized your room was right next to Jeff’s. Unlucky for you, but lucky for Jack. Typically the pale killer spent his nights actively killing or fucking Nina’s brains out. Either way he would be occupied. Meaning Jack could watch you in semi peace. He pulled down his jeans and boxers, taking his cock in his hand as he watched you. Jack watched as you desperately began circling your clit, your whimpers turning into desperate whines. Jack withheld his own sinful noises, jerking his cock as he watched you play with yourself. He adored the way your face scrunched up in pleasure, your heart racing as you pushed yourself further to the edge.

Jack thought of all the things he’d do to you if he came in. The way he’d plow you into the mattress. Or maybe he’d make you cum on his tongues until you passed out. Those thoughts alone were enough to make him hot and bothered, his mouth running dry as he jerked his cock faster. He ran his thumb over his slit, shuddering under the sensation. Or maybe he’d force you to your knees and face fuck you until your jaw became sore. He’d eventually have to punish you for being such a tease, that was just one of many ideas. Using one hand to finger yourself and one to circle your clit, you were a riled up mess.

You were heaven sent, your doe eyes finally opening. Jack froze momentarily, afraid he had been caught. Instead you looked down at arousal coated fingers, removing them from your cunt. Jack nearly groaned at the sight. He knew his felt better. He knew his thick fingers reached places yours couldn’t. Jacks mouth fell open as he watched you bring your arousal coated fingers to your mouth, sucking the juices off of them. For a moment it felt like you were putting on a show, getting off on Jack watching you. The concept alone was enough to make him beat his cock faster. You smiled to yourself as you brought your fingers back to your cunt, more desperate this time.

Your muffled noises were louder now, your heart rate indicating to Jack you were close to your orgasm. The demon bit his bottom lip, eager to cum with you. Fuck, you were so ethereal and you didn’t even know it. He cupped his balls with his other hand, fighting the unholy noises that threatened to escape from his throat. Your eyes fluttered shut again, your moans becoming louder. They were heaven to Jacks ears, the demons orgasm coming closer and closer with each stroke. It was then your hips buckled, your mouth falling open as you came. Jack watched you cream around your own fingers, your heart pounding so loudly it sounded like a drum in his ears.

Jack struggled to contain himself as he came on his hand, his seed coating his dark gray skin. His chest rose and fell profusely as he came down from his high. He wanted to admire you more, the sound of footsteps in Jeff’s room disrupting him coming down. The demon immediately became flustered, registering the sound of Jeff’s window closing. Jack stumbled to shove his cock back in his pants, panicking as he redressed himself. His hand was still covered with his cum, the demons eye sockets widening. Jeff’s footsteps seemed to be coming closer to his door, each step making Jack panic. The demon opened his mouth, licking his cum off of his hand until he was clean.

He faced away from Jeff’s door, facing the end of the hall. He ignored the salty sensation dancing across his tongues as Jeff stepped out into the hallway. “EJ? What the hell are you doing?” Jeff asked sarcastically. In front of Jack was a portrait of Slenderman and his brothers. The pale killers eyebrows were furrowed as he joined Jacks side, trying to understand what the demon was looking at. “Just admiring some art, it’s late I should turn in,” Jack rambled. Jeff eyed his blood stained arms and hand, noting his right one was clean. “Uh huh, right,” Jeff muttered. He watched as Jack excused himself, practically running down the hallway. Dumbfounded the pale killer scratched his head, shrugging.

“Jesus, everyone becomes weird around here after hours.”

[outsideratheart]

Snippet - Anyone But You (Alexia Putellas x reader)

It was the most important night in football as players all around the globe gathered in Paris for the prestigious Balon d’Or ceremony. Despite being one of the front runners you really didn’t want to be there have just played the last game in the international break. This was now the third time you have been ranked high but having just lost out in the previous two years, last year’s being to Alexia Putellas. 

The moment your name is called though all irritated feelings disappear and proudness replaces them. You look into the audience and connect eyes with your sister Leah who was hands down your biggest fan, you could ask her and she would say the same thing. Even though Alexia had just lost, she too stood and applauded you with a grin on her face. You can only nod your head as your own sign of respect.

A couple of hours pass by and your social battery is all put empty. When Leah is having a little photoshoot with your trophy you see it as a perfect time to leave given that your younger sister is else wise occupied.

There was a chill in the air are you wait for your car service to arrive. Out the corner of your eye you see Alexia who is also waiting for her getaway car only she has a look a frustration on her face.

“¿Esta todo bien?” You took the small of amounts of steps so that you were by her side. Alexia sends you a soft smile as you make the effort to speak her language.

“I wanted to leave but the car is for the team and they are still in there” Alexia points back to the building.

“You’re staying at Le Grand Mazarin, right?” The Spaniard nods her head “Me too. You can share my car if you want” 

Alexia thanks you many times and by the time she is done your car is pulling up. 

Both of you watch the streets of Paris pass by you. The car journey is taking a little while longer due to traffic but neither of you seem to mind. You do find yourself stealing glances at the blonde, choosing to take in the sights of her instead of the french architecture.

Truth is you found her extremely attractive and looked forward to these awards shows because you knew she would also be in attendance.

It is when the car comes to a complete standstill for the fourth time that you decide to make a move.

You place your hand gently on her thigh as a way to get her attention.

“Do you want to walk the rest of the way?”

Alexia glances down at her shoes before asking you how far away you were. When you tell her that it’s only an half hour walk she accepts your invite whilst butterflies flutter in her stomach.

Yes, the hotel was only a short distance but somehow you are both walking the streets of Paris two hours later. You both talk about the pressures of your career, the love you have for your families and the kind of things regular people would talk about on their first date.

When you get back to your hotel Alexia invites you for a night cap in her hotel room. It is an invite that you do not decline. She, like you, had a room with a balcony that overlooked the Eiffel Tower. You never saw Paris as the city of love but with Alexia standing beside you, your outlook began to change.

“Can you believe that this is our lives?” Alexia asks you the unintentionally heavy question.

“Do you ever think about living a different life? Like you are destined for something more?” You answer her question with another question.

“We are Balon d’Or winning football players. What more are you talking about?”

“You wouldn’t understand. You are living your dream at Barcelona”

“And you are at Arsenal. It is your club just as Barcelona is mine”

But what if I don’t want it to be my club anymore? 

You don’t say that or at least you didn’t think you did.

“I cannot imagine you in anything but an Arsenal shirt” Alexia response lets you know that you did in fact say it out loud.

“I can’t either and that’s the problem” you shake your head as you rid you mind of the thoughts “Forget I said anything”

“I can make you forget about it” Alexia closes the space between you, her hand comes to your cheek before leaning in to kiss you.

She did in fact make you forget about football and the stresses you were feeling. 

When you wake up several hours later you do so with her arm wrapped securely around your waist. You feel vulnerable and exposed so you do what you think is best; you leave.

The walk from Alexia’s room to the elevator felt much longer than it did the night before and it makes you realise that you are making a mistake. You have an incredible night with the Barcelona Captain, the best night you have had in a long long while. You are filled with regret as you all but run back to her room only you find the door slightly ajar.

“You never do this Alexia. You slept with Y/N Williamson and she is-“

“It was a mistake. You know how these nights are and I used her as a distraction. It was nothing, a mistake and it shouldn’t have happened”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. Last night you felt a connection with Alexia but clearly she didn’t feel the same thing. 

Paris wasn’t the city of love. Paris was the city of lust and severe disappointment.

[slowcatsworld]

Blue Lock Master Striker Headcanons

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France’s PXG: Julian Loki

My sweet

Julian definitely is an older sibling (literally made a 3 post long argument on how he is one so TRUST he is). His favorite memory of his little sibling is when they first said his name. The small ‘Julian’ mumbled in multiple breaths (ju..julian yk) made him pause his homework and look them straight in the eye. They stared back with a big, innocent smile. Julian broke out into a smile of his own and grabbed the little guy for a hug.

Julian has such a carefree relationship with his mom, he gives off such mama’s boy vibes. They are a duo that would stay up late watching tv shows even though he has school in the morning and his mom has work. When his mother would cook something Julian was always her taste tester. He lost count the amount of times he would go back for seconds just to “get a better taste” and receive a wooden spoon to the hand. Julian’s mother would adore his girlfriend, especially since she can tell what a good impact you have on her son.

Julian would work well with someone who has a lot of energy but doesn’t need to be monitored or babysat. For example, say he is out at an amusement park with his friends and significant other. His girlfriend sees a game stand that piques her interest and hurls away from the group to investigate with determined steps. Julian isn’t worried about her getting lost or in an altercation with someone. he knows she’ll be back soon and give everyone a detailed report of the stand, the game set up, and the prizes offered. Whether or not she will ask him to spot her some cash to play the game is a whole other story. (Brother is loaded just from playing football)

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England’s Manshine City: Chris Prince

I hate him

Pathetic man baby vibes

Chris is very aware of his personal hygiene and is ridiculously active in taking care of his body. He has a personal massager, esthetician, chiropractor, waxer, the works. He loves his physicality too much to let himself rust in any capacity. He almost never skips brushing his teeth or washing his face. If he isn’t fueled with a type of passion or desperate enough, he won’t kiss you in the morning until you both at least have some mouth wash. He carries two different deodorant scents in his practice bag. This is nice because you know he won’t ever smell bad, but sometimes he becomes cologne nose blind (especially on high end dates).

He has a beef with Americans. (I don’t know if he’s confirmed English but he is today) He doesn’t mock them or become outwardly rude to them, but he’s thankful to be in the European League and not the North American League (is that a real league? Google isn’t helping and I don’t know shit abt professional soccer leagues-) Chris goes bonkers when someone jokingly calls him an American; as he will be whining and waving his arms about how he’s so much better than them and how it insults his legacy to be compared to an American and not be acknowledged as an English man.

When his hair isn’t cooperating with him he cries out of frustration.

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Spain’s FC Barcha: Lavinho

Lavinho loves the feeling of dancing with his partner. It’s intimate and free, no matter what style nor if there was music or not. Lavinho is so fond of holding your hips and gently swaying the two of you in the silent hours of the night that he has a pep in his step when he walks home from practice. Your scent filling his nostrils, the heat he can feel coming from your neck and shoulder as he rests his head there, it’s all too perfect as he begins to hum a song to himself.

Lavinho would want to get a tattoo reminiscent of you. If yall ever were that serious. At first he was thinking of your name, but you shot that down quickly. Something more primal and colorful was more his style. He wants something that represents you, though. Y’all compromise on a couple things that fit both of your wishes. Your favorite flower, a kiss mark, and a woman dancing with a pair of wings emerging from her back. (Picture this omg. The woman could be bowing, in the middle of a dance move or smth and the wings are halfway out of her back. Or something like the woman looking up and outstretched and welcoming to the feeling around her. With the wings spread out powerful and graceful. Okay I’m done I’m done)

Lavinho loves being barefoot. If he can’t be barefoot, Lavinho is wearing open toed shoes. Chanclas, flip flops, Birkenstocks, doesn’t matter. He grew up like this, and doesn’t quite want to conform his freedom and customs to the world of Europe yet. Even if he has been living there for years. He gets so happy at feeling sand under his feet as well, it reminds him of his younger childhood days in the best way. (This is prolly canon bc the first time we see him he’s barefoot right?)

Am I becoming a Lavinho girl..?

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Italy’s Ubers: Marc Snuffy

I don’t like him but I don’t hate him-

He says ‘shitty brats’ too much in the same breath at the end of the Ubers vs BM match I think he unlocked his previous degradation kink or smth idek maybe that’s why

Okay focus

Mick Moon’s death still haunts Snuffy. He hasn’t truly let it go, and even though he seems to make progress during the Ubers vs BM match, he has a long way to go to fully come to peace with his best friend’s death. Most times Snuffy can’t drink alcohol without thinking of Mick and becoming guilty. All the thoughts of how he could have saved Mick from his fate, how he did try but it wasn’t enough, how he allowed for his best friend to ruin his own life- even though that meant Mick stayed true to his philosophy. It hurts Snuffy. It’s the main reason why Snuffy cares so deeply for his teammates now, and why he goes out of his way to make sure they are okay mentally in his own way.

Snuffy wasn’t that interested in the luxury of lust that came from women when he first started out on his dream to being a professional footballer. It wasn’t until Mick that he started indulging in being a lady’s man. While it was almost always lustful and physical, the women that tugged at his heartstrings were the ones that would compliment Snuffy’s nose. The ones that would hold his face to their chest and give him slow, loving kisses to his nose while their hands moved further up into his hair. The ones that knew his eyes were actually orange and not brown and how those women looked into his sharp, big eyes like he was the reason for all their happiness was surreal. Those instances it would become all too real for Snuffy. The lines between lust and something more would get blurred and blurred until he got scared and backed away and moved to the next lady in the next club with a smaller smile than before.

Snuffy is very proud of his black belt in Jujitsu. Especially with the way it helps him on the football field. His understanding of his own body and abilities mean more to him than the average person too. Also because of Mick and how Mick ignored his body both before and after getting let go as a footballer.

Okay, Snuffy isn’t that bad I guess-

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Germany’s Bastard Munchen: Noel Noa

My man my man my man

Let me give you a big smooch

Noel sunburns so easily. He never tans, he always burns a hot pink. He has but an ounce of melanin in his skin that prevents him from being totally albino. Because of this, he is very serious and methodical about applying sunscreen. He applies daily, especially when he knows he’ll be outside for practice or a game. He also isn’t that fond of costal activities because of the sun exposure, even more so because he can’t swim that well. (OMG I read a little blurb about Noel not being able to swim but his wife loved to I don’t know who wrote it but it was so cute I’ll try to find the writer)

He does interviews for football, but finds them rather bland and not that important. He likes to discuss football strategies and profile analysis he’s done of other players, but most of the time reporters aren’t that interested in his words. They always want to know more intimate details about him, it feels like to Noel. Just not his exact cup of tea, but he knows other players are always willing to talk in an interview so he leaves the chitter to them if he can. He likes for his actions on the field to speak for him.

Noel makes an effort to acknowledge stray animals if he can. The cat sitting on the restaurant sill? He gave it some head scratches before continuing his walk. The dog that always lays in the same sunny spot of concrete on the sidewalk? Noel has given him some water just yesterday. It feels as though he’s paying homage to their sacrifices by giving them small acts of domesticity as he was once a stray too. He still feels like one sometimes. At night when he’s awake in his bed thinking, he ponders the possibility of taking one of the many strays home with him. He won’t allow himself to though. He can’t stoop so low as to take an animal into a home that he knows he’ll be absent enough from them (his football commitment sigh) to not properly take care of them, his head reasons, even if his heart wants him to act so unrationally.

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This biscuit is just for you, mwah 😽

8.6.24

[jjkamochoso]

You Look Good in Green

Fluff

Gen Narumi x gn!reader

Request from Wattpad: Gen sees you speaking with Soshiro Hoshina and becomes jealous!

Warnings: none

It was always an interesting time when Third Division visited the Ariake base. The rivalries between members led to lots of banter and a renewed sense of pride for being in the First Division; it was like you all got even closer in the presence of your peers-turned-competitors. Nothing was more entertaining, though, than the roast sessions—er, conversations—between Third Division’s Soshiro Hoshina and your very own Gen Narumi.

“I don’t remember inviting a beady eyed brat onto my base,” snarked Gen upon seeing Soshiro, who was smirking as he approached your captain.

“Oh? Well, it’s a good thing you’re not in charge then,” Soshiro replied coolly. Gen was practically growling at the man, his nemesis never failing to push his buttons.

“Nice to see you again, Vice Captain,” you greeted, trying to maintain the peace and take the heat off Gen for a little bit.

“Now that’s a face I love seeing! How are you holding up over here, L/n? Gettin’ tired of being under the command of this dummy yet?”

Soshiro burst out in laughter at his own joke, holding his stomach and wiping the tears that formed in the corner of his eyes. Gen’s eye started twitching rapidly and you knew it was time to wrap this up before things got too out of control.

“May I show you the way to the conference room, Hoshina?”

“First class treatment from First Division? Never thought I’d see the day. See ya later, Narumi!”

Soshiro waved, grinning widely as you led him away from an annoyed Gen. The captain wasn’t too keen on you spending alone time with the unwelcome visitor, not because he didn’t trust you, but because he didn’t want his partner to go through the horror of having to talk to Hoshina. Gen moped all the way back to his room, hoping to find comfort in a video game or two… or three. He was looking forward to spending a slow morning with you by his side, but now that you were preoccupied elsewhere, he was left to his own devices (literally). As he turned on his BS5, he heard his phone ding with new text messages.

Y/n: somehow got wrapped up in this meeting🙃🔫 won’t be out of here for awhile

Y/n: don’t have too much fun without me🥺🫶

Gen: good luck dealing with the bowl cut baby��

You sent a laughing emoji and a thumbs up and Gen knew you were busy at that point so he threw himself into the virtual world in front of him, eager to occupy his mind for the time being. Even while on a winning streak that would normally make him ecstatic, he couldn’t help but fret about how friendly Hoshina was to you. You two were supposed to be mortal enemies, the rivalry between First and Third Divisions running deep, yet you got along quite well. It was enough to make Gen sick to his stomach witnessing you greet Hoshina with kindness and a friendly smile. Your smiles were supposed to be reserved for him and him only, not some cocky Third Division jerk.

Am I jealous?

He snorted.

No way, that would be beyond lame. I just don’t like seeing them together at all. I’m looking out for y/n’s sanity, that’s it. I’m totally chill.

That’s what he convinced himself, at least, but the controller being clutched within his white knuckled grasp begged to differ.

After a few hours, many video games won and lost, and copious amounts of retail therapy at Yamazon.com, Gen was finally rewarded with another message from his beloved partner.

Y/n: survived the meeting. total yapathon 🥱

Y/n: come meet me for lunch?😚🙏

Gen had never gotten up so fast in his life. He threw on whatever pair of shoes were closest to his door as he raced down the halls, excited to rescue you from the snooze fest you had been subjected to the entire morning. As he turned the corner, he stopped dead in his tracks. There you were, standing in the doorway of the dining hall looking perfect as ever, but something was terribly wrong: Hoshina was there with you. Gen watched with his mouth agape as you laughed at something the vice captain said, your head thrown back in delight. If that wasn’t bad enough, Hoshina’s hand landed on your shoulder, an action much too intimate for Gen’s liking. His mouth snapped shut in an instant, his teeth clenched so hard that he wouldn’t be surprised if a few cracked.

Soshiro Hoshina had made a grave mistake.

Blood boiling, Gen marched over to you, his feet smacking the floor and garnering your attention.

“Sorry I took so long,” you told your peeved boyfriend as he came into earshot, “we got stuck in the meeting. It was beyond boring.”

“Now that I’m here, you won’t have to worry about being bored any longer.”

Gen stood close behind you, a menacing aura emanating from him as he stared down Soshiro, who had calmly dropped his hand from your shoulder.

“Don’t worry Narumi, I kept them entertained the whole time,” the violet haired man teased, and you never knew Gen could feel so tense and bloodthirsty off the battlefield.

“That doesn’t surprise me, considering they love clowns,” he replied, his voice cracking with anger.

“Is that right?” Soshiro asked cheekily, his fangs peeking out. “No wonder you two are dating.”

That was your cue.

“Great talk, Hoshina, thanks for keeping me company. Gen and I are going to eat. I trust that you can find your way out of here?” you asked, softly placing your fingers around Gen’s wrist to stop him from lunging at the cackling vice captain.

“I can. Catch up with you kids later!”

Soshiro walked away, leaving you to deal with a very grumpy Gen.

“Kids? Aren’t we all around the same age?”

You were trying to lighten the mood but Gen didn’t answer you. He barely gave you a second glance as you filled your trays with food and you were starting to worry about what had gotten into him.

“Talk to me, Narumi. What’s on your mind?”

“Nothing.”

You quirked an eyebrow. “Maybe Hoshina was right in calling us kids if you’re gonna act childish.”

“‘M not childish,” he grumbled, pushing food around his plate.

“Really? Because it looks like you’re pouting right now.”

“According to you, I’m always pouting.”

“And you’re always childish.”

He rolled his eyes but sighed in resignation. “Okay, you got me there.”

You smiled, nudging him with the blunt end of your chopstick. “Spill. I wanna know what’s going on in that handsome head of yours.”

He sighed again. “It’s stupid. Like, really dumb.”

“So, the usual?” you teased, earning a glare from across the table.

“I didn’t like Hoshina talking with you like that.”

You tilted your head. “Like what?”

“I don’t know, like… like he’s your friend or something! Or something more,” he added quietly. What he was feeling, but wouldn’t admit on his own, immediately dawned on you.

“Are you jealous, First Division Captain Gen Narumi?”

“Don’t say that so loud!” he yelled, looking around furiously. “You’re gonna ruin my cool guy reputation!”

“Sure,” you nodded, holding back a giggle. “I take that as a yes, then?”

Gen wouldn’t meet your eyes, staring at his plate again. It was quite endearing seeing him openly care so much about you and you couldn’t deny it felt kind of good having the affirmation of knowing he didn’t want to lose you to another man. However, you hated seeing him sad and stressed out for no reason.

“Gen, baby, look at me.” You took one of his hands in yours as he raised his head, your other hand carding through his floppy bangs and brushing them away from his eyes so he could see how serious you were being. “There’s no need for you to be jealous. You’re the only man I want, there’s no one else for me. You’re it, I promise you that.”

“I hated the way he made you laugh,” he confessed. “That’s my job.”

“Yeah he’s funny, but more in the “coworker-keeps-your-mind-off-the-lame-meeting” sort of way. You’re much funnier.”

“Really? You’re not just saying that?”

You raised his hand to your lips, brushing them across his knuckles as you gave them little kisses. “I could never lie to a pretty face like yours.”

“Ugh, you’re gross,” he complained, turning his head from your view, but you could tell he took your words to heart with the shy smile and light blush on his face he was trying to hide.

“Eat up,” you told him, getting back to munching happily on your meal, “you gotta be energized to be a worthy opponent for me to take on in whatever video game we’re playing for the foreseeable future.”

Gen broke out into a mischievous grin. “You have it all wrong. I’m gonna kick your ass!”

You watched him shovel food into his mouth at an alarming rate as he filled you in on the progress he had made in his earlier gaming session. He then told you about the ridiculous amounts of online purchases that were making your own credit card weep from your pocket.

“I even bought a dartboard,” he said, his eyes gleaming with joy. “I can’t wait to put a picture of Hoshina’s stupid face on it.”

Yep; Gen Narumi was all yours.

[wosoragebaiter69]

you don’t have to be perfect

barça fem x teen!reader, lucy bronze x teen!reader

request: here

A/N: also i would just like to say, if anyone has any feedback for my writing it’s greatly appreciated cuz i’m not the best writer ik that but i want to improve.

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It was apart of the contract I first signed with Barcelona that I continue my studies and finish school. Not ideal, but I get by with around 80% and sitting on a B for most my classes. What I didn’t factor in was the amount of stress I would have on top of the League and UWCL games when exams and assignments from 6 different classes were coming up. That’s hard on a 17 year old.

I felt myself start to drift away from everyone in the 2 weeks before mayhem. First it was denying to go out with the younger girls like Salma and Vicky, both of whom understood. Vicky being the same age as me and Salma only 2 years older than us. Then as expectations rose, classes became longer and filled extra information. All the time I wasn't on the pitch, I was studying. Or sleeping. (we dont talk about how even thats being cut down to maximum 5 hours a night).

Living with Lucy meant that she was bound to catch on to what was happening. It was inevitable. She took me under her wing when I first arrived along with some of the older girls and since I don’t speak Spanish natively, I was told to go with Lucy who was told to keep an eye on me. It’s nice, when you don’t want her to worry about how you’re ignoring everyone and have bags under your eyes whenever she sees you. She really does try her hardest to get me to do anything that’s not over analysing and over-studying the numerous topics, but no matter how much it pains me. I always turn her down.

After another night of studying until 2am, there’s an early morning training session and I know I’ve only gotten 4 hours of sleep. If I told the medical staff I’m sure they’d pale.

I’m aware that I probably look like death walking, but it doesn’t bother me. If I pass with above average grades, I’m happy and I know my actual parents will be too. I ignore the concerned looks that Irene and Alexia give Lucy, and get changed ready for the training session.

It’s gruelling, the lack of sleep from the past 2 weeks has finally started to catch up. When I least needed it to. Maybe I am working too hard. It’s too late for that though. I know I’m being watched by the captains, acting for a little bit longer won’t do much harm. Can it?

When the third water break rolls around, I sit on the floor and flop onto my back, closing my eyes. Too tired in the moment to do anything other than breathe. The sunshine above me dulls as Lucy and Alexia stare down at me. When I open my eyes. My captain has a raised brow, while my roommate has her arms crossed.

“Y/N, get up please. Now.” It’s Lucy who speaks first. I don’t give in. What’s their problem?

“No. I am fine where I am thank you very much.” I bite back. Lucy looks like she’s trying to hold herself together and Alexia looks furious. Unconsciously, I sink into myself hoping the ground could swallow me up.

“Nena, we won’t ask again.” The spaniard says, her voice low as she sticks out her hand.

I reluctantly take it, pulling myself up and staring at the two in front of me.

“Come.” Alexia says blankly, leaving no room for argument before walking toward the main building. I sigh, doing as she says or I know I won’t hear the end of it. Lucy trails just behind me, her jaw set and making sure I don’t run away.

When inside I’m placed on a couch, wishing and praying to any extra-terrestrial being that I can leave this confrontation. What is it even about? Why am I here? I’ve done nothing wrong.

“So, we noticed you’ve been pushing people out. You also look dead.” Classic Alexia, straight to the point.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I look away.

“Really? Because when I go to bed, which is around midnight and sometimes 1 if I’m doing other work. Your light is always on. You better fess up now before we make you do extra laps, and clear all the equipment from training.” It’s Lucy this time, starring daggers into me. Still, I don’t let up.

“Maybe I left the light on.” I shrug. “And why do we have to do this right now? I have 2 exams tomorrow. So, if I may. Let’s finish training so I can get to study and do other things.”

“This is exactly what I’m talking about Y/N. You’re deflecting absolutely everything we say. You’re not taking the information in. I get you’re stressed but that doesn’t mean you isolate yourself.” She pauses, sighing deeply. “We are going home right now. You will not touch your school work, this has gone on for long enough. I know Alexia agrees with me.”

“Before you argue, just think. Is this really the best way I could’ve prepared? Yes nail in, do the study for good results. But also remember to utilise the support system you have, the team, the coaches, take a break.” By the end of the rant I feel tears well in my eyes. I feel someone hug me and I can tell who it is by the obscurely large hands.

“Nena, go home with Lucy. Get some rest, and not only will you feel better but it gives your brain a break. When the week is over we can talk more but for now go.” The Catalan smiles warmly. I nod my head saying thanks before walking with Lucy to the car.

“Do you feel alright? You do look very pale.” She places her hands against my face and frowns. “No temperature. I’ll get some food into you and we’ll have a rest day. Just us.” I nod slowly staring out of the window as my mind races.

When we get to the apartment, no conversation is made and I immediately go and take a shower. It’s there that I cry and let all my frustrations out, the stress finally taking its toll on my mind.

When I’m dressed and ready I walk out to the smell of pancakes and Lucy sitting on the couch with Narla next to her. She hears me and turns her head around, eyebrows furrowing at the state I’m in.

She pats the open spot next to her which isn’t taken by the Westie and hands me a plate, which I accept gratefully.

It’s a comfortable silence, but I know she’s waiting for me to say anything. And this time, I do.

“I’m sorry Luce.” My voice is quiet and more high pitched compared to what it normally sounds like.

She smiles lightly.

“Hey, these things happen. You’re smart, just as Alexia said give your mind a rest and you’ll do better. Myself, Keira, the rest of the team only want the best for you and your well-being. Let’s not talk about this now, take it step by step. You’ll be ok.” I nod wiping freshly formed tears as she pulls me into a big hug, giving the rest of her pancake to Narla who eats it happily.

- - - - -

And ok it would be. I end up playing Fifa with Lucy the rest of the day before eventually falling asleep against her. As for the exams, I pass by with good grades and after everything’s done the team takes me out to a restaurant to celebrate. As much as I deny it, this team is the most important thing to me. I love and adore them all so much.

[sugrhigh]

JEALOUSY, JEALOUSY - ( c.s )

REQUESTED HERE**

summary- you and chris have been broken up for a few weeks when you run into each other at a party. emotions run high, and you’re both overwhelmed by jealousy as you navigate being newly single.

warnings- smut, angst with no resolution! don’t come looking for a happy ending

ex!chris x fem!reader

a/n: this one hurt but i’m hoping it fulfills your requests!! enjoy xoxoxo and as always my inbox is open for whatever

what people don’t tell you about breaking up with your boyfriend is that every single outing afterwards has the potential to turn sour within a second. unfortunately, tonight is proving to be one of those times.

your friends decided to drag you to a pool party in the hills, thrown by a rather charming trust fund baby who happens to be a mutual acquaintance of the group. you hadn’t left your apartment in a questionable amount of time, so an intervention was necessary.

at first everything was fine; drinks were flowing, guys were hitting on you, and the pain was temporarily numbed. the least you could do was pretend to enjoy your newfound freedom for an hour or so.

but then you spot him; he’s standing by the decorated bar, drink in one hand and a pretty girl on his other arm. he looks as good as ever, long hair tousled to perfection, dressed in a simple black muscle tee and patterned trunks.

both your heart and your feet stop dead in their tracks. it’s been a few weeks since you called it quits, and you’d been able to avoid seeing him until this very moment. every kiss, every happy memory, and every argument—especially your very last—comes flooding right back.

watching him interact with another girl only makes it ten times more hurtful. you’re about to turn and run when his eyes meet yours, and he looks just as shocked as you feel.

it’s clear neither of you were expecting the other to be here, and you’re not quite sure what the protocol is for this situation. all you’re currently thinking is that you want to walk over there and rip that stupid bitch off of him, and you’re pretty sure he can tell.

one of his eyebrows raises, almost on instinct. he can see that you’re jealous, and you can see that he knows this fact. you’re embarrassed for a moment until you realize he’s taunting you, hand sliding down to the mystery girl’s ass as they talk amongst their circle.

then true anger rears its ugly head, a painful kind of anger like your nerves have been set on fire. who the fuck does he think he is, playing stupid games with you?

he should know that all he’ll win is stupid prizes. he’s just as greedy as you are, and seeing you with anyone else would piss him right off.

and it would also absolutely serve him right.

you straighten up, looking around for the cute boy—josh, if you remember correctly—who had approached you earlier to compliment your bikini. your eyes narrow in on him, sat by the edge of the pool with some of his buddies. the perfect target.

you’re not sure if it’s the alcohol or the wound in your heart inspiring you, but it doesn’t matter.

you don’t look back at chris. instead, you beeline toward the water, not hesitating to interrupt their chat as you tap on his shoulder. josh looks up with a huff, seemingly a bit annoyed until he realizes who it is.

his face softens immediately, squinting up at you like you’re suddenly the only thing he’s interested in. “oh, hey there.”

you smile, trying to be as enchanting as possible as you offer him your hand. “hello again. wanna dance?”

his friends are barely able to contain their excitement, and he nods eagerly in response to your question. his large palm slips into yours and you help him up, tugging him closer to the horde of people already swaying to the music.

you can physically feel chris’s eyes following the two of you through the crowd, which inflates your ego massively. you have no idea where your friends are, but right now you’re so riled up that you’re only focused on payback.

you turn your back to josh, allowing him to loosely hold your hips against his own. you move together well, and as nice as it is, all you can think about it chris. you dare to look over, and as expected, he’s glaring at you with the fire of a thousand suns.

you don’t want to smirk, but you feel one take over your face anyways. all he’s seeing is red; it doesn’t matter that you’re broken up, you shouldn’t be dancing with anyone like that unless it’s him.

he wasn’t the one that initiated that talk anyways. you had, because the strain of him being at such a busy point in his life was just too much. he didn’t fight it; he saw how unhappy you were because he was so focused on his next career moves, that facetimes had turned to texts and that your schedules never seemed to line up anymore.

you’re just as ambitious, zeroed in on your last year of school and working hard to finance that dream. it used to be easier, but then a lot more outside stress began tearing you apart.

that doesn’t mean you’re not the right person for him. chris already knows that you are, it’s just clearly not the right time. and it breaks his heart, but he can’t give you what you deserve right now.

this guy is no prince charming, though, and it’s pissing him off.

your head tilts as josh’s mouth ghosts over your neck, your lips parting slightly, and that’s when chris feels himself explode. the girl that was hanging around him doesn’t matter. in fact, he doesn’t excuse himself at all; he just sets his drink down on the bar and turns back to you.

he moves quickly, shifting by a few other people so that he can break this shit up. you pull away from josh before he even reaches you, but when he does his hand grips your wrist harshly.

“hey, man, what the—”

“she doesn’t want you.” chris calls over his shoulder as he pulls you away, and you know that everybody is watching.

you give josh an apologetic glance, because you do feel kind of bad, but chris is also yanking you along with such a force that you’re actually tripping over your feet. you try to catch up, but you look silly fumbling along behind him.

“slow the fuck down, jesus.” you try to tug him back, but he keeps his pace the same.

“no.” he says it in a harsh tone, though he slides his hand down to hold yours.

it surprises you a bit, but you don’t read into it too much. he’s still obviously pissed, dragging you past various crowds until you finally reach the house. there’s far less people inside, but neither of you are really paying attention to them.

“where are we going?” you ask as he leads you up the stairs, though you’re not doing much to resist.

“to talk.” he replies bluntly, as if it’s that simple.

you scoff, mainly to yourself, which is cut off when you reach the second floor and chris jerks you into a bathroom. he finally lets go of you, using one hand to slam the light switch on and the other to close and lock the door.

you’re backed up against the counter when he shifts around again, breathing heavily as he stands over you. you haven’t been this close together in quite some time, and it’s making your heart race out of control.

his dark eyes observe you for a second before he finally speaks. “you know i don’t like being teased, sweetheart. so who was that guy?”

you roll your eyes. “i don’t owe you an explanation. in case you forgot, we’re not together anymore.”

chris puts his palms down on the counter, boxing you in so that his face is only a few inches from yours. his cologne smells so familiar and so enticing, and you can’t help but gravitate a little closer even though you’re infuriated.

“doesn’t change the fact that i don’t want to see some fucking loser with his hands all over you.” he grumbles, and you can practically feel the steam coming out of your ears.

how much more hypocritical can he get?

you jab a finger into his chest harshly. “you think i wanted to see you playing grab-ass with a random girl? because news flash chris—i didn’t. you don't have the right to be all pissy just because i reacted to you being a dick.”

one of his hands goes to grip your throat impulsively, squeezing just enough to let you know that you’re frustrating him. you hate that it makes you throb, being so completely under his control.

you’ve never seen him this angry before, but in some odd way it makes you feel valid in regards to your own emotions.

“you better watch your goddamn mouth, or i’m gonna have to put it to good use.” chris spits bitterly, tilting your head slightly so that you’re forced to look in his eyes.

“oh, just shut the fuck up.” you sigh, leaning the rest of the way so that your lips crash together.

you’re not sure why you did it, but being so close without any real contact was driving you even crazier than his sanctimoniousness. and it feels incredible, his mouth devouring yours like it’s the first time.

your tongues slide together as if you’re the only thing he wants to taste ever again. and it’s true; he’s obsessed with savoring every inch of you, especially now that he’s not sure when the opportunity will present itself again.

you bite down on his lip, not caring enough to be gentle because you’re still annoyed. he groans as you let go, already hard as he slides his hands down to grip your ass so that he can hold you against him.

“you were mad that it wasn’t you, huh? that i wasn’t touching you in the middle of the party?” he says against your jaw as he leaves open-mouthed kisses along it.

it feels like he’s burning every place he touches. you can’t stand the fire, how fucking cocky he sounds, and yet you can’t get enough.

“yeah and you wished it was me in your arms instead, sweetheart.” you mock him breathlessly, tangling you fingers in his roots because you know he likes it.

you feel him clamp down on your neck lightly and you moan, rocking your hips against his in response. chris smirks, sucking the skin into his mouth a bit so it’ll bruise. the possessive part of him needs to leave a mark.

you've been driving him crazy in that little fucking bikini, covered only by a short white skirt. it’s so thin that it doesn’t hide anything anyways, so he yanks it up your hips desperately.

chris doesn’t want to wait anymore. all he’s done is think about this moment for the past three weeks, all he’s done is miss you.

“of course i did, you fucking know that. so are you gonna be good for me, or are we gonna do it the hard way?” he asks, even though it’s more like a growl.

his hand slips underneath your bathing suit bottoms, trailing downward slowly until his fingers ghost over you slick center. your breathing hitches as your nails slide to rake at his back, rutting upwards to try and feel more friction.

“fuck me like you mean it and we won’t have a problem.” you try to keep your voice steady, but he starts to apply more pressure to your clit, slowly circling it in a way that makes you slur your words toward the end.

“don’t have to tell me twice.”

you shouldn’t be this wet for him already, but you are. you feel him start to tease your entrance, his other palm kneading one of your breasts roughly. you whimper as he fully slides two fingers inside your warm cunt, recapturing your mouth with his own to quiet you down.

the music continues to thump from the floor below, and you’re pretty sure no one can hear you, though you both know you need to be quick.

the pressure is perfect, and you missed the way he feels all over you. he’s squeezing your hard nipples through your bikini top, thumb ghosting over your lower sensitive bud as he works you with his hand.

“more, chris, hurry up.” you beg with your forehead pressed against his, trying to tug at his board shorts even though you’re becoming weak in the knees as he curls his fingers.

he retracts them right then, and even though you immediately miss the tension you can’t wait for what’s to come. chris turns his focus towards shoving his trunks out of the way so that his erection can bounce free, and your hand instinctively goes to stroke him.

he cuts you off before you can, grabbing your wrist and spinning you around so quickly that you have to steady yourself by pressing your palms flat on the counter. he forces you to bend a bit more, ensuring that your ass pokes out as he caresses the curve of your hips.

“you’ve always been quite the brat.” chris shakes his head once, slapping his hand down against the side of your flesh playfully.

you let out a small whine, backing up further so that your wet core comes in contact with his shaft. he curses, wrapping a hand in your hair as the other grips your side.

“see? so impatient.” he chides before swiftly lining up with your entrance and ramming his cock inside you without warning.

you both moan, long and loud as he stretches you out. chris swears to god that you’re made for him, that nobody else will ever make him feel this euphoric. your back arches as he sets a fast pace, dragging your hips back so that your skin slaps together.

“fuck, you feel so—mmmn.” you groan as he trails his hand down the center of your stomach, roaming towards your puffy clit again.

you feel yourself shudder slightly, completely overwhelmed by the incredible amount of stimulation. you’re forced to stare at your reflection as chris holds your weak head up, your eyes tearing up a bit.

“tell me i’m the fucking best, baby.” he leans down to purr in your ear, snapping his hips so that he hits the perfect spot deep inside.

“you’re the fucking best.” you tell him truthfully, leaning into the momentum so that he bottoms out inside of you during every stroke.

chris admires all of it; the way your ass bounces when you come in contact with the top of his thighs, the feeling of your hair in his palm, the lewd expression of your face in the mirror.

he can feel your walls squeezing around him, and he chokes on another moan as he drills into you. you’re both nearly ready to explode, and the added pressure of his hand between your legs helps build the wave.

“m’close—shittt, keep going.” you demand in between your heavy pants.

“taking my dick so well, princess. wanna see you cum all over me.” chris pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, trying to stave off the familiar feeling of his orgasm closing in on him.

his strokes grow sloppier, though he tries his best to keep his pace as you praise him through your teeth. the band in the pit of your stomach is about to break, and it’s so hard to stay standing as you begin to tremble harder.

“oh my god, chris—!” you cry out, muscles tense and eyes screwed shut as you ride out the high.

“fuck yes.” he chants back.

his dick twitches, and he’s unable to hold it back any longer as you finish together. chris slows to a stop and you both shake slightly against each other, which allows him a moment to enjoy being inside of you before pulling out.

you don’t even have a second to think about what comes next before he reaches for the toilet paper to help clean you up. its habit now; he’s always loved caring for you, but he feels even more compelled now that you’re not together.

“i’ve got it.” you mumble quietly, still trying to find a way to speak up.

“let me help—” chris continues on regardless.

suddenly everything is too much, and you know you’re becoming overstimulated in an entirely different way. it feels so familiar, so domestic, and it rips through you like a bullet.

“no! i mean, just…just stop.” you snap, pushing him away so that you can do it yourself.

he puts his hands up, clearly confused by the sudden change in the atmosphere. you can’t blame him, considering you’d gotten just as caught up in the moment as he had.

“what’s wrong?” chris asks, though he’s scared to hear the answer.

“nothing,” you lie, twisting your bottoms back into place so that you can pull your skirt up, “but we shouldn’t have done that.”

he scoffs as he also gets re-dressed. “you didn’t seem to think that five minutes ago when you initiated it.”

you know you hurt him by saying it, but it hurts you even more because it’s the truth. you feel like an idiot for leaning into the temptation; it’s only going to make it all more complicated.

your eyes cloud with moisture as you look at him, and he eases the attitude instantly. the energy has once again shifted, and chris can visibly see the dismay written on your face.

“it was stupid because it doesn’t change anything. this still won’t work and we both know it, and it fucking sucks so much because shit like that only makes it harder to get over you.” your voice breaks pathetically, and you brush the first fallen tear from your cheek.

he takes a step forward, hands stretching out to hold either side of your head. it’s an uncontrollable reaction to seeing you cry.

and he knows it’s egocentric, but the last thing in the world he wants is for you to move on. chris can’t guarantee that you won’t if you’re not together, and he would never interfere if you found happiness elsewhere.

that doesn’t mean he can stand the thought of you finding it with anyone besides him though.

“so don’t get over me. be with me.”

a small sob passes by your lips, which are still raw from earlier. your hand quivers as you place it against his chest gently, forcing some space between you.

his arms drop back to his side in defeat, because he can tell that the physical contact is doing the exact opposite of helping.

“don’t say that. you know it’s not fair, to either of us. we’d just go around in circles, and i won’t let that happen. i won’t ruin all of the good by driving us into the ground.”

chris stills upon hearing this. he’s scared to move, scared to even breathe, because it means the moment will continue and he’ll inevitably watch you walk away.

“please, i’ll do anything. we can move in together, or plan extra trips just the two of us. i’ll…i’ll make the time, just don’t leave.” he pleads, forcibly holding himself back from reaching out for you again.

chris knows it won’t fix anything even as he says it. you’d be coming home to an empty apartment, and finding time to schedule a vacation would be nearly impossible. they’re some of the same things you’ve already talked about, it won’t stop you now.

you suck in a breath, trying to compose yourself to the best of your ability. it doesn’t really help, and you can’t meet his eye as you choke out the final sentence.

“i love you, but i have to go.”

chris feels his mouth open, but the words don’t come out. you turn on your heel without missing another beat, fumbling with the lock a bit before tearing the door open.

you finally hear his response as you go, faintly over your shoulder: it’s quiet confirmation that he loves you too.

@fawnchives @l9vesick @55sturn @luverboychris @teapartyprincess4two @pinksturniolo @mattinside @stonermattsgf @impureals @chrisactualwife @fikefries @riasturns @sofieeeeex @sturnzsun @sturniolossss @coquettecowg1rl @sturnedits

[archonsbane]

AND I TRY TO TALK REFINED

The one time Il Dottore speaks to you in another language, the one time he speaks to someone else in another language, and the one time you give him a taste of his own medicine.

pairing. dottore x reader

tags & content warnings. gn!reader. reader is the tsaritsa's child. reader is referred to by they/them. there's one (1) mildly suggestive sentence (and it's in a different language lol).

word count. 2.9k

author's note. so. i'm back from the dead. i have two fics for pantalone and one for diluc, around 8k+ words. (none of them are finished LMFAO) but of course i drop everything for this stupid ass man. the reader here is my tsaritsa’schild!reader, though this takes place before beauty is terror. this is set in the early days of their relationship and the start of dottore’s involvement in the fatui. reader's backstory is also implied here, but not outright stated. also i got inspiration from @fatuismooches lovely headcanons, though i strayed a bit far HAHA. thank you for letting me write this! and thank you to my two lovely delulu friends (you know who you are) bc i suddenly got into the mood to write because of them.  also, what is heavily implied to be the script of khaenri'ah in-game is based on latin, so i headcanon that latin is the language of khaenri'ah. also i had to sneak in a tsh reference lmfao it was too perfect not to. i promise i don't include it in all my fics it just so happens to be perfect for certain situations huhu. also i hope you guys catch all the little details i put in! reader and dottore have always been like this lol the title is from 'talk' by hozier.

You are undoubtedly the worst teacher Dottore has ever had, bar none. 

Flighty, distracted, and prone to seamlessly maneuvering to an entirely different topic without blinking an eye, leaving him dumbfounded. Your teaching sessions, if they could be called that, are filled with constant interrogations of his life and large infusions of food. Half the time you aren’t even teaching him, you’re simply rambling about whatever it is you ramble about (he’s learned to tune you out, partly because he doesn’t care and partly because he can’t understand what you’re saying). He is truly reconsidering forgoing learning Snezhnayan — at the pace you're going, he might as well take his chances and learn by himself.  

“But Mother said,” you remind him, petulantly, like a small child. Yes, the Tsaritsa commanded him to learn Snezhnayan, and commanded you to teach him, but he is greatly tempted to ask her to send another teacher. It has only been two weeks since your lessons begun and he might truly go mad. Sometimes he thinks this might be the worst thing a divine being has ever inflicted on him.

In truth, he already knows Snezhnayan, but only enough to hold a polite conversation. It is his least favorite of the languages he learned from his teachers in the Akademiya, and anyway, he never quite had a deftness for tongues. He is always most at home working with his hands, destroying and creating physical matter, covered in dust and soot, cracking open the world’s secrets like an egg. But the Tsartisa willed him to learn, and he is nothing if not a scholar. 

“But Mother said,” he mocks, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair. He’s learned that you have no convictions about his personality. If anything, you seemed to embrace it. Whereas he dons a respectful — as respectful as he can conjure, anyways — mask with the Jester and the Tsaritsa, it’s… looser, with you. Still, he is careful not to cross the line. He is only allowed this because he amuses you. You've been treating him like some sort of pet to be played with whenever you desire since his coming here. “Your mother also said to teach me how to speak Snezhnayan, but this is the third time you’ve called for snacks in three hours.” 

You flash a lazy glare at him and go back to eating your beloved pastilas. “You require a tremendous amount of effort to teach.” You’ve switched back to speaking the common tongue, obviously for his sake. “You’re a horrible student.” 

“You’re a horrible teacher!” 

You sniff and take another bite of your pastry. “You’re just really bad at learning.” 

For that, you get a glance heavenward. He is tempted to simply throttle you and be done with it. Treason seems like a fair price to pay for shutting you up. But he considers his options and decides that he would rather not be on the receiving end of your mother’s wrath — it’s too fucking cold here already. Still, greatly offended by this statement, he vents out his anger by cursing at you.

In the language of Sumeru. 

He does not really think of it; his use of his mother tongue has greatly decreased since coming here, but even then, it simply rolls off his tongue as naturally as water flows from a river's mouth.

Your brows shoot up. You open your mouth, pause, and for a moment he fears he is in danger of being exiled or thrown in the dungeon. But then you cock your head to the side. “What does that mean?” You ask. 

An idea unravels in his mind, sparkling with mischief. “It means you’re bad at teaching.” 

You frown. “For some reason, I feel like you’re lying.” 

He curses at you again. Your frown deepens. There is something so satisfying about the way those frustrated lines burrow into your face. When he does it a third time, you actually put down the pastila. 

“What does it mean?” You demand. “You aren’t saying anything bad, are you?” 

It means you’re an insufferable little bastard of mean intelligence and he hopes you fall into a ditch, so yes, he definitely is saying something bad. “It means you’re the most gorgeous, most wonderful person in the world,” he says, sarcasm dripping from the syllables. When you look genuinely taken aback, he lets out a cruel, derisive scoff. “It means you should trust me more.” 

“That seems like a horrible idea.” 

He shrugs and reaches over to take one of the pastilas, light pink with a white, foamy top, vaguely aware that another one of your language lessons has gone considerably off course. Perhaps that was too light a description. It shot in one direction and came speeding back the other way. “Suit yourself, Your Imperial Highness.” 

You smack his hand away, gently. Almost too gently. “Those are mine.” 

He eats it, anyway, and learns many new colorful Snezhnayan curses for it, though he detects no real annoyance in your voice. You ring for another batch of desserts. He counts it as a successful lesson. 

He continues speaking in Sumerian when you're near. It’s the greatest of treasures, seeing you frown and demand to know what he had just uttered in your presence. Sometimes he just says the first phrase that enters his head, most times he insults you and relishes in your clueless blinking. You can't do the same to him — he's been picking up on Snezhnayan at an exponential pace, and he's made sure to memorize all of the insults and swears first. Obviously. It’s his talent for machinations that he prides himself on, but lately, he’s been deriving vicious pleasure from the fact he can speak twenty languages, though it never mattered much to him before. It’s a good, safe outlet for his annoyance whenever you’re near, which you seem to always be, nowadays. 

Even outside the language ‘lessons’ (the word lessons being used extremely lightly) you seem to trail him wherever he goes. Ambushing him in the halls, materializing in the laboratory, and in general trailing him like some attention-starved puppy. He resents it, resents the stars that float through your eyes whenever he enters your view, resents the way you immediately disengage from whatever it was that you were doing to attach yourself to him, all smiles. 

He actively avoids you, but somehow you keep running into him. On purpose or accidentally, he has no idea. He suspects it is the former.

Today is one of those days. You’re by his side, again, chatting happily about… something. He’s trying to tune you out, focusing on the long walk back to his laboratories after a meeting with the Tsaritsa. He needs to do something about that, it’s woefully inconvenient to have to walk a mile every time she calls on him. Some sort of contraption that could go up and down easily would be of great use, and he wouldn’t have to climb so many fucking stairs.

Then — it happens. In your excitement, you bump into some government official accompanied by another, what his role is Dottore does not know and does not care to, but he must be quite high up if he allows himself to glare at you for an instant before it disappears into a cool stare. Or maybe he just has a lot of gall.

"Oh, my apologies sir," you murmur, ducking your head. 

"Quite alright, Your Highness," he says smoothly, "have a good day." He turns his back and starts to mutter to his companion, their heads bent together, completely unaware that with your godly senses and his recent enhancements to his body, you both can hear every word.

"How clumsy," the first man tuts, "what does their mother teach them? She's been too soft on them."

"She lets them run amok doing whatever they please. The other day, they—"

"—yes, I heard. Look at those clothes, aren't they too plain for the heir?"

His companion makes an agreeing noise. "And the company they keep… " 

Dottore doesn't particularly care about what other people think of him, and perhaps if it was only the last sentence that had been uttered he wouldn't have said a word, but the tirade of their complaints makes irritation, absurdly, flare inside him. He whips his head back to their retreating figures, and you throw him a glaring warning, so he clenches his jaw and stays where he is. He isn't one to do nothing, however. 

“Kol khara,” he says to them, viciously. Eat shit. He hears you stifle a sound that might be a laugh and briefly wonders why exactly you would laugh. 

The men turn back around. “Excuse me?” The first one says. 

“Nothing,” he says, curtly, his eyes like sharp daggers, “go on." They throw each other confused glances but say nothing further, going further down the hall until he can no longer see their backs. You both stay in the middle of the now-empty hallway, staring silently off into the distance.

You’ve never been able to contain your curiosity for long. After a good minute of silence, you turn inquisitive eyes on him. He’s been expecting your question.

"What did you say?" You ask.

He shrugs; makes a dismissive gesture with his hand. "Nothing."

You narrow your eyes. "I know it isn't nothing. It was something bad, right? You've said it to me before.” Clever you, he thinks briefly. Nothing gets past you. When he stays enclosed in icy silence, you press on further, “I won’t be mad. It doesn’t bother me — I think it’s funny. Just tell me.” He has no idea why you would ever think it’s funny. Nonetheless, he stays silent. 

You try again. “Tell me.” 

“No.” 

“Please?” 

“No.” 

“Tell me,” you say again, but this time you slip into the voice of the noble, unshakeable heir to Winter. The two words are a command, and they leave no room for argument. He must follow. 

He sighs and runs a hand down his face. “It means I want them to eat shit.” 

A moment of silence passes and Dottore wonders if he should start running. Then, you start to laugh. A small laugh, so small he almost thinks he could cup it in his hands and never let it go. But he recognizes it as different from the laughs you’ve given him before. This one is warm and sweet, conjured from the belly upwards. Summer in a sound. 

He tries very hard not to smile when he says, “you aren’t mad?” 

“No,” you say, still laughing, “I suppose I do deserve it.” He silently agrees. “Anyways, after coming to my defense, I forgive you.” 

He snarls, that sudden irritation reviving itself. “I wasn’t coming to your defense.” 

You shrug, not looking bothered at all. “Fine. Defending yourself and by extension — and complete coincidence — me.” 

He decides it is best not to argue, and listens quietly as you walk with him back to his laboratory, chatting happily away once more. If you notice that over the next few days, his outbursts toward you decrease, you say nothing of it. And if you notice he is insulting other people more in other languages, seemingly for the sole purpose of making you laugh, you say nothing of it, too. 

You’re speaking Sumerian. 

Fluent Sumerian. Rapid-fire Sumerian, without blinking or stumbling over your words. Clean, pure Sumerian, speaking everything with the perfect enunciation of a noble. You don’t notice him behind you, utterly bemused, as you speak to a foreign dignitary from his homeland. The First drags him out of the underground labs from time to time in order to socialize and familiarize himself with the political atmosphere, but Dottore lets you do all the work for him. You engage in polite small talk, though delivered with much more enthusiasm than necessary. But the words are barely intelligible in his head. It isn’t possible that you’ve learned how to speak fluent Sumerian in such a short about of time. He will begrudgingly admit your brightness, small as it is, but even he cannot master a language within a few months. Which means there must only be one conclusion. 

When you notice him, your face morphs into one of surprised panic. Oh. He’s sure his fury is plain to see. It’s at that precise moment the dignitary — Dottore does not see the point in blessings but, Archons bless her — chooses to excuse herself, leaving you open and without a proper excuse to escape with. 

“You can speak Sumerian,” he says, plainly, having immediately taken the empty spot at your side. You take  cautious, half-step backwards. 

You look both amused and slightly abashed. 

He grits his teeth. “For how long?” 

“... since I was five." A pause. You look thoughtful. "Actually, it was your Greater Lord Rukkhadevata who first taught me."

This new piece of information surprises him so much that the flames of his anger are snuffed out, if only for a second. Then they come back raging, and he cannot contain it.

"You knew what I was saying this entire time!" He rages, jabbing an accusing finger at you. You cringe away. "You could understand all of it!"

"Not all of it—" When you see the exasperation that crosses his face, you smile. "Alright. Most of it." 

You begin to walk away, but he furiously follows you. "You lied to me!"

"You were cursing me to my face. I think it's a fair exchange." You shrug with one shoulder, eyes sparkling with mischief. "It was funny, anyway. Your cluelessness, that is." And then, "you should know, now that you know — I can speak the main languages of each nation." 

"I can too," he says haughtily, raising his chin up at you. 

"Really?" You laugh. "Cubitum eamus?"

"What?"

"Nothing." 

"What does that mean?" He demands, only half aware he's repeating the interaction you once had over a plate of pink and white sweets. He's never heard a language sounding quite like that. Perhaps it could be a dialect, but it doesn't sound similar to any currently existing language. "What language is that?"

You deliver your coup de grâce with such smooth smugness on your face. "It's Khaenri'ahn." The dead language. 

He blinks. Opens his mouth dumbly. And lunges.

As he chases you through the halls, your laughter floats warm and clear in the frigid winter air. You easily outpace him, but perhaps out of pity, you let him catch you and drag you to — well, he doesn't exactly know where he's going, only that he does not want to let you escape his rage. You thrash in his arms like a trapped animal, still controlled by a laughing fit all the while. 

"I hate you," he grumbles later, when you've calmed him with a slice of strawberry cheesecake from the kitchens. He's still quite angry, but not angry enough to not accept your peace offering. "You're horrible."

"So are you." 

A pause, then, "Teach me Khaenri'ahn," he says, leaning forward, a bright idea sparking in his chest. "There's so many texts I have yet to decipher — you have no idea the knowledge I can grasp if you teach me." He thinks of the old Ruin Golems in Sumeru. How hard it was to learn how to control them! But with your help, with your knowledge, he could crack the world open like an egg and watch its secrets spill like yolk. 

"I thought I was a bad teacher."

"Bad is better than none at all."

The utterly offended look that flashes on your face teases a grin from his mouth. "You're horrible."

"So are you."

He thinks he sees the corner of your mouth involuntarily curl upward. You twirl your fork in your fingers, humming thoughtfully. "Why should I?" 

"... For the pleasure of contributing to my research?" The look you give him tells him you're not at all convinced. He continues, "My research that is so very essential to the success of this nation?"

You scoff, but you cannot deny it. He would not be alive if he wasn't useful to Snezhnaya.

"You'll owe me," you tell him. 

He shrugs. "There's worse things in the world. Let's start."

It startles you somewhat. "What, now?"

"Yes, now. Unless you have other things to do?" 

You don't. Your language lessons with him already ended when he reached an acceptable mastery over Snezhnayan according to your mother, and he knows that though you have a schedule (mysterious and utterly incomprehensible though it is — not even he has been able to figure it out), you'd drop everything in an instant if something else interests you. Your other engagements are often boring things, too, and the only duty you ever truly commit to are the strange missions your mother sends you on, ones that could go for months on end. He's fairly certain you'll acquiesce to his request.

You pretend to consider it, before shrugging with hardwon carelessness and saying, "Fine."

You're exactly the same. Flighty, distracted, and prone to seamlessly maneuvering to an entirely different topic without blinking an eye. Half the cheesecake is eaten before you even start on the alphabet, and the journey to that is filled with endless detours that consist of bickering, fighting over the (large) cake, and kicking each other like children under his work table. His intelligence is insulted more times in half an hour than in his entire years of study at the Akademiya.

Dottore decides, with solid determination, after eating the last slice of cake, finally learning the pronunciation of the vowels and consonants, and being on the receiving end of an onslaught of Khaeri’ahn curses he truly cannot understand — which is horribly ironic considering the past few weeks — that he might as well beg the Jester for lessons instead, and no one can do a damn thing about it. He tells this to you, chin up, resolute and unwavering in his declaration. 

He never does get around to doing that. 

[wantingsobad]

are you bored yet? | h.hj x reader (a,f)

masterlist

pairing : hwang hyunjin x reader (y/n)

content : established relationship, insecure!y/n, cutest bf ever hyunjin, lots of self-doubt, angsty with a little fluff at the end

word count : 1.7 k

“but i can’t help from asking ‘are you bored yet?’ ”

The cold pattering of the shower onto your skin has not encouraged the effect you had been hoping for.

You had hoped that the ice-cold water would bring you back to Earth for just long enough that you could do some chores that needed to be done, but in reality, you were now stood under the running water, zoning out into an infinitesimal space of self-destruction in your mind.

The last few weeks have consisted of a constant battering and bruising of your self-worth. But all of it was caused by your own insecure thoughts.

Hyunjin has been nothing but the best boyfriend you could ever ask for, carrying you in his heart so gently as if you are the most precious thing that has ever existed. He has cared for you these past few months of dating in ways nobody else has ever even attempted to care for you.

It’s honestly a picture-perfect relationship in everyone's eyes,

except for yours.

While dating someone who might as well be considered an angel who has fallen from the sky, the floods of insecure thoughts multiplied as the months passed.

He could do better.

They are all looking at you two differently. They think you don’t deserve him.

Why would he pick someone like you?

These thoughts have led to your current predicament in the freezing shower, a useless attempt to bring back any sanity to your discouraged self. You see how this attempt is ultimately futile, and you turn off the water stream, quickly drying off and stepping out of the shower just to plop down on the floor of your bathroom, leaning against the wall.

You haven’t seen nor really talked to Hyunjin in 12 days, an insanely long time considering how often you two would call or have coffee dates together in the early mornings of the day.

He has sent a few questioning messages about where you have been or how you are, to which you would respond with such a false sense of happiness, saying that you were ‘okay, just busy’ in the least amount of words possible.

That was bullshit, and even you knew that, but the thought of facing him now after spending hours lying in bed thinking about how horrible of a partner you are for Hyunjin sounds excruciating.

Avoidance isn’t a forever option, but right now, it’s the option that works best for you.

Until the ringing of your phone begins to sound. The unique chiming is one that you had specifically set for Hyunjin so you would know to always answer that call.

You think you would rather do anything than answer that call right now.

The ringing continues to go on. You are not even making a single movement towards your phone, just letting it ring and ring up on the bathroom countertop.

You close your eyes and rest your head back up against the wall, silently praying for the ringing to finally end so you can go back into your delusional fantasy land where you will never need to talk to Hyunjin.

The phone eventually stops ringing, but it is replaced by an erratic knocking on the front door of your apartment.

You slowly stand up, still wrapped in your towel, and walk towards the front door, carelessly letting the water fall off your body to form a trail following you to the door.

You stand in front of the door, not moving to open it, as you already know who’s behind it.

If you were wrong, then you would have no clue who it-

“Y/n? Are you home?”

Your guess was right. It’s Hyunjin.

You knew that this little game of hide and seek wouldn’t last long considering the type of guy that he is, caring about you so deeply that he would take the subway at 11 pm to make sure you were okay.

Yet, you still don’t open the door. You don’t know what you would say to him.

He still deserves better. Ignoring him is for his own benefit.

“Baby, I know you are there. Please just open the door. I want to see you…”

Shit. You thought you would be stronger than this but the next thing you know you are opening the door at the sound of his pleas.

The sight of him kills you. His face is flushed a deep red and his hair is tousled due to the extremes of the late autumn weather. A quick look to his hands shows a small bouquet of flowers and a small bag from a local bakery, likely containing your favorite pasty that they make.

He quickly throws himself into you, almost dropping what he’d been holding. The hug he envelopes you in makes you feel so incredibly guilty for ignoring him.

“Why are you here?” You ask while moving a little away from the hug to see his face clearly.

“I missed you so much. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” He lifts his free hand up to gently cradle the side of your face, “I just haven’t seen you in so long so I figured a surprise visit with some of your favorites would help relieve you from some of the stress of your busy schedule.”

Honestly, you wish you would just get swallowed up by the floor right now. Hearing him care so much after you have been lying to him for almost two weeks was a wild punch in the gut for you, the guilt almost unbearable.

And because of this, you move out of Hyunjin’s hold as tears start to stream down your face.

His face morphs into one of confusion and concern as he figured you would be happy to see him rather than sad.

“Hyunjin, i really think you should go home. It’s late,” you say, barely able to say this without your voice entirely failing on you.

“What? Are you okay? I’m not going home,” He steps further into your apartment closing the door behind him and setting his gifts on the floor before approaching you, waiting for you to seek comfort in him as you normally do.

But this time, you don’t move toward him. Rather, you take another step back as you avoid eye contact with him, not being able to deal with the hurt in his eyes. “I’m just not feeling well right now, Hyunjin. Thank you for coming to check up on me, but you should leave.”

“Stop calling me Hyunjin,” he says while walking further toward you so he can lift up your face so you will meet his eyes, “You never call me Hyunjin. Please tell me what’s wrong. Did I do something, baby?”

God, you wish he wasn’t the absolute sweetest soul in the world. Of course, it wasn’t because of him. He could never do anything wrong to you.

“No, it’s not you,” you quickly spill out, not wanting him to delve any deeper down that hole, “but it’s definitely because of me.”

He gives a confused quirk of his eyebrows and a sort of sad look in his eyes, “What do you mean? You haven’t done anything.”

“That’s exactly it, Jinnie. I haven’t done anything. I just don’t understand why you are here to see me when I’m just me. How are you not bored of me yet?” This comes out straggled through your sobs, and you are practically unable to get out the entire thing.

A quick look into his eyes immediately calls out every one of your idiotic insecurities to be horribly wrong as his care for you is reflected back to you.

“What are you even saying, baby?” He starts to tear up at your admission of conscience, feeling horrible himself for not treating you better (as if he wasn’t already treating you like a goddess beforehand). “I will never get bored of you. You are my everything, Y/n. My happiness. My comfort. My love.”

“But Jinnie-“ You try to speak out to stop him from continuing.

“No. There are no ‘buts’ here. I am here for a reason, baby, because I love you so much that I was worried sick that work had been stressing you out too much with how busy you’ve been. I hated thinking about you being miserable, so I came to see you. I missed you, and I wanted to talk to you. I love you, Y/n. Does that really seem like I’m ever going to be bored of you?” Hyunjin proclaims this with his full chest, reaching and holding onto your hands so tightly just to get his point across.

You don’t think you have ever been loved as well as Hyunjin loves you. He truly, unconditionally loves you with everything that he is able to give you.

You shatter the glass pane of insecurities, pushing past those insignificant thoughts to realize that you are more than lucky to have this great of a man here to love you. You run into his arms, holding him in the tightest hug you could give. “I’m so sorry, Jinnie. I love you, too, so so so so much.”

Hyunjin breathes out a deep, relieved sigh as he reciprocates the hug. He knows you have struggled in your past with feeling insecure, but he never thought you would ever feel that way when being with him.

He gives you time to get what you need from this hug until your grip on him loosens a little. He takes the initiative this time and pulls out of the hug, transferring his admiration for you from a hug into a deep kiss that takes you by surprise.

It’s a long kiss, one that you both need. It’s a shared sign of your love for each other as you both sigh into this kiss, revelling in the affection and warmth of the other.

After breaking the kiss when needing to breathe, you and Hyunjin look at each other. This is when you truly realize how enamoured you are with him, which you can see in his eyes is exactly how he’s looking at you, with only pure love.

“Thank you, Hyunjin. You are my prince.”

He laughs airily at this but responds, “Anything for you, my princess.”

You know that these insecurities will eventually come back, but now you know that your prince will come in to swoop you up and take you away from that evil into a land of happiness and love.

a/n : i’m sorry but hyunjin is just so boyfriend-coded that this needed to happen. this song is so good that i just had to use it as inspo. as always, requests are open and lmk how i did! - eb

[kazumist]

3 hours, 27 minutes, and maybe around 2 seconds. no, miya atsumu is not going insane. what do you mean? he's perfectly calm. but with the amount of missed calls, ignored messages, and attention that he's been giving to the time right now, maybe—just maybe—he's losing his mind a bit.

he had no idea what he had done wrong to deserve this. of course, there was the possibility that you slept in since it is currently a sunny saturday after all, but between you and atsumu, he was the one who would usually sleep in until god knows when.

atsumu had made prior plans for the day. and that was to go out on a walk with you (a quick date to a café as well), go back to his place, and either play video games with you and osamu or watch some movies while cuddling. a perfect plan for a lazy saturday if he had to say so himself, if only he didn't fail at the first step: asking you out for the day.

well, technically, he didn't fail. it's just that you have been responsive as of now. atsumu is at least 90% sure that he did nothing wrong. when he walked you home yesterday, you were quite fine! you even gave him a quick peck on the cheek before going inside your home (that made atsumu actually go to bed while smiling like an idiot, but of course you don't need to know that).

it took him another 5 minutes of waiting before saying fuck it, and getting himself ready to check up on you himself. (actually, he made sure to stop by a convenience store first to buy a few snacks to bring you.)

the moment the door in front of him opened, he expected to see you. but the one who greeted him instead was none other than your younger sibling. "are you here for (y/n)?" your sibling asked him. "uhm. yeah, i am. they haven't been responding to me at all," he says.

"sick in bed, so they've been there ever since this morning."

oh, so that's why you haven't been responding to him.

"can i come in then?"

your sibling opened the door more and stepped aside, a sign of inviting him, which he gladly accepted. he started heading to your room, a plastic bag filled with snacks still in hand. he gently knocks on your door, waiting for a go signal to get in.

"yes mom, i already took my medicine!" he heard you say in a sick voice. from what he could tell so far, your nose was probably clogged right now, which was why your voice sounded a bit different than before.

"i didn't know i was your mom now." atsumu chuckles.

"tsumu?"

"the one and only, baby."

"you can come in." your boyfriend gladly opens the door and waltzes into your room. however, he didn't expect you to be so wrapped in your blankets. "sorry about earlier. mom has been nagging me a bit about my medicine."

atsumu places the plastic bag on your desk nearby. "i tried reaching out to you everywhere, but you weren't responding, so i got worried and decided to check up on you," he says, proceeding to sit on the edge of your bed. you pull up the blanket on you, covering half of your face. "sorry about that, my phone died on me last night. it hurts me to move around right now, so i haven't plugged it in." 

"it's alright; you shouldn't move around that much anyway," atsumu replies before getting up and plugging your phone in right after. he was about to go closer until you stopped him. "wait! don't come closer."

"what? baby, why?"

"i might get you sick as well if you do," you pout.

he chuckles at your words: "my immune system is pretty strong, you know?"

"but still…"

"baby, it's fine." he kisses your forehead. "i got you some snacks, by the way, but with you being sick right now, i don't think you can eat 'em."

"awe.. just one bite?"

now, don't look at him that way. not when you both know he's weak to that pleading look on your face, especially with those pouty lips that he'd love to kiss right now if you weren't having a burning fever at the moment.

"fine… just one."

yet one turned into two, two turned into three, and so on!

if there's one thing that could make miya atsumu weak in the knees, it's you.

(by the time your boyfriend got home, he was sneezing, and when the time came, it was your turn to take care of him now.)

a/n: i dont like this one bit tbh... i also forgot to change the you and your to ya and yer 😭 probably ooc atsumu but this is just pure word vom 🧍‍♀️

[ilguna]

im sorry, i know you are looking for some request from other fandoms, but this one just seemed so perfect :(

from piano sessions, my tears ricochet by taylor swift with finnick?

i promise i will send another request with a different fandom, and it's totally ok if you don't want to write this ❤️ and of course, CONGRATULATIONS!

☼ my tears ricochet pt1 (Finnick Odair) ☼

warnings; swearing, death mention.

wc; 2.5k

prompt; Piano Sessions: songfic, my tears ricochet by taylor swift.

part two.

—

When you briefly met Commander Paylor in District Two before the Capitol invasion, she struck you as more of a leader than President Coin. Which was odd, considering that Paylor was a textile worker, burdened with the responsibility of organizing rebel attacks.

She’s a polite person to be around, confident in the way she holds herself, speaking with unwavering authority. You didn’t feel the need to lower your voice in her presence, because she wanted to know what you had to say. It was a nice change from where you’d been under Coin in District Thirteen.

There, you felt like if you breathed too loudly, it would get back to her. The amount of times she called you into Command simply because you were badmouthing her to the former residents of District Twelve was a little ridiculous. You aren’t entirely sure who heard you and reported it, or why Coin cared so damn much.

She must’ve assumed that you had an influence on the people, which she was wrong about. The only times you brought up her flaws was when someone else asked you what you thought of her. Oftentimes, it was because they were too afraid to be the one to say it first.

You could see right through her, like a sheet of tracing paper. The steps she’d taken in order to preserve her own self-image were done out of insecurity. She was afraid that if someone rose too high, they’d sweep the power right from underneath her. That’s why she was so willing to let Katniss go into danger.

All she had to do was win the rebellion, and she’d get control over Panem. And once she did, she showed her true colors. You knew the moment she suggested a symbolic Hunger Games that she wasn’t the right person to be in that chair. Even if a few of the others agreed to letting her do that, you knew they were resentful that she wanted to punish the Capitol in the same way they’d punished the districts for seventy-five years.

She missed one important factor, though. There was a reason why you were following behind Katniss Everdeen and not her. You trusted Katniss to make the right choices, and she never failed you. That’s why you knew that she wouldn’t let Coin announce the proposition.

That same evening, Snow’s execution was to take place. Instead, she found herself humiliated, with an arrow through her cold heart. Katniss took out the only evil left in a position of power, knowing full well that she could’ve gotten killed by the rebels for it. 

Chaos followed this, an emergency election took place, where Paylor was given the position of President. In the weeks that followed, there was a televised trial, where everyone that was close to Katniss, was called to the stand to give statements on her character.

During this time, you weren’t allowed to go home to visit. You were forced to stay in the Capitol, because they could call for you to speak at any moment. And even worse, they’d placed you in a room with Finnick, because they were still under the assumption that you were together.

You weren’t. You and Finnick had been broken up for at least two and a half weeks, since the day that Boggs had died in the apartment complex courtyard. 

The argument wouldn’t come until hours later, when you’d made it several blocks down the street, holed up inside of a different apartment to catch your breath and sort out a plan. After you watched the Peacekeepers destroy the building on live television, announcing you all dead, Finnick said that he wanted to take a walk to get some fresh air.

You went with him, mostly for safety in numbers, but also because you knew he secretly wanted the company. You went halfway around the block without an issue, but when you were about to turn the corner, the armed vehicle pulled up beside you, and the Peacekeepers started flooding out. 

As you’d begun to curse the idea, Finnick started talking to the Peacekeepers, calmly, hands raised in the air. He told them that it would be a bad idea to kill you two on the street, because it would alert the others, and they’d run. However, he told them that if they tried to take you two by force, they’d find themselves in the same position.

You were morbidly curious on how Finnick would charm his way out of this one, when you realized that he wasn’t going to. He was giving them the information on how to catch you. He told them that the squad had off-handedly mentioned going into the sewers to evade the Pods. The best way to catch you guys would be, then. 

And as long as the Peacekeepers let you two go, and didn’t interfere between the time you got to the apartment and into the sewers, he wouldn’t tell the squad about this encounter. To your surprise, the Peacekeepers agreed, letting you go.

The way back to the apartment was quiet. You were too stunned to say anything, wondering how Finnick had gone from the person to sacrifice himself, to doing the opposite. He knew your silence wasn’t anything good, which is why he told you that he wouldn’t let anything happen to you. 

You weren’t upset by that. You weren’t scared that the Capitol was going to throw everything at you to either kill or capture you. You knew that when it came down to it, you’d keep yourself alive. It was the part after, when he told you not to say anything to the squad, did you finally crack.

You broke up with Finnick on the street.

To his credit, he upheld his promise of keeping you safe. The issue is that courtesy wasn’t given to any of the other squad members. Half of them died. Messalla, Jackson, Leeg, Castor and Homes were lost in the sewers. Something that didn’t need to happen, if he’d let you two get taken.

Whether or not he wanted to admit it out loud, Finnick was terrified that the topic would somehow get brought up in court. It was all he ever talked about when he got the chance. That there was a chance that the people you’d trusted for the past year could find out he betrayed them.

And against your better judgement, you told Finnick that what happened with the Peacekeepers would stay between the two of you. If it meant that he would stop worrying about it, you’d never breathe a word. Besides, if it did get out, it would destroy the both of you, not just him. 

He’d get it because he’s the one that told the Peacekeepers, and ensured that you all went into the sewers. You would go down because you didn’t say anything about it, despite having a whole hour to do so.

You should never have told him this, because it’s what sparked the idea for his stupid decision in the first place.

Finnick got questioned before you did. It was simple, straight-forward. They wanted to know Katniss’s mindset during your journey through the Capitol, if there was anything out of the ordinary. When he got to the part of the story after Boggs had died and you holed up in the apartment, he tried to completely skip over your walk outside.

The man that was asking the questions, didn’t let this slide. He knew the two of you had taken a walk. You think he was trying to make smalltalk, now that you’re looking back at it. But Finnick must’ve panicked, because he let everything spill, the same way he had when he exposed Snow for the victor prostitution.

The issue is that he spun the story.

Finnick turned the blame around entirely, and he did so effortlessly, as if he’d been rehearsing it for days in a row. He told the court that yes, you had gone on a walk together so he could clear his head. However, a Peacekeeper truck pulled up, and that’s when you talked your way out of getting captured, by offering Katniss up as a sacrifice.

The entire courtroom filled with silence when that word left his mouth. Dozens of pairs of eyes landed on you, but you were looking at Finnick. There was only one word that chanted through your mind, getting louder as the seconds ticked on.

Wrong.

Even the man that was questioning him was confused, asking him to elaborate. That’s when Finnick repeated the events, twisting the truth to put you in the hot seat. You were the one that calmly spoke to them with your hands raised. You were the one that told the Peacekeepers about the sewers. You were the one that threatened Finnick if he spoke about it.

He was the one that broke up with you out of fear.

“Wrong.” You breathed, getting to your feet. “You’re the one that did all of that, Finnick!”

The judge had you removed from the courtroom, while they wrapped up the trial without your statement. You were supposed to go on stand that same day, but they ruled you out, because you were too emotionally unstable to be seen.

Reasonably so, because it was only thirty minutes later, did you realize that the entirety of Panem had just watched Finnick lie straight through his perfectly white teeth. And you’d never get the chance to explain yourself to anybody, because they wouldn’t see you.

Finnick was removed from your mansion bedroom, leaving you here alone. No one saw you for several days on end, except to leave food at your door. You were stuck watching the trial from the television, and it ended yesterday, with the conclusion that Katniss was under so much pressure the day that she killed Coin, that she was deemed not mentally sound. 

And of course, you’ve received blame for that, too. If she hadn’t witnessed so many people get murdered in the sewers because of your actions to sell the squad out, she would’ve been able to think straight during the execution. In this situation, you’re the monster, and Finnick has been deemed the hero for coming forward with the truth.

You think that you can come back from this, though. The people around you just need time away, to cool down from the trial. Once it’s been a few months, you’ll come back with a proper explanation, appeal to Paylor, because she’s the level-headed one, after all.

Right now, you want to get home.

There’s a hovercraft waiting in the City Circle for the victors. It’ll be a long trip as you drop off the others on the way to District Four, but you don’t mind. You’ve been craving your bed ever since you got to District Thirteen. It’s been months since you’ve had proper time to relax.

Paylor is waiting in front of the front door with a couple of rebel guards. Once you get close enough, they move to block the way. Your eyes switch between them and her, confused.

“What’s happening?” You ask.

“I regret to inform you that you will not be able to go back to District Four.” Paylor tells you in a measured voice. “There were quite a few complaints regarding your actions, and the general consensus is that they wouldn’t feel safe if you were to arrive in District Four and choose to stay there.”

“They wouldn’t feel safe?” You ask, face contorting. “How many times do I have to tell you that Finnick is the one that told the Peacekeepers about the sewers?”

She closes her eyes. “We have no proof that you weren’t the one that told them. They want to be safe, rather than sorry.”

You side step, trying to see over the guard’s shoulders. You find that Finnick has stepped foot off the hovercraft, standing at the bottom of the ramp, hands in his pockets. You begin to shake your head at him.

“I want to speak to him.” You tell her, ignoring what she’s said. “I want to speak to Finnick before he gets to go home and I don’t.”

“Step back.” She orders you.

You listen to her, watching as she slips through the gap between the guard and the door. She walks down the runway, with Finnick meeting her in the middle. The two of them talk for a brief moment, where it ends with him nodding. Paylor motions to tell the guards to let you through.

They move aside, you go down the steps, heading straight for Finnick. He doesn’t move, allowing you to go to him. Paylor leaves to go back to the mansion, allowing you to speak privately.

“Finnick.” You snap, slamming your hands against his chest, hands gripping on the front of his shirt. You pull him forward. “You set me up. You son of a bitch. They’re not letting me get on!”

Finnick presses his hands to your shoulders, pushing you away. “I know.”

“Tell them you lied.” You shake him. “You don’t have to tell them it was you, just tell them you fucking lied.”

“I’m not.” He tells you. “This is your own fault, (Y/n).”

“How is this my fault?” You demand. “I promised you!”

“You broke up with me.” He’s calm, which is making you agitated. “After I made sure you got out of the sewers safely, you didn’t think to apologize. It was the right move to make.”

“Why would I?” You hiss. “Your actions murdered people.”

He makes a face. “Let go of me.”

“Everything I have is in District Four. My home, my pictures, my belongings. My entire life is there, and you’re the only thing standing in the way of me going. Just tell them you lied, and I’ll leave you alone.”

Finnick pulls your hands off of his shirt. “You have District Two, didn’t Paylor tell you? They said that they’d take you and Gale in.”

Gale, a bitter name in your mouth.

“I don’t belong there, and you know it.” You say.

“It doesn’t have to be there. You can go anywhere you want, (Y/n).”

“Anywhere I want.” You echo, as if it’s a cruel joke, blood boiling. “Just not home.”

“Maybe they’ll let you back sometime in the future.” Finnick begins to back up toward the hovercraft. “I can’t promise you that your house will be there. I heard from Annie that they set it on fire the same night I told them the truth. You’ll be lucky if there’s still ashes.”

“You’re going to regret this, Finnick.” You don’t move from where you stand. “This is going to haunt you for the rest of your life. Each time you look at the other side of the street, it’ll kill you knowing that you did this to me.”

“We’ll see about that.”

--

this was part of my 3k celebration! thank you anon!!

[wizardsix]

ok... so I have finally finished veilguard after about 90 painful hours (two playthroughs). im not gonna write an actual review about all of my detailed thoughts bc it'll actually take days, this is just to at least get my general thoughts out and see if anyone else feels the same or if ive actually lost it.

overall it is the weakest dragon age game story-wise, and I'd give it a nice lukewarm 4/10.

(i wrote this post right after I finished the game on the weekend so maybe I sound a bit harsh, I tried to edit it to be more reasonable lol but I didn't really want to delete this since I do still stand by a lot of this)

I really tried to go in with an open mind, bc I always want to experience media in full before making any kind of judgement, but about a few hours in I had this horrible feeling that once again this was another soulless, rushed game, and I still don't feel any different after finishing the game.

what stuck out to me was that there's no sense of urgency despite what the plot is, serious topics are not treated with care as the writing overall is shallow, and the gods as well as any other enemy you encounter are just cartoon villains (and apparently the lore retconning, but I'm not well-versed enough to dissect that so I won't).

I can't take this plot seriously when it feels so disjointed and forced and lazy. and I see no point in caring about anything when choices literally don't matter. no say in who you recruit, no say in the relationships with them and they have almost no awareness of rook, definitely doesn't matter if you have allies or not bc they show up anyway, and only four companions are locked into unavoidable decisions where one of them bites the dust no matter what (which is strange bc why are harding and davrin forced to die no matter if they're at hero status while bellara and neve can literally survive blight if they're at hero status), so it's impossible to try to strategize for better (or worse) outcomes with all the people you've gathered when there's only one right answer that the game pretty much tells you instead of letting you think for yourself (and side note this game does an incredible amount of hand holding). the game actively tries to trick you into thinking your choices matter with the onscreen notifications, but nothing matters bc the devs clearly had only one story in mind and for some reason lied that it had "complex choices".

also rook in general wasn't interesting as a protagonist bc they were written to be perfect. they always know what to say and are so supportive of everyone. they never struggle with anything. not even with leadership beyond "man leading a team is hard :/" but it doesn't actually show how hard it is by having actual volatile conflict between the companions* or showing how their plans sometimes fail. which, if we actually had choices that mattered, would have helped develop that struggle. also? what's with everyone being so friendly? I'm not gonna get into that but everyone is so eerily nice and it's been said a lot but yeah, the world is extremely sanitized and devoid of any real conflict aside from the gods I guess.

*(like off the top of my head cassandra fighting with varric and accusing him of not being on their side or how the inquisitor can literally punch dorian and solas if approval is low enough or fenris and anders bordering on killing each other is not the same as lucanis and davrin distrusting each other or people being uncomfortable with emmrich's necromancy. it just scratches the surface of conflict and never goes anywhere)

and let me say real quick again, there's nothing wrong if they wanted to make a more rigid story about being a hero. it's been done a million times and it can be executed well, but if you do that you need to make sure you 1) don't lie to people and 2) actually flesh out your (especially main) characters and plot to give people a reason to care. look at dragon age 2. hawke is a fixed protagonist with their own life front and center. they ultimately only have two choices (siding with mages or templars), but it works bc the game took time to build up the conflict straight from act 1 so by the time chaos happens in act 2 and 3 you understand why bc it's Been brewing the whole time. it just makes sense. the villains as well have sound reasons and feel real instead of being evil just bc. the story is more grounded, yet you have choices. you decide if hawke ends up alone or not. you decide how they approach situations with force or diplomacy. there's none of that in veilguard. a game that supposedly took 10 years to make. when dragon age 2 took almost 16 months (yes I know da2 also has problems like the fact that the templars are always proven right but this isn't the place to dissect that).

I want to be fair though and I do want to restate what I enjoyed about the game. the cc (though would it kill them to have more variety in face textures like age and body types beyond average.. also no colour wheel... especially since they claimed their cc was so good), the map progression/visuals/exploration (how certain places become more blighted overtime), the factions (though I feel there should have been more content for your faction, and helping them or not should have mattered more), the combat (did not feel like a slog, pretty fun and mindless), the companions (bellara, davrin, emmrich, harding, and lucanis had solid personalities and stories despite my complaints. neve was not memorable and I just feel sad for taash's bad writing), certain parts of the story were good, the intro and the point of no return sequences were solid, and the ending didn't feel rushed or boring compared to inquisition. and yes, I do appreciate that rook can be trans, I just think a little more subtly and care would've been nice.

another thing I did like and predicted was that varric died at the beginning of veilguard, and for a second I actually enjoyed that because i thought we were finally (a bit too late tho) getting some depth to rook and their own struggles of accepting his death and carrying this weight without him. and while I do think maybe they should've taken more time to establish the mentor/mentee relationship so we really feel rooks regret, I still think it was at least the right direction where in their grief they still see him, giving advice and narrating their journey.....but then it turned out to just be solas manipulating them the whole time, immediately destroying any emotional weight this reveal had.

whenever bioware has good ideas they shoot themselves in the foot and make it about solas. it's like nothing in the world exists without solas being involved somehow, and that is just incredibly boring and uninspired to me. not to mention solas just being an insufferable ass the whole time, which is fine, but it's not even in a compelling way like he used to be. he became so ugly by the end and the fact that the devs consider redeeming him the "good ending" and not giving him what he deserves is very telling and once again shows their own bias is king over good storytelling (solas' feelings should not come into play here, whether you/your companions live or die should determine good/bad ending since solas is trapped no matter what, only difference is who is trapped with him. idk but I personally think different endings actually means different outcomes). i will not go into the bs of the secret post credit scene, bc frankly I'm fed up with bioware's shitty writing and I won't be playing their next world ending space aliens game (unless they miraculously pull a good story out of their ass but lbr).

overall the bad outweighs the good for me. it's fun to play as a game, it's a decent fantasy game, but the story just doesn't do anything for me. sometimes I wonder if dreadwolf was a completely different game and was scrapped for veilguard last minute. maybe this was yet another inevitable industry fuck up and maybe there was a good story planned at one point. idk. all I know is bioware lied. respect and credit to the poor devs and writers who actually cared and to those who were kicked from the project, but in the end bioware promised too much and delivered too little.

[obislittleone]

The Winner Takes It All

Episode 2

Pairing: Finnick Odair x Tribute(OC)!Reader

Chapter Warnings: Angst, but the good kind. The Hunger Games are a bitch. Finnick should be a warning tbh... mild bullying but nothing wild.

Chapter Summary: After saying goodbye to your family, you and your tribute counterpart will board the train, meeting two mentors who may help you survive the bloodbath of the arena. Of course, one of them is Finnick Odair, so maybe the bloodbath will start before you even reach the capitol.

Word Count: 3.5k

It's only gonna get worse from here, guys... (and by that I mean it gets so much better as far as drama goes)

Lukas looked to you with concern, but couldn’t see your reaction as your features were hidden from him by your downward stare. Your hands were trembling, that was enough of an indication.  “Wait a minute,” Finnick furrowed his brows and leaned forward, examining the face of the boy, which he could see quite clearly. Worry resided there, but not for himself. You felt his eyes shift to you as soon as it happened, and they practically burned holes into the top of your head until you straightened your neck and met his eyeline. “You can’t be serious…”

He was the last winner from district four. A fourteen year old boy reaped during a year without career volunteers. A determined young man, hardened by the sting of the Capitol’s arena. Whispers through four were that it would be the same this year. No career tributes, only what has been reaped. 

Finnick does not think badly of this, quite the opposite, actually. Careers, though mostly prepared for what the games will hold, are almost always the most arrogant tributes. They think the training they have received is enough to prepare them for what it's like to be hunted, and to hunt down and kill others just like them. No amount of sparring rounds, or hours of weapons training can prepare you for that. Not mentally, at least.

He’s made up his mind about this year. He’s tired of watching kids go into that arena and not come out of it. He’s tired of seeing new faces every year, trying to help them only to realize they were never going to win in the first place. He knows it sounds twisted, and he knows what it will cost, but he’s promised himself a victor this year. Whoever is pulled from those bowls today, he knows that he won’t rest until one of them has a house across from his and Mags. He knows that no matter the age, gender, or lack of skills, one of them is going to win. 

He is so determined not to lose two more tributes. He’s so focused on making it his reality, he doesn’t even think about what he might have to do. He just knows that he’s willing to do it, when the time comes. 

Standing in the victor’s circle at the reaping is far better than standing amongst the gender separated crowds, but it still isn’t comforting. His hands are sweaty as he fiddles with them behind his back, waiting on the Capitol escort, Arbin, to finish his practiced lines. 

The first boy is a volunteer. Non career, but built just the same as one. Already, Finnick breathes a sigh of relief when he realizes the initial first pick would not have to go. This boy looked eighteen, seventeen at least, and was strong and handsome. A perfect tribute in all aspects. 

As Arbin made another unhumorous joke, teetering on his toes towards the girl’s bowl, Finnick somehow felt guilty. He’d already assumed the boy would be his victor, and he hadn’t even given the unpicked girl a chance. He hoped, now, that perhaps it was someone less than capable. The thought in and of itself was awful, but he didn’t want to be the one feeling guilty when one tribute left the arena and the other stayed as a permanent addition.

“Mercedes Blythe.”

An unknown name, like most of the others. The face that matched it was sullen… but damn, she was as good a tribute in any comparison to her counterpart. Eighteen, tall, strong looking, and beautiful. The sadness in her eyes reflected that of those she knew, but he couldn’t think about that. All he could think about was that his promise to himself would come at a great cost, whichever way it went. 

-

Arbin was kind, as you’d learned immediately after leaving the stage. He seemed to understand the weight of this event, despite seeming so joyful about it only minutes ago. He’d explained that you were on your way to the district’s processing center, where you would meet with your families one more time before getting on a train to the Capitol. You hadn’t spoken since the reaping. You knew that anything that came out of your mouth would only be unpleasant to hear anyway, and so far, Lukas had done a good enough job of asking all the questions you had on your mind. 

The room you met your family in was small, but it felt too large as soon as you stepped into it. The high ceiling must have played tricks on you. 

Your mother was hysterical, as you felt she must have been since the calling of your name. 

“M-mama, I’m sor-ry,” you sputtered out, reaching for her as she did. Once she had you in her arms she clung as tightly as she possibly could. 

“You have nothing to be sorry for, baby. It’s not your fault,” she shook her head, backing away only to look at your face. She had hoped this day would never come, but here you stood, tears on your cheeks and only a minute between now and a long train ride. She didn’t want to even think about what would happen to you once you left her sight. She just wanted to hold you for as long as she could. 

You saw your father standing behind her, holding the baby tightly as if trying to console himself apart from being able to hug you as well. He wouldn’t dare tell his wife to let go, not when he knows she may never see you again, but he wants to give you one last thing that he’s sorry he didn’t give you sooner. 

His gratitude. 

For putting your name in the bowl to eat, instead of taking the rations he needed in order to heal when he’d been so sick. That was the reason you were in this mess. He got sick, and his bones became so frail he broke his arm in a rigging accident… and you paid the price of his healing. If anyone should apologize it's him, but he knows you’ll just struggle to tell him not to. Still, as you leave the arms of your mother and look to him, he has to try. 

“I’m so sorry, little bear,” he tried not to show how much the emotion built up within him, but it boiled over without him even realizing it had. You leaned into him, an arm around your baby brother who may never remember you even existed. In three weeks there would be a victor, and you were almost certain it would not be you.

“I-it’s alright, papa. Y-you take c-care of mama for m-me, okay?” you asked, the nod of his head the best response he could muster and he leaned into you the best he could while holding the baby. He kissed the top of your head, inhaling the scent and trying to commit it to memory, that his daughter’s hair had smelled like fresh spring water from the center of the district. 

“I know I haven’t said it much, but you gotta know we’ve always been so proud of you. And it doesn’t matter what you do in that arena, if you have to do some bad things in order to come home, we will still be proud of you.”

You couldn’t have cried any harder after that, and feeling the arms of your mother once again coming around you, locking you together with your father and brother, you felt the last bit of peace you thought you would ever know. 

The peacekeepers were the ones to break apart the family moment, ushering you away to meet Lukas in the hall. 

-

Arbin pushed you both onto the train hurriedly, knowing that ‘wanting to see the shoreline from here, one last time,’ was only a way that Lukas could stall leaving the district. No one ever leaves their districts, so being made to not only leave, but basically being forced to go and die, made you both nervous to step aboard the transport that would take you there.

“Allow me to introduce your mentors,” Arbin stood by them, kind smiles on both their faces when they first saw you up close. “Mags Flanagan, 11th victor… and Finnick Odair, 65th victor.”

Mags didn’t say anything, but gave a warm handshake to you both, her opposite hand coming overtop of yours when she did each time. Finnick nodded to you both, a bit colder of a greeting, but probably to keep a necessary distance. His games were six years ago, they’re probably still fresh, and he doesn’t like getting close to the tributes. You can understand that. 

“I’m Lukas, this is Merce-” 

“We know. We were at the reaping,” Finnick stopped him short of his sentence, and you couldn’t help but be a bit annoyed at it. Surely, he was not so cold that he would forgo a simple introduction?

“Alright.” Lukas dropped his smile, which he’d forced onto his face originally, and replaced it with a look of irritation. He had his opinion on all of this, obviously, and wanted to know more than just these mentor’s names. “So, what now?”

Arbin seemed shocked at the seemingly polite boy’s lack of decorum for proper conversation. 

“Do we just sit here and wait until they shove us in that arena? Or are you meant to help us?” 

He wasn’t playing around, and his tone along with his words made Finnick smile. 

“Excellent question. See, I’m not much one for pleasantries, but this I can work with,” he turned around when he finished talking, waving his hand for you both to follow him. 

The car on the train you’d been led to was glorious. All the food you could possibly eat, the softest seats you’d ever imagined could be on a transport, and oh, the view was something to take in. The crested and sun topped mountains were unlike anything you’d ever seen before. You weren’t even out of district four, technically, but you’d never been away from the water a day in your life… ironic as it sounds. 

“First things first. Tell me something about yourselves that you think is captivating.”

Captivating? What did that have anything to do with fighting to the death in the hunger games? You hadn’t barely watched them before, too afraid of what it might have meant if you were reaped, but you were certain it wasn’t that kind of show. 

“I can swim a mile in twenty minutes,” Lukas answered first, something easy off the top of his head. 

“That’s not gonna work. You’re from four, half the boys your age or under can do the same. It has to be something personal, intimate. Something that gives insight to you as a tribute.”

“I c-collect rare cockle sh-shells,” you piped up. Finnick turned to you with raised brows, unexpecting the answer you gave, but not because of the words.

He had to blink a few times, and shake his head to get out of his thoughts in order to respond. 

“Yeah, that’s uh-” he cleared his throat, finally able to get it out. “That’s good.”

There’s the catch. Two perfect tributes, except one has a severe stutter.

The conversation continued, but after his reaction, you spoke only when you thought it was absolutely necessary. 

It was sad, the way he looked at you, nearly shocked at first before his eyes fell with a feeling unknown, something akin to pity, but worse. Something that not only felt sorry for you, but wanted to not have to deal with it. Pity, mixed with a kind of annoyance, that was not only evident but outstanding. 

Later in the evening, you were both shown to your rooms, exact copies of one another, separated by a train car in between, where the victor's rooms were. 

The victors, Mags and Finnick, but only one of them seemed really keen on giving his input. The other was just too kind and too gentle, willing herself more to give over her sympathies and compassion. You understood her. She wasn’t violent by nature, and you felt that even though his exterior was cocky and arrogant, Finnick had more beneath his rough and tumble outer layers as well. 

Mags spoke through sign language, and though you weren’t fluent, you could well figure out what she was saying to you. You were not quick to reply each time, but you much preferred the slow movements of your hands to a stuttering word. 

She’d been the one to lead you into the car one over, opening your door for you and allowing you to settle in. It had been a hard day, and she knew that there was nothing worse than having to be thrust into these circumstances. Even in her old age, she remembers it well, remembers her arena and the people who died beside her. She remembers their faces, frozen faces stuck with horror that would forever remain in their lifeless eyes. She remembers her victory tour, and how big of a deal it was. She was the first to experience a new era of the hunger games, something more vile and twisted than before. It was not just a symbol anymore, it was a show, complete pageantry being put on before the eyes of the Capitol, where the children taken must pretend like they are happy about their fate. Where they must smile and wave and endorse the ways of the Capitol before being pushed into an arena to die. 

She sees herself in you. Strong, brave hearted, but still afraid to die. She’s seen herself in many female tributes over the years, having not raised a victor in any thus far. It saddens her to think you will be just another one of the many, with an end just the same. Cold and dead eyes looking to the sky of the arena, stuck to the ground by another tribute you’ll encounter. She hates to think of it, but having lost every one of them, it plagues her. 

You thanked her for helping you, not just for leading you to your room, but for looking out for you. You knew there was only so much she would be able to do, but you appreciated the way she willingly did it, even when Finnick insisted on taking the lead with the preparations this year.

She nodded with a smile before leaving you to rest. The day ahead would be much more intimidating, and she knew how vital it was to be prepared for the culture shock of entering the Capitol.

-

Abrin droned on, listing the great commodities that you were going to have accessible. Coming from a wealthier district, it wasn’t terribly different, but being in the lower class of four, you would take the time to appreciate some things. The promise of constantly hot running water sounds phenomenal. 

All the while he’d been speaking, you opted to simply listen and not join in under any circumstances. It was now your greatest mission to avoid speaking in front of Finnick Odair at any cost. It just so happened that sitting in the main car of the train, there was a dessert cart set up before you, so you didn’t really need to bite your tongue all that much.

“Will we have access to training facilities that mimic the arena?” Lukas’ voice broke the long ramble of the excited Capitol member, and leaned forward in wait for the answer. He felt that it was far more important to have something practical in his favor. What good were any of the other commodities if you didn’t live long enough to use them?

“Not quite anything that mimics the arena. The games are all about the entertainment factor, that’s why everything is kept a secret until they call showtime,” Finnick interjected, a less than favorable look on his face when he mentions a few specific words. “Training facilities are provided but won’t give you any hints, trust me. They will open it to the tributes a day before evaluation, so you’ll have to be wise with the time spent.”

“If we’re unsure of what the arena contains, how will we know what to focus on?” 

You were so grateful for Lukas at this moment. He voiced all of the things you knew you would have a hard time trying to say, and did it in half the time. A swift and simple conversation, and by observing it, you would learn everything you needed to know, 

“Most of the careers will stick with what they’re best at. They test their limits and see how far their strengths can go… it always impresses the game-makers, and often is the deciding factor in what weapons will be available in the cornucopia.”

There was something strange about the way he phrased it. He said it was what most careers did, but you weren’t technically a career, and neither was Lukas, though he volunteered like one.

“W-what do you s-suggest?” You felt embarrassed at the way he looked at you when you asked the question. He was so full of pity. Though you often felt bad for yourself and the way you sounded to others, you didn’t like being looked at like an injured animal. You were just trying to ask a question.

Still he looked intrigued. You didn’t seem very keen on surviving, and yet here you were, inquiring about his personal advice.

“I suggest working on your weaknesses. The arena is completely unpredictable, but it becomes easier when you’ve covered your bases,” he paused, tilting his head around. “Still spend time on testing your strengths. Like I said, this is a show, and people aren’t watching to see you learn a new skill.”

You looked to Lukas, and he almost read your mind. You didn’t want to ask about it, but knew he could bring it up easier, without the hassle of forming the wrong words and them sounded uncertain altogether. 

“There’s always sources of water in the arena... Are there any pools to practice in?” 

Finnick laughed and nodded, looking at Lukas with a face of confusion. 

“There are some… but I hardly think either of you would need to spend time there.”

You lowered your head, continuing to pick at the small foods on the little rolling cart before you. You had been pretty silent this whole time, surely he wouldn’t read it as strange right now. 

Lukas looked to you with concern, but couldn’t see your reaction as your features were hidden from him by your downward stare. Your hands were trembling, that was enough of an indication. 

“Wait a minute,” Finnick furrowed his brows and leaned forward, examining the face of the boy, which he could see quite clearly. Worry resided there, but not for himself. You felt his eyes shift to you as soon as it happened, and they practically burned holes into the top of your head until you straightened your neck and met his eyeline. “You can’t be serious…”

He shook his head laughing, hoping - no, praying - that this was a joke. That you both were messing with him to see how he would react. Perhaps it was even a strange attempt at trying to bond with a mentor through humor, but the longer he stared at you, eyes flicking from yours to Lukas every few seconds, it made clear the dilemma he had in front of him. 

“I can’t believe it…” he scoffed, his earlier laughter now turning into irritation and disgust. He’d promised himself a victor this year, but here stood an incapable pair. 

He sat back into his seat and raked a hand over his face, the heat of the moment making him feel completely and utterly helpless. What could he even do about it?

“I’m a strong swimmer, I can help her if it comes down to it-”

“And what if you’re dead? The second that countdown reaches zero, and you start running, there’s a good chance someone’s gonna beat you to the weapon of their choice. If you die, and she’s depending on you, what then?” 

“I c-can learn,” you tried to interject, but it only made his anger worse. 

“No, sweetheart, you can’t. The only hope you’ll have is in convincing the other tributes you’re as good in the water as anyone else in four.” 

His sarcasm wasn’t helping anything, but this was purely unheard of. 

“She’s stronger than she looks, I can teach her the basics,” Lukas again intervenes, trying his best to defend your honor, which if you’re being honest, there isn’t much to defend anymore. You’re a fraud. They called the women of four mermaids, and you couldn’t even step past the shoreline’s sand.

“I don’t need you telling me what can and can’t be done. She’s a tribute from four who can’t swim… it’s bad enough I have to sell a stutter to the Capitol without adding to my plate,” he spoke too hastily and irrationally, his stress overtaking what he would normally even think to say. 

Lukas looked to him in shock, then immediately to you. There were tears welling in your eyes. How could someone who has gone through the games sit here and say things like that? He knows firsthand that nobody even wants to be here, but to make matters worse, he’s pulling the cards from everyone who has ever made you feel inferior from the time you could talk. 

You stood up in a rush, thighs accidentally hitting the edge of the food cart, before walking away quickly towards the room quarters of the train. 

-

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