#born and raised in pa

[addictsitter]

the funniest thing about the appalachian post is every single person from appalachia arguing about which is the correct pronunciation in the tags

like. the appalachian mountains stretch from fucking maine all the way to alabama. the officially recognized appalachian region stretches from new york to mississippi. going through both carolinas, tennessee, georgia, alabama, mississippi, kentucky and virginia (and i guess west virginia if i’m forced to count it ugh)

half those states can’t agree on the pronunciation of the word “pen” most of the time. you think they all pronounce appalachia the same way??

[iero]

when I visited pa I noticed people in the Philly area were really fucking rude (no offense ofc idk which area you’re from) but once I left that area I was surprised by how nice everyone was so I def think it’s a pa thing!

LMAO, no offense taken! It's pretty much known that people from Philadelphia are... not the nicest to put it lightly. Which is funny because "City of Brotherly Love" and all that... People from other areas of PA know this and ignore it.

But, I'm from central PA area (born, raised, STILL THERE) and I've heard both in terms of it's citizens being nice vs. rude. We can be kinda passive-aggressive unfortunately, but we will help people out when we can! I think central PA has a small town feel to it. We welcome outsiders when they come (as long as they're respectful), but at the same time, we're like, "What are you doing here?" Win some, lose some? Whenever I go to Pittsburgh when I can, I'm often surprised myself by how nice everyone is over there, so it depends on the area, I suppose! I hope you enjoyed your time in PA though anon!

[handicappedbuenchico]

@kurtzbergsiblings sent me a Tiktok of Gritty cosplaying as Betsy Ross earlier in the evening And as a Philadelphian myself, who basks in the chaotic energy that cracked out looking Muppet reject exudes on a daily basis, I can say wholeheartedly that Gritty cosplaying as Betsy Ross is the most Philly fucking thing I've ever seen (and the comments of said Tiktok share that sentiment lmao 😂😂😂)

I love my fucking city LMFAO

[on-a-lucky-tide]

Johnny's knee hurts. Price helps him feel better.

cw: messy blowjob. For the @continentcakeshop, who love Johnny.

Johnny shifted his foot for the third time in ten minutes and felt the now familiar twinge through his knee. He couldn't decide what was worse; the constant dull ache of keeping it stationary, like it needed to click, which was driving him batshit insane, or the sharp burn of a quick stretch that made his entire body jolt, knocking the table he was sharing with the boss man himself.

“You broken?” Price asked, tapping the blunt nib of his biro against the manilla folder by his form.

“Naw, sir. Jus’ me bum knee. S’givin’ me grief cause it's cald outside.”

“You been t’ the physio?”

“Not fer a few weeks. No time, ye know…” Johnny gestured aimlessly at the paperwork in front of him. When he'd signed up at fifteen and nine months, he hadn't expected to spend so long with a damn pen in his hand instead of a firearm.

Price hummed and Johnny watched his whiskers twitch as they tended to do when he was mulling something over. Then came the full face grimace as he considered his options. The biro clattered to the table moments later, the chair legs scraping against the concrete floor. “Olrigh’, can't ‘ave ya fallin’ behind. Keks down, leg up ‘ere.”

Johnny blinked owlishly, first at Price's hands as they patted his lap and then at the intense blue eyes watching him from beneath thick eyebrows. “Come again.”

“C’mon, MacTavish. Don't ‘ave all day. Boot off, drop ‘em. Quick rub down will make it feel better.”

Oh, he wasn't taking the piss. Well, shit. Johnny glanced at Price's hands again, big, weathered, with long clever fingers and a scar across the knuckles from where Price had skinned them open on the steel-plated jaw of a Kortac operator. The thought of having them on his body in any capacity made a sudden surge of heat fill his belly.

His knee gave another unrepentant throb and he stood awkwardly to undo his belt, jamming the heel of his boot against the toe of the other to kick it off before loosening the laces. He managed to slide his leg out, the knee support catching on his waistband, before slumping back into the chair. His foot hovered off the floor, suddenly conscious of how fuckin’ filthy his sock was. And how tight his boxers were.

“Ain't got all night,” Price said. “Stop bein’ a pansy. Ain't gonna ‘urt ya.”

Johnny scowled and extended his leg, setting it gingerly across Price's lap while his hands cupped over his crotch. “Naw one says pansy any more, old man.”

Price raised an eyebrow as he hooked Johnny's knee support and coaxed it down his calf muscle, bunching it at his ankle as he wrinkled his nose. “This sock ever seen a washin’ machine?”

“Oh feck, now ye really sound like me pa.”

“I was eleven years old when you were born, I ain't yer dad, MacTavish.” Price chucked the support and the filthy sock onto the floor and ran his thumbs up the sides of Johnny’s leg, pressing into the swollen ligaments and tendons either side of his patella. The sensation sat keenly on the threshold of pain and pleasure; Price couldn't press too hard without oil, but his pressure was damn perfect.

“Oh, fuck… mmm, aye, but I c’n still call ye dad–”

“If ya finish that sentence, ‘m gonna dislocate yer knee cap.”

“Aye, sir."

Johnny tried to stay quiet. He yapped when he was nervous and Jesus wept he was nervous now. Not because it hurt - god, fuck, Price’s hands were a damn dream - but because the heat in his belly was spreading out through the rest of him; a warm, fuzziness humming just below his skin. As the dull ache ebbed into a low throb, Johnny’s chin tilted down and his eyes lidded. He watched those strong hands work, manipulating his muscles and tendons like putty, pressing to and fro in easy glides that left Johnny lightheaded.

Johnny bit back a moan. Price was good. He knew what he was doing. Didn't stay only around the knee, but rubbed behind it and slightly down the calf to ease the resulting tension from where the rest of his leg was overcompensating. That was all fine… it was when those thumbs went up his thigh, one on the hairy outside, the other up the milky soft skin of the inner, that the whole arrangement got a bit spicy.

Johnny was getting hard. Proper hard, not just a cheeky little chubby. He could feel the wet patch in the cotton where his leaking tip was pushing up against his palm. Fuck, fuck. His eyes squeezed shut, and he tried to distract himself. Mentally listing off the steps for stripping a gun, the ingredients for a pipe bomb, the starting fifteen for Man City–

“Ev’ryfin olrigh’, Soap?”

Johnny’s eyes blinked open and he realised he'd been damn panting. Price hadn't stopped though. One hand had wandered a little higher, massaging his thigh muscle while the other cupped beneath his calf. Just a little higher and he could slide his cock into his captain's palm. Those callouses would feel unreal against the silky skin of his shaft… no, no, normal thoughts. Normal.

“Aye, sir. Sorry. Jus’... Uh…”

“Feels good,” Price finished for him. “Been a while for more ‘an jus’ physio then.” There was a wry amusement to his tone and Johnny’s lower lip pushed up in a pout, his face flushing red.

“S’not what it looks like.”

“Looks like yer hard from a little tenderness, sergeant.”

“Fuck, don't tell anyone, ah’ll do dogsbody in officer’s mess fer a whole month.”

“Oof, humiliatin’.”

“Not as humiliatin’ as Garrick takin’ the pish cause ah got a stonner for me captain,” Johnny blurted out, making it infinitely worse. “Fuck.”

Price snorted a laugh and Johnny’s eyes blew owlishly wide again. Those big hands were still working; any pain had faded, and only a warm pleasure remained, pressure coiling in his groin. Price hummed. “Maybe I can help ya with that too. If yer up for it.”

“What?” Johnny squeaked. Price was a gay man. That was no secret. He was one of the few gay men in the service that Johnny had ever encountered that endured precisely fuck all abuse about it. No cunt was daft enough to even try. Johnny had been too feart to own his sexuality, but Price had probably heard Grindr ping one too many times to be left under any illusion that Johnny was straight.

“Yer not the only one goin’ through a bit of a dry spell. Offer’s there.”

Johnny swallowed thickly. He couldn't lift his eyes from Price's hands, watching those strong thumbs circle either side of his knee again, prick throbbing in the confines of his boxers. Of all the days to wear his snug Calvin Kleins that left nothing to the imagination. The bulge had filled his palms now. He could pull away, put a stop to it, but he didn't want to. He wanted Price’s hand wrapped around his prick. “Aye.”

“Whot?”

“Aye, sir… ah’d like some… help,” Johnny finished lamely, his fingers tightening over his cock as he shifted his arse in the chair.

Price blinked at him slowly, leaning back in his chair. Johnny’s leg shifted a little, foot tilting out, and he saw it for the first time. A huge fuck off bulge in the front of Price's Carhartts. “Oh-ho, fuck me, look at the size of it,” Johnny wheezed, and then clicked his mouth shut, lips sucked in so he could chew on them before murmuring, “Respectfully… sir.”

Price chuckled, rubbing a hand over his face, nails raking down through his beard around the edges of his grin. “‘m gonna be glad ev’ryone's on leave, un’ I?”

Johnny flushed to the tips of his ears. “Ah can be wheesht.”

“Nah, don't be.” Price took Johnny's ankles and lowered his leg slowly to the floor. Johnny licked his lips as anticipation bubbled in his chest, hands still clasped over his crotch despite the futility of trying to hide his erection. His eyes somehow widening further as Price slipped from his seat and onto his knees between Johnny’s feet.

“Oh shit, oh shit,” Johnny breathed, hands shaking as Price took them and guided them away from where they still cupped protectively over his cock. He felt the warm puff of Price's breath over the hair on his belly and the damp spot on his boxers, and his toes curled against the floor. Those weathered fingers stroked up his thighs, over soft cotton to the elastic of his waistband. Johnny’s cock flicked gratefully free, ruddy and dark compared to the rest of him, and he sucked in a sharp hiss through his teeth as cool air found his wet slit.

“Well, pretty all over, ain’tcha, sergeant?”

Johnny knew he had a nice dick, good girth, nice upward curve to hit all the right spots and a respectable length. He'd taken enough selfies with it and then had his phone blow up to know, but to hear Price say it in that silky rumble made him go weak. His hips squirmed, and he bit his lower lip as Price's beard rubbed on his inner thigh, followed by the softness of his lips as he kissed a trail up. Johnny fingers bit into the outside of his legs as they pushed out, urging Price to get to his destination. “Please, sir…”

“Relax, soldier. I gotcha.”

Finally, Price grasped Johnny’s cock, fingers pushing through the coarse thatch of hair at the base. Johnny let out a soft whine, shaft flicking in Price’s grip as a thick pearl of precum welled from his slit. It was sweet, sweet torture. A mixture of relief and yearning that made his entire body light up. Price’s thumb swept below his waistband, brushing the swell of his sac, before he stroked up, fingers brushing over the flare of Johnny’s crown.

Johnny groaned, head flopping back because he needed to briefly thank fucking God for blessing his dick and promise to visit confession at some point in the next decade to repent for lusting after his captain's hands and mouth. He couldn't take his fucking eyes off Price for long, and he looked back in time to watch Price ease his foreskin back, the wicked tip of his tongue pushing though Johnny’s slit to lap it clean of pre. “Fuck, fuck, fuck… god, shite, ahh, sir, mmm.”

The lines around Price's eyes deepened in amusement, and then his eyes slid closed in what Johnny could only describe as bliss as he kissed the thick vein down Johnny's length, brushing the tip of his nose across silky skin until it buried against Johnny's groin with a soft groan. “Mm, fuck, ya smell good.”

Johnny spread his legs a little further, lifting his arse when Price tugged his boxers to bring them further down his thighs. The heat of his mouth enveloped Johnny’s balls, his tongue pressing down the seam, Johnny's cock resting against his cheek as he tasted his fill. Johnny panted through parted lips, one hand finally leaving his leg to slide around the back of his captain's head to pull his face closer. “Aye… sir, fuck… ahh.”

The moan that rumbled from Price’s chest rolled up Johnny’s body like an earthquake, and he heard the clatter of a buckle as Price fumbled with his belt to free his cock. Jacking himself off to the taste of Johnny’s sac in his mouth. When he finally drew away, he left Johnny's dark curls wet with spit, his blue eyes lidded, drunk on Johnny's musk and the pleasure of his hand pumping slowly up and down his own cock.

“God, yer a fuckin’ bonny picture, sir. Love tae suck cock, eh? Fuck.”

Price didn't say anything, just licked back up the underside of Johnny’s prick to draw the tip into his mouth. The wet glide of Price's tongue around his glans made Johnny groan, and he lifted his hips, pressing his tip over the ridges at the top of Price's mouth, fingers tightening at the back of his head. Price didn't need much encouragement to sink down, but he did so at his own pace, slowly, torturously, sucking Johnny deeper into the glorious wet heat of his mouth until Johnny’s head hit the back of his throat.

Johnny held him there for moment, admiring the stretch of his lips around the heft of his shaft, the lidded, fucked out enjoyment in his eyes, the way his broad shoulders were completely relaxed as he palmed himself lazily. Bonny was right. Johnny wondered what he'd be like on his back with his hands pinned above his head, what his moans might sound like when they weren't muffled by cock…

Price drew off, sucking greedily until he reached the tip, before lowering again in a steady glide, fucking his own mouth on Johnny's prick. Johnny moaned loudly with each dip of Price’s head, his thighs shaking as warm, irresistible pleasure curled in his hips, through his belly, his balls firming up beneath Price's chin. “Ah, ah, sir, fu-mm, fuck, yer mouth… is… ahh.”

And then Price swallowed him down proper. Johnny felt the pop as his head pushed into Price's throat, the clenching tightness made him choke out a low, trembling moan, Price’s nose buried against his groin. The sound of Price’s pumping hand, the wet slap of skin, grew more urgent and the thought that Price was even more turned on by having Johnny in his throat was dizzying. When he began to bob his head again, half choking on Johnny’s cock, Johnny knew he wasn't going to last much longer.

He didn't know where to put his hands, bunching Price's hair between his fingers, scrubbing them over his beard just to feel the bristles against his fingertips, sliding them down his throat to feel his Adam's apple bob and strain around his cock.

His heels lifted from the floor, toes pushing into the cold concrete, a sharp contrast to the blistering, pulsing heat of his captain's mouth as it milked him. He babbled incoherently, half Scots, half unintelligible English slurred out like a drunk at last orders, delirious with pleasure as saliva and precum pooled around his groin. His thumb stroked over Price's cheeks, pressing to feel the glide of his shaft through them and trace the damp of the tears that tracked from hazy blue eyes.

“Sir, ah’m, sir…” Johnny tried to tug him off because a gentleman didn't cum down a fella’s throat without asking, but Price fucking growled like a wolf having its meal stolen and that was enough to punch Johnny over into a heady climax. “Sir, fuck!” His stomach clenched, toes pushing against the floor as his hips lifted from the chair. Price kept sucking, drinking every drop offered by Johnny’s twitching prick. It coaxed him higher until he was whimpering in fucked out bliss, his fingers shaking in his captain's hair. Just as he was tipping over into oversensitivity, Price pulled off and pressed his face into the sweaty crease of Johnny's thigh, arm moving furiously, hips humping as he fucked his own grip.

“Yeah, g’won, sir, gonna come for me, liked havin’ my prick down ye throat, belly full of my cum.” Johnny stroked Price’s hair and watched his eyes roll back, his shoulders seizing, as he came hard into his fist. He panted between Johnny's legs, catching his breath for a moment, before he slumped back into his heels. Johnny took the opportunity to look down at his prick, still semi-hard, and he sucked in a breath. “Fuck, look at tha’ beast… ye top with tha’ weapon?”

“Only if you ya’sk nicely,” Price rasped. The sound of his throat, fucked raw, made Johnny's soft prick twitch against his thigh.

“How nicely?”

“State secret. S’classified.”

“I’ll steal L.T.’s clearance,” Johnny replied testily, and his hunch was rewarded with a quirk of the eyebrows. “Knew it.”

Price chuckled hoarsely. “Clean up. Got work t’ finish.” He rolled to his feet and for a beautiful moment his cock bobbed close to Johnny’s face. Be seein’ ye soon, sweet thing.

“Can't, ye jus’ sucked me brain out me prick.”

“Now, MacTavish.”

Johnny's mouth clicked shut, and then he mumbled a “yessir” as he pulled his boxers and jeans back up. He'd be lying if he said it was somewhat difficult to focus on the reports for the rest of the evening, especially when he lifted a foot to tease Price's crotch and the bastard spread his legs to give access. Didn't even flinch though. Wily git.

[lady-ashfade]

Could I please have blueberry cookies with Jacaerys for hotd?

Made A Fool.

´*: ･ﾟ⋆˒ Jacaerys Velaryon x Fem!Reader

Bakery Event - closed

╰･ﾟ✧☽ summery: after the betrothal to the Prince Jacaerys, you thought it would be the happiest moments of your life given your years spent with him. Happiest is a sliver of what you feel, after he avoids your every move.

╰･ﾟ✧☽ words: 2.2k

╰･ﾟ✧☽ warnings: Luke never dies, rhaenryas miscarriage is mentioned, angst, jace being dick, jace accusing you because he’s jealous, betrothal, angst with a happy ending, readers family being near the Starks and long family friends, arguing.

⤻ I got carried away so this is longer then it should be.

˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ *˚ 🍪 ˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ *˚

During your young years at dragon stone, you found yourself becoming great companions with the princess’s sons. Rhaenyra took you into her home with open arms, she raised you like her own when your mother was a sea away. But her eldest son was easily the most precious thing you come to love, it started out when he gave you flowers— actually weeds— but pretty nonetheless and warmed your heart like dragon fire.

The both of you glued to each others side as the years went by, no one could deny the smiles and laughs you’d share like nothing else matter. Jace was a gentle man, held no grudge or power over you for being born a woman, even encouraged you to learn the sword with him. His blood was of the dragon so he had tendencies to be hot headed and rash when angered. All it took was the gentle touch of your fingertips on his cheeks to calm the dragon within him. Though, you two never knew of each others true feelings, he knew you cared very deeply for him.

“And what do you think of this?” Her grace looked softly at you, sitting down with a pained expression from the loss of the babe in her belly. The question of if you wanted the proposal to her eldest son, something your father wished for his loyalty to her claim. Throughout the years your father never mentioned that he even liked jace, in each letter sent he reminded you that your only duty was to the princess. So, you wonder is this had been his plan all along? A son for his daughter—Dragons for his grandchildren.

“Your grace, I ensure you that I did not come here for a marriage pa-” her smile and hushed laughter stopped you, and made your head tilt in confusion. Rhaenyra ran her hands along her lap, something was amusing to her and made embarrassment sit restless inside you. “I know, sweetgirl. There was never a doubt you were here for this, you care for my boys and me, that much is very clear.” her words made you relived. Her hands moved to the cushion beside her to signal you over. “Join me,”

You obeyed her wish and walked over nervously, the conversation to come was running in your mind of every way this could go. She didn’t see you fit for her son—not good enough. Or even worse, could call you greedy for being her only for her sons even it wasn’t the truth. Everything was spinning as you took your place next to her. “What I asked was if you wanted this marriage? I am forever grateful for you and your family and the support for the war to come, I will agree to the betrothal— but I believe you should have a say in this.”

Gulping the spit in your mouth to cover the butterflies in your throat you stare for a second to get the right words in your head. Jacaerys was the love of your life for years, your own prince from the story books told to young girls. To imagine actually get to be betrothed to him was a dream come true but also a nightmare to convey out loud. “My queen, I will do my duty if you wish.” You picked at your nails while avoiding her gaze. The queen reached her hand to caress your cheek, while turning your head to face her. There was no greater feeling then her soften gaze, “Do you want this? You’re answer will never hurt me.” and you knew you couldn’t refuse the offer because it made your heart happy.

“Yes, Your Grace. I would be pleased to marry Jacaerys.”

The announcement pleased the court of men, knowing your family’s army wouldn’t bend the knee to aegon, even though jace smiled at you- he walked to the other side right after and began to ignore you. Of course, you put it off as his duties were more important and he meant no offense. As men pushed your house piece along the board, giving your impression of what your father wanted, jace kept his eyes off you as you spoke. And you knew he could feel your staring. Again, at dinner while you took your place beside him— his attention was anywhere but on you. This didn’t go unnoticed by only you, his brother Luke happened to think it strange. He was always all over you and now he can’t spare you one look?

Luke decided to save you from feeling lonely and embarrassed so he decided to turn on his charm, something you always thought was adorable about the boy. He would whisper some jokes only for your ears, and as your cheeks flushed red from the wine served he finally asked you to join him for a dance. Though the dinner was small, and in the middle of a war- it was still a celebration of alliance. Decided to dance with Luke, you had a fun time and forgot about jace for a while. This was supposed to be a good day, so you’ll have to push yourself. Luke was like a brother to you, so it was easy to be entertained by him.

The absence of jace brought you down, it’s been a few days since you two actually had a conversation, or he’d actually look at you without someone else expecting him to. Yes, you understand the war at hand, and how much needs to be done and you can’t have his attention all the time. But he made no efforts to speak with you, or acted like he used to—Acted like your future husband. That’s what sprouted anger within you, and you were annoyed and snapped easily.

“My men with have a easier time rallying in the north, my letters to Cregan-” the words cut from your mouth when jace interrupted. His jaw tighter and a harsh glare made it harder to not burst into a screaming match. He had been giving attitude to his mother with the same expression. He hadn’t looked at you in weeks and this is what he was doing?

“You sent letters to Cregan? Why? I visited him nearly days ago,” his voice raised and made everyone in the room look back and forth wonder if they should cut in. “He offered graybeards.”

You roll your eyes at him, “The Starks have been my friends with my family for years, I convinced him to lend a few, young men. No old bones, no offense my lords, but men with stranger arms.” The way he was looking at you, you’d been dead. Many years you saw him angry, annoyed and ready to fight anything that crosses him. Never did you think you’d be on the end of his temper.

“Tell me, how exactly you persuaded him?” everyone could tell he meant nothing well by his accusing statement. You huff and get ready to comment when Rhaenrya placed and hand on your shoulder while Luke got in Jaces vision of you. “And I thank you for that, any swords are welcome.” She rubbed your skin and moved her head towards the door, allowing you to leave as you were visibly upset. Excusing your leaving, Jace watched you leave and turned his whole body. He couldn’t shake the feel inside when the meeting continued and didn’t speak a word, his thoughts only on you.

Jace marched through the halls with haste to your chambers, he saw no reason to knock so the door opened with him already flaring his nostrils. The surprise of the door opening with forced and quickly made you jump from your table, the ink dropped onto your skin from the quill in your hand dropping as you stood up from the chair. “What’s the meaning of this? You can’t just-” Jace walks towards you, making you back up at his pace.

“Me? It’s I who should be asking same question, what in the seven hells was that? Back in the war room?” he yelled at you. You stood only a few steps away and could practically could feel heat from him caused by his seething anger.

“What, are you accusing me of starting it? I simply stated my opinion with my houses army. You couldn’t handle me disagreeing with you?” You head twists and turn with your words, and eyes look all over the room.

He groaned and his eyes darkened, he stood closer to yell in your face. “I have a problem with my betrothed making it known she sends letters to another man. You must want me to look a fool. Have you and him been sending letters for years?” your mouth drops in disbelief at his ignorance words, “He told me he only could give old men, but you somehow convinced him to give us more? Has he declared his love for you, do you swoon in the letters for him?”

“You idiot, you think you have the right to ask me- To think that of me?” You push his chest back away from you, then walk away with a annoyed laugh.

Standing with your hands arching your back on your hips, you look back at him, “It has been you who ignores me frequently, pasted nights without a word from you other then small formalities.” rubbing the skin on your forehead, you breath heavily. “All I have done is be there by your side, never let my feelings get in the way of our friendship. I’d think you’d at least honor that, but somehow you hate the thought of marriage to me so much you pretend I cease to exist.” only now was he knocked off thoughts when your eyes became slightly glossy. Jace couldn’t tell if it was in sadness or anger, or both.

“So no, Your Grace. If you speculate I ever did anything to make Cregan think he’d fight for me, or give him the idea I wanted him. You’d be deadly wrong. Because I have spent years hoping, that one day, you’d care about me that same why I do for you.” turning around to hide the tears escaping, you grab the chair to calm yourself down. He deserved no tears from you or to see you broken, so you had to collect yourself before him.

Brown orbs stares at the back of your head, arms wanted to reach out and comfort you like he did before. Jace never meant to make you feel like this nor that he hates the idea of being with you, romantically. The one things he could never truly show was weakness and when he heard you’d be his, that’s all he felt. Knowing that his enemies would target you. That if you were in trouble you and hurt? It would be his fault.

“Seven hells,” he whispered and tugged at the skin own lips. “Forgive me, for being a jest. I never thought about how you would feel.” straightening yourself and whipped off the tears from your cheeks, you keep your eyes on the wall ahead with your back still turned.

“This betrothal…It brings me joy. From a little boy I have always thought you were a beauty, wanted to fight for your attention against my brother.” the memory of his youth made him smile, “I thought that if I distance myself from you— You’d be safer from the dangers from the greens. I would die if something happened to you just because I love you.”

Spinning around towards him, your brows frown, “You love me?” he nodded his head.

“I do. I have since our youth when you loved the flowers i brought you, even though you knew it was weeds, but you put them into your hair, and placed the prettiest behind my ear.” he admitted. The distant laughter filled both of your minds of that wonderful day, the same day you had also fallen for him.

“You have a strange way of showing it.” You mocked with a growing smile. Jace was hesitant to walk closer, he was unsure if you wanted him to after everything. Your eyes drew him close, and let him get so close that you placed your hand on his chest.

“I am at a threat with or without our marriage, let us face the dangers together. I don’t want either of us to be alone.” taking his heated cheek into your palm, you looked into his eye’s wishful for him never to pull away. The touch was simple, but it had him caving underneath you and wanted more. Licking his lips he stared at yours, hoping you would give him the consent to close the gap between the both of you. One small agreement of a nod he was pressing his lips against yours, his hands resting themselves onto your hips. First kisses are soft, gentle but he was passionate and a little edger to finally get his wish. His hold on you tightened protectively as if someone was threatening you in the moment.

Pulling away from the kiss, both your mouthes covered in wetness, and cheeks heated with hormones. “Are you sure cregan hasn’t declared anything for you? He’d be a fool if not-” you took his lips onto yours to shut him up and his playful jealousy.

A dragon protects what is theirs, and as his future queen consort, he was nothing if not overprotective over you.

[fancyfeathers]

In your yandere!Clark Kent with housewife reader you mentioned he wanted several children, and whenever I read anything with Clark marrying with Reader and having kids I always think Jon should be one of them (but usually authors just make it so Clark and Lois divorced and Reader is just the stepparent😪)

Now let's say in your au Jon is their son, but while he isn't born... You know how when Conner showed up Clark didn't take him in as his son, and more like a cousin, very distant (makes me so angry and sad), so lets say Conner shows up, Clark wants to keep his distance, but Reader INSTANTLY imprints on him and treats him as a mama bear and loves him a lot, despite Clark's distate

LET JON BE HER SON!

But yes they do have quite a lot of kids besides Jon, he is probably the first born, but they probably have five to six biological children and no one will change my mind on this.

I imagine that Clark and his darling moving to Smallville at some point, maybe Ma and Pa passed away so if that happened then Conner would end up being taken in by them cause he is still technically a kid (a clone, but he has the mentally of a teenager). Conner probably meets Clark’s darling at the funeral, he heard about her when Clark called Martha and Jonathan, his beautiful wife… well not technically since they aren’t legally married, but that hardly matters.

Conner is just sitting there on the porch of the house after the funeral and she comes out to sit with him, bringing him something to eat. He talks with her, asking her about her life before where she is now, stuck in the middle of nowhere for the rest of her life.

At first they have a friendly relationship, since he is around she can actually do stuff around the house while Clark is gone because most of everything is tucked away from her, for her own safety of course. But soon and rather quickly their relationship gets stronger, and it becomes clear what they are to one another when Conner calls her mom while helping her in the garden after school one day. Their relationship is parallel to what Clark’s was with his adoptive mother, albeit she wasn’t able to raise him because he was never exactly a baby because he was created, but he is still her son, her baby boy.

Like I am imagining like after some world threatening incident and the moment Conner sees her he immediately runs straight to her, calling out mom or mama with such relief that nothing happened to her and excitement to see her, and he picks her up in a hug like she weighs nothing while Clark just watches.

I think after seeing the clear signs of his wife’s relationship with Conner, Clark opens up more to him, his darling probably also yelled at Clark about it, scolding him like a child. But even then when the dust settles I think she is closer to Conner than any of her other children that she gives birth to, sure Jon is nothing but sweet, but Conner is the child she chose, he is her son just how Clark was Martha’s son.

(Also I was reading this and my mind immediately went to that one tiktok sound/edit song)

[hanafubukki]

“Papa will you come back tomorrow?”

The innocently spoken words felt as if a thousand thorns struck Lilia.

Malleus climbed onto his bed; unaware of the turmoil his words had brought forth.

Papa.

Lilia took a shuddering breath in.

Papa.

Lilia clenched his fists.

Malleus couldn’t call him by such a title.

It wouldn’t be allowed.

“Malleus,” Lilia kneels in front of the little prince, “You can’t call me that.”

Malleus’ lips trembled, brows furrowed, “Why not? Papas are ones who takes care of and raises children.”

Lilia closed his eyes, he had to control his emotions; before holding the tiny hands clenching his clothes.

When had these hands grown? So small were they when he first hatched.

“My Prince, I am not your father.”

Meleanor and Levan, surely, they would laugh at his predicament.

But the Senate-

If the Senate found out, he would be barred from seeing Malleus.

He would never be able to see him again.

“But pa-”

“No.”

Lilia forced his voice to steady through the bitter gravel and yearning in his throat.

Every teardrop causing a fissure in his heart.

“I am just Lilia to you. I’ll only ever be your caretaker.”

Lilia straightens up, trying to ignore the shaking form of his princeling. Resisting taking him into his arms and soothing him as he had done many times before.

“Have a good sleep, My Prince.”

Lilia tries to ignore the sobs from behind.

“Papa come back!” Malleus wailed.

Lilia closed the door behind him.

Breaths coming out shallow, body heavy with grief.

Tears gather while teeth grit.

I’m sorry, my s—Malleus.

Lilia walks down the dark hallways, trudging forth.

Fragments of his heart left behind with each step he takes in tandem with the echoing sobs heightened by stone walls.

“Papa! Please! Don’t leave me!”

…yeah, I teared up a bit while writing this 😭💔 at least I didn’t kill off malleus this time…I’m sorry.

Do you ever think about how Malleus might have called Lilia “papa” or any other fatherly term when he was young as all children do? To the parents they love?

(Under the cut because I have a lot of thoughts and feels)

Do you ever think about how Lilia would have been so happy to have been called that by him? But he couldn’t? Not only because of the memories of Meleanor and Levan (in fact, I think they would laugh at the situation and tell Malleus to do it more if they were alive just for Lilia’s reactions lol), but because of the Senate?

Because the Senate would never approve. And if Malleus called him such a loving term, they would ban Lilia from visiting even the few times he could or snuck into the castle for Malleus.

Even if you take into consideration of Lilia hiding the circumstance of Malleus’ birth so he doesn’t feel guilty, do you ever wonder why? Or what led to it? The senate already tampered with history and how Malleus was born and they tried to control Malleus even now (they didn’t like him coming to NRC, all the guards he had, Malleus having to sneak away, etc)

I can see them isolating Malleus from Lilia if he ever uttered such a term in front of them. Then, Malleus would have no one left but his grandmother who he rarely sees as is.

Do you ever think about how Malleus tried to call Lilia a fatherly term but he couldn’t. Whether because Lilia said it, someone else did, or he stopped himself?

And how that yearning affected them both? Hurt them? In this case, how if Lilia stopped him, Malleus never tries again?

Not only because of the rejection, but because he doesn’t want to lose Lilia? He doesn’t want to be alone again? How Malleus is more polite and subdued the next time Lilia comes?

And Lilia knows? But this is how it has to be? Despite his bleeding heart? And the pain he caused them both? Because at least this way, he can still visit? Do you ever wonder if this is why Lilia tried even harder for the treaty? For Malleus to have freedom?

And…do you ever wonder Malleus’ reaction to Silver calling Lilia “toto” and then later “father”? Ever wonder, if this is the reason why “Malleus was jealous of an acorn bracelet”? Because Malleus couldn’t do, give, or say to Lilia what he always wanted?

Ever think about how this could be why he refers to Silver as “Lilia’s son” or Silver being a child but never himself? How he buries his feelings even now hearing “caretaker” versus “father”? Because of such situations in the past or what led to it?

Because I do, and damnit, I’m crying thinking about it. 😭😔

Also little storytelling bits I like to add as an emphasis:

“Malleus -> My Prince”

To add that little bit of extra angst, that bit of boundary placed and rejection. 😔😭 OTL

How even speaking the words “my son” mentally might cause him to slip, and yet, he still calls him Malleus and not My Prince.

[b14augrana]

Portrait

When Alexia decides to give into her curiosity and sit down at one of the street artist stalls stationed on a busy Parisian road, she leaves with something more special than a self portrait.

Alexia Putellas x reader

masterlist

Warnings: straight fluff and bad translations but dont worry its only short x

A/N: ALE RENEWED WE CAN ALL REJOICE!! 🙏

The strong Parisian sun beat down on the heads of locals and tourists alike as they walked down the crowded streets. You were perched on a stool, staring intently at your canvas as you gently painted the smile lines of a lovely old lady that stopped by your stall.

You loved your job for this very reason. You knew how hard it was to love yourself from your own perspective; you hoped to do every individual person’s beauty justice with your paintings.

Of course that wasn’t enough income on its own so every morning you found yourself in one of the local bakeries either working behind the scenes or at the front counter. Baking and painting were jobs you loved and found so similar because they both resonated with your desire to indulge in art wherever you could find it, and to you they were the simplest forms of art.

“And… I’m done. Here’s your finished portrait, madame,” you said with a smile, lifting the canvas off the easel and gently setting it into the woman’s arms.

“Je ne peux pas te remercier assez, ma chérie ! C'est beau, merci,” she replied, admiring it with tear-brimmed eyes hidden behind her glasses. You said your goodbyes and watched her walk off with a grin on her face, and then you picked up a fresh canvas and placed it on your easel.

You didn’t have time to shake your head at the many smudges of paint on your clothes as another person approached you.

“Hola!” a woman’s voice spoke, making you look up curiously. Standing before you was a blonde woman smiling slightly, gesturing to the stool behind the easel. “May I sit?”

“Of course,” you nodded, returning her smile and swirling your paintbrush in some fresh water as you prepared to paint her. “You’d like a painting, no?”

“Yes please. Also, forgive me for saying hola — I forget that I’m not in Spain,” she laughed, inciting a giggle from you.

“It’s okay. I do the same when I’m outside of France,” you added, dipping the paintbrush into some fresh paint before grazing the canvas. “So, you’re Spanish.. what’s your name?”

“Alexia. I’m here for a holiday, because I’ve finally got some time off work,” she explained with a huff. You smiled behind your easel, painting the woman’s chiseled bone structure with intricacy as you added to her face.

You liked her already. You had barely said anything to her, but something about her was genuine.

“Are you with anybody?” you asked, curious to know more about her. She nodded her head, “Only two other people, my friends Lucy and Ona. They’ve gone on a wine tasting date, which is why I’m here.”

You laughed softly as you rinsed your paintbrush. “And you? Do you have anyone to go wine tasting with?”

“Next question,” Alexia responded, smiling through laughter. You began to paint her eyes and faintly outline her nose.

The rest of the time you spent painting every detail of her face flew by as you two talked and got to know more about each other. You learned that she was a professional footballer and lived in Barcelona, which you thought was very cool. She asked about your life and you told her that you were a born and raised Parisian who spent the rest of her days at home or in the bakery. You weren’t really concerned about yourself though; you were busy looking at her, and not for the purpose of the painting.

When you had completed the last strand of hair and placed the last freckle on her portrait, the sun had dried most of it already. As she stood up and picked her purse up, you flipped the canvas around and scrawled something on the back with a slight smile.

“There you go. Thank you, Alexia,” you said, handing her the painting. She gasped quietly as she admired it, and she looked at you for a moment before pulling you into a hug. “Thank you, chica!”

Even after she pulled away, her perfume clung to your skin like glue. It smelled sweet but not overwhelming… like coconut and caramel with an undertone of musk and vanilla hints. It smelled exactly how you imagined it to smell.

As you said goodbye, you didn’t reach for a fresh canvas. Alexia turned away, holding the newly painted canvas in her hands with her head down, her eyes fixed on it. She stood stagnant for a moment, scoping out every detail, and then she turned it over.

“Llámame, hermosa :)” was written on the back, followed with your phone number and a quick sketch of a flower bouquet. She immediately turned her head to glance at you over her shoulder, but you were occupied with someone else.

When she turned back around, a smitten smile was plastered across her face and she couldn’t help but feel giddy to get back to her hotel.

After another second, you looked up from your canvas, your eyes completely skipping the person sat in front of you and wandering over to the direction that she had walked in, watching the blonde woman disappear down the street.

“Est-ce que tu vas peindre ou quoi?” an irritated voice snapped from behind your easel.

“Désolé!”

[thehungergamesrenaissance]

I am so sorry for the person I will become in March. PEOPLE magazine released an excerpt from chapter one of Sunrise on the Reaping. Read below

-

“Happy birthday, Haymitch!” 

The upside of being born on reaping day is that you can sleep late on your birthday. It’s pretty much downhill from there. A day off school hardly compensates for the terror of the name drawing. Even if you survive that, nobody feels like having cake after watching two kids being hauled off to the Capitol for slaughter. I roll over and pull the sheet over my head. 

“Happy birthday!” My 10-year-old brother, Sid, gives my shoulder a shake. “You said be your rooster. You said you wanted to get to the woods at daylight.” 

It’s true. I’m hoping to finish my work before the ceremony so I can devote the afternoon to the two things I love best — wasting time and being with my girl, Lenore Dove. My ma makes indulging in either of these a challenge, since she regularly announces that no job is too hard or dirty or tricky for me, and even the poorest people can scrape up a few pennies to dump their misery on somebody else. But given the dual occasions of the day, I think she’ll allow for a bit of freedom as long as my work is done. It’s the Gamemakers who might ruin my plans. 

“Haymitch!” wails Sid. “The sun’s coming up!” 

“All right, all right. I’m up, too.” I roll straight off the mattress onto the floor and pull on a pair of shorts made from a government-issued flour sack. The words "courtesy of the Capitol" end up stamped across my butt. My ma wastes nothing. Widowed young when my pa died in a coal mine fire, she’s raised Sid and me by taking in laundry and making every bit of anything count. The hardwood ashes in the fire pit are saved for lye soap. Eggshells get ground up to fertilize the garden. Someday these shorts will be torn into strips and woven into a rug. 

I finish dressing and toss Sid back in his bed, where he burrows right down in the patchwork quilt. In the kitchen, I grab a piece of corn bread, an upgrade for my birthday instead of the gritty, dark stuff made from the Capitol flour. Out back, my ma’s already stirring a steaming kettle of clothes with a stick, her muscles straining as she flips a pair of miner’s overalls. She’s only 35, but life’s sorrows have already cut lines into her face, like they do. 

Ma catches sight of me in the doorway and wipes her brow. “Happy 16th. Sauce on the stove.” 

“Thanks, Ma.” I find a saucepan of stewed plums and scoop some on my bread before I head out. I found these in the woods the other day, but it’s a nice surprise to have them all hot and sugared. “Need you to fill the cistern today,” Ma says as I pass. 

We’ve got cold running water, only it comes out in a thin stream that would take an age to fill a bucket. There’s a special barrel of pure rainwater she charges extra for because the clothes come out softer, but she uses our well water for most of the laundry. What with pumping and hauling, filling the cistern’s a two-hour job even with Sid’s help. 

“Can’t it wait until tomorrow?” I ask. 

“I’m running low and I’ve got a mountain of wash to do,” she answers. 

"This afternoon, then,” I say, trying to hide my frustration. If the reaping’s done by one, and assuming we’re not part of this year’s sacrifice, I can finish the water by three and still see Lenore Dove.

A blanket of mist wraps protectively around the worn, gray houses of the Seam. It would be soothing if it wasn’t for the scattered cries of children being chased in their dreams. In the last few weeks, as the Fiftieth Hunger Games has drawn closer, these sounds have become more frequent, much like the anxious thoughts I work hard to keep at bay. The second Quarter Quell. Twice as many kids. No point in worrying, I tell myself, there’s nothing you can do about it. Like two Hunger Games in one. No way to control the outcome of the reaping or what follows it. So don’t feed the nightmares. Don’t let yourself panic. Don’t give the Capitol that. They’ve taken enough already.

[runningfrom2am]

cold nights // part four

summary: all the stars aligned, and it was you.

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

wc: 2.9k

masterlists / nav / requests

tags/warnings: tribute!reader and mentor!coriolanus, r is very sweet (too kind for this world. literally.), sunshine x grumpy trope kinda, he falls first, violence typical for the source material, r is very smart (as she should), district twelve!reader.

a/n: this is your reminder to reblog and comment on fics you like!! it helps us writers out a TON the girlies who get it get it. thanks!!

series masterlist // playlist

"I just have to ask you a few questions... is that okay?" Coriolanus asks, sitting across from you at the small table you find yourself chained to.

"Please." You nod, grinning at him. You were so tired, the bags under your eyes were evidence enough of that. Screw getting you food- Coryo is worried if you don't sleep you'll be all but useless in the games, even if all he needs you to do is run and hide.

"It's just so people can get to know you a bit better. Okay, so..." He looks down at the sheet in front of him, tapping the pencil against the table as he tries to focus on reading. "First, nice and easy, what is your full name?"

"Y/N M/N L/N."

"Great... Okay, and where are you from?"

"District Twelve, born and raised."

"How old are you?"

"Seventeen. I'll be eighteen next week." You smile.

"Oh, really?" He asks, pausing mid-sentence as he starts writing it down.

"Yeah." You smile. "Hopefully I'll live to see the day."

"You will." He tries to be reassuring as he scribbles the finished answer on his sheet. God, you got unlucky. Not that his eighteenth was a big celebration like some of his classmates, but Tigris made him a cake with ingredients she'd been saving up for and she refit his school uniform for him. You wouldn't even have that- you would be spending the day fighting for your life, if you even made it that long.

"And who is in your family unit?" He reads directly from the slip as he forces himself to move on.

"Well, there's me, my brother, he's fifteen, and then my ma and pa." You nod. "Well, my pa isn't home much. Lots of work in the mines; usually has sixteen-hour days. I hardly ever see him." You admit, sadness laced into your tone. "Saw him, I mean."

"My father died in Twelve." Coryo says, catching you off guard. He doesn't even fully understand why he felt the need to tell you this. "About ten years ago, it was rebels."

"I remember that." You reply quietly, recalling the lockdown placed on the District after the murder of a peacekeeper general. "He was the general. Crassus Snow, I assume?"

"Yes."

Everyone was forced into their homes at gunpoint, and in search of the responsible parties everyone you knew had their home destroyed by peacekeepers. Yourself included. Your bed was torn apart, and your mattress shredded for any hidden weapons or plans. Since then, you have shared a bed with your brother. A new mattress was hard to make, and your ma never got the free time or materials again.

Up until this week, that was the scariest day of your life. Just before the peacekeepers kicked in your door, your mother had grabbed the two of you and shoved you into an opening under the floorboards- a crawlspace made from a faulty foundation. You were in there for what felt like hours, listening to shouting and your home being ruined as you held onto each other with a hand pressed over your brother's mouth to keep him from crying too loud. Your mother's cries that day never seemed to end.

"It's a small world." You say after a solid few moments of silence, and Coryo can see it in the way you're staring at his paper that you're not reading it. You're zoned out completely. "I'm sorry that happened to you. It must have been scary."

"The war was hard on all of us." He responds. "What... what do you remember?" He had never heard anything about it besides the bare bones of what happened, he had never considered that the people of Twelve would remember it as well. And judging by the look on your face, it wasn't a good memory.

"I was about six, maybe seven, and I was playing with my brother, and I didn't hear anything but my ma must have because she grabbed us and hid us under the floorboards so fast I could have got whiplash. Peacekeepers came into our home, tore the whole thing to shreds, hurt my ma, then took off. Onto the next house. I didn't find out until a while later that rebels killed the peacekeeper general, they were looking for any evidence of conspiracy, I guess. The people who did it."

"Sounds like it was scarier for you than for me."

"But I want you to know," You speak so quickly you almost cut him off. "My parents had nothing to do with it. My pa is an honest, good man. All he ever wanted was to keep us safe. We're not rebels, I promise you that."

Coriolanus almost wishes you were, so he wouldn't be so hurt by what his people were putting you through. "I know. I wouldn't blame you for that."

"Thank you." You whisper, picking at your nails now as you look down at your shaky hands.

Coryo clears his throat, forcing himself to look away from you. "Uh..." He chuckles at the next question, making you look up at him again. "Are you married?"

"No." You reply, having almost completely forgotten about the worksheet in front of him. "I'm not."

"It's just... I just, I have to ask." He says, clearing his throat as he writes it down.

"Of course." You nod in understanding.

"Boyfriend?" He asks, and as you squint at the sheet you can see it's not there, and he quickly covers the next lines with his palm, cheeks flushing pink.

"Yes." You giggle as he snaps his head up to look at you.

"You do?" He asks, voice catching as his curls fall back onto his forehead from the sudden movement.

"Yes, what is so wrong in that?" You raise an eyebrow at him, trying not to laugh.

"No, no, I mean, of course you do, you're beautiful, I just, you never mentioned-"

"Relax, Coriolanus. I'm kidding." You smile at the panic in his tone. "No, I don't have a boyfriend."

"Oh, right. Thanks, it's just for, yeah..." He mumbles, pretending to write something down behind his cupped hand so you couldn't see.

You shake your head at him while he's not paying attention, smiling to yourself.

"So, uh, do you have a job?"

"Not formally, but my ma is a seamstress. I help her lots with that. Fixing people's work clothes, stuff like that." You answer, getting back on topic.

"Did you make your dress?" He asks.

"Now I know that question's not on that form of yours." You laugh. "But yes, my ma made it for me when I was five. It's been my favourite ever since."

He looked the parts of it over that he could see above the table. It was well worn down, but well cared for. Similar to a lot of his own clothing.

"It used to be this big, flowing thing. Too big for a five year old- I would step on the bottom of it, just tore it right up." You recall. "So we trimmed the bottom, and as I grew, it grew right with me. I stitched up the bottom when I was old enough to enter the reaping, so now it's got shorts instead. But I still love it, lots of good memories held in the pockets of this old thing."

Shorts instead. So it's easier to run in. The thought haunts Coryo for a moment. The idea that you, at twelve years old, decided this is what you would want to run in, to die in, and took the liberty of sewing up the crotch in it yourself. Every stitch possibly sealing your fate.

"It's nice. I like it." He responds.

"Thank you." You smile, nodding proudly to yourself as you look down at the fabric. "It's real comfy, too."

"It looks it. Not very... restricting." He chooses his words wisely. No wonder you had kept it so many years. It still fit, so why not? Especially when it looked so good on you. The typically plain, neutral tone of the fabric complimented your skin tone so well. Even in bad lighting, it seemed as though you were glowing where the cloth met your skin. Glowing everywhere, now that he thought about it. Maybe you just lit up every room you walked into. Maybe it wasn't the clothing that was made just for you and hugged your form so flawlessly, maybe it was just you.

"Yes, it is not." You agree. "Now, our time is limited. Next question." You interrupt his thoughts, gesturing to the sheet of paper in between you.

"Yes, sorry." Coryo chuckles, shaking the distraction from his head. "Any hobbies?

"Reading."

"I did know that." He smiles to himself. "Anything else?"

"Well..." You think about it for a moment, chewing your lip. "I have a cat, and I like to play with him and take care of him, does that count?"

"I'll count it." He nods, quickly jotting it down. "What's your cat's name?" He asks, purely out of curiosity.

"Tybalt." You giggle.

"Tybalt?" Coryo tilts his head at you and you nod, bottom lip drawn between your teeth.

He nods slightly, prompting you to explain. "He's named after a character from Romeo and Juliet."

"That's your favourite, I remember."

"Good king of cats, nothing but one of your nine lives." You quote. "Mercutio calls Tybalt the king of the cats, so I named him after that."

"That's clever. Very funny."

"Thank you. I thought so." You smile proudly, watching him write down your cats name in his notes. "What is this for, if I can ask?"

"Uh, there's going to be an interview you'll have to do the night before the games. It'll be aired live on Capitol television, and people will be able to send in donations so I can send you things in the arena. Just like I told you." Coryo explains.

"An interview?" You ask. "What does that entail?"

"Well, I'm not sure yet." He answers honestly. "But we'll pass this sheet onto the host, Lucky, if you remember him, and he can ask you questions about your family, your life, any of this stuff. I think really whatever we want, though, so if there's anything in particular you want to say or talk about I can write that down for you."

"Oh, I'm really not sure." You reply. "Nothing in particular, but if you need me to talk I can talk about books for hours on end." You smile.

"Could you do a monologue?" He suggests. He had discussed this with Tigris before, and he was hoping you would, but knowing you, you would be dropping quotes in your interview anyway so you might as well commit to it and display how smart you are with something well-planned.

"Maybe, if you could find me a copy of Romeo and Juliet." You smile. "I think I know it, but it would be nice to have a refresher. Just to make sure I get it right. Would be awfully embarrassing if I made a mistake."

Coryo nods, quickly writing that down in the margins of the page. Considering he had never even heard of this book, it may be hard, but he would certainly try for you. "That would be great. Your goodbye was very moving, although quite confusing for most, but it had people talking about you and that's what we want."

"Okay. I'll practice."

"Thank you." Coryo smiles. "And I just have one more question on here to fill out... Do you have any special skills that you think will be helpful in the games?"

Your smile fades slightly and you just shake your head.

"That's okay. We'll figure it out."

That night, Coryo came to see you again. You were curled up with his blanket, draped half over yourself and half over Jessup as he lay next to you. It was a small blanket, obviously meant for a child, but it helped anyway. Maybe it was just a placebo, but for you, that was more than enough.

As you got up, hearing him call your name in a familiar tone, you draped the blanket more fully over Jessup before making your way over to the bars of the enclosure. "Good evening, Coryo. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I brought you some things." He whispers, digging in his bag.

"How kind." You smile, watching as he pulls things out, handing you a napkin with some bread wrapped inside and tucking whatever else he brought under his arm to give to you after you've eaten. "Can you sit for a few minutes?"

"Of course." He nods, sitting down with you as you cross your legs and unfold the fabric carefully as not to drop what's inside. "I was hoping to talk to you anyway."

"Let's talk; it is not day." You smile, leaning toward him more.

"Should I be asking what that's from?" He jokes, but is surprised when you shrug.

"You could, but I wouldn't want to bore you." You giggle, shaking your head. "Take a guess, though. I believe you'd know it."

He smiles, watching as you take a bite out of the bread. "Romeo and Juliet?"

"Yes." You nod in confirmation, covering your mouth while you speak. "You're a real fan, now, aren't you?"

"I guess so." He chuckles. "The fact that I've never read it is unimportant."

"Completely irrelevant." You agree with a quiet laugh. His smile fades as his eyes land on something behind you, and you turn to follow his gaze over your shoulder. "What are you looking at?" You whisper, looking back at him again.

"Are you sharing everything I bring you with Jessup?" He asks, voice stern as his brow furrows at the question.

"I try to." You nod, taking another bite. "He's not well. I think something bit him the first night we were here."

"You can't." Coryo insists. Of course, he wants you to win, and you handing over every bit of sustenance or help you receive is only lessening your odds. Making Jessup stronger and you only weaker. "I know you're a good person, but once you get in that arena you won't have any friends. Not even him." Coryo explains, strategically skipping over the part where it makes him ill to see you sleeping with your head on the boy's shoulder and sharing the blanket that he gifted to you.

"Oh..." You say, so quietly he can hardly hear. "But-"

"Y/N." He cuts you off, a serious look on his face. "If you keep feeding him, keep helping him, and it comes down to you and him in the end, who do you think will win in that fight? If you had all the same nutrients and sleep, who do you think will win?"

"I- well..." You stutter, looking back at your friend. "It won't come to that. I think we both know that."

"We have to assume it will." He pleads, eyes now locked on yours. "Don't make it easier for him."

"Coryo, he's got a family, siblings, his ma to get home to. They need him." You protest, leaning closer so no one else could properly hear.

"So do you." He reminds you. The look of guilt that crosses your face indicates to him that even though you had your own family, something about Jessup makes you willing to give that up for him to get home. "What about Tybalt? He'll never know what happened to his own mother. Or your brother losing his sister. Y/N, please..."

Your eyes widen at the mention of your cat and your brother in particular. Clearly, Coryo is so desperate for you to listen that he's pulling strings he shouldn't. To make you hurt. To make you pay attention.

Tears fill your eyes as you speak. "I know." Your voice cracks, and the pit in Coryo's stomach tells him he's gone too far. "I'm sorry, I just- I don't want to be afraid anymore. It's selfish of me, I know, but I won't last long and I know that so I just want to get it over with." You cry quietly, reaching up to wipe your eyes on your wrist. You hadn't been so candid with him before, he almost doesn't recognize you without a smile on your face.

"Hey, no, don't be sorry. It's not selfish." He whispers, without hesitation reaching through the bars and resting his hand on your knee. Your skin is cold to the touch, even for him after he had just walked all the way here in the same air. "But it'll be over soon, and I'll get you home. I'll do everything I can."

You sniff and nod, hesitating before placing your hand over his. "I promise I'll do my best in the interview. I want you to win your prize."

Coryo's mouth gets dry at the insinuation. You didn't think you could win, you won't even consider it even with all the encouragement he tries to feed you every day, but you want him to win. "That's not important." He says, shocking himself with the sentiment. The Plinth Prize is his only hope at a viable future, at saving his family. But right now, he doesn't even care.

You don't respond right away, just sliding your hand under his to hold it. His skin on yours feels warm, comforting, the same way it did when he held it when you were first dumped in the zoo. You don't know if it's more comforting to you or him.

"I'm sorry to cry at you, I just sometimes realize what's going to happen to me and spiral over the possibilities and no matter how hard I try to accept it..." You shake your head, looking down at your hands. "I'm still fearful." Your voice drops below a whisper.

"Then don't accept it." Coryo grasps your hand tighter, leaning closer to you and looking at you through the bars. "Fight. Try to win."

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if your user has a strikethrough i wasn't able to tag you! i'm so sorry!

[rosewine-5]

𝑽𝒊𝒓𝒕𝒖𝒐𝒖𝒔 𝑨𝒅𝒐𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 (𝟏)

Billy the Kid x b!woc reader

Being the pastors daughter meant you had to always be on your best behavior, never stepping off the right path, walking the straight & narrow path, and her eyes towards heaven. That was until a certain outlaw rode into your life, and taught you sometimes it okay to have a taste of hell with a little bit of heaven.

AN: readers last name is Bennett.

Word count: 1.3k

Here’s the link to part 2 & part 3

Divider by saradika

It was the same schedule: Wake up, pray, work, eat, give thank, sleep, repeat. It had been the routine for 20 years. Well, maybe just for you. The family consisted of her mother, father, 2 brothers, Michael and John, and then yourself. Father raised the 3 of you to have unwavering faith and trust in a higher power no one would see while you were still alive. In a way, if offered stability to your family, and yourself.

But it also came with rules, which in your case, sucked, especially being the only girl in the house. You weren’t allowed to go out late, while your brothers could come home as late as early morning. Your father wanted his “little girl” to be, as he said “the gem of the Bennett name” , and for the most part, you didn’t know what else to be, other than a farmer.

The town you resided in had enough fertile soil for people to grow their food, there was even a lake not too far from town with a few trees close by. You used to swim there, before some men decided to ransack the town. That night everyone met in the church since the raiders burnt the town hall to the ground. That very night the leaders of the community, including your father, all agreed to hire mercenaries to keep the town safe.

If this wasn’t desperation, you didn’t know what else it could be.

When everyone got back to the farm, you and your brothers questioned your father. His only excuse was “There are some times in which we can’t wait for God to save us”, and there was no further argument. “This is something we can’t pray our way out of, child! Maybe one day you’ll understand.” He shouted, making you shrink.

The next day you woke up early on the property and walked over the kitchen, where Michael was packing up a bag along with your other John. “What’s the occasion?” You asked. “Pa told us we’re going with him to meet the mercenaries the next town over.” Your brother, Michael said in a rushed tone, sitting down to stuff his belonging in a bag. “You never told me that.” You said, walking towards him. “Well you’re not my mother.” He said, not looking up at you. “But I am your sister, and older than you.” You added.

“By 5 minutes.” He said, smiling up at you. Your mother had given birth to you first on a winter day, and then Michael a few minutes later. You didn’t know if it was the fact you two were born on the same day or being twins, but you were closer to Mike then you were John.

“Are you two bickering again?” Your mother said, walking in. “We were just saying our goodbyes, Dove and I.” Mike said, putting on a smile and slinging his arm around your neck.

You had adopted the nickname Dove after your 10th birthday by your father. To him, the name symbolized what he wanted you to be: pure, innocent, peaceful. For the most part, you were pure, you didn’t have a choice to be anything but, being the pastors daughter and all. A part of you didn’t mind being stamped as “Holy” but that also meant you didn’t have the same freedoms or privileges you would’ve loved to have.

You were snapped oh of your train of thought when your father came from outside and called for your brothers. Three horses were already set up, belonging to them. None for you. “We’ll be back by the end of the week.” He said, kissing your mother goodbye, and then waking to you. “Best behavior, my dove, as always.” He said, kissing your forehead before riding away, your brothers behind him.

The next few days were full of chores, errands, and work. And boredom. Then came the day they were expected back, your mother stood next to you. “Penny for your thoughts, honey?” Your mom asked, making you nod. “He means the best for you.” She said, putting her hand on your shoulder, trying to stick her point. “He just doesn’t want to see you-.” “Act out of line? Have fun? Have a real life?” You interrupted, looking at her. “You know that’s not what I meant, love.” She said, putting some of the vegetables that were grown in a basket.

“Here, take this, throw them out, and get some air.” She said, basically leading you out of the room. “And honey?” Your mom called, making you look back, “We only treat you with different rules to keep you safe.” After throwing the vegetables out, you looked towards the town, and sighed. “Safe my god given ass.” You mumbled to yourself, walking towards the lake for the first time in a while.

There was a cool breeze coming from the lake, one that you took in with a content look on your face. You laid down in the grass and took a deep breath in, before closing your eyes. After a few minutes, all you could hear was the breeze blowing and the rustle of the leaves. It almost drowned out the noise from the town, as well as the noise in your head. It even almost drowned out the sound of the twig that snapped behind you. Almost.

Your head snapped behind you to see a tall slender boy leaning on a tree staring at you, a small smirk on his face. From his face alone, you could tell he wasn’t a local, you couldn’t even recognize him. You looked him over, his rough appearance a clear sign he wasn’t one to walk over. But his eyes were the most enchanting part of him. Those blue eyes drew you in like a siren to a sailor. And as much as you wanted to drown in them, you knew shook out of the trance; who is this man?

“You new around here?” You asked, breaking the silence. He looked you up and down, before meeting your eyes with a wolfish grin, chuckling to himself. “You could say that.” He said, looking deep in your eyes. “I’m Billy.” You nodded your head toward him, “Nice to meet you, Billy.” “So what’s your name, honey?” He asked, the smile never leaving his face. “I’m Bennett.” You said, holding out your hand. Billy then took your hand and then kissed it, “You must be the pastors daughter, you and your brothers have the same eyes.”

Here we go again

He then smirked to himself, “If I may, humor me Ms. Bennett.” You immediately turned back around and looked at the water, “I doubt I could make you shut up anyway, so go on ahead.” You said, making him huff out a short laugh.

“What’s a lady like you doing by herself?” Billy asked, looking over you with a curious look in his eyes. “Like myself, huh? What’s that supposed to mean, cowboy?” You asked, not looking away from the water of the lake. You then heard his footsteps get closer, and then he was right behind you.

“I thought the pastor’s girl would know it would be safer to stay close to the house of the lord, than out here with her back turned, vulnerable.” Billy said, and you could see his shadow cover your frame, making you turn around, holding your shawl closer to your body, covering your shoulders.

In the moment you turned around, his eyes didn’t hesitate to look over your face, and then your body. Billy’s eyes went down to your neck and chest, making no effort to avert his gaze. “What a beautiful ring,” He said, getting your attention,” You engaged?” “No, it’s my purity band.” You said, holding it out so he could get a better view, and hoping he would leave you alone.

Instead, you saw a new look in his eyes.

One that let you know he wouldn’t leave you alone.

Interest.

Let me know what you think, feedback is welcome!

[xhyjin]

BORN TO DIE (pt 1)

| megumi fushiguro x sorcerer reader! x toji fushiguro

| the first time (and probably the last) you meet toji fushiguro, you realized two things; he didn’t smile like his son and he definitely wasn’t here to give you his blessings.

| #angst #fluff #tojifushiguro #megumifushiguro

| roughly 2k

| ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ : lowk was under pressure while writing this because i got so many votes on the poll for this story that i was scared of messing it up ><

__________________________________________________

dating megumi fushiguro came with a lot of struggles, such as not knowing much about his past, but it also came with many advantages—like his uncanny ability to help you when you struggled with a particular curse technique. he had a way of understanding your frustration without you even needing to explain it, guiding you through the basics of jujutsu like it was second nature.

“ugh, i swear, when you’re here, i can suddenly do it, but when you’re not, i keep struggling,” you groan, slumping to the ground with frustration written all over your face. megumi watches you with a soft gaze.

“well, i’m rather flattered that you want to do well in front of me,” he teases, holding out a hand to help you up.

you give him a pointed look and push his hand away. “don’t flatter yourself.” you stand up from the ground, wiping yourself off. “i’m tired, gumi. let’s go home and do nothing but kiss and cuddle,” you whine, leaning into his broad chest and burying your face against him.

megumi lets out a quiet sigh, his hand coming up to rest on your back. “you’re so dramatic,” he murmurs, but the slight smile on his face gives him away. “i’m not dramatic,” you grumble, your voice slightly muffled against his uniform. “if i’d been trained by gojo-sensei since childhood like you, i’d be a natural too!”

megumi raises an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching. “you really think training with gojo would’ve made things easier? trust me, it’s not as great as it sounds.”

you pull back just enough to look up at him, narrowing your eyes. “yeah, right. coming from the guy who can summon shikigami without breaking a sweat.” “practice goes a long way, sweetheart,” he says softly, pulling your face away from his chest so you’re looking at him. “and as long as i’m here to help you, you’ll be better than everyone in jujutsu high combined.”

before you can respond, he presses a sweet kiss onto your cheek, his calm confidence making your frustration melt away. “are you guys coming or not?” yuji groans from his spot on the floor.

“hey, they were just about to kiss!” nobara says, smacking yuji, her eyes gleaming as she watches the two of you like it’s some rom-com. “yes, yuji,” you roll your eyes, pulling away from megumi as the two of you grab your things and leave, hand in hand, with yuji and nobara on either side of you.

“let’s get some pizza, i’m starving,” yuji says as you all walk out of the school grounds. “ugh, pizza is too oily for this summer heat. let’s get sushi!” nobara insists.

“i’m okay with sushi” megumi says, shrugging. “me too,” you chime in, grinning. yuji lets out an exaggerated sigh. “i feel like you guys hate me.”

“sushi it is, i guess,” he mutters dramatically, leading the way to the sushi restaurant near the school. before you guys walk into the restaurant, you stop. “wait, i need to quickly run to the gas station over there,” you say, pointing toward the convenience store. “i just need to grab something. you guys go without me!”

“need me to come with you?” megumi asks, suddenly pulling you back to him before you can run off.

“no, gumi, i’ll be quick. just order for me and save me a good spot.” you press a quick peck onto his lips before pulling away, already starting to walk toward the gas station.

megumi shrugs, not thinking too much about you going alone since he knows you can handle yourself and use your curse techniques properly if needed.

you walk into the gas station, tapping your fingers nervously on the counter. “can i get a pack of marlboro cigarettes?” you ask the cashier, trying to sound casual, but your eyes dart around, making sure none of the group decided to follow you.

nobody knows that you smoke; you don’t even drink. but you started smoking as a way to calm yourself down. you pay for the cigarettes and head to the alleyway beside the convenience store. you grab a cigarette, reaching into your pocket for your lighter, but it slips from your hand.

“shoot,” you curse under your breath, watching the lighter tumble to the ground.

suddenly, a foot stops it from rolling any farther. you freeze, looking up to see who’s there. “need help with that?” a deep but spine chilling voice asks. before you can answer, the man steps closer, effortlessly picking up the lighter from the ground. without saying another word, he takes the cigarette from your hand, prying it between your lips before lighting it for you.

your heart skips a beat as you look up at him. you don’t know who this man is, but he eerily looks exactly like megumi, causing you to freeze up in shock, your mind racing. for a moment, you almost think it is him. you inhale the smoke, taking the cigarette out of your mouth before exhaling it all over his face.

you inhale the smoke, the bitter taste lingering in your throat as you exhale it all over his face. “do i know you?” you ask, trying your best to sound confident, but your voice wavers slightly, betraying the nerves crawling under your skin.

the man doesn’t flinch. his expression remains unreadable, his piercing gaze lingering on you like he’s sizing you up. the way he studies you sends a shiver down your spine, but you force yourself to hold his stare.

“maybe you do,” he says, his tone calm but laced with something unsettling. he plucks the cigarette from your fingers, his movements slow and deliberate, and places it between his lips. you watch, frozen, as he inhales deeply, then blows a cloud of smoke directly into your face.

you groan in disgust, taking a step back, but the hot breath and thick smoke cling to you, making your stomach churn. your instincts scream at you to put more distance between you, yet his mere presence feels suffocating.

“what do you want?” you manage to ask, your voice quieter this time, the bravado slipping.

he steps closer, closing the gap you tried to create. you instinctively press your back against the cold brick wall of the alley, trapped under the weight of his intense gaze.

the cigarette dangles loosely from his lips as he leans slightly forward. “relax, kid,” he murmurs, his voice eerily familiar. “i’m just curious about you.”

your heart pounds as you try to make sense of the situation. something about him unsettles you—not just his resemblance to megumi, but the way he carries himself, like he’s both lazy and lethal all at once.

before you can think of a response, the sound of your name being called shatters the tension.

“y/n?!”

your head snaps toward the voice, and your blood runs cold. it’s megumi.

“fuck,” you mutter under your breath, panic setting in as you desperately try to get rid of the cigarette smell clinging to you. you glance back at the man, but he doesn’t move. instead, he smirks, flicking the cigarette to the ground and grinding it under his heel.

“what? scared of being caught?” he teases, his voice carrying that same mocking familiarity.

you don’t respond, fumbling in your pocket for the perfume tester you always carry. you spray yourself haphazardly, hoping it’s enough, and then dart out of the alleyway, leaving the man behind.

“baby, where have you been? i thought you were going to be quick,” megumi says, his voice calm but tinged with concern as he spots you walking out of what he assumes is the store.

“i’m sorry, there was a long line, and the cashier was taking forever,” you say, the lie slipping out as guilt twists in your stomach.

he studies your face for a moment, his gaze steady but unreadable, before he lets out a quiet sigh. “it’s fine,” he says, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “but we should head back before yuji eats all your sushi. you know how he gets.”

he steps closer, leaning in for a hug. you hesitate before wrapping your arms around him, sinking into the familiar warmth of his embrace. standing on your toes, you rest your head on his shoulder, but over his shoulder, you glance back at the alleyway. your heart skips a beat, but to your relief, the man is gone. only the burnt remains of a cigarette butt on the ground remind you of the unsettling encounter.

as you pull away, megumi frowns slightly, sniffing the air around you. “you smell like cigarettes,” he says, his tone calm but vaguely curious.

your heart races, but you force yourself to shrug, keeping your expression neutral. “i was near shoko and geto-sensei earlier,” you say quickly, hoping the excuse is enough to satisfy him.

he raises an eyebrow, his gaze flickering over you for a moment. “they’re a bad influence,” he says, his tone dry but not unkind. “don’t start picking up their habits.”

you let out a nervous laugh, brushing it off. “that’s mean, megumi.”

he shakes his head, slipping his hand into yours as he starts walking. “just being honest,” he mutters, though his thumb brushes lightly over your knuckles in a small, reassuring gesture.

he shakes his head, slipping his hand into yours as he starts walking. “just being honest,” he mutters, though his thumb brushes lightly over your knuckles in a small, reassuring gesture.

when the two of you return to the sushi restaurant, the warm air and lively chatter welcome you back. yuji glances up first, grinning as he spots you both. “finally! what, did you get lost on your way back?” he jokes, scooting over slightly as you slide into the seat beside him.

megumi quietly takes his spot next to nobara, who raises an eyebrow at him before turning her attention to you. “you took so long i almost thought you ditched us,” she says, her tone light but teasing.

the food arrives not long after, plates of sushi and small dishes filling the table. nobara and yuji dive right in, but your thoughts drift as you stare at the plate in front of you. the man from the alleyway is all you can think about—the sharpness of his eyes, his voice, the uncanny resemblance to megumi. it’s too much to brush off as a coincidence. the thought tugs at the back of your mind, refusing to let go.

“y/n, are you okay?” nobara’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts. she’s looking at you with a curious smirk. “i asked if you wanted to go to the mall tomorrow, just me and you, but you were too busy staring at megumi.” she nudges him with her elbow, her grin widening as she wiggles her eyebrows at you.

megumi glances at you, his expression softening when your eyes meet. there’s a quiet warmth in his gaze that makes your heart skip a beat.

“aw, you two are like little kids in love,” yuji says, dramatically resting his chin on his hand with an exaggerated sigh.

“they are little kids in love,” nobara quips, smirking as she grabs another piece of sushi.

you shake your head with a laugh, trying to ignore the heat rising to your cheeks. “okay, you two are way too invested in this,” you mumble, but the small smile tugging at your lips betrays you.

“it’s getting late, let’s head home,” megumi says, gesturing to the waitress for the bill. “here, i’ll pay. sushi was on me, guys,” he adds, taking the bill and placing a sleek black card on the table that clearly didn’t belong to him.

“more like on gojo-sensei,” nobara jokes, causing yuji to burst into laughter.

“daddy’s money,” yuji chimes in, smirking.

megumi narrows his eyes at them, a slight smirk tugging at his lips. “you know what? i’d like to only pay for mine and my lovely girlfriend’s meal,” he says to the waitress, his voice calm but pointed.

nobara and yuji immediately stop laughing. “wait, no!” they both say in unison, panic creeping into their voices.

“no, you guys don’t want me to do a nice gesture and pay for your meal, so you can pay for yourselves,” megumi says smugly, leaning back in his chair as nobara groans and yuji scrambles to check his wallet. you let out a small giggle, shaking your head. “gumi, be nice!” you say, your tone slightly teasing.

“yeah, ‘gumi,’ be nice,” yuji mimics, flipping his wallet upside down to reveal its emptiness. “seriously, man, i’m broke!”

megumi sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “hey, only she can call me that,” he says firmly before waving down the waitress again. “fine, i’ll pay for the rest of their meals too.”

the waitress nods, taking the card and disappearing for a moment before returning with it. yuji lets out a dramatic cheer, and nobara smirks.

“see? he does have a heart,” nobara teases, making megumi roll his eyes as he takes his card back. “you guys can go; me and yuji are heading to the arcade. unless you want to tag along?” nobara suggests as you all stand up and leave the restaurant.

yuji perks up immediately. “yeah! come with us! it’ll be fun!”

megumi glances at you, his hand lightly brushing against yours. “do you want to go, or should we head home?” he asks softly, letting you decide. before you can answer, megumi’s phone buzzes. he pulls it out of his pocket, staring at the contact name. “it’s gojo-sensei,” he mutters.

“why is he calling?” yuji asks, tilting his head in curiosity.

“gojo is like his dad, yuji. maybe he wants to know why his ‘son’ isn’t home yet,” nobara jokes, sending both her and yuji into another round of laughter.

megumi rolls his eyes, clearly unimpressed. “you two are ridiculous,” he says before answering the phone. “what is it, gojo-sensei?”

megumi walks a few steps behind the group, his phone pressed to his ear as he talks to gojo. you barely pay attention to yuji and nobara’s playful banter, your mind distracted. occasionally, you glance over your shoulder, catching glimpses of megumi’s stern expression as he nods silently to whatever gojo is saying.

suddenly, he stops walking, his posture stiff. the abrupt halt makes you stop as well, causing yuji and nobara to pause and turn around to see what’s going on.

“megumi?” you call out softly, watching him closely as his grip on the phone tightens. his gaze flicks to you, his usual calm demeanor masking whatever was just said to him. the air feels heavier now, and all of you stand there, waiting for him to speak.

“i understand,” megumi says into the phone, his gaze fixed on you. he slides his phone back into his pocket before quickly walking toward you, gripping your arms firmly.

“ouch, megumi!” you protest, wincing at the pressure of his grip. but he doesn’t seem to notice, his attention sharp and unwavering.

“we need to get you indoors now,” he says, his voice firm and edged with urgency as he starts pulling you away. his strides are quick, his grip unrelenting.

“what’s happening?!” nobara shouts, panic clear in her voice. yuji looks equally alarmed, his eyes darting between you and megumi.

“gumi, you’re hurting me,” you plead, trying to wriggle free from his grasp.

“i’m sorry, y/n, but i can’t explain right now. we need to get you indoors now,” he says, his voice rising slightly at the end. the sudden force in his tone makes you flinch, his uncharacteristic harshness sending a chill through you.

as he pulls you along, his eyes dart around the area, scanning for something—or someone. every movement he makes is calculated, as if he’s expecting danger at any moment.

once inside the dorms, megumi is quick to shut and lock the door, his movements frantic as he pulls down all the blinds and checks every corner of the room.

“megumi, what’s going on?!” you ask, desperation creeping into your voice as you watch him move around like a maniac.

yuji and nobara exchange confused looks, their worry mirroring yours.

finally, megumi stops and walks over to you, his expression grim. “listen, y/n, you’re in danger,” he says firmly. “you’re being targeted by an assassin.”

his words hit you like a truck, and your knees feel weak. “an assassin?” yuji echoes, his voice laced with disbelief.

“why would she be a target for an assassin? she hasn’t done anything!” nobara chimes in, her voice high with confusion.

you don’t say anything, the weight of megumi’s revelation settling heavily on you. without a word, you sink onto the bed, your hands trembling slightly as your mind races.

“assassins don’t need a motive, they need an order. hell, they’ll kill a dog if they’re told to,” megumi says, taking a seat beside you on the bed, wrapping his arm around your shoulder and pulling you into his chest. “nothing is going to happen to you, nothing,” he says, kissing the temple of your head while you continue shaking in fear.

“well, do we at least know who the assassin is?” yuji asks, taking a seat on the floor in front of you two. “that’s the thing, we don’t know. we don’t know who they are, why they’re after y/n, who ordered the assassination, or how powerful they are.” megumi says.

“i think i know who it is,” you say, your voice coming out breathy.

“who?!” they all say in unison.

[nameless-jamie]

SHOULD I?

Glimpse Into the Future - Jamie Tartt x fem!PA reader

Masterlist

A/N: Tiny Baby Chapter

TW: cursing

It had been months since Y/N had found out she was pregnant, and with each passing day, Jamie couldn’t shake the thought of her in a white dress at the end of an altar.

Every time he saw her, especially with the growing bump, it was like the world had hit him with a massive wave of clarity. This was the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. She is the one.

But, like everything else, it wasn’t simple.

In his head, Jamie had it all figured out—he’d pop the question, they’d get married, and raise their little one together, happy and whole. But in real life, things were a little more complicated. And so, as per usual, he turned to his mates for advice.

But the thing about his mates was... they all had their own opinions.

It started with Roy Kent, who had been completely indifferent about Jamie’s idea. They were sitting in the locker room after training, Jamie changing into his usual clothes when he casually dropped the bomb.

"I’m thinkin' about askin’ her, Roy," Jamie said, staring at the ground as he pulled on his shoes.

Roy didn’t even look up from his desk. "What, marryin' her?"

"Yeah," Jamie muttered, rubbing his neck. "You think I should do it?"

Roy, ever the man of few words, just shrugged. "You should’ve done it years ago if you were a real man, mate."

Jamie blinked, his brow furrowing. "I—"

Roy didn’t care. "She's basically been acting like your wife since you hired her. But whatever. Do what you want. Just don’t make it some big dramatic bullshit. It’s Y/N. She’ll love whatever you do."

Jamie nodded, feeling both reassured and slightly confused by Roy’s blunt response.

Next up was Keeley, who, unsurprisingly, had a strong opinion. She’d been all about supporting Jamie’s and Y/N's relationship from the start, and this was no different. She was the baby's godmother after all.

"Jamie, listen to me," Keeley said, sitting across from him at the café they were at for lunch. "She’s definitely gonna say yes. But you have to consider something."

Jamie’s excitement immediately shifted to nerves. "What do you mean?"

Keeley leaned in, her voice lowering to a more serious tone. "Well, you know she’s pregnant, right? And, I mean, that’s a big deal. Do you really think she’ll feel comfortable being pregnant, walking down the aisle with a big belly?"

Jamie blinked, processing her words. "What do you mean?"

"I just don’t want her to feel uncomfortable or like it’s happening for the wrong reasons," Keeley explained, her voice softening. "You know how she is. She might feel like you're doing it out of obligation. I#m guessing you'd want to marry he before the baby comes?"

Jamie’s mind started racing. Was Keeley right? Was he moving too fast? Was Y/N even ready for all of this?

"Maybe you’re right," Jamie mumbled, glancing down at his coffee, feeling suddenly uncertain.

Keeley smiled, patting his hand. "Just make sure she’s happy, Jamie. That’s all I’m saying."

Next came Sam, who was always the thoughtful one. He looked at Jamie across the table of a pub they met up at, his expression serious as he took a sip of his drink.

"I just think," Sam started slowly, "if you’re gonna propose, it should be about you two and not about her belly. I mean, I know she’s pregnant, but you want her to say yes because she wants to marry you, not because she feels like it’s the right thing to do. She's probably very hormonal, we don't know how she'll react."

Jamie nodded, hearing Sam out. "You think she might not want to marry me now?"

Sam smiled, but it was a little sad. "No. I think she’ll love you no matter what. But you need to make sure she doesn’t feel rushed or pressured into something she’s not ready for."

Jamie felt torn. Would Y/N think he was trying to force things? Was it really better to wait until after the baby was born?

The rest of the boys, on the other hand, were practically buzzing with excitement the moment Jamie mentioned the idea.

"Wait, you’re proposing?" Dani’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. "What can I do to help? I’ll be your best man!"

Jamie chuckled. "You’re not gonna be the best man, Dani."

"Why not?" Dani pouted dramatically. "I could get you a nice suit! And we can practice speeches!"

Jamie shook his head, laughing despite himself. "Dani, you're not helping."

"Okay, okay," Dani said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "But can I at least pick the music for the wedding? I’ll make sure it’s perfect!"

Isaac chuckled at his eager teammate. "I’ll be in charge of the cake."

"Yeah, don’t go overboard," Jamie said, shaking his head. "This is supposed to be simple. Not a circus."

The rest of the guys chimed in, already planning Jamie’s proposal in their heads. The mood in the locker room was a stark contrast to the nerves swirling in Jamie’s stomach.

Meanwhile, Y/N had no idea what was going on.

She was too busy managing the day-to-day, making sure Jamie was in the right place at the right time, and figuring out how to juggle the whole assistant-and-girlfriend thing while being pregnant on top of that.

As she sat in the office, typing up her notes, her phone buzzed with a message from Keeley.

Keeley: "How's everything going with Jamie and the baby?"

Y/N smiled at the text. Things were going well. They’d been living in their new house for a long time now, and despite a few hiccups, they were settling in. She didn’t suspect that Jamie had been having a secret conversation with all of his friends about proposing.

She put the phone down, feeling a little giddy just thinking about their little family. The baby was coming soon, and life was finally falling into place.

But as much as she felt content, there was a part of her that still was a little scared about all of it—marriage included.

Little did she know, Jamie was already working on making sure her answer would be a big yes.

[romanshomeonwattpad]

Awaken Me | Tobias Eaton

pairings — four/reader | divergent au! |

summary : four seems to pick on you especially—and you figure out why. it’s because you both share the same secret.

warnings : none i think?

authors note : i forgot about this and decided to upload it even tho it’s unfinished…

© elliotsblunt 2022. do not repost, modify, or translate.

Your eyes burned slightly as you blinked away tears, confused as to why you couldn't find that certain...

Anger.

Wren, a curly haired blonde that belonged in Amity—somehow landed in Dauntless. But during combat, her frail arms would summon the strength of twice the muscle capacity she contains. If you hadn't seen her flip a man twice her size over her figure—

You wouldn't have believed it.

Anyways, Wren had told you that she had reached that certain level of fighting simply by thinking of what angered her most. The the thing was, nothing horrible had happened to you.

You were born and raised in Amity, where the crime rate remained a negative 0–if that were possible, it would be rated just that.

Your ma and pa sheltered you, as you were their only child. You were also extremely close with them, but after getting your screen test back—it was time to begin a new chapter in your life. One that would drag and smash you to the ground like a bug.

Which is what happened now—basically.

Gritting your teeth, you rolled over to dodge one of your opponents lashes. Fortunately, the girl wasn't a merciless bitch, and let you stand up whilst getting back into position. With shaky fists, you gulped, muttering a quick curse before her own swung towards your chin.

But—

The beating never came. The throbbing rush of warm blood thrashing in your veins never crashed. Your jaw was in tact, and you weren't flopped on the ground like a beaten animal.

Your eyes snapped open, flashing over to the strong hand wrapped around Turner's wrist. Turner, the girl you were fighting, gulped as she stood back from Four. His chest radiated of a warm essence that burnt your cheeks—especially with the smirk dripping off his face.

"Turner," he released her grip, not glancing at you, "It appears the Mary Poppins hasn't improved. Isn't fair to you, is it?"

Your throat went dry, remembering how much of a total prick he was. At first, you thought he was hot, so you deemed him to maybe be a good person. But after you figured one of his life goals was to torment and embarrass you—you checked your values and common sense.

His eyes were dark, but still weren't ever fluttered onto your figure—almost as if he didn't even want to look at you. It damaged your confidence more, knowing you were probably going to be factionless if you didn't shape up soon.

Turner only shrugged, dropping her arm back to her side before placing both hands on her hips. She raised a brow at you as you let out a sharp breath, wiping the imaginary dust off your palms before looking down at the ground and stepping off the fighting podium.

Your ears ring as her blows caused you some damage. Chewing on your bottom lip, you held back your defeated thoughts as Wren threw an arm around your shoulder,

"It's okay. I got a few beat downs my first year here. It gets better," she attempted to cheer you up. You merely hummed as she continued, "Anger, _ _. That's what powers you. You need—“

“I know,” you snapped, stopping your feet before rolling your eyes at her, “I know. But I’m not an angry person, and I’m shit at fighting.”

Her eyes narrowed, “Pity isn’t what makes you a Dauntless, _ _,” she stepped towards you, poking a nimble finger into your heart, “So instead of whining, kid, maybe you should just stop thinking and fight.”

Slowly nodding, you stood there as she headed over to the cafeteria for lunch. You noticed that the boxing bag area was empty—and it clicked in your head what Wren said.

Fight.

Bringing your fists up, you got into a fighting stance and threw your first punch. With gritted teeth, you felt the material bruise up your knuckles—but you wanted to feel it. Feel the pain. If you couldn’t feel the pain, then pity would just Pool around in your chest instead.

And you hated pity.

Hissing as you retracted your first, you did it again. Then repeated on the other fist. Every time the cool leather collided with your knuckles, it sent a sharp pain up your hand. But you stood through it, until the next time you swung, you didn’t realize the bag had made its own hit towards you—swinging and hitting your body with a harsh force.

Letting out a grunt, your body slammed into the cold cement of the training sector. Your ribs ached as you didn’t twitch to get up, instead accepting that you were going to be factionless if you didn’t get back up.

Get back up, _ _. You have to.

Sweat dribbled down your forehead as you landed another punch to the bag. You made it a mission to skip lunch so you could train, because you'd rather starve than be factionless. Breathing harshly through your teeth, you felt the muscles slightly tense in your arms.

"Mary poppins hasn't improved, has she?"

You felt your lip curl as you delivered another brutal hit, finally taking victory in the bag. You released a grunt as your fists kept colliding with it.

You were going to show that stuck up son of a—

"You're supposed to eat in order to gain muscle. Didn't teach you that back in Amity, huh?" You heard a voice quip, a deep and gravelly voice.

Jumping from surprise, your head snapped over to see Four leaning against one of the bags. His eyes were focused on you, smoky and stormy. You looked away from him instantly, but kept your focus on him, "Skipping lunch won't make you a Dauntles—"

"If someone tells me one more time what does or doesn't make me a Dauntless, I might just fucking shoot myself," you raised your voice, feeling the patience that usually you held snapped like a tree branch. Four's eyes stayed narrowed as he now crossed his arms, the muscles protruding from that caramel, ink covered skin of his.

You gulped, "I meant—"

He stood up straight, a smirk creeping into his plump, pink lips as he stepped towards you, "You're nothing but a farmer. You cannot train remotely enough to become one of us," he hissed, venom laced in his words. Something swirled in his eyes, making your jaw lock,

"You don't have anger. You have self pity, and Dauntless don't pity themselves. They fight, and are willing to give up their life for people. How can you fight others when you're fighting yourself already?"

You blinked, feeling anger begin to rise within you. It was a foreign feeling—but you didn't hate it. If anything, your veins welcomed the poisonous rage, but you bit your tongue.

Four laughed darkly, "You can't even speak up for yourself. Surely, you should go back to those farmers," he continued, making your fists balled up at your sides. As he continued to degrade you and your home, well— people who used to be your home, it rose.

The anger rose. It felt as the ground begun to shake, sudden flashes of all the combat you had witnessed before your eyes playing like a rapid slideshow in your mind. The cracks of the bones whenever someone would slip their foot beneath someone—breaking their balance.

Your eyes flickered up to his. He paused right before you, the scent of cologne filling your nose as your chest heaved deeply. Every sense of angst within you was on fire as he tilted his head.

"You don't belong here. But I doubt you'll be able to go home, since your parents disow—"

Your foot slipped under him, trapping him to the ground with a grunt from him. Your teeth clenched as you aimed to punch him, but he immediately snapped his eyes into yours. With furrowed brows, he grabbed your wrist and striked your leg with a harsh kick.

Your knee buckled, a bullet of pain shooting through your muscles. The cold concrete pavement of the training sector burned the flesh on your cheek, ears ringing as a dull ache formed in your back from the landing.

“C’mon, _ _,” Four chuckled, more so in a tiresome way than a tormenting tone. His chest heaved as I blinked, “Get up. Don’t give up now.”

It clicked. Was he…training you?

A boost if adrenaline shot through you. He believed in you. That was the push you needed to balance your wobbling arms off the ground, barely being able to push your body—but you did. Your fists balked at your sides as you gulped, accidentally melting into his cold eyes.

They weren’t as cold, though. As if the ice had slightly melted—but there was still another thick layer.

“Fighting is a dance,” he murmured firmly, grabbing your arm and spinning you around. You let out a harsh breathe as he held your back against his chest, before roughly pushing you away. You hit one of the punching backs, grunting as he smirked, “Until it’s not.”

“Can’t imagine dancing with you,” your eyes narrowed—only making his smirk grow.

But you didn’t hear a response, instead your eyes noticed he was about to take a step forward. Then, you watched his arm twitch—ducking before delivering a jab to his side. He flinched, which broke the barrier, and you didn’t wait to kick him down to the ground.

With a loud thud, you watched as his braid figure slammed against the ground. Picking up your feet, you darted towards him. Every single insult he’d ever thrown at you replayed in your head. He was trying to anger you.

Did he perhaps…care?

Sliding your knee across the ground, you grabbed both of his hands and held him down. Your hair fell over your face, panting deeply, as you used the rest of your strength to fight off his. His hues twitched to yours, something flashing in his eyes as they met yours.

Your throat became dry. Butterflies erupted in your tummy, a warm feeling hugging your heart.

Feeling the cheeks in your face burn—you felt the world slowly silence around you as your eyes melted onto his. You didn’t know if it was your imagination, or the adrenaline pumping in your veins—but you swore you felt his long fingers slowly graze your thigh.

Wait—

How did they get fre—

And in an instant, you were flipped into the ground. His strong hands held you down, gripping your wrist, as his muscular chest held down yours. Bodies pressed against one another, his grunts filling your ears…it was truly a sight.

A musky scent flooded your senses as you felt like you were high, wanting to reach out and touch that sculpted jaw of his. The stubble poking from his skin is probably scratchy against your palm, but his flesh still looked smooth and supple.

Despite his appearance coming off ragged and rough.

“That’s how you fight like a Dauntless,” He taunted darkly, making your brows raise in shock, “You’ll do just fine in ranks if you uh—“

His eyes fluttered to your lips, before he gulped and squeezed his eyes shut. He pushed himself off the floor, away from you, before dusting off his pants, “You should do just fine, _ _.”

Before you could say anything, he cleared his throat and made his exit.

[readychilledwine]

Hello. Hope u r feeling good. I was wondering if u could write something again. This one is particularly personal to me. Picture it. Reader is daughter of any one of the bat boys. If cass Or az then single dad. She has been bullied since the day she started school as a child because she has a problem when it comes to studying. As she grows it's her looks. The ic, notices her behavior is starnge. Like, snapping at small things, crying when they correct her or raise their voice. She has never told anyone because she doesn't want them to stress out and the bullies said that she was so worthless because she keeps running to her father for everything. Her dad finds out soon. U can decide the ending.

Oh my love 💜 all three of our boys got you.

Head Held High

Summary - After being born with Feyre's looks, but illyrian wings, Rhysand and Feyre's daughter faces challenges wherever she goes.

Warnings - bullying, signs of low self-worth, anger, inferred adhd or other learning issues, older brother coming in to do the older brother thing while protective dad does the dad thing

You had him wrapped around your finger the second you came into the world.

His beautiful baby girl, wide eyed and filled with curiosity and happiness.

You truly were a stunning little thing, but how couldn't you have been with parents like Rhysand and Feyre? He loved you even more for being the small version of your stunning mother. Her nose, her lips, her hair. The only piece of you that screamed you were his were those star flecked eyes.

Your childhood was filled with love and joy. With you constantly praised for your looks, for your smarts, or your imagination. Rhys and Feyre never thought anything of your wild mind. They loved it. They loved how sporadic you were, how one thing was never enough for you to stay focused on. They loved your random outlook on the world.

To Rhys, Feyre, and your significantly older brother Nyx, you were the world. They sheltered and loved you, thick and thin, protecting you from darkness and meaness at every turn.

It wasn't until you began lessons that you truly saw how unkind fae, especially those your own age could be.

You hated school and struggled to focus during lessons. You were busy, you told yourself in your little mind. Busy day dreaming of far away places, daring sword fights, a knight just like daddy or Uncle Az and Cass, mainly Uncle Az if you were honest with yourself, rescuing you from enemies.

Your grades reflected that. As did how your peers treated you.

"Silly y/n," one girl giggled when she thought you couldn't hear. "It's a good thing she's pretty, 'cause she's dumb."

"Her mommy couldn't read either. Maybe that's why."

In class the jabs were subtle enough that your teacher didn't notice, and when they did, nothing was done.

No one at home noticed either. No one noticed when you began to hide away more, when you stopped playing with your big brother after school. No one noticed when you weren't dreaming about being rescued anymore, but instead dreamed of running away.

Things did not get better when you were sent to Illyria, Uncle Cass and Aunt Nesta in tow, to begin training. You knew comments about your intelligence would be coming. You'd never expected comments about your looks, though.

"Imagine looking like your mom and trying to pass as an Illyrian."

"Her mom isn't even that pretty."

"Never said she was either."

You'd hide behind your wings constantly in public. You'd started eating alone. Stopped talking at home.

Cassian had tried asking what was wrong one night. His large hand running up and down your back as he spoke gently enough to you to shatter your aching heart a little more. "Just leave me alone!" You finally screamed at him. "I just want to be alone."

He wrote it off as homesickness, calling for Rhys and asking the High Lord to come visit you.

Rhys noticed it then.

He noticed the way you tucked behind your wings in shame. He noticed you eating alone. He noticed you never had a training partner.

He noticed your loveliness.

"Darling," a soft knock came at your door. "We need to talk." You curled further into your bed, your father refusing to enter or leave without your permission.

"Little love, please," his voice was pleading with you. "Let me in. Let me help you." You felt the gentle claws on your mind and blocked him out harder.

"Y/n, please. Don't shut me out." You'd never heard his voice break like this. The Crack that indicated he was about to cry. "I know what it's like to feel like you're the outsider here. I know what being this lonely feels like and how it eats away at you."

You heard something soft hit the door. "Babygirl, please. Let me come talk to you. Let me settle any feelings you're having. Let me help you. Please don't make me force myself in."

Shadows appeared in the corner, blue reflecting in them every so often. "I have her, Rhys. I'll come get you in a second." Your father yielded then. Yielded you to the arms of the Shadowsinger. "I've been watching for a little while." He admitted, "we've been worried for a few weeks."

He sat down on the bed next to you. "You stopped writing all of us. I know I violated your privacy and independence, but we all know how being out here can be. We all knew there was a risk of you being targeted the way we all were and the way Nyx was."

Azriel placed a hand on your back, rubbing small circles. "Your dad is the most worried. He did not want to send you here. He wants to bring you home."

You sniffled hard, finally lifting your body and shifting to sit next to him. "It's not any better there. I'm stupid in Velaris. I'm ugly here."

Azriel's jaw tightened. "Let me go get Rhys." Your uncle stood, walking to the doorway and leaving it open as he spoke softly down the hall.

Your dad was a mess when he entered. His hair was sticking different directions from how frequently he was running his hands through it. His face was tear stained. His shoulder slumped in defeat as he practically dragged his feet.

Azriel motioned for him to sit next to you, shutting the door so the three of you were alone and pulling a chair from across the room to sit in front of you. "Tell him what you just told me, little bat."

Your breath hitched as your hands began to shake. You could feel your eyes watering as you looked down to your unkept nails. "Taking me home won't make a difference."

Your dad pulled you close to him. "It would make all the difference, darling. We'd just send you back to regular-" Azriel shook his head at his brother, silencing him.

"Tell him the rest of what you said, y/n."

"I get made fun of in Velaris for being stupid, I get made fun of here for being ugly. It wouldn't make a difference."

Your father's world shattered then and there. Azriel stood, leaving the room to allow you to time alone now that the truth was out. Silence hung in the room. Interrupted every so often by your soft sniffles.

"How long," your father's voice broke again. "How long have you been getting picked on?"

You shrugged. "Since you started sending me to lessons."

He nodded, looking up. "I'm sorry I didn't notice, darling."

You didn't respond, only holding yourself tighter. He started. "I learned around your age, that holding my head high and not letting others see how much their cruelty hurt me tended to lead to it ending, but There is no merit in either of those statements"

He pulled you close to him, resting your head on his shoulder. "Are you easily distracted in school? Yes. Uncle Lucien always pushed us to teach you outdoors in a less formal environment with private help. You would have thrived in that setting. That is on me, y/n. I picked a public lesson setting so you could socialize." He paused. His jaw twitching. "You are not stupid in any sense, though, y/n." He motioned to the countless books stacked on your dresser. "Those are all educational texts or intense world building fantasies that you have taken the time to notate in a color system with separate journals filled with notes. That is not the action of someone who is stupid."

He tilted your face to him. "And you are not ugly. There is not a single court or location in this world where you do not meet or exceed their beauty standards. Anyone who says otherwise is either in denial of their attraction to you or blind. I never want to hear you say you are ugly ever again, darling."

A loud slam interrupted the heartfelt talk as your other brother entered the room followed by your cousins. "This is nice and all pops, really it is. Touching." Nyx walked to you, getting on his knees in front of you. "Their names, sis."

Rhys hid his smirk. "I never said your uncles and I weren't also going to do this, Nyx."

The heir rolled his eyes. "You can have their piece of shit fathers. I get the ones my age." Nyx grabbed your chin forcing you to look into his eyes. "Their names, y/n."

You gave them to him without hesitation. "Be nice," you said softly.

Nyx froze in the doorway. "You have mom's heart, y/n. I have dad's. You handle it with kindness and grace, I'm going to handle it with my fists and intimidation."

Your father pulled you close to him again. "Never change anything about you, little love." He stood moving in front of you and tilting your head up by your chin. "Just hold your head high, y/n. Hold your head high, walk away, and let dad and Nyx take care of the rest." He placed a kiss on your forehead. "Now, if you excuse me, I have a camp leader to beat the shit out of."

He paused at the doorway, turning to you. "I'll be right back. I promise. Maybe you could make us some hot chocolate and we can have a cuddle date like we used to?"

Your eyes lit up for the first time in years, making him smile and laugh. "There you are, darling. My beautiful girl."

[insomniac4000]

The Great YouTube Bake Off-ChrisMD

2864 Words

Chris Dixon was no stranger to challenges. From football tricks to wild challenges with his friends, he had tackled just about everything on his YouTube channel. But today, things were a little different. Today, Chris was venturing into a world he had only ventured into a few times and it wasn't his strong point, baking.

It had all started as a joke during one of their dates. Y/N and Chris had been together for seven months, she was a professional baker she had worked in kitchen restaurants before as a pastry chef but recently set up her own bakery and cake making business. While they were out y/n ordered a fantastic dessert but Chris was unimpressed with his complaining how hard was it to get a cheesecake right. Y/N scoffed at Chris's arrogance and thus was born the idea for a bake-off.

"How hard can it be?" Chris had confidently said while scrolling through pictures of extravagant cakes on Instagram. "I mean, it’s just mixing ingredients and throwing them in the oven, right?"

Y/N had raised an eyebrow, a small smile playing on her lips. "Sure, Chris. Whatever you say."

And that’s how they found themselves in the bright, spacious kitchen in a studio which had been used for Youtuber's cooking challenges, cameras set up and ready to film for Chris's second channel. The stakes were high bragging rights were on the line, and maybe a little something extra for the winner, as Chris had hinted at the possibility of the loser doing the winner's chores for a week. The kitchen counter was lined with ingredients, utensils, and an assortment of decorative toppings. Each of them had a cake recipe of their choice, and they would have two hours to complete their creations.

"You ready for this?" Chris asked, grinning as he adjusted the angle of the camera, making sure it captured both of them perfectly.

"Ready as I’ll ever be," Y/N replied with a twinkle in her eye, tying up her hair in a neat ponytail.

"May the best baker win!" Chris declared, striking a pose.

"Or the one who doesn’t burn the kitchen down," Y/N replied, causing Chris to laugh.

The judge was none other than long time friend of Chris, ArthurTV. Everyone was introduced on camera, y/n giving a small nervous smile. She hadn't appeared on the channel yet and she was grateful she was doing something she knew about so she could hopefully provide some content.

The clock started, and both contestants dove into their tasks. Chris, with his trusty iPad displaying a recipe began gathering his ingredients. He had chosen a classic chocolate cake—simple enough, but with a lot of room for error if one wasn’t careful.

Y/N, on the other hand, was as calm as ever now she was in the zone. She moved with the ease of someone who had done this a thousand times, expertly measuring out her ingredients without even glancing at the recipe. She had chosen a rainbow cake, one of her personal favourites, a common order in the shop and something she was well used to making.

As Chris cracked eggs into his mixing bowl, he glanced over at Y/N's workstation. She was working at a speed that was slightly unnerving, her hands moving in a blur as she sifted flour into a bowl. He suddenly felt a pang of doubt—maybe this wasn’t going to be as easy as he thought. But Chris wasn’t one to back down. He turned his attention back to his own cake and began mixing the batter with more vigour than necessary. Unfortunately, this resulted in a small cloud of flour puffing out of the bowl and landing all over his shirt.

"Smooth," y/n commented, not even looking up from her batter.

Chris glanced down at the mess, then at his girlfriends pristine workspace. A mischievous idea formed in his mind. If he couldn’t beat her fair and square, maybe a little sabotage was in order.

"Whoops," Chris said loudly, deliberately knocking a small bag of flour off the counter. The bag burst open as it hit the floor, sending a plume of white powder everywhere. "Guess I’m just clumsy today."

Y/N paused, looking up from her cake. "Really, Chris? Sabotage this early?"

Chris grinned innocently, wiping flour from his shirt. "I have no idea what you’re talking about."

Y/N shook her head, laughing. "You do realize this just makes it more obvious that I’m going to win, right?"

"We’ll see about that," Chris said, turning back to his bowl. But as he resumed mixing, he couldn’t help but notice how easily the girl had brushed off his attempt to throw her off her game. If anything, she seemed even more focused.

As the bake-off continued, Chris began to realize that y/n was not only a natural in the kitchen, but she was also completely unflappable. She whisked, folded, and poured with a precision that made Chris feel like an amateur. But he wasn’t about to give up, if anything, her calm demeanor just made him more determined to win, by any means necessary.

He subtly tried to disrupt her progress, hoping to shake her confidence. First, he "accidentally" bumped into her while reaching for a measuring cup, causing her to spill a little bit of sugar on the counter. She just shot him an amused look and cleaned it up without missing a beat.

Then, Chris tried adjusting the oven temperature while she wasn’t looking, but Y/N caught him in the act. "Chris!" she scolded, a mock-serious expression on her face. "Are you trying to sabotage my cake?"

"Who, me?" Chris replied, feigning innocence. "I would never."

"You do realize this is all on camera, right?" She reminded him, pointing to the lens that had been capturing every moment.

Chris froze, momentarily forgetting about the cameras. He laughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Oh, right. Well, I guess I’m busted then."

Y/N shook her head, unable to hide her smile. "You’re hopeless." She then decided her own course of action and when Chris was seriously measuring out some more ingredients y/n saw her opportunity and swiped the cocoa powder quickly, placing it on a high shelf where she knew Chris wouldn't be able to reach properly by himself. It was a big joke that y/n was an inch or so taller than Chris, she didn't mind but of course his friends ripped him for it.

"Where..." Chris said out loud looking around his workbench, spotting a very sly smile on his girlfriend's face. "Have you seen my cocoa powder?" Chris asked walking over to his girlfriends bench, she shook her head but the smile on her face gave the whole thing away. Chris sighed and looked behind her, seeing the packaging on a shelf next to a colander, he sighed and had to nicely ask Arthur to fetch it for him.

"That was uncalled for," Chris mumbled, y/n giggled to herself as she continued to pour her mixture in to the many cake tins she was using.

Despite their antics, both parties managed to get their cake batter into the oven without any major disasters. As he closed the oven door, he turned to y/n and asked, "So, what kind of decorations are you going with?"

"Buttercream," y/n said, as she started mixing softened butter and powdered sugar together. "Simple, but delicious."

Chris nodded, making a mental note. He hadn’t thought much about frosting, but now that she mentioned it, he realized that it was probably just as important as the cake itself. He decided to go with chocolate ganache—a little fancy, but hopefully, it would impress Arthur, and his girlfriend who's opinion meant everything.

Arthur had agreed to be the impartial judge for the bake-off, though Chris knew there was a good chance Arthur might side with y/n if the cakes were too close to call. The two of them had become fast friends since Chris and y/n started dating, and Chris couldn’t help but wonder if Arthur was secretly rooting for her. Chris knew he could be a bit of a handful sometimes too and it could come across he had a bit of an ego but it was all in jest, if nothing else he always tried his best.

With their cakes baking, Chris and y/n began preparing their frostings. Chris’s ganache, despite his lack of experience, was coming together nicely. He had managed to avoid burning the chocolate and was now carefully stirring in the cream. He felt a surge of confidence—maybe he could actually pull this off.

Y/N, meanwhile, had already finished her buttercream and was now focusing on making some unicorn decorations to top the cake. She moved with such efficiency that Chris couldn’t help but be impressed, even as he plotted his next move.

As y/n stepped away to check on her cake in the oven, Chris saw his opportunity. He quickly grabbed a small spoonful of salt and mixed it into her buttercream, hoping it would be enough to throw off the taste without being too obvious. He barely managed to return to his own station before y/n came back.

"How’s your cake looking?" Chris asked, trying to sound casual.

"Perfect," y/n replied with a satisfied smile. "And yours?"

"Uh, still baking," Chris said, glancing nervously at the oven. He hoped his cake would turn out as well as hers seemed to be. If not, he might have to rely on his sabotages more than he’d planned.

After what felt like an eternity, the oven timer dinged, and they both pulled out their cakes. Chris’s cake was a little uneven, but nothing a bit of frosting couldn’t fix. Y/N's cakes, of course, looked flawless—golden brown and perfectly risen.

They let their cakes cool before moving on to the final stage: decorating. Chris spread his ganache over the cake, trying to make it as smooth as possible. Y/N, meanwhile tasted her buttercream and shot Chris a look before starting again. As soon as her new buttercream was finished she was piping intricate patterns onto her cake with her buttercream.

As they worked, Chris couldn’t resist one last attempt at sabotage. He "accidentally" knocked a small jar of sprinkles off the counter, sending them scattering across the floor. Y/n just sighed and shook her head, clearly used to his antics by now.

"Chris, you do realize that if you spent as much time focusing on your cake as you did on trying to mess with mine, you might actually have a chance," she said, her tone more teasing than anything else.

"Hey, I’m just trying to keep things interesting," Chris replied with a grin.

The timer was ticking down faster than Chris would have liked, he still had chocolate sprinkles to add on and was going to put some sliced strawberry's to add too. He looked at his strawberry's and his face fell when he saw they were squished, like someone had put their fist on them like the hulk.

"Right madam, you're going to pay for that!" Chris scolded, he walked over to the fridge and luckily there was still a handful of fruit in there.

With their cakes finally completed, Chris and y/n stepped back to admire their work. Chris’s chocolate cake, while a bit rough around the edges, looked pretty decent, especially with the shiny ganache covering its imperfections. Y/n's unicorn cake however, was a work of art, with delicate piping, a face painted on the side and a unicorn horn placed on top wrapped in gold.

"Not bad," Y/N admitted, giving Chris’s cake an appraising look. "You might actually have a shot."

"You think so?" Chris asked, trying to hide his surprise.

"No I'm just being polite, but let’s see what Arthur thinks."

Arthur arrived back in frame. He greeted them both with a grin, clearly excited to see what they had come up with.

"Alright, guys, let’s see what you’ve made," Arthur said, He walked over to Y/N's cake first, examining it closely. "Wow, this looks amazing, Y/N. Very professional, but I'm going to have to have a look in the middle." Y/N then cut a slice out revealing perfect layers in her cakes.

"That's actually really impressive." Chris uttered, he was truly proud of his girl, she was obviously talented.

Arthur then turned his attention to Chris’s cake. He raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised by how decent it looked. "Not bad, Chris. I was expecting something a bit more… chaotic."

Chris chuckled, scratching his head. "Yeah, well, I had to make sure I wasn’t completely embarrassed on my own channel."

Arthur nodded, clearly amused. "Alright, let’s give these a taste."

He started with Y/N's cake, cutting a small slice and taking a bite. His eyes widened as he chewed, clearly impressed. "This is really good," he said after swallowing. "The flavours are spot on, and the buttercream is perfect. Chris I don't know how you don't weigh twice as much being with her." Arthur joked.

"It's hard," the curly haired man replied.

Y/N beamed, and Chris felt a twinge of nerves. He watched as Arthur moved on to his cake, cutting a slice and taking a bite. There was a long pause as Arthur chewed, his expression unreadable.

"Well?" Chris asked, unable to take the suspense any longer.

Arthur finally swallowed and nodded. "You know, Chris, this is actually pretty good. The ganache is rich and smooth, and the cake is moist. I’m impressed."

"Let me have a bite," y/n asked and thanked Arthur when he gave her a fork, she took a bite of the confection, it was maybe a little too heavy on the sugar but overall the cake was moist, spongey, the chocolate was rich and the ganache was smooth, for an amateur Chris has done a thoroughly decent job. "I'm actually impressed!" Chris smiled at his girlfriends comments, although Arthur was the judge she was the one he was really trying to impress and knowing he had done that made his heart swell a little.

Arthur stepped back, holding up his hands in a gesture of finality. "Alright, guys, this is a tough one. Both cakes are really good, but I have to choose one winner." Chris and y/n exchanged glances, both trying to read Arthur’s expression.

Arthur took a deep breath and said, "The winner of this bake-off is… Y/N!!!"

Her face lit up with a smile as Chris groaned in defeat. "Of course she won," he muttered, though there was no real bitterness in his voice he knew it would make good content if he protested a little bit.

"Thanks, Arthur," Y/N said, giving Chris a playful nudge. "Guess I’ll be picking out your chores for the week."

Chris laughed, shaking his head. "Yeah, yeah, you deserve it. But you have to admit, I gave you a run for your money."

"You definitely did," Y/N agreed, though there was a hint of mischief in her eyes. "But next time, maybe try to sabotage a little less and bake a little more."

Arthur, still recording, chimed in, "And there you have it, folks. Y/N takes the win, but Chris put up a good fight. Make sure to like and subscribe if you want to see more challenges like this one!"

"But next time, it's going to be a free kick challenge and I’m going to crush you." Chris warned, y/n shook her head laughing.

"I’m looking forward to it."

"This is where she admits she is secretly the best free kick taker in the UK and has been playing for years," Arthur joked a little, y/n gave a smile to him and Chris which was so innocent it looked like a halo could appear above her head at any moment.

"I've got my eye on you," Chris winked pulling his girlfriend in for a side hug, her placing her hand on his chest with his around her waist.

As they started cleaning up the kitchen together, Chris couldn’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction despite his loss. The challenge had been fun, and he’d learned a lot—mostly that he should never underestimate y/n. And who knew? Maybe baking would become a new hobby for him.

But for now, he had a week of chores to look forward to, courtesy of the best baker he knew. And as much as he hated losing, he had to admit that it was worth it.