#but just looking at the first game in isolation

[kyogos]

Full offence to every rugby player or fan that wants this, but making rugby more into a spectacle nfl style is actually a shit fucking idea

[retrosabers]

𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐅𝐔𝐌𝐄’𝐒 𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐌𝐄 𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐎𝐌.

logan howlett x fem!reader

summary: the scent of you is driving logan crazy.

contains: mild 18+ content. MINORS DNI. mentions of masturbation (m&f), a steamy little make out, and implications of future smut

word count: 1.8k

a/n: not me trying to capitalize off the hugh jackman renaissance and revive my dead blog…anyways, this is my first time writing for logan! hope you all enjoy <3

i feel like we don’t talk enough about logan’s enhanced sense of smell.

the man can catch a whiff of someone the second they walk into the room, even the building sometimes if their scent is strong enough. it’s especially heightened when he realizes he’s attracted to you. at first he thought maybe it was because you were always wearing perfume, the aroma lingering around the mansion wherever you traveled. but then it became such an intense, all encompassing sensation that he knew it was something deeper.

his suspicions are confirmed one night as he walks past your room. if the faint whimpers he heard weren't enough confirmation of your activities, then the scent that fills his nostrils seals the deal.

you’re touching yourself. and he can smell your arousal.

it makes something stir in his stomach. the animal-like urges he always tries so hard to keep at bay threaten to make their way to the surface the longer he stands frozen in the hallway. logan attempts to shake the heat that spreads across his skin as he makes his way back to his own room, but it only ends with him cumming hard into his hand an hour later.

the next day, when he catches you on your way out of charles’ office, you offer him the same kind, beaming smile you always did. then that damned smell fills his nostrils again and his fists curl at his sides once you’re out of eyesight.

there’s only one explanation for it.

you’re ovulating.

which means there’s no escaping his desires unless you stay out of reach.

so for his sake and yours, he decides to just avoid you completely until the week is over. he can’t risk caving to those urges and doing something stupid and irrational.

of course you’re completely oblivious to it. you think that he’s just being weird, going through another rut of being a standoffish loner like he was when he first arrived at the mansion. because after about a week, he’s back to being a bit friendlier, to being the logan you had grown to call a close friend.

then the cycle seems to repeat itself and you notice it’s just you he’s avoiding.

you try and wrack your brain to think of anything you could’ve done to warrant this kind of isolation. you hoped if something upset logan he would just talk to you about it instead of playing this childish game of hot and cold.

after a couple months, you decide you’ve had enough.

cornering him was a difficult task. but you were observant enough to know certain parts of his routine, including exactly when he would be lingering in the common areas after all the kids had gone to sleep. after two failed attempts of trying to catch him in the kitchen, you finally managed to find him alone and unsuspecting.

“why have you been avoiding me?” you blurt, wanting to cut right to the chase. you’re expecting him to flinch a little bit, perhaps even be stunned.

but he knew you were coming. logan knew it was only a matter of time before you noticed his schtick.

still, he decides to look for an excuse, any excuse, to cover up the real reason.

“m’not avoiding you” he grumbles halfheartedly around the rim of a beer bottle. taking an extra long swig, he finally turns to look at you; leaning against the doorway with your arms folded and a look akin to annoyance plastered across your pretty face.

you cock your head to the side, clearly unimpressed with his answer.

“a few days ago, i watched you back out of a room the minute you realized i was in it,” you start to list off, counting with your fingers. “last month you avoided the wing where the gym was altogether while i was going through a new training regimen.”

logan winces at the memory. the scent of your pheromones was intoxicating. so much so that he couldn’t step foot anywhere near the gym without feeling like he needed to rub one out.

“and the month before that,” you huff out a sad laugh, voice suddenly soft and quiet. “you didn’t even say goodbye before you went off on that mission with scott and jean.”

guilt overtakes him quickly at the pain in your tone.

you’ve never looked smaller as you pick at a loose thread on your sweatpants. “did i do something wrong?”

“no,” logan reassures, jumping out of his seat at record speed, though still trying to maintain some distance. “you didn’t do anything wrong.”

“then what is it? you sigh exasperatedly, desperate to put an end to this nagging feeling that’s been eating away at you. “logan, you know if something’s bothering you, you can tell me.”

and he wants to. he so badly wants to, maybe even see if you’ll offer to help him out. but you’re you. the sweetest, kindest thing he’s ever known and he’ll be damned if he lets his curse of a mutation ruin whatever relationship the two of you have.

but then you’re inching closer and his skin starts buzzing again. his senses are consumed by you. by the way you look up at him with big, wide eyes, the softness of your skin as you reach to place a comforting hand on his forearm. it's all too much, and he finds himself pulling away from you with a grunt.

it hurts to see him retreat from you so aggressively. his jaw is clenched tight, his fists at his sides even tighter as the veins in his arms bulge bigger than you’ve ever seen before. he looks pained. like he’s fighting something internally.

“logan,” you approach him cautiously, unsure of what exactly to do. “what’s going on?”

his eyes squeeze shut at the sound of your voice. “just, please go back to your room.”

“i’m not leaving you like this.”

“m’not asking you,” he grits out, almost like a growl. “i’m telling you. go back to your room.”

now he was starting to piss you off. you narrow your eyes, leaning your hip against the counter.

“or what?”

suddenly he’s crowding your space, chest heaving up and down as he stares at you with pupils so wide his eyes are nearly black. logan’s voice is scarily level when he utters his final warning.

“or i’m gonna do something i regret.”

when you shift closer to him, his nose twitches with a sniff. the raise of your brow doesn’t go unnoticed, and he knows that you’re not leaving this room until you get to the bottom of what he’s been hiding.

that’s when something inside logan decides to throw caution to the wind, just for a minute.

“i can smell you.”

curiosity morphs into confusion at his admission. you shake your head.

“i don’t understand.”

then, the man’s gaze travels to the waistband of your pajama pants, the tension in his jaw growing more taught by the second. his hands flex at his sides, trying to keep him grounded and calm as he finally admits what’s been driving him mad.

“i can smell you.”

the emphasis on the last word takes a minute to register. logan watches as the gears turn behind your eyes, catches the exact moment of realization as your gaze softens and your lips part.

oh.

oh.

slowly things start to piece together. how logan’s behavior seemed to fall around the same time these past couple months. a few weeks before your cycle.

he wasn’t avoiding you because he was angry, or upset. he was avoiding you because you were fucking ovulating.

logan expects you to flee, to be completely weirded out and steer clear of him for the foreseeable future. what he’s not expecting, is the words that come out of your mouth.

“i can help you with that if you want.”

you say it with such nonchalance, such casualness that he wonders if you’re even really grasping what you’ve said.

the wolverine shakes his head. “trust me, you don’t want this.”

he doesn’t quite believe his own words as he watches you close the distance between your bodies. something you’ve been desperate to do for as long as you can remember.

the thin fabric of his tank top and the soft cotton of your t-shirt is the only thing standing between you both. your chests are mere centimeters from touching and logan can feel the heat radiating from your bodies as his confession hangs heavy in the air. then that fucking smell comes back tenfold and he groans.

“you don’t get to make that choice for me,” your voice is sickly sweet, dripping with desire as your fingers ghost over the waistband of his jeans. he feels like a horny teenager as he preens at the barely there contact.

logan breathes your name, a last stitch effort to get you to run, though he knows it’s futile. if there’s one thing he knows about you, it’s that you're stubborn. unmoving in your ways.

and that when you want something, you don’t stop until you get it.

your hand comes up to cradle the side of his face, a rather gentle touch he wasn’t anticipating. his eyes flutter shut as you swipe your thumb over the expanse of his cheekbone.

your words are barely above a whisper. “i trust you, logan. completely.”

that’s all he needs to hear before he throws any sense of self control out the window.

he surges forward and captures your lips in what is possibly the most heated kiss you’ve ever experienced. you nearly stumble over at the sheer force of it. logan’s large hands fly to your waist, yours to the back of his neck as his tongue prods for entrance into your mouth. it’s messy, almost primal as you let him ravish you like he’s been thinking about for weeks.

you moan and he swallows the sound greedily, desperate to hear it again, and again, and again. when his lips move to press against the column of your throat, you know this is going to escalate into exactly what you hoped it would.

“logan,” you breathe out as he focuses on your pulse point, his hands wandering further south to knead at the globes of your ass. “not here.”

“why not?” he mutters, all smirky and smug as he continues to press wet hot kisses against your neck.

“because i would prefer if you didn’t fuck me where our friends eat.”

he laughs, a deep vibration felt against your chest as you absentmindedly grind your core against his. it makes him bring his mouth back up to yours, stealing one final kiss before he pulls away.

looking at you like he wants to eat you alive. and by god you might just let him.

pressing a playful smack against your backside, he gently nudges you in the direction of the corridor.

“lead the way sugar.”

thanks for reading! <3

[paradiseprincesss]

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗ 𝑻𝒐 𝑩𝒆 𝑬𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒏 𝑨𝒍𝒊𝒗𝒆 | Jonathan Crane

NOTES -> Hello hello! im gonna be in uni full time again starting first week of september so uploads will be much slowerrrr im sorry. I’ll try to write as much as i can for u my little loves!

REQUEST -> Based off the prompt 15 from this list here

SUMMARY -> Your boss, Jonathan Crane, plans on isolating you away from your old life, consuming you whole until you become nothing but devoted to him...and you're too naive to see the mind games that the expert psychiatrist is playing.

WORD COUNT -> 3.3k

WARNINGS -> Smut, p in v, soft!dark Jonathan, doctor/nurse relationship, boss/employee relationship, creampie

MASTERLIST

MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Jonathan felt his chest tighten as he narrowed his blue eyes behind his glasses. His focus was locked on you and only you, along with the orderly speaking to you for the last few minutes.

You were a nurse at Arkham, young and bright-eyed, so full of energy — and that caught Jonathan’s attention. Your unusually cheerful demeanour and sweet aura drew him in, whether he liked it or not. Maybe it was how you’d always give him a cute little wave every time he’d pass by you, or maybe it was how you’d smile at him when everyone else seemed to cower away from the stoic doctor. 

Or maybe it was because once he saw you leaving work in your everyday clothes instead of your usual scrubs, and when you seemingly bent over to pick up your keys which you dropped on the ground, he could see the lace of your pink panties poking out of your low-rise sweatpants — but I guess we’ll never know. 

See, that was the problem. You were so sweet, but you were like that with everyone you worked with; which made Jonathan feel inferior in many ways, but he promised himself that he’d have you eventually.

He didn’t want to hurt you by any means — oh god, no. He’d rather torture himself than watch you suffer through any anguish. However, he did want everyone around you to fall victim to a rather sinister fate if it meant they stayed away from you. 

Jonathan didn’t really consider himself a sadist, but watching those around you seemingly go missing and suddenly quit their jobs at Arkham (unwillingly, of course), derived an innate sense of pleasure within him. 

That was one of the perks of being the chief psychiatrist — he had all the power in the world to do whatever he pleased within the walls of Arkham, no matter who he hurt in the process. Jonathan would quietly fire many employees who he felt were “too friendly” with you, but he’d always tell you that they’d mysteriously quit or that they had changed jobs. 

“Perhaps they just didn’t have it in them to help the…unique patients we house here,” he’d say to you. “Not everyone is as dedicated and as kind as you are, you know?” 

Foolishly, you let his flattery get into your head; you let yourself fall for him without even realizing it.

You believed that the universe divinely guided you to him. You were sure of it — he was just so kind and understanding. You couldn’t believe the other staff of Arkham didn’t see him the way you did! How could they dislike him? Fear him? 

To Jonathan, you were like an angel that fell from above, capturing his cold, dead heart within your warm, beating, and very alive one. You were so kind to the patients, so gentle with them — and your patients only ever had good things to say about you. 

As you spoke to the orderly in front of you about what you did over the weekend, you noticed your boss looking rather tense from the corner of your eye. His jaw was clenched slightly, and his expression unforgiving. He exhaled sharply before ushering you over toward him, causing you to excuse yourself from your current conversation. 

“Doctor Crane,” you greeted sweetly, “how are you?”

“I’m rather stressed today,” he answered softly, taking on that same gentle tone that he always seemed to take with you. 

“Is everything okay?” 

“Everything is fine, but I'm worried about you.”

“What do you mean?” you asked innocently, cocking your head to the side slightly as if to emphasize your confusion. 

“I think perhaps we should speak in my office about this,” he offered. “Come with me, please.” 

Your smile suddenly faltered slightly as anxiety and paranoia ran rampant through your veins.

Your paranoid thoughts had to be put on the back burner as you took a seat across from him in his office, watching him as he sat down at his desk. His suit was pristine as always — and today, he opted for a brown sweater vest underneath it.

You’d count every thread and stitch on his suit for him if he asked you to. 

“Doctor Crane—”

“Just Jonathan is fine,” he interrupted before clearing his throat. “I wanted to speak to you in private about a certain concern of mine.” 

“What is it?”

He sighed before he took off his glasses and meticulously placed them on his desk. He leaned forward slightly, and you stayed quiet as he hesitated for a moment before his smooth voice finally cut through the silence in his office between the two of you. 

“I’m worried that you may be overworking yourself,” he explained, looking at you with his tantalizing eyes. “I notice you pick up shifts and work overtime frequently, and I worry that you may be taking on more than you can handle. As your boss, I just want to make sure that you’re not burning yourself out as that can’t be good for you, and I believe in a healthy work-life balance.”

You made an ‘o’ shape with your mouth, unsure as to what you could say to him — that wasn’t what you were expecting him to say to you. Perhaps you had been overworking yourself, but that was just a part of you. Having a strong work ethic was something you strongly believed in, but maybe he was right. You couldn’t care for your patients if you were too exhausted to, right? 

Now that he mentioned it, you were quite tired today. You started to think about it — as of recently, you’d been slamming coffees left right and center to stay awake at work, hadn’t you? You just wanted to help out since you were fairly new around here, but maybe it was doing you more damage than good.

Jonathan saw your usually cheerful demeanour deflate in his office, and he looked at you sympathetically, “I know this is not something you’d want to hear, especially from your boss of all people — but I just want to ensure that all my staff are doing well, you know?”

You bit your lip for a mere second, hesitating to speak before you let the words fall from your lips, “You know, Jonathan, sometimes I feel like you’re the only person here who actually…cares about me.” 

He internally applauded himself — in a moment of vulnerability, you sought out comfort in him. Just like he had planned. Just like he wanted.

“I think you’re an exceptional nurse,” he mused, “and truthfully, I do enjoy working alongside you. So yes, of course, I care about you. I remember when I first started working after finishing my residency, I would exhaust myself constantly. I’ve learned through many years that it’s just not good for you.” 

Jonathan’s plan was being executed perfectly — he wanted to isolate you. He wanted you to come running into his arms, far away from everyone else around you. He was on his worst behaviour today, but he believed you brought out the best in him. 

You weren’t overworking yourself, but with Jonathan’s quick wit, years of training in psychology, and exceptional gaslighting skills, you thought perhaps he was right. Maybe you should take some time off of work, you thought.

“Tell you what,” he said softly, “how about you and I have drinks tonight instead? Forget about work and such. I think you need it.”

His words caused your cheeks to heat up. He was your boss, and this was way out of line for a boss to ask an employee. However, it didn’t help that you were very attracted to him.

“Drinks?”

“My place at eight. I have a bottle of cabernet I think you’d enjoy — If I remember correctly, you said it was your favourite?” 

“Y-yeah,” you stammered. “It is.” 

“So I'll see you tonight at eight, then,” he smiled softly, causing butterflies to erupt in your stomach. “I’ll text you my address.” 

You nodded, slightly starstruck. 

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Once you’d parked your car on the side of the neighbourhood street, you stepped out into the chilly night, your high heels clicking against the pavement of the ground loudly as you made your way onto his porch.

You gave three soft raps to his front door before you heard shuffling coming from inside the house. After a few moments, the front door swung open gently, and Jonathan stood there with a small smile on his face.

“Come inside,” he ushered you, “make yourself at home, darling.”

And so you did. 

You two talked over a few glasses of cabernet, bringing up the topic of work a few times here and there, but he mostly attempted to get to know the real you. What you did in your spare time, what your hobbies were, if you were seeing anyone…

“Out of curiosity, are you seeing anyone?” Jonathan asked you casually, but his voice dropped an octave as he looked directly at you, resting his hand on your thigh rather boldly. “I’m asking because I've seen the way you look at me…” 

“I-I’m sorry?” you stammered, your cheeks feeling warmer and warmer by the second with the way his hand was now resting on your leg. You couldn’t deny it now. “I didn’t mean…um, I just — you’re always so kind to me…and I–”

He shushed you softly, creeping his hand up a little further. “I’m quite flattered, darling. Not to worry,” he purred. “I figured it wouldn’t be very appropriate of me to tell you how hard it is for me to not look at you when you’re at work, but after today, I just don’t think I can help myself anymore…” 

Suddenly, his lips brushed up against yours, and as if it was instinct, your hands came to wrap around his shoulders. He let you pull him in even closer, his hands now coming to rest on your hips as you two kissed feverishly on his couch.

You and him were like a chemical reaction — explosive, unpredictable, and potentially fatal.

“You’re perfect,” he whispered against your lips in between kisses. 

A shiver ran down your spine as his hold on your hips tightened slightly, his words causing your brain to short-circuit for a moment before you could think clearly again. 

“Jonathan, I–”

“Don’t speak, just give into it, my darling.”

You let yourself get lost in the constellation that was Jonathan Crane, letting him run his hands all over your body and kiss you with an insatiable hunger. Soft moans left your mouth as he peppered kisses down your jawline and neck, nipping at the delicate skin gently. 

You would’ve been worried about him leaving marks because you wouldn’t want your boss to see the next day at work — but you had to remind yourself that he was your boss. 

But none of that mattered when it felt so right; when his lips felt so good against your skin.

“Can I take this off?” he rasped, toying with the strap of your dress. 

“Mhm,” you hummed. “Please, Jonathan…”

Slowly, he took the dress off of your body, gently tossing the garment to the side as he looked at you in absolute awe. It was like looking at a priceless piece of art in a museum exhibit to him — nothing could compare. Even a picture wouldn’t do the sight in front of him justice. 

“Should we go upstairs?” you suddenly asked. 

Maybe it was the handful of wine you’d shared that evening, or maybe it was just sheer arousal; you weren’t sure which one, but all you knew was that you needed him to have his way with you. 

“Yeah, of course,” he agreed, taking your hand in his. “Just up the stairs to the left — I think I'll let you lead the way, darling…”

The two of you got up from the couch, hand in hand, and Jonathan’s eyes roamed your body from behind as you made your way up the stairs together. 

Of course, you came prepared — you know, just in case things were to happen. Before you left, you threw on your sexiest, laciest, lingerie underneath your dress, and it was a good thing you did because that investment certainly paid off.

He watched your hips sway in your lingerie, along with the heels you were still wearing (because we simply can’t forget about those), and he could feel his cock straining against his pants. “Pretty girl,” he mumbled from behind you. “Your body is heavenly.” 

“Shush,” you giggled, grabbing him by his tie and pulling him close once you reached the bedroom. 

He looked down at you in the dim lighting of his bedroom, noticing the way your skin was glowing under it. Your hair was slightly messy from making out on the couch earlier, and you had a small smile tugging at your lips — you were perfection if he’d ever seen it. 

Jonathan kissed you rougher this time, his hands finding their way into your hair, tugging ever so gently against your scalp. He backed you up onto the bed, pushing you down onto it as he undid his tie, looming over your delicate body which was sprawled out on his king-sized bed. 

After taking his tie off, he threw off his suit jacket and started to unbutton his shirt. You hummed softly, running your heel against his leg as he rushed to get himself out of his clothes. The tent in his pants made it all the more obvious how desperate he truly was for you, but you stayed patient. 

Once he was on the bed with you, he helped you out of your bra and panties, causing your cheeks to heat up from how exposed you felt. “You’re cute when you blush,” he commented when he noticed your blush, making you all the more flustered while he undid his belt. 

After freeing himself, his thick, veiny cock caught your attention, and you swallowed the lump in your throat. He was big — you weren’t sure how that was supposed to fit, but right now you were so wet, you were almost certain your walls would stretch out around him with ease. 

He lined himself up with your dripping entrance, giving himself a few strokes before looking at you with his lip caught between his teeth. “Are you sure?” he whispered, and you nodded feverishly. 

“Please,” you whimpered.

Your back was arched and you let out a filthy moan as he slid himself into your warm, sticky cunt with little resistance. The sheer size of him alone had you feeling so full, and he stilled as he bottomed out in you so that you could adjust to him. “Tell me when,” he said softly, his hand coming to brush up against your hips softly. 

“You can move now,” you breathlessly said, giving him the green light. Your breath got caught in your throat as he started to set a gentle but deep pace, the tip of his cock brushing against that spongy spot inside of you with every thrust. 

“O-oh–” you moaned.

His hands found purchase on your hips, and his eyes trailed over your face as he fucked you sensually, but slowly, eventually going harder and faster as you got accumulated to him. “So fucking tight, Jesus—” he choked out. You’d never heard him curse before, and his smooth voice had you clenching around him, to which he let out another moan. “Fuck, darling — you feel so good.” 

“Mm-hmm!” you squeaked, taking his cock deeper and deeper into your soaked cunt with every stroke. “Jonathan, fuck—!”

“Right there, darling?” he cooed softly, slamming his cock into your hole much rougher now, causing you to see stars as he stretched you open on his thickness. “Feels good, baby?” 

“Yes, yes, yes — oh my god!” you chanted, grabbing onto his biceps as you felt his fat cock drilling you. You were letting out feverish moans, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as you became increasingly more cock-drunk by the minute. 

Your moans were like music to Jonathan. Like the sound he would hear being played once he died and went to heaven — because to him, this was heaven. You’d come running into the arms of the man who was slowly isolating you, breaking you; cornering you into his heart. 

But there’s always something so right about something so inherently wrong, isn’t there? 

“I can feel you squeezing me,” he groaned, watching you with furrowed brows as he concentrated on your pleasure. “Are you close, darling? Fuck, you are, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” you whimpered breathlessly, moans being forced out of you with every delicious thrust he gave your cunt. “Gonna– oh, I’m gonna cum!” 

Jonathan watched in a mixture of pure bliss, awe, and satisfaction as you fell apart in his very hands. Yes — this is where he wanted you. He just wanted to love you, to show you how perfect he was for you, to take care of you and make you see that everyone else around you was just a waste of time. 

No more talking to orderlies who’d flirt with you, no more going out for after-work drinks with the other nurses. No, none of that. He was going to make sure that you’d work under him only, figuratively and literally.

“Gon’ cum,” he groaned, feeling his cock spurting ropes of cum into your warm, tight hole as he gave you a few more lazy thrusts, not bothering to pull out. Your mind went blank as he filled you up wholly, stuffing you with his sticky, warm seed as you lay there fucked out from what just happened moments prior. “Why don’t you stay over tonight?”

You looked up at him groggily, mind still foggy from your orgasm. “What? I work tomorrow–”

“Take a paid day off,” he shrugged, pulling his softening cock out from your worn-out hole. “Use as many as you’d like darling, I won’t tell.” 

His teasing words caused you to throw your head back into the pillows blissfully with a sigh, genuinely believing that he only had your best interest at heart — he just didn’t want you to overwork yourself. It’s not like he was planning on totally locking you away from every living being in Gotham besides him or anything…

“I feel bad though,” you murmured sleepily. “I feel like I’m – I dunno – abusing my privileges.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous, pretty girl,” Jonathan assured you softly, turning off the lights so that only the moonlight was dimly shining into his bedroom. He placed a soft kiss on the top of your head as he pulled the covers over you both, cradling you in his arms like you were made of fine china. “You know I only want what’s best for you.”

“You’re so lovely, Jon. You truly have such a kind soul.” 

“Surely nothing compared to yours, my darling,” he whispered against your hair as you closed your eyes. “Now, get some rest. We can talk about moving your things in here in the morning…”

Unfortunately, you had already dozed off in his embrace; too busy being washed away by sleep to hear his words. Jonathan smiled to himself — he’d never let you go now. You’d lost all control the moment you stepped into his house, unknowingly making yourself a hostage of some sort.  

In the end, as you clung to him, believing he was the saviour from your exhaustion, you failed to see that it was his “love” that had slowly consumed you whole, leaving you nothing but a hollow shell, devoured by the very hands that promised refuge.

Sometimes, the most dangerous traps are the ones we walk into willingly, thinking they’re the key to our freedom, as they say. But the cruel irony of it all is that we think we’re being saved from the jaws of this terrible world, only to be eaten alive by those who we call our saviours. 

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Taglist -> @girlinterrupted505 @ciriceimpera @jordyn-yeager @thevelvetvampyre @galactict3a

@xanaxiii @nocturnest @psylrd @bloodandglitter207 @humbuginmybones 

@oceanstem @futurefamousdeadmusician @jonathancraneslittlepet @esotericdoe

@kpopgirlbtssvt 

@ll4n4 @ilovetoxicfictionalmen @the-buddy-things @ellebellebarnes @wiseyouthinfluencer 

@abprill @minedofmoria @strangeobsessed @5tud10-54r4h @franzine-xii 

@stsrfujid @psylrd @eyraaaaaae @nyxxie-pooh @momoewn

@fauxcongenialite @ceruleanrainblues @o0laura @fiona-my-love @cranecat

[mccromy]

Disciple Shen Yuan au.

As it's been established before, Shen Jiu is an incredibly traumatized man, who took that cycle of abuse and made it a snowball turned avalanche of abuse.

He made up survival rules that served him well as a child on the streets, but only isolated him as a Peak Lord. He's paranoid, hateful and erratic. He's well aware that he's a bad man, he sees himself as the scorpion asking a frog for a ride, and he can't see that he does not sting because such is his nature, he stings because he believes with such certainty he knows the frog will drown him. And even if he went mad and decided to be good, he wouldn't even know where to start.

We learn by example, and we're well aware of the examples to follow available for him.

On that note, now that he's Peak Lord, he recreates his own trauma as the abuser. It gives him a sense of power, and it makes things fair, because if he couldn't have a kind master, then why should they (his disciples). It would be unjust, to let them have what he didn't, it wouldn't make sense, because now that he's at the top he sees how easy it could be to not do things. He doesn't need to whip these children, to make them kneel under the sun for ours on end. But he does anyways, he doesn't derive amusement from it, but if Qiu Jianluo could just not pay attention to him when he had the choice and did anyway, why would he give his disciples the reprieve he didn't have?

And he knows what is done to cruel masters. He knows that if given the chance, those cowering pathetic creatures will turn on him.

He won't let them.

In the end, he does not regard any of them as his students. And when Luo Binghe arrives, Shen Qingqiu ends up behaving as a less predatory Qiu Jianluo; he places Luo Binghe in the role of Xiao Jiu and Ning Yingying as Qiu Haitang. And, in the back of his mind he feels he can understand Qiu Jianluo for the first time (he's wrong, the monster Qiu Jianluo was and the monster Shen Jiu became are not the same. But Shen Qingqiu always thought he understood people very well, never realizing that what he read on everybody's faces were his own thoughts reflected back at him.) because he just can't not pay attention to that boy. Because Xiao Jiu had not a moment's rest under Qiu Jianluo so why should Luo Binghe ever find relief under Shen Qingqiu? If Xiao Jiu was a thing to be used, then isn't he so kind to make of Luo Binghe a beast instead?

Shen Yuan arrives, perhaps before Luo Binghe does, but it doesn't matter. Shen Qingqiu takes this boy in after being urged by Yue Qingyuan for his lack of showing up at the disciple entrance trial.

And, from the beginning one thing is clear.

Shen Yuan despises Shen Qingqiu.

Every new disciple that reaches his peak seems eager, nervous, desperate to show Shen Qingqiu how good they are. They look at him with awe and tentative hope, as if Shen Qingqiu would ever play their game. As if he'd ever give them what they feel entitled to but do not deserve.

Shen Yuan looks at him like he knows exactly what kind of master Shen Qingqiu is, like he knows exactly what Shen Qingqiu is thinking of, well aware of what the future entails for him.

And as they perform the tea ceremony, Shen Qingqiu looks at this boy and finally understands why Wu Yanzi saw a mistreated slave and decided he was too funny to let go.

Shen Qingqiu takes Shen Yuan as his disciple. He drinks what's clearly a tea brewed to offend, and for the first time on his tenure as a Peak Lord, drinks with the intent to become a teacher.

But we learn by example. The previous Qing Jing Peak Lord might've been his Shizun in name, but in his pathetic life Shen Jiu only ever recognized one teacher.

And Wu Yanzi loved to play games.

Shen Qingqiu smiles kindly, a hint of amusement showing in his eyes. The child looks at him as if he's gone insane, and Shen Qingqiu tilts his head as if he finds it so endearing.

"Excellently brewed, Shen Yuan, this master formally accepts you as his disciple. From now on this one is your Shizun, and you'll refer to him as such. Your Shixiongs and Shijies will become your family, and Qing Jing your home." Shen Yuan has grown pale, defiance turned into fear. But such is not the face of a boy scared as he wanders in the dark, uncertain of what's ahead. That's the face of someone who knows exactly what kind of animal lurks in the shadows from the way its teeth glint under meager moonlight. His mouth's become a tight line, breathing controlled to not hitch. He looks grim, not afraid. He was not expecting this, but knows how to play along. Shen Qingqiu inclines his head in a shallow bow. "Welcome, Disciple Shen, to my Qing Jing Peak."

The boy unclenches his jaw and answers drily, "this one thanks Shizun."

Shen Yuan's voice is flat, like Shen Jiu's when greeted Wu Yanzi. Shen Qingqiu grinned just as Wu Yanzi did.

Shen Qingqiu forgets something though,

He's not Qiu Jianluo, and he's not Wu Yanzi. And he might've been right in another life, with Luo Binghe and a self fulfilling prophecy of cruel masters dying at the hands of ungrateful wretched boys.

But he doesn't know Shen Yuan is not tied to a narrative, that he can recognize a self fulfilling prophecy from a mile away and turn tail the opposite way.

He forgets Shen Yuan is not Shen Jiu.

What Shen Yuan is, is freaking out, shouting "WHATTHEFUCK WHAT. WHAT. THE. FUCK??????" inside his head.

He smells a fucking rat. And he's NOT buying whatever you're selling Shen Qingqiu!!! Ptoo ptoo!! He's going to compare whatever manual you give him with other disciple's!!! from ANOTHER Peaks!!! SYSTEM?? SYSTEM ARE YOU GLITCHING??? IS HE GLITCHING??

[Host may rest in peace knowing Scum Villain Shen Qingqiu is acting perfectly in character ^w^]

(What do you mean rest in peace, are you telling me to R.I.P?? Is he going to kill me??? This is not the two bit scumbag I was promised??? What the FUCK you mean perfectly in character???)

[He is large, he contains multitudes.]

(Is he thinking about killing me or not???)

[This System cannot answer that.]

(Throw me a bone.)

[... Scum Villain Shen Qingqiu will behave differently towards his victim depending on said victim's profile.]

(VICTIM???)

[Whoops uwu. This System meant to say disciple! Every student has different needs! A good teacher knows how to adapt!]

And thus begins Shen Yuan's life at Qing Jing Peak.

Shen Qingqiu does give Shen Yuan a fake manual. Shen Yuan compares it to every manual he can get his hands on, and goes AHA! At the utter bullshit inside the book Shen Qingqiu gave him. End ups stealing one of Qian Cao, glues the cover of a Qing Jing peak manual on it. Glues the Quan Cao manual's cover on the Qing Jing manual lose pages. Takes the fake manual to Shen Qingqiu with the intent to confront him with a gotcha! Shen Qingqiu makes worried sounds. Oh, how could this happen, how dangerous! Is disciple Shen hurt? And burns the manual in front of Shen Yuan's aghast face, effectively getting rid of all evidence. Then apologizes and, smirking, hands him a new manual.

(Cunt.)

Said manual is slightly altered, but only midway, so is more difficult to spot it, yet still managing to damage the reader's cultivation at a crucial point.

Shen Yuan uses the pages to make paper planes and, instead of throwing them, he viciously stomps on them.

(Shang Qinghua shudders at the distance and then glances around to see if Mobei-Jun is sneaking a peak through his portals again. Over a decade Shang Qinghua has been at his service and he still randomly opens a little hole in the fabric of space to check Shang Qinghua is not betraying him! If his King keeps this up he just might! Hmph! ((He won't)))

Shen Qingqiu keeps being his acidic self with everybody else, but by playing mind games with Shen Yuan he accidentally places him on the spot of most favored disciple, outshining Ning Yingying, someone who Shen Qingqiu actually likes, because when Shen Qingqiu likes someone he's not sharp and cutting with them, but with Shen Yuan he looks dotting. It's driving poor Shen Yuan up the wall.

Not only nobody believes him, but the apparent favoritism has isolated him from other disciples who, driven by jealousy, try to sabotage him. Shen Qingqiu notices this and it half amuses him, half makes him feel a strange sort of anger he cannot understand.

As a favored disciple, Shen Yuan starts to accompany him in what used to be solo hunts, and in one of every three night hunts Shen Qingqiu sets Shen Yuan up for failure, grave injury, or death if he's been too annoying.

After some time being tossed around like a mouse by his evil cat of a Shizun, Shen Yuan starts to play along. He works himself to the ground to excel in every subject Shen Qingqiu tried to sabotage him in, and aided by his knowledge as a transmigrator, he succeeds. He follows Shen Qingqiu around like a shadow, delighting in the stressed twitch of his eyebrows. Gets too into it and starts playing it up as a good little henchman. He basically goes "good one boss!" To everything Shen Qingqiu says.

"Qi Shimei claims to be uninterested in this Shixiong's affairs, yet she's up to date on every single drop of gossip surrounding him."

And before Qi Qingqi can snap at him, Shen Yuan peaks from behind Shen Qingqiu's back and chirps:

"Qi-Shigu should be too mature to try to attract Shizun's attention with such ploys! She ought to send this disciple a letter and he will make sure to arrange a private meeting for both of you!"

Shen Qingqiu hates it. But he's nothing if not adaptable.

"If Mu-Shidi is done, this master has matters to attend to."

"Shixiong, this one is worried, your constitution has been worsening these past few years and, not only as your doctor, but as a—"

"As a what, Shidi? Sect brother? Friend?" sneers Shen Qingqiu.

"As a mother?" Pipes Shen Yuan, "is Mu-shishu Shizun's mother?"

"Ah, Shizi—?"

"Such nagging can only come from a mother's mouth!"

"Shidi is not this one's mother and should mind his place,"

"Shishu should shave that moustache, too."

Sometimes Shen Qingqiu finds him funny, sometimes he needs to hurt him.

He makes Shen Yuan use his qi to strengthen his hands as he makes him submerge them inside a pot of boiling water, as "training". After a few private training sessions, Shen Yuan starts to succeed in keeping them from burning. Shen Qingqiu surprises him with a pot of boiling oil. Shen Yuan stubbornly complies and succeeds. Hands red and stinging, but the skin remains intact, if tender

Shen Qingqiu is both disappointed, and a little bit relieved. But more than anything, he's angry. Had it been him, at Shen Yuan's age, the oil would've melted the flesh off his bones.

No matter what he throws at Shen Yuan, the boy comes up top, and even if he doesn't, he heals so quickly (he doesn't know about the Qian Cao manual), and it is as if he never failed in the first place.

Shen Qingqiu ends up losing patience and whips him three years into this game. Shen Yuan is fifteen. And as he is lowered down he glances back at Shen Qingqiu from his shoulder and says, pale and shaking, "I win," and throws up.

Shen Qingqiu qi deviates.

Shen Yuan looks at him, as he bleeds and convulses and thinks about letting him die.

He crawls towards him and, with the healing knowledge he's gathered through the years, stops the qi deviation before it turns lethal.

Then he passes out.

Ming Fan finds them and runs for help.

The rumor of the Qing Jing peak lord qi deviating after whipping his beloved disciple out of sheer horror and grief spreads like wildfire. Shen Qingqiu and Shen Yuan avoid each other for a month.

What does Luo Binghe think of all this?

At first, he admired Shen Yuan, favored disciple as he was. Then he envied him, for he was the only one Shen Qingqiu never hurt.

Then he felt ashamed, for Shen Yuan was kind and worked so, so hard, he deserved to be favored. Luo Binghe saw how the others treated him, and that only made him admire him more. Shen Yuan rose above his circumstances even when others attempted to bring him down.

Shen Yuan cross referenced an older Qing Jing disciple's manual with a Qiong Ding and a An Ding peak one, and his own Qian Cao manual, and wrote Luo Binghe a personalized manual (he also learned Shen Qingqiu kept faulty manuals around?? And sometimes gave them away?? WHY???? ((Shen Jiu confiscated them during his tenure as head disciple and never got rid of them. He did give one away accidentally, but Luo Binghe's and Shen Yuan's he gave on purpose)). Luo Binghe cries and hugs his kind, beautiful Shixiong. His cultivation improves immensely after that.

Shen Qingqiu notices this, notices the new manual and Shen Yuan's, who's become his Head Disciple, handwriting. He summons Shen Yuan to the bamboo house and berates him.

At first, Shen Yuan believes Shen Qingqiu is shouting at him (he lost his patience!! Shen Yuan 2, Shizun 0!) for not letting him kill Luo Binghe. Then he thinks it's actually for defying his authority.

Then, it dawns on him.

Shen Yuan had told him Luo Binghe had enough talent to surpass him and he shouldn't stifle it. Shen Qingqiu hissed an incredulous: "Then how will you fight him off when he turns on you?!"

Shen Qingqiu was going purple on the face over the thought of Shen Yuan giving Luo Binghe the tools to eventually hurt him

At first, Shen Yuan had been offended on Luo Binghe's behalf. Then, because was Shen Qingqiu trying to sow discord between them or something?

Then he remembered that in PIDW Shen Qingqiu gave Luo Binghe a faulty manual too, that he poured tea on him after Luo Binghe earnestly told him about his mother. Remembered how when he first began his good one boss! routine, Shen Qingqiu tensed imperceptibly when Shen Yuan trailed after him. How he's come to know this man, the way his eyes glint when he is satisfied and how his hands shake when there's a qi deviation incoming. How his lips twist when displeased, and how his breathing hitches when he is in danger. He's come to know his paranoia. He's learnt to recognize the way this man wears fear and realizes that that's what he's seeing now.

Shen Qingqiu is scared.

And when Shen Yuan looks back to what he knows of his Shizun, the things he's done in this life and the other. Many behaviors who seemed erratic and unpredictable, suddenly make sense when framed by fear.

And now he realizes that Shen Qingqiu is not only afraid of Luo Binghe, but he is also afraid of Shen Yuan.

But more than that, he's afraid for Shen Yuan.

Suddenly this game they play is not so fun anymore.

It never should've been.

(It might've never been, but Shen Yuan can be just as blind as his Shizun when he doesn't want to face the cruel reality he was reborn in.)

[teojira]

Scar x fem! Reader/Rover from Wuthering Waves where Reader is trying to get Yangyang back, and Scar offers to give her back for a kiss from reader 🫦

[What's the harm?] [Scar/reader drabble]

Summary: Scar strikes a deal with you, for both your and Yangyang's freedom. (You are Rover in this!)

Word count: 1k+ (I got POSSESSED)

Pronouns: She/her implied

Warnings: Possibly OOC but the game is 3 days old, have mercy. Slightly nsfw! Scar is down bad. You're Rover in this and you're also down bad.

A/N: I want him so bad, the constant flirting with MC? The way his eyes soften at her? I'm in love with him so bad.

“Where is she?” He's already isolated you for Yangyang, bringing you into his domain.

 It's unnerving, standing alone with a man you've seen cause so much trouble, someone who constantly is trying to get into your head.

The comments he makes, there are so many of them and they just keep coming. 

Is he lying about wanting you? Lying about wanting your trust? Is this just a ploy to get you on his side? 

You're not sure, your brain can't deny that this is a trap, he trapped you, but your brain can't deny that he's looking at you with a soft gaze that you're sure he's never graced another human with. He looks like he simultaneously wants to eat you alive and protect you like he claims.

Scar himself stands a few feet away, arms crossed as his eyes trail along your form, starting from your feet, lingering a bit on your chest until finally meeting your eyes. You swear you can see a twinkle in his eye, and he doesn't even remotely try and hide the way he licks his lips at you, a predator grin making it's way on his handsome face.

“Oh come on Rover, she'll be fine~”

“I'm not doing this with you, give her back.” You steel yourself, hand resting on the scabbard of your sword, ready for him to attack.

To your surprise, he knocks his head back and laughs, shaking his head, the movement jostling his locks. He turns back to you, moving closer, step by step.

“Look at that, that fire in your eye is mesmerizing Rover, you're that concerned with a woman who only wants to use you?” He coos, voice mimicking how an adult talks to a child and you feel small, taking a small step back but the distance still closes, he's not letting you get away.

“Stop. I'm not playing this game with you Scar, let me go and give Yangyang back.” You hate how your voice trembles a bit, hating yourself for his presence having such an effect on you.

“Yangyang This, Yangyang that, what about me my dear? Why don't you say my name like you do hers? With that fondness.” He glowers, finally closing the distance, stepping into your personal bubble and cornering you against a large rock.

“What are you even-” You can't help the flush that rushes to your face, your head dizzy at the proximity. The body heat radiating off of him is jarring, but not as jarring as his smell. He smells of ash and burnt wood, and a mix of his own natural scent and it feels warm and safe. For the first time since you've woken up, you feel protected, despite him being the enemy. The same one who the nation you're supposed to protect hates.

It's so stupid, it's so stupid.

"Say my name.” He's leaning down now, was he always this tall?

“W-” He cuts you off, grabbing your jaw with one hand, squeezing your cheeks ever so slightly, only releasing to brush a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Say it, Rover.” His face is so fucking close, you can feel his breath tickling your face.

"Scar." You breathe out, your head spinning, this is wrong, you shouldn't have let him get this close, you need to get out and find Yangyang, what the fuck are you doing?

"Give me what I want, and I'll let you both go." He murmurs, eyes zeroed in on yours.

His heterochromatic eyes are beautiful already, but the way they're so dilated, barely any of his color is shown.

"I'm not following."

"Just a kiss my dear, just one."

"How do I know you're gonna keep your word?"

"You don't, but I don't think that's gonna stop you." He coos again, moving to trail one of his hands down your back, pushing you closer to his body, your chests both heaving and resting on one another.

He's right, as of right now, there is absolutely nothing that will stop you from this, from giving in just this once.

You lean in first, shutting your eyes tight.

It's Scar who does the rest, crashing into you like a wave, trying to consume you.

He kisses you like you're long lost lovers, pouring so much passion into the kiss that you can't ever hope to return, so when he pushes you up against the rock, you know this'll be a reoccurring occurrence. It's addicting, the feeling of his lips finally on yours, all the tension finally reaching a climax. His tongue is damn near down your throat, swallowing down your moans as much as he could, his hands gripping your hips so hard, you wouldn't be surprised if it left a mark later (a small part of you hope he does).

It takes everything in your power to pull away, but the second you do, he moves to start licking at your neck, you can feel his canines run along a specific patch of skin that makes your legs weak. You place a hand on his chest, trying to gently push him away.and when that doesn't work, you bring your other hand up to run your fingers through his locks and tug him away.

The groan he lets out is downright sinful. He looks up at you, his expression as if he just fucked you within an inch of your life, his hair mussed, his lips glossy from your combined spit.

"Was that good enough?"

"Oh honey, you're lucky I don't take you right here. But I am a man of my word." He hums, licking his lips and letting out a snicker. With a shocking gentleness, he pecks your lips one last time.

"Wake up now."

"Rover! Rover! Are you okay?" Yangyang has your head on her lap, one of her palms on your forehead, feeling the warmth there.

All you can do is groan and bring a hand to your face, covering your cheeks.

"What'd he do to you in there?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ᴠᴇʀʏ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ꜰᴏʀ ʀᴇᴀᴅɪɴɢ ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ᴛᴏ ʜᴇᴀʀ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴏᴏɴ!

[just-some-little-lads]

A Late Night

Summary: You come back home after a long day only to find Sylus waiting for you, acting a bit differently than normal. Word Count: 1.1k SFW, Second Person POV, GN MC.

Being a Hunter was good work; you knew that. However, heroism or not, long days could still have you cursing under your breath, dreaming of living in isolated peace by some lakeside. Dragging your feet, you contemplated calling in sick tomorrow. The key to your apartment flailed clumsily on it’s ring before finally turning in the slot. Shoes kicked to the shadows, work bag abandoned on the floor, you didn’t even bother turning on your lights before flopping on your couch. With your eyes closed, you were two alluring seconds away from drifting off… Till the hairs on the back of your head prickled. A sixth sense blared warnings of danger throughout your body, urging you to fly up in enough time to grab a figure approaching the back of the couch. Tact and grace were not your close friends tonight. Amidst the self-defense, you threw yourself off the couch to tackle your intruder to the ground. If you could call it a tackle, anyway. More like keeping them pinned with your collapsed body.

Before you could fully enter “interrogation mode”, a low chuckle stopped you in your tracks. Which emotion would your tone land on today? Surprise, confusion, irritation? “Sylus?” All three, apparently.

“Do you know how long I waited for you?” Despite the words, he didn’t sound irritated, just amused. He wasn’t even pushing you off of him.

After a moment of consideration, you graciously removed your knee from the middle of his back. A subtle groan suggested that your frantic maneuver had affected him more than he would ever like to admit. Step, flick, and a mellow light illuminated your living room. Sylus had pushed himself up enough to sit on the floor, his back leaning against the sofa.

“How many times do I have to tell you to not break into my apartment? Not only is it an extreme breach of my privacy, but it is also illegal!” You found yourself hissing quietly as you scolded him, worried that shouting too loud would reach the ears of curious neighbors. Neighbors who also happened to be Hunters. Hunters who would not treat the company of the most infamous N109 Zone boss so casually. “If you’re so determined to treat this place like your own, maybe I could consider making you a spare key but—“ You cut your own lecture off, noticing the distinct lack of attention of this particular criminal. “Are you listening to me? Sylus.”

A humph left his chest as he lifted himself up to his feet, needing to use the furniture for leverage. Not a detail left unnoticed. Suddenly you were worried; after all, this wouldn’t be the first time he had come to you to wounded. “Are you—“

“I can listen to you and ignore you at the same time, sweetie. And as for the moment, I don’t have a key. How else was I supposed to welcome you home after work, hmmm?” His hum dragged out longer than usual.

“—okay.” You finished your question from earlier. “I was going to ask ‘are you okay’.” Without waiting for a proper answer, you approached him, taking his wrist in your hand and observing his body for any clear wounds. He smiled down at you while you did so. Nothing…obvious, but a gut feeling was still telling you that something was off. Wrist in hand, you dragged him to the other side of the couch and shoved him into a seating position.

Another stern line of questioning was about to leave your mouth, but it never came. A soft kiss pressed itself against the back of your hand, Sylus’ head slightly lowered. A move straight out of some knightly romance. Your heart fluttered, your face flushed, yet you wouldn’t let yourself melt so easily. Yes…affection amongst other things had started to blossom between you two; however, Sylus’ demeanor always had you thinking that this was another game of his. But this… He had never been so open like this before.

The man in question raised his head, looking up at you with another grin on his face. Only, this one didn’t have that edge of haughty aloofness that typically painted his expression. He was…genuinely pleased. Should you be worried? Something else to note was the subtle tint of pink in his cheeks and the tips of his ears. “No…” you ended up stating aloud. “You? Drunk?”

Sylus’ hand waved in the air, like he had to physically bat away that accusation before it stuck. “I don’t get drunk, sweetie.”

“But you have been drinking?”

Keeping your hand still in his grasp, he idly brushed a finger up and down your wrist. The motion sent a shudder down your spine. “Maybe that…exchange I told you about went very well today.” His words went hush, a deep purr in his throat as his face came close to your hand again. His breath warmed your skin. “And maybe I celebrated another resounding success with a bottle of wine I’ve been saving for a lovely rainy day.” The anticipation for him to kiss you again ended with him pressing a cheek to the back of your hand. Sylus’ face was heated. He glanced up at you through the fringe of his grey hair. Apparently, he caught that little glimpse of eagerness in your eyes.

Slowly, he guided you down onto the couch. You swallowed something building up in your throat as he began to lean over you till your back was against the armrest. “So, you came all the way out here while tipsy?” The pounding in your chest now was obvious.

Once more, he raised one of your hands. “I wanted to see you, is that such a crime?” Voice soft and low, he pressed the back of your hand to his forehead, dragging it down to his cheek, and then finally right before his mouth. If you closed your eyes and drowned out the slight condescending hum in your ears, you'd have a hard time believing that this was the leader of Onychinus. The touch was that of an entirely different man. At least one you were not well acquainted with. Maybe Sylus was the evil one in a set of twins and you got sent the benevolent one by mistake. The gestures were gentle, tender, pleading. Pinkies intertwined while his wine-tinted lips pecked different promises on the backs of your knuckles. “Can I stay tonight?”

The word ‘yes’ kept echoing in your mind at a disturbing pace, but you wouldn’t let him win with just sweetened words and some sudden puppy-dog eyes. You weren’t even aware his face could do that. “Say please.”

Sylus practically giggled, propped up by an arm next to your head. His posture lowered till his forehead pressed against yours. The tip of his nose rubbed against your own as his whisper was as quiet and needy as you were wishing it would be. “Please?”

[aquaticmercy]

Of Heroes and Heartstrings (Part Three)

Summary : Bucky Barnes develops a crush on the researcher who interviewed him. After inviting her to board game night, he takes her on a second date.

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x reader (she/her) (The reader works in academia and is writing about superheroes and how they perceive themselves in the 21st century)

Warnings/tags : Mentions of food. Slight cursing. Sex is implied. Yelena and Sam being annoying. 

Requested by :  myself again

Word count : 2.4k + 200ish-word bonus epilogue.

Note : This is the final part! I loved writing on this, and will definitely think of writing longer series in the future. Enjoy!

Series Masterlist

Requests are open!

The next morning, Bucky was barely awake when the pounding on his apartment door started.

“Open up, Barnes!” Yelena said from the hallway, loud and insistent. He groaned, rolling over and covering his head with a pillow, hoping they’d give up. No such luck.

“I know you’re in there!” Sam chimed, sounding just as persistent.

Bucky cursed under his breath, reluctantly pushing himself out of bed and stumbling out. 

As he opened the door, the cool morning air swept into his apartment, carrying the scent of coffee his friends had bought for him. Sam's grin widened, while Yelena immediately pushed her way in. 

The familiar, chaotic energy the two brought with them was like a damn alarm clock that couldn’t be snoozed. Despite his outward grumbling, a part of Bucky felt… happy. 

For someone who had spent so many years isolated, these intrusions had become a comforting reminder that he wasn’t alone.

“You guys need hobbies,” Bucky grumbled, he had barely gotten any sleep after last night. Between replaying the almost-kiss and mentally planning the second date, his mind hadn’t been able to shut off.

Yelena placed the coffee on the counter, while Sam leaned against the island kitchen with a smirk. 

“So…how’d it go?” Sam asked, curios.

Bucky shot him a glare, walking over to the coffee that had brought. He took a long sip before answering, knowing there was no getting out of this. “It went fine.”

“Fine?” Yelena hopped to sit on his counter. “I saw you all touchy-feely all night. Are you expecting us to believe that you dropped her off and came home?”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, unaffected. “That’s exactly what I did.”

Sam snorted. “I call bullshit. I saw how you looked at her during Monopoly—you had hearts for eyes. Come on, man, give us something. Did you even kiss her?”

Bucky’s silence was telling. 

Yelena’s eyes widened in disbelief. “No. way.” She said, her Russian accent dripping from her mouth.

“I didn’t,” Bucky admitted, his cheeks warming at the thought. “We just had tea.”

Yelena blinked. “Tea?”

“Is tea code for something?” Sam repeated incredulously. 

Bucky shook his head, taking another sip of his coffee. “We talked. It was nice.”

Sam looked at Yelena like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Yelena nodded. “Oh this is real. He’s not playing around. This is real.”

“Look,” Bucky said, “She said she doesn’t kiss on the first date. I respect that. But there’s going to be a second date.”

Sam’s eyes lit up. “When?”

Bucky grumbled under his breath, scratching the back of his neck. “Two days.”

Yelena smirked. “You better kiss her then, Barnes, or I’ll do it for you.”

Bucky shot her a look. “Not helping.”

Sam, ever the wingman, reassured him. “You got this.”

Yelena leaned back on the counter with a satisfied grin. “And if you screw it up, we’ll hear about it the morning after.”

Bucky rolled his eyes but couldn’t stop the smile tugging at his lips. 

As much as they teased him, it felt good knowing they cared.

—

Standing outside your door, Bucky’s heart raced in his chest.

The bouquet in his hand felt heavier than it should have. His leather jacket felt stiff, and he tugged at the sleeves out of habit, hoping to ease the tension in his muscles. 

When you opened the door, all the thoughts that had been clouding his thoughts vanished in an instant. 

You stood there in a simple but stunning dress, your hair falling perfectly into place. 

Your smile lit up the hallway, and for a moment, all he could do was stare. 

You looked beautiful, but he already knew that. 

“Hey you,” you said softly, stepping out into the hallway.

“Hey yourself,” he breathed out as he held out the flowers. I’ve got to stop overthinking this, he told himself, trying to fight the heat creeping up his cheeks.

You took them, your fingers brushing against his. “Bucky, they’re beautiful.”

He gave a small, relieved smile. “I wasn’t sure what kind of flowers you liked, so I just—"

“I love them,” you interrupted him from his anxious train of thoughts, smiling up at him. “You ready to go?”

—

The restaurant was even more lovely than Bucky had hoped. The warm lighting gave the small space an intimate glow, casting soft shadows on your surroundings. 

The quiet hum of conversations around you created a sense of privacy, as though the world outside didn’t exist. You sat across from him, leaning forward slightly as you asked for his most embarrassing stories. 

Bucky chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. The heat from the candle between you flickered, radiating your smile. 

"Okay, okay," he sighed dramatically, but the laughter in his eyes gave him away. "But you better share some of yours too."

"Deal," you agreed with a wink.

He leaned back in his chair, thinking for a moment. "Alright, here’s one. I was way too old when I found out the tooth fairy wasn’t real."

You blinked at him, then giggled. "Wait, how old are we talking here?"

Bucky’s grin widened, and he looked a little sheepish. "Like… fourteen."

Your eyes went wide, and you clapped a hand over your mouth to stifle your laughter. "Fourteen?! How did that even happen?"

Bucky shrugged, chuckling. "I don’t know, I just… didn’t question it. I’d lose a tooth, and a dollar would show up under my pillow. Magic or whatever."

“Oh my God, Bucky, fourteen?!” You were stifling a laugh so hard you could barely catch your breath. "Did anyone ever try to tell you?"

"My ma did, actually," he said, shaking his head at the memory. "She sat me down and said, ‘James, there’s something we need to talk about.’ I thought I was in trouble. Then she just blurted it out— I was crushed."

"You must’ve felt so betrayed,”  you laughed, wiping a tear from the corner of your eye. 

He smiled. "Yeah, a little."

“That’s adorable.” You shook your head, still grinning. "I’m never letting you live that down."

"Fair enough," he said with a chuckle, leaning forward slightly. "Now. Your turn.”

You took a deep breath, gathering yourself. You told him a story about how you used to get in so much trouble as a kid, how you injured yourself every now and then. 

As you told your stories, Bucky found himself completely mesmerized—not by the little anecdotes, but by the way the sound of your voice made everything sound so fascinating.

The conversation eventually drifted from light-hearted teasing to deeper topics, both of you sharing bits of yourselves you hadn’t before. 

Bucky found himself laughing more than he had in a long time, and you seemed just as captivated. You leaned in every time he spoke, eyes sparkling with curiosity.

As the night began to wind down, neither of you were in a rush to leave. Eventually, after paying the bill, Bucky stood and helped you into your coat, his hand lingering on your back for just a second longer than necessary.

The walk after was filled with soft conversation, with no particular destination in mind. 

The city lights reflected in the puddles on the sidewalk, your arm brushing against Bucky’s every now and again.

Bucky found himself watching you a little longer than he should, memorising the way your face looked when you were lost in thought. The gentle glow of moonlight wrapped like a blanket around you both.

He slowly reached out, taking your hand in his. You smiled up at him, squeezing your interlocked fingers. There was something perfect about everything —natural, unforced, as if the world was giving him permission to just enjoy this fleeting moment.

The streetlamp overhead flickered slightly as you stopped for a brief moment, turning to face him. The soft, golden light casted a gentle halo around you, illuminating the curve of your smile.

“I had a great time,” you said, your voice quiet, but your eyes full of warmth.

“Me too,” Bucky replied, his heart pounding a little faster than it should.

The world seemed to grow quieter, as though it knew something was about to happen. Bucky stood there, his heart pounding against his ribs like it had on the first date. He could feel the gravity of the moment pulling him closer to you, his breath hitching as you took a half-step toward him, your face tilted up. His gaze flicked down to your lips, and then back to your eyes.

This time, when Bucky leaned in, you didn’t stop him. His lips hovered over yours once again, soft and tentative at first, testing the waters. He pulled away before he could kiss you. “Do you want to head back to my apartment?”

Oh, that little tease. 

You nodded, feeling that familiar flutter in your chest. 

—

Once you and Bucky reached his place, the air around you was shrouded with anticipation. 

“You want something to drink?” Bucky asked, trying to ease the nervous chills creeping up on him.

“Whatever you’re having is fine,” you replied, offering him a soft smile.

He gave you a nod and disappeared into the kitchen, leaving you to take in your surroundings. His apartment was just like him—cosy but strong, dark with hidden depth. 

Bucky leaned against the kitchen doorframe, watching you from across the room as you absentmindedly touched the spines of his old books. There was something surreal about seeing you in his space, like you belonged there. 

His apartment had always felt a little too quiet, a little too bare. With you, it felt complete— alive. 

Then it struck him: just how much he wanted this— not the moment, not the date, but you, and how you represented the kind of connection that made him feel like he was truly home. 

He finally handed you a glass of sparkling water. “I don’t have any fancy tea,” he said with a small laugh, his eyes flicking to yours, checking to see if you were comfortable.

“This is perfect,” you reassured him, sipping from the glass. You both settled on the couch, not quite touching yet.

For a while, you just talked. The conversation was easy, the kind that made you feel like you were learning something new about each other every minute— you talked about your studies, talked about how the interview with Clint went yesterday. He told you about his latest mission, and how he was waiting for his next. 

There were moments where Bucky would say something that would make you laugh, your hand brushing his arm without thinking, and you’d catch the way his eyes softened with affection.

As the conversation slowed, the silence between you was anything but empty. It felt heavy with with the tension that had been building since the moment you walked through the door. 

Bucky’s heart was pounding so loudly in his ears that he almost missed the way you whispered, “You can kiss me now.” 

His eyes widened, and for a split second, he hesitated. But when he saw your breath hitch, and he saw the way your eyes fluttered closed, your lips slightly parted, and all his hesitation melted away. 

He leaned in slowly, savoring every second before his lips met yours. Finally, he felt the softness of your lips against his, the warmth of your body pressed close.

He pulled you closer, his metal hand resting on the small of your back. It felt like the world had disappeared, leaving the two of you tangled in a movie that neither of you wanted to end.

When he finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, his breath a little shaky. The soft glow from the nearby lamp casted gentle shadows on your face.

He moved back slightly, just enough to see your eyes, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered, his voice low and sincere. He could barely believe what was happening.

A soft laugh escaped your mouth, and you pressed a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth. “And you’re perfect,” you murmured, the words full of affection and admiration. 

“Far from perfect,” he replied, his fingers brushing lightly against your cheek, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.  

“Feels pretty perfect right now,” you teased.

He grinned, and before you could say another word, he pressed his lips against yours again. This time it was soft, but with more certainty, like he was tasting every drop of you.

You both smiled into the kiss, unable to help the giddiness within.

“I’ve been waiting for this for so long,” Bucky admitted in between kisses.

You whispered, “How long?”

His thumb traced the edge of your jaw. “The week after our interview? I went to the same cafè every day hoping I’d run into you. And I did.” he said with a sheepish smile.

You recalled that moment you were pleasantly surprised to find him there. He had played it off so casually, saying he just liked the coffee. That day, you ended up talking over coffee for two hours, both of you oblivious to each other’s intentions.

You felt your heart flutter, the weight of his words wrapping around you like a blanket. “Me too,” you confessed, your voice almost shy. “I’ve had a crush on you since the interview. I just… never thought you’d feel the same.”

Bucky’s eyes softened, the icy blue of his eyes filled with nothing but warmth. “You have no idea,” he murmured, his lips brushing yours again to prove just how wrong you were.

The kisses got more heated as your hands slid up to rest on his chest, feeling the strong beat of his heart beneath your palms. 

His hands found your waist, pulling you closer.

Bucky’s lips trailed from your mouth to your jawline, then to the sensitive spot just below your ear. 

You shivered, a quiet sigh escaping your lips.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, and he responded with a soft groan.

The kisses became more intense, his mouth claiming yours again. The space between you seemed to disappear entirely. 

When he finally fully pulled back, both of you were breathless. 

His voice was low when he asked, “Do you… want to stay the night?”

“Of course,” you whispered without hesitation, your voice steady and sure.

The smile that spread across Bucky’s face was a mix of relief and desire. He pressed one more soft kiss to your lips, his hand lingering on your waist.

For the first time in a long time, everything felt just right.

—

Epilogue : 

The next morning, the sun was barely peeking through the curtains when the pounding on Bucky’s door started again.

You stirred under the covers, blinking sleepily as you registered what was happening. Bucky groaned beside you, burying his face into the pillow.

You laughed softly, sliding out of bed. “I’ve got this,” you whispered, grabbing the first thing you could find—one of Bucky’s old shirts—and pulling it over your head. It was too big on you, the fabric hanging just past your thighs. 

The pounding on the door continued. Did Bucky order something? It must be mail, right?

You sleepily trudged out of the bedroom towards the front door and opened it. Yelena and Sam froze mid-knock, eyes as wide as dinner plates.

“Oh,” Sam said, his eyebrows shooting up. 

Yelena’s jaw loosened, “that was unexpected.”

You leaned casually against the doorframe, crossing your arms with a tired smile. “Good morning to you too.”

Yelena broke into a grin. “the second date went well?”

Before you could answer, Bucky’s groggy voice called from the bedroom. “Who’s at the door?”

“Your nosy friends,” you called back with a chuckle.

Bucky appeared behind you, rubbing a hand over his face. “Can you two not?” he grumbled, clearly still half-asleep.

Sam pointed at you again, now looking between you and Bucky. “You owe me 20!” He said to Yelena.

“Settle your bets somewhere else,” Bucky grumbled, though he could not stop the shy smile forming on his lips.

Yelena elbowed Sam. “Yeah, yeah. We’ll leave you alone... for now.”

As they walked away, Bucky quickly closed the door and wrapped you in his strong arms. 

You grinned, “I kinda really like your friends.”

-end

Taglist : @quiet-loser @hzdhrtss @intelligenceofapineapple @yujyujj @miriamnox @thecraziestcrayon

[cherrysdeck]

Pick a card: Prelude to love.

First meeting your future spouse. When, where, and how.

Remember: Take only what resonates, this is a general reading. Tarot readings are done with entertainment purposes only. Hope you like it!

Pile 1 -> 3

Pile 1

When: 3 of cups, 3 of swords, 8 of wands, 2 of pentacles

3, 3 months?, 3 years?, March? August, Winter, winter blues. Early morning, after lunch. 

Where: ace of pentacles, 6 of pentacles, 5 of wands, 2 of swords

Sports game, job interview? (That feels like a really weird setting), Boxing game, sports, yoga class, painting class. Decided to try a new hobby so you signed up for an activity or class. Garden. Betting (more like betting on a sport, than in a casino)

How is it going to be?: 2 of cups, ace of pentacles, king of wands, king of swords in rev, 8 of swords, the hierophant, 5 of wands rev, the fool, knight of swords

What a tension. I feel like people will look at you two thinking oh they will end up together, and you honestly would rather anything else, literally. Somewhat enemies to lovers, or more like I found them really annoying the first time we met. Makes you roll your eyes. Kind of rude to be honest. I feel like you’re both very competitive and stubborn people, we’re from different teams. It will take more for you two to actually click. It feels like being in the same group not by choice, but slowly you get used to each other, and you start to get feelings. Your fs might be to careless when they speak, and you might just end up looking at them unimpressed, like please shut up. They might like bragging off, or be a know it all, correcting others. And that gets on your nerves. Your communication styles are clearly so different and that might lead to somewhat of an argument, ends up being more like banter. This will grow into teasing with time. They don’t leave a good first impression on you, but you’ll end up meeting again and again, running in the same circles. Your fs will definitely be the topic of bathroom gossip, like can you believe them? It’s all good pile 1, they’ll redeem themselves. It what happens when you’re complete opposites, clashes might occur at the beginning, but then you realise you balance each other really well.  

Pile 2

When: death, the star, 8 of wands

During a period of transformation, unexpected moment. You will be very busy and focused on something else. It might be after a breakup too. August, February, March. 2025. Late at night. Friday. 22.

Where: 4 of swords, the devil, ace of swords, 8 of swords, 8 of cups

Graduation, work dinner, a party, a retreat, networking event. I get a very busy place full of people, but you might feel isolated here. You might have just moved to a different city, still not used to it or not knowing many people there. There’s a certain level of insecurity, like what am I doing here? I want to go home. 

How is it going to be?: Oh my god, I forgot to write the cards and I started doing another pile, I’m so sorry. Those that I can remember are: 8 of cups, 2 of cups, temperance in rev, 4 of pentacles, 9 of cups, the fool.. again I’m sorry

I just felt such great relieve. I think it’s related with the feeling isolated in the middle of a crowd. And suddenly someone appears who eases up your tension. Your fs makes you relax immediately. There’s a big feeling of familiarity with this person. Either one of those I think I know you from another life or you might know them, but so far you’ve just seen them around or on social media, and this is the first time actually talking. They might help socialise in this setting, introducing you to others. Instead of talking just the two of you, there will be someone else in the conversation all the time. One of you just wants to have alone time for 5 minutes, but someone is always interrupting. I feel like your fs knows how to navigate these social situations very easily, and you’ll look at them like wow, they are a social butterfly. They also know how to include everyone in the conversation, the kind of person that always makes you feel included. I feel like there will be some tension and chemistry right off the bat, but because you’re barely spending any time alone, you both start to get a little impatient and frustrated that you can’t actually explore it. It’s leaving you two wanting more. You two will be paying so much attention to each other, but others are completely oblivious and will not leave you alone. One of you might ask if you want to go eat something and get out of there, and it’s like yes, finally. Exchanging phone numbers by the end of the night, kind of meeting that leaves you giddy, with butterflies. Might think about each other once you’re already in bed, start texting soon too. You just want to know more about each other. Another alternative is staying up all night in a party or bar afterwards, getting McDonalds or some fast food in the early morning. SO much laughter. You just get a feeling afterwards that this is going to be a long term thing. 

Pile 3

When: the empress, 6 of wands, 4 of sword rev

Summer nights from Grease. Was it love at first sight? Summer, May too, September, the first, You really wanted to work on yourself and not look for romance, but they just showed up, what can you do? 

Where: the hermit, king of wands, 6 of sword, 9 of pentacles, knight of cups

The beach, a beach club, festival, cherry blossom festival?, Self-care activity. Lantern festival. River, during hiking. Outdoors. Swimming. Cruise ship. 

How is it going to be?: the hermit, the magician, strength, the chariot, death. The emperor, high priestess rev, 9 of wands

You know when you spend a long time manifesting something, and it’s been a long long time, and you’re just so tired you give up, and suddenly it’s knocking on your door. That’s how this meeting feels like. I keep thinking of this manifestation technique of making a list of how your ideal partner is. You were just so tired, and decided that it was time to move on and forget about it. Started focusing on yourself, doing more self-care, trying new activities, meeting new friends. You really were over it. And then boom, perfect, ideal, fs is just there. This wasn’t in your plans right now. I feel like laughing, but the kind of laughing when something doesn’t make sense or it’s just absurd. A by chance meeting, might result from something embarrassing, like spilling a drink or like in books when the mc crashes into the love interest. They’re well dressed. I think you might feel a little be contradicted, like finally I was doing so well single, and now you show up? But how can you ignore them now? Your fs is just exactly what you had wished for. There will be a lot of talking and lots of laughs, it feels like a first date already. Suddenly you get like tunnel vision and all you can see is them. I feel like you won’t want to say goodbye at the end. Let’s have lunch, and dinner, and breakfast together. 

Xo, Xo, Cherry 💋

[lgbtlunaverse]

This page from the adventurer's bible makes me want to cry

Like basically any neurodivergent dungeon meshi fan, I see a lot of myself in the Touden siblings. But I was blindsided by just how much I suddenly related to Falin in this little comic from the adventure bible's complete version.

It's about the Touden siblings' differing relationships with their parents, and why Laios still holds their treatment of Falin against them, while Falin herself doesn't.

We know that Falin was isolated and ostraziced by their village after she saved Laios from a ghost, displaying her uncanny affinity for magic. Her parents, instead of defending her, sent her away, which angered Laios so much he ran way himself before Falin even left for magic school, hoping to make a living so he and Falin could live together alone.

He tells Marcile this, but when she goes to Falin, she says she sees things differently. Her father sent her to magic school to protect her form the rest of the village without having to cause a conflict. He didn't explain that, and we actually see her burst into tears when he says it.

But, well... Laios was gone for a year before Falin went to magic school, and everyone else in the village avoided her. The understanding Falin has with her parents to me looks like one borne out of necessity, she literally didn't have anyone else to talk to.

And this is where we get to the page that made me want to cry

Like I said, I relate to the Toudens because I'm neurodivergent myself. that feeling of suddenly realizing you're disliked, but not knowing what you did wrong or what you should have done instead? Yeah... that's one I recognize.

When I was around 9 years old, the same age Falin is in this comic, a bunch of kids in my class decided to make a "game" where you lost if you touched me. It was basically the 'cheese-touch' from diary of a wimpy kid, except I always had it and couldn't pass it along. They'd pretend I was poisonous or disgusting and run away from me screaming or gagging. The point was to make fun of me. But my autistic little 9 year old ass thought "Oh I get it! It's tag but I'm always it!" So I... played along. Running at a boy and having him fall on the ground screaming in fake pain because you tapped him is, in isolation, pretty funny.

It wasn't until months into the "game" that I realized it was meant to be meanspirited. That the reason I was the one who was always 'it' wasn't an arbritrary rule but the whole point. Because I was weird and gross. I wasn't in on the joke, I was the punchline.

Falin may have come to understand her parents' intentions, but she didn't always. The adventure bible actually tells us that she at first didn't even notice that the rest of their village disliked her. She clearly knows now, but she had to be told. So when her mom tried to exorcise her, she just saw it as an activity she got to do with a mother she usually didn't get to spend much time with because of her poor health. It's only Laios who notices something is wrong.

(Sidenote, Laios being hyper-aware of people's poor attitudes towards Falin but completely blindsided when he's in the same spot, like with Toshiro, is also very relatable as an eldest sibling)

It probably also took Falin months, until after her brother had left and she had no one but her parents, to realize why her mother had been doing all those things.

And I know they're not the same. Even misguidedly, Falin's mom was trying to help her, not make fun of her like those boys in my class. (Though, as a queer person who also cares a lot about the queercoding in Falin's storyline, a parent trying to 'exorcise' their child of a fundamental part of them the parent thinks is evil or corruptive? yeah... that's not perfectly wholesome)

But do you know what I did, when I finally figured out the game was always meant to make fun of me?

To me, it looked like I had a choice.

See, those boys eventually figured out I didn't understand that they were being mean to me. I'd laugh every time I managed to catch one of them, I was visibly having fun. And while it no doubt only made me more of a weirdo in their eyes, they never informed me that I shouldn't be enjoying myself. That the point was for me to feel hurt.

So now that I did know, I had a choice. I could either get upset, and let the insult land as it was supposed to. That wouldn't stop them, because making fun of me was the original goal. Or I could ignore it and go on as usual. They had already accepted that I didn't get it, and they weren't gona stop me from having fun, so why should I?

And the thing is that I had... one friend, in that whole class. One person who actually liked talking to me and hanging out with me. I was lonely. And the 'game' provided me with another social interaction, mean-spirited as it was, that I desperately needed. And it was so delightfully simple. Navigating actual friendships as a kid with autism and adhd was so fucking complicated, and I'd never know when I might break an inivisble rule. But I knew the rules to the game perfectly!

Sometimes, if I was chasing one of them, the others would trap him and hold him down so I could tap him. In those moments it actually did kind of feel like I was playing with them, rather than against them. And it didn't change much, they didnt start actually liking me. But they were willing to roll with the fact that I wasn't upset, and I took advantage of that because I needed to.

So you can look at Falin seeing the best in her parents as her being naïve, but I look at this page and I see myself, at first unable to differentiate between playing and being made fun of. And then later, when I did see the difference, deciding not to get mad about it because that'd mean losing that social interaction, and I couldn't afford to.

Like I said, Falin probably first realized this in the year she spent with her brother gone, and everyone else avoiding her like the plague. If she refused to talk to her parents, like Laios did, she'd have no one left.

I see a lot of people relating to the fight between Laios and Toshiro. that frustration when you realize someone you thougth was your friend actually hates you, and they never said anything, never gave you a chance to fix it because you had no idea that you were even doing something wrong! And I can see that, too. But sometimes, when people don't fully hate you, it feels better to go along with the pretending. Because adressing it won't fix it. Because the problem isn't a specific behaviour, it's you. And if they're willing to tolerate you, despite the fact that it's you, then you'll take it. Because other people do hate you, so this is the best you'll get.

[hxxsxxng]

HEESEUNG 이희승 - STEPBROTHER

MINORS DNI

Word Count : 3.3k

Genre : SMUT

Content : step!sibling! (if you are uncomfy don’t read), begging, oral, nipple play, mentions of pandemic, unprotected sex, creampie. lmk if i missed anything!

Preview : After a pandemic took over the nation, how will you and your step brother cope with the house to yourselves.

Authors note : I hope you enjoy <3

SUPPORT BY REBLOGGING if you want

It was an unexpected situation being stuck at home with Heeseung during the pandemic lockdown. He was only a few years older than you, but at very different stages of life - you were still in college while he had already graduated and was just living at home to save money.

With both your parents working the afternoon shift at the hospital as essential workers, you two had the house to yourselves during the day. You figured Hee would spend most of that time holed up in his room, playing video games and chatting with his friends online like usual. And at first, that's exactly what happened. For weeks, he'd wake up late and then disappear into his room, the sounds of gameplay and his friends' voices filtering out from behind the closed door.

Meanwhile, you filled those lonely days by mindlessly scrolling on your phone or napping the hours away in your own room, emerging only to grab food. The house felt eerily quiet and empty even with Heeseung there. You were both just about existing under the same roof, going about your isolated pandemic existence in parallel lines.

Seung had always been the quiet, reserved type - never one to flaunt romantic relationships or bring many girls around. He kept things low-key, sticking to his close circle of friends whom he was intensely loyal to. Looking at him, you would assume he never had any luck with the ladies. But saying he NEVER brought a girl home would be a complete and utter lie.

Back when he was in university, every once in a blue moon, you'd hear some...noises coming from his bedroom late at night. At first, you tried to ignore it, but the sounds of rhythmic creaking and muffled gasps were unmistakable. Your face would burn realizing what was going on in the next room over.

Your bedroom happened to border his, the thin walls giving you unintentionally intimate knowledge of Heeseung’s occasional overnight guests. A soft feminine giggle would drift through, followed by his low rumbling tones, indistinct but clearly meant to be seductive. The telltale sounds of activity would start up again minutes later.

You'd lie awake, pulling your pillow tightly over your ears, trying desperately to block it all out. But it never worked - small creaks, breathy gasps, and rhythmic squeaks of the bedsprings would persistently filter through no matter what. On those nights, you couldn’t help but to slip your fingers into your panties, wondering what it would be like if it were you in the room with him instead. This would even happen on nights of complete silence. The thought of being fucked senselessly by your stepbrother was eating you alive.

But the next morning was always awkward. You'd have to look Heeseung in the eye over breakfast, knowing you'd been an unwitting aural witness to his private activities. He'd act like nothing happened, utterly shameless, while you averted your eyes burning with silent humiliation.

Those rare evenings served as reminders that Hee did indeed have a sexual side, despite his outward personas a quiet, studious homebody.

You were surprised but pleased when Hee first started initiating hangouts and inviting you into his personal space. At first, it seemed innocent enough - watching movies together in his room, playing co-op video games side-by-side, or even just sitting in comfortable silence as you both worked or read. A welcomed change from the isolation you'd both been existing in.

But as the weeks rolled on, those hangout sessions started awakening feelings in you that you never expected to have towards your stepbrother. With so much time spent together in close quarters, you began noticing things about him that you'd previously overlooked - the way his shirts hugged his toned arms, how his brow crinkled adorably when he was concentrating, the rich warmth of his laugh.

You found yourself stealing sidelong glances at him as he gamed, admiring the sharp line of his jaw and how effortlessly cool he looked with that headset on. Or zoning out while bingeing shows, becoming hyper-aware of him next to you on the bed, close enough that you could smell his subtle cologne and body wash.

At first you brushed off those wayward thoughts and traitorous flutters in your belly. This was just your loneliness and proximity talking after being cooped up together for so long. But you couldn't deny the way your skin grew warm whenever Heeseung’s hand brushed yours reaching for the popcorn. Or how your breath caught when he absently stretched and his shirt rode up, exposing a tantalizing glimpse of toned abdomen.

What started as harmless hangouts quickly began skirting a dangerous line once you registered the undeniable physical attraction simmering between you two. You noticed him sneaking appreciative looks at you as well sometimes. The shifting energy was palpable, brewing tension that went beyond just bonding as stepson and stepdaughter.

Those hangouts that once brought you connective comfort took on a new, charged meaning. You tried to bury the symbolic meaning behind Seung inviting you alone into his private bedroom sanctuary. But it became impossible to ignore when he started finding excuses to "accidentally" graze you with his knee or arm, sending tingles through you at every simple point of contact.

It became a delirious game of brutal restraint and forced obliviousness whenever you were alone with him. You overanalyzed every smile, laugh, and lingering touch, uncertain whether you were reading too much into the gestures or if he felt the same smoldering tension. The captive, heavy atmosphere only grew more stifling with each encounter until you knew something had to finally burn through and break.

————-

The bedroom door clicks shut behind you and instantly that familiar electric tension crackles in the air. Your heart pounds as you turn to face Heeseung lounging on his bed, controller in hand as he's immersed in another video game.

"Hey, wanna join?" he asks casually, patting the space beside him. Such an innocent invitation loaded with so much more weight these days.

You nod, trying to keep your cool as you settle onto the bed, your sides brushing. The warmth of his body so close to yours is utterly disarming. His intoxicating cologne and body wash surrounds you in an arousing haze. You try to focus on the game but are hyperaware of every subtle movement, every shifted position that puts your bodies even closer.

Heeseung curses as his character dies and you chance a sidelong glance at him. The way the words slip from his mouth is so insanely sexy. The tendons in his forearms flex entrancingly as he grips the controller. Your gaze tracks up to the sharp line of his jaw, admiring his beautiful tanned skin. You tear your eyes away before he catches you staring, but not before drinking in the broad expanse of his shoulders straining against his t-shirt.

As the gameplay continues on, you can't resist sneaking admiring looks at the man beside you. The man who has been awakening such unbidden feelings and cravings in you for weeks now. The chemistry between you both has built to a fever pitch you can no longer ignore or rationalize away.

Your entire body is hyper-tuned to him, tingling at every casual point of contact - his knee brushing your thigh, the tickle of his arm hair grazing your skin as he shifts positions. You imagine how electrifying it would feel to have those muscled limbs wrapped around you instead of just these maddening, transient touches.

Hee lets out a dramatic groan of frustration at another death, running a hand through his soft brown hair. You watch hungrily as his shirt rides up to expose a tantalizing strip of toned abdomen. Does he have any idea the effect he has on you with these simple, unaware gestures? The aching need he stokes in you just by existing so close?

As if he can sense your yearning gaze, Heeseung turns his head to meet your eyes. You feel pinned under the heated intensity of his stare, rendered breathless as he deliberately lets his eyes drag over every inch of you. The atmosphere thickens further with the sudden acknowledgment that you both feel this irresistible magnetic pull.

In that searing, loaded look, you see reflected the inner turmoil you've been grappling with - the tangled guilt over these unbrotherly urges warring with the feverish desire that leaves you undone at his smallest glance. The unspoken question of what might happen if one of you finally has the courage to act on those simmering tensions that charge every breath between you.

You can't take this torture any longer. Your mouth is dry, body humming with arousal and need as you open your mouth to finally break the silence. But Heeseung cuts you off by closing the scant distance between you in one decisive movement, capturing your lips in a searing, hungry kiss you've been starving for.

————-

He pulls your head down into a more passionate kiss. You could tell that he has been wanting this. These kisses started turning into rougher, sloppier ones. Your tongues were exploring each other's mouths. He is naturally such a great kisser. He knew what to do and when to do it. He even bit your lip a few times, which was extremely hot.

He sat on the edge of the bed and signaled for you to straddle him. Such an invitation could not go unaccepted, so you crawled onto his lap and continued kissing.

     Without even realizing it, you start grinding your hips while on his lap, creating friction that you both desperately needed. It was so subtle but so effective. It made your breaths shallow but you didn't want Hee to say anything about it. You tried so hard to contain your self but you let out a slight moan.

"Mhmm do you like that baby?, you didn't think I would notice what you are doing here?, don't worry because i'm really enjoying it to."

     WHAT? You think to yourself. "I'm glad you are enjoying yourself." he says as he slightly chuckles.

     This man KNOWS how to make you feel embarrassed, but he doesn't mind what you are doing and you surely don't either. It's as if he were saying these things to provoke you to do it more. So you did. You were desperate.

     You could feel yourself getting wetter and wetter. You could also feel his bulge get a lot more obvious under you.

     He gets to the point where he can't take it anymore. He grabs you and picks you up, in the same position that you were sitting on his lap in, and he turns you around and slams you onto the bed, having you laying on your back.

     His pants looked like they were getting tight from his  painfully large erection. You are so tempted to strip him of his clothes and have it your way, but, you knew that he wasn't gonna happen.

     He crawls on top of you and starts kissing you again. This time, more forceful and hungrily. He then starts kissing down your neck and your collarbones. He sucks on your sensitive skin, leaving purple hickies all over your upper chest and neck.

     Both you and him start breathing heavily. He pulls at the bottom of your t-shirt, signaling that he wanted to take it off of you. You lift your arms and he slides your shirt off.  You are left exposed with only a bra on. He goes in and starts leaving hickies on the exposed parts of your breasts.

     He goes back up to kissing your lips passionately while caressing your breasts with his big, muscular hands.

     You feel one of his hands slide down you back, you assume it's to unhook your bra. The feeling of his hand grazing on your back gives you goose bumps. He unhooks your bra and gently pulls it off of you.

     He admires your beautiful, topless body.

"I hope you know that I have wanted this for so long, ever since our parents got together" He said sincerely.

     You can't help but to blush. You are left speechless. You pull him down to give him another kiss.

     He pulls away from your lips and immediately goes down to sucking on your nipples. He swirls his tongue and it make you short of breath. "Ah~h~ you are so good at this Seungie." You hands are gripping his hair, fueling him to do more.

He stands up and towers over you, throwing his shirt off and to the side. His eyes were full of lust and determination. He ran his fingers up your thighs and stopped to hold them around the seam of your shorts. You lift up your hips, assuring him that it is okay to take them off.

He pulls of your shorts and your panties in one go. “You always look so fucking hot in these shorts when you walk around the house, but i’ve always wondered what you would look like with them off” he says in a deep, raspy voice. His bulge poking through his basketball shorts brushes against your naked pussy, making you so much more desperate.

“I have felt the exact same way about you” you return, leaning up and tugging at the waist of his shorts. “Please let me taste you” you begged.

He can’t help but to have a huge smile on his face and his shorts drop to the ground. His throbbing cock springs out, catching you by surprise. You imaged it to be big, but not like this. Heeseung could see the fear in your eyes as you knelt down to the ground.

“Don’t be scared sweetheart, I will make it fit”.

You don’t know of him saying this makes you feel reassured or more scared but you continued either way.

You grab the base of it and start off with small licks, trying to build up the courage to take more of it. He hummed a little bit when you put your mouth on it. He starts to run his fingers though your hair in the midst of it all.

Once you got confident enough to take more, you found yourself putting you mouth around it and sucking on it more. You start bobbing your head up and down. You were only taking about a third of it to tease him.

He is relieved from all of his built of tension finally being released by the feeling of your mouth around his dick, replicating the real thing.

He soon gets tired of you only sucking on the top and he grips your hair and slowly pushes your head a little bit farther each time, which didn't bother you too much because despite being scared of the size at the start, your throat seemed to mold to the size of his dick very easily.

He groans quietly because he doesn't want to admit that this good feeling has taken a toll on him. Suddenly, he pushes your head all of the way down, with the head touching the back of your throat. He repeats the motion, he is face fucking you with no shame.

The sound of you gagging on his dick and the sound of his quiet moans mixed together made you feel really good. Cute tears start rolling down your face and he looks down to you.

"You look so pretty with my dick in your mouth, and with the tears in your eyes... I almost want to take a picture and save it for later." he said admiringly

You wish he fucking did. You wish that you had met him before your parents met, so that you both could be together instead.

When he talks to you this way you can't feel any other way but than accomplished. You, making your stepbrother feel really good, was a hard concept for you to grasp, but you loved it.

He pulls out of your mouth and pushed your back onto the bed. He leans down and hovers him self over you. “Are you sure you want this” he whispered in your ear. You could feel nothing but horniness and desperation and all you could do was agree to cross the line that could never be taken back.

"Yes, please, this is exactly what I need."

He smiled at your words and starts massaging your clit with his tip slapping it on you wet folds. One he felt the time was right, he gently inserts himself inside of you.

"Fuuuck~" he said under his breath.

He starts with 1 inch, then 2, then 3 until he is almost all the way inserted in you. Giving you time to adjust to his size. He starts going in and out slowly, making sure that you are as comfortable as possible. You winced at the pain at the beginning, but slowly, the pain was turning into pleasure. You had never taken a cock this big in the past, the new feeling was exciting, but stung as well.

     He starts picking up the pace once you signaled that it was okay for him to do so. His face and chest was glistening with sweat which you found extremely hot. His deep breathing and the faces he would make as he was sliding his member in and out of you is something that you just don't forget.

“We should have been doing this a long time ago, I can’t get enough of this pussy” he groans

Your cheeks turn red at the thought that these forbidden feelings for your step sibling were not one sided.

     He starts going fully in and almost all of the way out with each stroke. He throws his head back in pleasure and his grunts and moans start to get louder. The pace is really fast and it feels like you are on a whole new world. The sound of your skin slapping together and the sound from how wet you are make the atmosphere of the room more intense. Your moans are all over the place, changing from whimpers, to gasping for air, or just screaming his name.

     He used his thumb to stimulate your clit. He was like a professional, knowing every trick in the book to make a woman cum. This in itself would make you reach your high very quickly, but you try to hold it back.

     "I had imagined your pussy to be heavenly, but this is so much better." Seung says smiling. He takes pride in making you really wet.

“It feels- So good” You choke up. A few more strokes and you could start to feel your orgasm approaching.

     "Angh, i'm almost there Hee." you say out of breath.

     "Hold it back for me, for just a little bit longer." he says. You are determined to wait until he says it's okay.

He pounds deeper into your pussy, brushing agains your most sensitive spot, making you scream out. His tip repeatedly pressing against your cervix as he bottoms out, as if his dick was perfectly made to fit inside of only you.

Your walls clenched around his dick and he became more breathless. “Let’s cum together”

“Please Seungie, i’m so close pleaseee”

Your cute begs sent him over the edge. He strokes getting slower and sloppier as he releases his seed inside of you. His dick was pulsating inside of you while you rode out your high, digging your nails into his back while trying to contain yourself.

He slowly pulls his limp dick out of you and grabs a rag to clean you up. He leans down to plant a kiss on your forehead. “You can not not anyone” he states sternly.

“Not a soul” you responded looking directly into his eyes.

He chuckles “I should invite you into my room more often”

[mikareo]

“ ࣭⸰ ★ THE MOON SAYS HELLO. . . ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀呪術廻船; geto suguru x fem reader ⠀ ꒰ . . part one of three ꒱ . . . word count; 3.6k

⊹ ⠀⠀despite his insistence on never falling in love, suguru fails to stop himself from becoming smitten with his best friend’s beloved. you’ve become a flicker of hope in his darkness— though you’re someone who can never and will never be his to have and to hold.

series contains; if gojo didn’t kill geto n geto was given a chance to redeem himself, redemption arc!geto, human caretaker!reader, kind of e2l but also not really, love triangle, gojo x reader, fluff, major angst, heartbreak, wedding at the end, swearing probably, geto refers to humans as monkeys per usual author's note; rewritten fic, will be 3 parts in total (i'm half done pls be patient w me im a slow writer...)

YEAR ONE, DAY ONE

His face is sore. So sore. It’s red, swollen, and sore after he’s spent the last three hours screaming in frustration with his current predicament. This is absurd, Satoru should’ve just killed him when he had the chance. Geto’s lost count of how many times his palms have slapped his own face; over and over again with wishes that he can wake up from this hellish nightmare the higher ups call ‘rehabilitation’— though he can somewhat still recall the first slap that he’d given himself around the half-hour mark. He’s got a pretty good memory…that doesn’t stop him from hoping his veins aren’t too noticeable as they angrily protrude from his forehead in crimson currents.

He’d rather be dead than imprisoned like this…like an animal…like one of those damn useless monkeys.

The intensity of his wails continue to bounce off of the barren walls— barren aside from the dark mark he’d punched in earlier— and echo like a party of lost ghouls in the bottom of an empty well. Geto feels like a mad man.

He’s only just begun his isolation and he’s already growing mad with boredom. 

A huff escapes his lips as he plops himself down onto the twin-sized bed that’s nestled in the corner of his so-called ‘suite’. With linen sheets and a dark maroon comforter, it’s almost a cozy living situation; in another life, Geto could imagine himself cuddling beneath the covers with his favorite book and a soft record playing in the background for some ambience. That world is far far away now. Even if he asked for a record player, he doubts the higher ups would grant him one. He’s their most valuable prisoner, and they’re sure to keep him as miserable as possible until he’s one-hundred-percent pure hearted once more. However, despite their reluctance to grant him the things he wants, these aren’t the worst living arrangements he’s ever encountered and he knows that Gojo did his best to give him the best commodities he could to…well…a highly dangerous criminal. 

This is the only path to forgiveness, he reminds himself, constantly trying to be optimistic about the utter absurdity of it all. 

Optimism hasn’t been his specialty in a long time; anyone with a working pair of eyes would be able to deduce that, and he despises it. He’s quite rusty with the characteristic and has looked on the darker side for a while now— but wishes that he could be as reckless as he once was as a teenager. He can vividly remember how loud his laughter was with Gojo and Shoko, laughing as they chased each other throughout the school yard and using each other's cursed energy to their advantage in games of tag— but that would be near impossible now. His two best friends can barely look him in the eyes after the treason he’s committed. Gojo views him as a ticking time bomb and Shoko’s healed too many people to count that he’s harmed.

If he stepped one foot out of this room, he believes he’d be smothered on sight.

The Jujutsu Society fears Geto Suguru..

…and Geto Suguru fears himself. 

In all fairness, he deserves everything that’s come to him. What he did was awful; mass murdering humans…trying to murder even more humans…harming innocent students…starting a war during the holiday season…the whole gist. There are obviously bad actions from the past that continue to haunt Geto to this day and will continue haunting him so long as he breathes— but that’s all it is now…the past. He wants redemption. He needs redemption. If Gojo managed to reach clarity within Geto’s awful decisions, then maybe he can too. 

Geto wants to get better, to be better…not only for Gojo…but for himself. 

This is exactly why he and his best friend has devised a plan, one that will hopefully help lead Geto on a better path— a five-year path that will only be completed if he truly wants it to, and a half a decade seems like quite a bit of time to most; but for Geto, he doesn’t know if it will be enough. 

For Satoru…do it for Satoru…

He wraps his arms around himself in an attempt to comfort his heart that beats with fear every second of every day. It’s been so long since he’s been hugged by another, and he doubts he’ll ever feel that love and comfort from someone in his life. It’s the first time in a long time that he’s been alone with his thoughts with no one else to turn to; and if he’s being honest, there’s nothing in the entire world that scares him more than his own mind. 

“Geto Suguru?”

He doesn’t recognize that voice.

The soft sound comes from seemingly nowhere, startling Geto with a slight jump. Whomever it is sounds frail and weak, obviously intimidated by whom they’re going to be in the presence of in mere minutes; and Geto already finds nothing but annoyance at his new companion. Of course they’re going to have prior judgment. He bets you already hate him for the rumors and stories. He doesn’t really have a choice whether or not you come in, though. Gojo insisted on a caretaker— someone to talk to so he doesn’t go insane by himself— and Geto will do anything to make his best friend happy. So, he stands up and dusts his pants off, making sure to look more presentable, and stalks towards the entryway. His hand meets the knob, yanking it open, and ready to meet the stranger on the other side. 

Standing before him is you, a woman around his age. You can’t possibly be older than twenty-six, but perhaps you’re a few years younger. In your hands are various sweets and snacks that Gojo knows Geto loves, balancing on a silver tray that shines more light in the room than he’d care for. The reflections dazzle straight into his eyes, blinding him briefly with a scowl on his face. Of course Gojo would know to send you in with his favorites. He’s so predictable. His best friend is less surprising than he thinks, causing Geto to roll his eyes to the top of his head; though he appreciates the kind gesture. It’s far past dinner, though. Gojo must’ve struggled to convince the others to allow him a proper meal. 

“Don’t just stand there, monkey.” Geto commands whilst gesturing to the small dining table in the center of his confined space. “Come inside.”

The instant you stepped into his presence, it was horribly noticeable that you have no cursed energy. Zero. Not a lick of it…and he struggles to hide the disgust with his body language. He can’t help but be annoyed that a monkey such as yourself is going to be in his company for the next five years. 

With his distaste for you clear as day, he pulls out a chair for himself and disregards the kind option of pulling out yours prior; expectantly looking towards you with the expectation that you’re going to serve him his meal like a servant. 

“Well, monkey…” he trails off disinterested, “I’m waiting.”

You hustle towards him, quickly and efficiently placing the special grade sorcerer’s meal on the placemat before him and taking the empty seat opposite. There’s a small breath you’re holding in, Geto can see it in your throat— it’s suffocating you with fear for your life as your fingers lightly tap the dark wood in a nervous fit. 

You’re completely pathetic. As if a monkey would ever have the courage to speak to him. This is ridiculous.

His hands slam against the table with a loud bang. “What are you doing?” he questions, heavily interrogating you as you cower in your seat like a meak mouse. “Does Satoru expect you to monitor my meals?”

He really is nothing but a prisoner, isn’t he?

“What damage could I possibly do with this slob that’s been served to me by the scum of the earth? Start a food fight in the halls? Overthrow the Jujutsu world with a biscuit?” (If that is the case, in your defense, the biscuits are quite hard. There must be a new kitchen hand in training who based them.) This is a horrible day.

As Geto impatiently awaits your answer, a deep breath escapes your lips— perhaps a way to soothe your heartbeat into something less than a record-breaking speed— and you attempt to focus your stress and fear into a fleeting moment of zen. Your large eyes shut for a total of three seconds; one, two, three…before opening again. This time, as his own eyes make contact with yours, they’re shining with slightly more confidence than before as you swallow hard and settle your gaze on Geto— the look in your eyes evolving from that of anxiety to empathy. 

“Actually,” your lips rise into a thin smile, “Gojo Satoru didn’t send me here, the higher ups did.”

Your eyes search Geto’s for any signs of discomfort or inner rage that could be boiling beneath the surface of his poker face. It appears that he’s grown even stronger at hiding his true emotions towards humans; however, you can see through the veil. Yes, it’s thick and difficult to brush past, but there’s a slight opening in the center that you peek inside— and what you can see in his heart is a man who simply wants to finally do what’s right. 

“The higher ups are aware that Gojo Satoru has a soft spot for you— hell, everyone who knows your name is aware that when it comes to you, he has no reason. He has no right of mind. I’m only here to monitor and report your progress in an honest manner. That’s it. That’s all. I promise I won’t intrude on your life more than necessary.” 

Shit.

“I’m sorry, Geto Suguru…but you’re stuck with me.”

It’s as if his left and right sides are arguing between themselves. His good conscience says that he should give you a chance, perhaps you could be different than the monstrous humans that attempted to kill his beloved Mimiko and Nanako; while his bad conscience tells him to let out one of his cursed spirits to devour you where you stand. Listening to his right side would definitely get him his best case scenario…a chance to see his girls again…but the left side would be so much more enjoyable. Oh well. At least the higher ups sent someone somewhat his age and not an ancient and decaying corpse like themselves. That’s a disgusting thought. He’d rather be hugged by a hundred humans than be forced to befriend a higher up. A shiver runs through Geto’s spine as a newfound appreciation for you is birthed within him.

“Do you have a name?” Geto taunts as he begins to pick at his meal, slightly disgusted with the stale quality of some of the snacks but nevertheless thankful that he at least has something to subside his aching hunger. “Or should I just call you ‘monkey’ as I do with the rest of your kind?”

That sound?

You’re laughing?

Your giggles are surprisingly pleasant to Geto’s ears as they harmonize into a song that he can imagine himself listening to each morning. Why did you find that funny? He was quite literally insulting your entire existence. Geto is dumbfounded by the strange humor you seem to have, considering that he was being entirely serious with his question. Humans are so strange. He’s never really been able to understand how your peoples’ minds work, but perhaps he could begin to learn the basics. It’s not like he has anything better to do, and some entertainment would be nice. 

He’ll keep you around…it wouldn’t hurt and you can be his companion kind of like a pet.

Pets are cute…

…your smile is cute too.

You smile once more, answering his question with a blush on your face. “Please,” your cheeks redden, “Call me by my name, Suguru.”

YEAR ONE, DAY NINETY-FOUR

“You’re late.” Geto crosses his arms over his chest, exhaling a large breath of air in a loud and annoyed huff as he attempts to seem seriously angered by his new friend’s awful timing. 

It’s nearly twenty minutes past the time that you were supposed to be here; emphasis on supposed. He’s been waiting with his eyes staring at the clock, watching it tick and tick as the time passed by with no you knocking on his door. That’s twenty whole minutes of time in which he was forced to entertain himself rather than listen to your rambles and rants about whatever the latest scandal is in the outside world. You love that pop culture gossip stuff that social media and magazines rave about, and in a weird way, you somewhat remind him of his daughters— personality-wise…not attraction wise…that would be weird. 

Over the past few months, Geto’s grown severely accustomed to the daily routine that you’ve developed, becoming so fond of you that he strangely pictures your smile and recalls your laughter when you aren’t even here. Friendship is a funny thing. He doesn’t think he’s ever had a friend like yourself; yes, Satoru will always be his closest confidant…but his relationship with you is different in a way that he can’t quite put his finger on. He’s never considered anyone else the highlight of his every day like he does you. Your company is the kind of presence that he overwhelmingly enjoys; with such a positive and warm nature exuding comfort to Geto’s loneliness, and your judgment-free outlook on life rivaling his pessimism in a perfect mixture of negativity and optimism. He wishes he’d met you sooner, perhaps when he was a child— and if he had, maybe he wouldn’t have turned out the way he did. 

It’s too bad you would’ve only been an awful human to him back then…he would’ve called you his infamous nickname without batting an eye…a monkey…

…a mere monkey whom he never ever thought he’d develop unwanted feelings for.

For his entire life, Geto always told himself not to fall in love. That love isn’t real. It isn’t obtainable, not when there are people like Satoru in the world— people that you can’t help but love— and then people like him; people who you can’t help but hate. With that being said, he’s never necessarily been looking forward to any potential love matches in his future.

…no matter who he was involved with…

…until he met you.

“Sorry about that, Suguru!” you hustle through the doorway, your appearance a tangled mess with dusty dirt particles littered with gravel. 

There’s a large scratch on your right cheek, not deep or in danger of infection in any way, but noticeable enough that he’s able to see it from a distance. Knowing you, it’s most likely accidentally self-inflicted in some sort of way; you being notorious for tripping or snagging your skin on the sharp end of a table. How do you always manage to be so uncoordinated? Geto can’t help but let out a short laugh, his eyes scrolling up and down your body and taking in your entire appearance, dirt and all. You even manage to make dirt look good. What the fuck? He hates this.

Your voice carries on as you approach him. “I was running on time, but then I saw this adorable shop downtown and I just had to make a stop.” The overexaggerated tone you hold is amusing as your hands wave through the air in a physical storytelling of your experience. The skin of your cheeks is flushed red from your sprint through the city, looking beautiful in resemblance to that of a blooming rose. 

Geto can feel his own face heating up at the sight of you, choosing to shrug nonchalantly in an attempt to seem as if he doesn’t care at all about your dilemma…

…as if he doesn’t care about every second of your everyday…

…as if your overall excitement isn’t the only thing that truly keeps him going nowadays. 

“You tell me these things as if what you do outside of this room matters to me.” He hopes his words mask his rising blush. (Spoiler alert: They don’t.)

Flawlessly, you brush off Geto’s phony disinterest without the slightest acknowledgement. It’s as if the phrase had never even left his lips, with no evidence and proof of insult. This isn’t an uncommon occurrence when the topic of what you do when you’re not with him comes up in conversation, as the prisoner typically tries to ignore his interest in your daily shenanigans— and you can’t deny that it hurts. Most of the time, it feels as if Geto never actually listens to anything you say, and you were able to quickly realize that in the early weeks of your arrangement when the pain began to torment your heart; ripping and shredding it to bits with every eye roll and mocking scoff. You don’t seem to matter in Geto’s point of view. He doesn’t care…at least that’s what you believe. 

In contrast to Geto, you’re an emotional spirit— you crave love.Love is all you’ve ever wanted, needed, and desired. In your time with him, you’ve developed inklings of feelings as well. However, you’ve chosen to let your feelings grow and blossom out of the dirtied patch of grass they were planted in— ignoring the warnings every single person in your life has given you in advance. Despite that, Geto continues to stomp on your budding flowers. He takes a heavy watering can, filled to the brim with hose water, and drowns your garden in the tears that you shed in the privacy of your bedroom. Those tears that are a never ending waterfall due to the fact that you know it isn’t your job to fall in love with your client. Your duty to Jujutsu Society is to help Geto learn to love humans and sorcerers as one in the same and to gain the trust of his community once more— not to love you.

“Okay, before you judge me, at least give me a chance to explain myself.” Stumbling towards Geto, you accidentally trip over your own feet in embarrassment, and proceed to hold out a single flower not yet in bloom. “It’s freshly cut. I saw a bouquet in the window and it caught my eye, because it reminded me of you; but I knew you’d hate a flashy bunch of them so I just bought the one.”

It reminded you of him?

Taking the gift into his own hands, Geto studies it intensely. The rose is a dark shade of red, crimson, or scarlet depending on your vocabulary. The petals are a brighter color while the plushness near the stem turns dark, more sinister as it approaches the thorns lining the sides. Just by looking at the rose, he can understand why it made you think of him. It’s gorgeous, but practically untouchable figuratively and literally. There’s only one angle that he can hold the stem at that doesn’t prick his fingers. Ouch. And he just did the very thing he was being so careful of avoiding.

All his life, he’s never been the kind of person who longed for gifts or compliments, but when coming from the right person…perhaps he is. 

Whilst he struggles to come up with a reply— a simple ‘thank you’ or ‘i appreciate this’— you mentally applaud yourself as you’ve finally found a way to make him speechless…

…but your praise for yourself is short-lived.

He can’t be weak. Not even for you.“I guess it’s not terrible.” Geto throws the flower to the ground and lightly kicks it away with his right foot. As one of the beautiful petals drifts away from the lonely flower, he turns away, not being able to endure the heartbroken look on your face and the offended rose on the floor. Why does he have to be like this? “I’m sure that garbage is all a monkey like you can afford anyways.” Why is he so cruel?

His eyes clench shut as he hears the door begin to close. You’re so gentle even when upset. He admires that about you— you’re the calm to his ever-raging storm, the sailor to his tsunami, and the lifeboat to his wreckage— you’re the most pure-hearted person he knows, and you don’t deserve this awful anger he holds within him. 

Is he…crying?

As tears begin to drip down his cheeks, Geto collapses against the wall with his knees buckling beneath him and his weight crumbling down to a pile of patheticness. He’s just a shell of a man undeserving of someone like you. Soft sobs escape his lips and silent cries fill the hollow room, absent of your joy, crying out until he notices the faint outline of the young rose beside him. With the flick of his hand, he snatches the flower off the ground and lifts the thorny plant with careful hands— finally and truly understanding your meaning behind the gift. This is how you see him? He’s dreadful and hurtful to others on the outside, prickling kind people away with his thorns…but when encouraged and supported, he has the potential to become something beautiful.

Someone that could one day be compared to the beauty that is of a blooming rose. 

With the budding rose in his grasp, Geto sits alone. He realizes that he’s only able to become that person with the help of you. You’re the only person that has even come close to seeing him for who he truly is; aside from Satoru you’re the only person who would think of giving such a gift to the number one enemy of the Jujutsu world. You’re the only person who he’s ever come to feel true and honest romantic love towards. 

Geto has to become better. Not only for himself and Satoru…but now, for you.

⋆⋆⋆⠀ ⠀thank you for reading! reblogs are greatly appreciated! ⋆⋆⋆⠀ ⠀i promise i'll post the next 2 parts soon pls be patient :3

[ask-me-later23]

Can you write a little blurb about reader having a sleepy cuddly afternoon with Spencer?

Soft rays of light drifted through the curtains and across your face, a gentle reminder from the sun of its limited time with you. As much as you wanted to continue your adventures within your dreamscape, you were quickly stolen away, back to the real world. Back to the too small couch currently hosting you and your too tall boyfriend, Spencer. 

Afternoons like this were rare with him, he was always on call and even when he was home you both were typically too busy to spend an afternoon doing nothing. You both got the afternoon off and while you had said it would be just a few minutes of rest, those few minutes turned into a few hours, which had developed into the entire day.

Spencer was still asleep, you try not to move too much and wake him. His insomnia refuses to let him sleep for more than a few hours, so you know he needs what rest he can get.

This was also your favorite time to look at him, when he had his guard down and looked the most at peace. The beams that drew you from sleep now dance across his curls, making them shine a golden color that reminds you of honey. Freckles are sprinkled across his skin. You remember how you used to make a game of kissing each of them when you first got together. The memories bring a soft smile to your face as you listen to his snores. 

As if realizing he’s being watched, Spencer finally stirs. His eyes flitter open, revealing the rich, brown color that always reminded you of dark, vintage books. The corner of his lips tilt up into a smile and he pulls you in tighter. 

“Good afternoon sleepy,” you mumble as you nuzzle into his neck.

He plants a soft kiss onto your forehead. “Sleep well?”

“As well as I can having to listen to your loud ass snoring,” you tease, sitting up to check the time on your phone. 

Spencer rolls his eyes and rests his head back against the arm of the couch, stretching his arm across his face to cover the light. “45% of adult males snore on a regular basis, and it only gets worse with age. You should really get used to it.”

“Guess I’ll just have to go find somewhere else to sleep then.” You act like you’re going to stand up, only to have Spencer jump up from his resting position and drag you back down with him, his grasp unusually strong for a man of his stature. 

“Not gonna happen.” His grip holds firm as you attempt to wiggle away, giggling.

“We really should get up and be productive,” you murmur into his chest where he currently has your face stuck.

“Productivity is for tomorrow, today is for sleeping and comfort.”

While your mind tells you that his logic is faulty, you can’t ignore how his sweater smells strongly of books and laundry detergent, or how comforting that smell is. You also cannot ignore the circles he is currently rubbing on your back, just underneath your own sweater. So, instead of protesting, you nestle in closer and shut your eyes once more.

“Sleep it is.”

You both drift off to sleep again, locked in each other’s arms and isolated from the outside world. When you inevitably wake again and hear Spencer’s soft snores, all you can do is smile.

[elliebarker]

yessss cc fic plz there’s not nearly enough

fuɔk me. ( c. clark )

category: caitlin clark x girlfriend!reader (angst, fluff)

summary: after seeing you talking to another after one of her games, caitlin goes into an obsessive spiral of jealousy, unknowingly sending you down your own rabbit hole.

warnings: way sadder than i intended 

word count: 1.2k

author’s note: i tried capital letters, y’all fw it?

_________________________________________

“I mean, it was electric, truly.”

Caitlin’s voice echoed into the microphone of a random media reporter who was interviewing her. She tried her best to stay focused on the questions whilst the camera clicked and pump-up music blared. Iowa had just won a home game and she knew you were in the crowd. She regained consciousness with the present and began answering the interview questions with basic textbook answers about ‘the Iowa culture’ and how great her shots felt, whilst scouring the stadium for you. You interlocked eyes and waved to her. She waved back and politely wrapped things up with the media girl (hehe) and headed your way. 

In the minutes she had spent with her eyes off of you, an umich girl from the opposing team had walked up to you. She was, in Caitlin’s eyes, getting a little too friendly. Smirking, and smiling too wide. Caitlin backed away, choosing to head to her teammates instead and pose in photos with fans. See… people love me she thought. And we literally bet them and that fucking umich girl had the nerv-

“Caitlin!” you ran, hugging her from behind. “You do so good, omg!” 

“Thanks, babe.” She slipped away from you, cold and isolated. Caitlin spent the night with the girls on her team, which wasn’t irregular for away games, but you were looking forward to getting to spend time with her when she was actually in town. You were slumped in your apartment, staring at yourself in the mirror, picking a pulling at your skin, hair, and hair. Meanwhile, Caitlin was glued to her phone in the corner of the room her teammates were in. Staring at that umich girl’s stats and Instagram. Caitlin knew she was a good player, she knew she was a good girlfriend, she knew you. She knew you wouldn’t do her wrong but she couldn’t stop thinking about it. About finding someone different. She knew she wasn’t there for you all the time, on account of her schedule with basketball that seemed never-ending. She felt like a bad girlfriend. You deserved the world, more than she could ever give you.

Sounds of shoes squeaking and balls dribbling filled her ears as Caitlin entered Iowa’s gym. After nights of stressing, overthinking, and flashes of your interaction with the umich girl appearing in her head, Caitlin was ready to clear her head with some practice. She stretched, dripped the ball a bit, and began shooting. First shot, miss. She went and grabbed the ball. Second shot, miss. Everyone has bad days. The third shot, she could barely focus, overwhelmed with this stinging feeling of inferiority as she missed that basket. “Fuɔk me,” she muttered under her breath. She suddenly turned around when she felt a hand on her shoulder. Kate was standing, now facing her. “Hey Caitlin, can we talk?” 

“Yeah of course, what’s up?”

“I’ve noticed you’ve been kind of off…down, you okay?”

“Um yeah,” she tried to hold her guard up, “yeah, I’m fine.” She smiled, “Need to lock in.” Kate laughed, agreed, and went on with her practice.

Later that day you, being friendly with the Iowa team, reached out to Kate. You texted her, 

You: hi kate!

i haven’t seen caitlin in a bit and just wanted to check in and make sure she’s doing okay

Kate: Hey! Thanks for reaching out, she has been acting a little weird. 

I was going to ask you but I guess you don’t know what’s up either.

You: no, i don’t know

has she talked about me?

at all?

Kate: No, not really. Is everything okay?

You: (…)

You stared at your phone for a solid five minutes attempting to keep your emotions under control.

You: yep! everything's good

just been a hot minute since ive seen her

but thats prob just cause shes so busy lol

Kate: Fair. But if anything does you can always talk to me.’

You: awww thanks kate! that's so sweet.

Days passed and you finally got a day to spend with Caitlin. You had invited her over to your apartment. You had excitedly and worriedly done up your hair and makeup, cleaned and refreshed every inch of your apartment: fresh sheets and fresh flowers, and made sure to wear an outfit you knew she liked. You felt it in your bones that your behavior was suspicious and 100% fueled by insecurity but you told yourself that you were doing this to make Caitlin feel comfortable, let her relax from working so hard. Totally not convincing her to want to stay with you. 

You and Caitlin were in your bed watching a tv-show and you could sense something was off. “Hey baby, can I get you anything?” you ask, trying to make yourself useful. 

“Um, yeah sure,” she replied, “water works.” You scoot yourself off the bed and head to the kitchen. Caitlin watches as you walk away, thinking about how you’re perfect in every way. She pulls out her phone, and her most recent search on instagram, umich bitch, is controlling her thoughts again. 

You come back with a glass of water for Caitlin and see she’s engulfed in her phone. Goddamnit you’ve bored her.

“I’m sorry,” you muster out. The stress of the possible end of your relationship that you conquered up in your head makes you almost fold into tears.

Caitlin sprung up, “Sorry, babe, sorry about what?” she went to hold you. You slithered yourself out of her arms,

“You’re probably sick of me, I need to stop holding onto you.” 

“What?” Caitlin asked, “Okay, first of all, I would never be sick of you. You are the most gorgeous, fearless, kindest, perfect girl I’ve ever seen. I would be crazy to ever let you go. But I know you deserve, you need better than me.” your tears turned to happy ones as you exclaimed,

“Caitlin what? You are the best girlfriend in the whole wide world.” You grabbed her face in your hands as hers found their natural place around your hips.

“I love you,” she whispered before moving her face close to yours and kissing you passionately. Your arms wrapped themselves around her neck as you leaned into the kiss. You slightly pulled away, whispering back, 

“I love you too.” Caitlin then pulled open her phone, to delete the umich player from her search history, but not without catching your nosy eye. “Wait. This was about her?” 

“What?” Caitlin said, trying to sound clueless.

“I spoke to her for five seconds? Wait…you were jealous?” you inquired. 

“No- I- who-” she stuttered, trying to deny it. “Also, I don’t get jealous.”

“You goofball,” you said, pulling her into a deeper kiss, to which Caitlin picked you up and plopped you back onto your bed, pulling you into her chest, and kissing your forehead.

“I don’t get jealous” she re-enstated.

“Mhmmmmm…” you replied, nodding your head, in a non-believeing tone. “Got it. Not jealous.”

“I’m being serious,” she said. You, too lazy to lift your head, nodded and closed your eyes falling into a deep sleep, to which Caitlin would follow you.

[rpgchoices]

Davrin's past and his Dalish clan and his vallaslin (all mentions I could find)

So much in the game is hidden behind banters between companions (which is ahhhh a bit annoying) so I compiled all the banter and information I found about Davrin's past.

Not really plot spoilers, just Davrin spoilers.

At the end I will summarize everything in a bullepoints list.

Bellara and Davrin banter:

Text here (link)

There are also a few other banters I did not record where it is implied Davrin does not care about the gods or some other late game revelations. The only thing he cares about (and mentions again later in game, in a main scene) is how people see Dalish and elves, and how to minimize the risk of humans hating elves even more.

Taash and Davrin's banter (text in description for each image)

Davrin's quests information:

Here are other mentions from Davrin first quest: Rook: How did it go? Davrin: Poorly. They felt like I rejected them. Rook: Did you? Davrin: Yeah, I suppose. Clan life wasn't for me. I had to get away. Rook: So then what happened? You're out in the world, looking for adventure… Davrin: Got my ass kicked. Went broke. Davrin: I couldn't go crawling back to my clan a failure. Doubt they'd take me back. It forced me to figure out what I was good at. Always had a knack for hunting.

Other info we get from the Halla quest is that: Davrin spent summers tending Halla as a kid alongside Eldrin, who is not his uncle, but like an uncle. So this is a case of Davrin wanting to spend time with Hallas, or being made to by his clan. Eldrin's vallaslin is Ghilan'nain:

So it could be that Davrin's new vallaslin might be Ghilan'nain too. But I think it is Andruil's or a mix of the two.

Davrin could have gotten the vallaslin to honor Eldrin (we know he is the only member of his clan - if he is part of his clan - Davrin has no trouble contacting, even if they seem to have not met each other's in a while). But we also know Davrin was a hunter.

Eldrin was also the one who taught Davrin what to hunt basically. In his first quest Davrin says "When I was a kid, I'd hunt just about anything. Rabbits, deer, fox. Eldrin gave that purpose. Taught me the Way of Three Trees. The Way of the Arrow, Way of the Bow, Way of the Wood."

This is from Andruil and if we look at all three vallaslin:

Emmrich and Davrin:

(they have some discussions about Davrin not believing in the Fade or liking it, this is the one which mentions the Dalish clan)

There are also a few other banters at the Lighthouse that mention the Fade and the sky. Mainly they are about Davrin being uncomfortable with the open space and stuff about him disbelieving the Fade: "Good. Because it's not the sky. Emmrich says it's the Fade. Me, I don't know what to think."

Final banter with Davrin:

So basically, the summary of what we know for certain is:

Davrin left his clan voluntarily because he felt restless, he did not care about tradition and lessons, and he wanted to see the world

He felt like he did not fit in his clan since he was a kid

He was also hunting everything he could find until Eldrin taught him the way of the Three Trees and to protect life by hunting darkness (monsters)

Eldrin is like an uncle for him and lives isolated (unsure if he is part of Davrin's clan) and Davrin used to spend summers helping him with the hallas

Davrin feels like he pissed off his clan, he rejected them and both Davrin and Bellara agree it would be hard for him to go back

In another dialogue, he says he actually did not think the clan would take him back at all even if he crawled back asking for help ("Like a failure" he says)

He does not regret joining the Grey Wardens and looking for adventures, but he seems to regret that came at the cost of leaving the clan and not being able to return or keep in contact with them

Also, he says the outside world was different from what he imagined

PART 2 HERE

[almostfoxglove]

HOLD STILL

written for @punkshort's AU August Challenge

RATING: Explicit (18+) PAIRING: Bodyguard!Dave York x f!Reader WORD COUNT: 3.4k CW: Dave's filthy mouth, pwp, smut (cockwarming, unprotected piv, creampie, sorta soft-dom!dave but really he's just bossy, sorta praise kink, a couple pussy pronouns don’t look at me), and one nonsense tense switch just for the hell of it I guess.

SUMMARY: On your last night together, Dave agrees to compromise.

read on ao3 | almostfoxglove masterlist

You want him, but he won’t fuck you. Not once, not even quickly, not even with just his hands. Dave York—ever stoic, unflinching—insists on doing his job and his job alone. And you, as he so enjoys reiterating, are not his job. Protecting you is. 

For three weeks you’ve smothered the calendar hung on the kitchen wall with another red X each morning, whittling the days until you give your polished testimony and say goodbye to him for good. Now the court date looms heavy on the horizon—it’ll rise tomorrow with the sun. 

In the meantime—these last, dwindling hours—you roam the grand rooms of an apartment rented for your protection, your anonymity, at the very skirt of the city where you’d surely have lost your mind if not for him. Stationed diligently at your side, hand never more than a twitch from the grip of his gun. So many hours spent alone you've memorized his form: how he looks scanning the curtained windows for any whisper of danger. How he's never complained when you choose cheesy reality shows from the TV guide. Teaching you how to play Spades with a deck of cards soft and worn—from his home, maybe, though you never ask—and letting you win the first hand, lips quirked when you call him out on it, then unapologetically wiping the floor with you for the rest of your isolation. 

Yes, you know him, though only in image. Broad and sturdy, shirts each neatly ironed and squarely tucked. The hard line of his jaw and the fullness of his bottom lip. His hair always swept neatly from his face, even when you know he’s recently woken up. Never scruffy, never stubbled. Clean shaven and the smell of nice hotel shampoo.

It’s wrong, how you try to prod him to no avail. No matter your efforts, he says nothing of the way you adorn your body: lacy slips and satin sets at night, hugging silhouettes during the day, hair always done, lipstick never out of place even though you can’t leave the apartment or stand too near the windows. Dave is the only one who sees you, save for the days or hours when he leaves you his clumsy understudy to step down from his post.

He must know you do it for him.

It’s wrong, but you asked once, early on. Tonight? 

And Dave’s mouth pinched into a flat, polite line. Unreadable, his face drained of its emotion. His declination drawled deep and heady, a voice that curled your toes and more than once kept you panting alone in your bed that’s not yours at all, just two doors away from his, fingers needy and swirling. No, honey. Not tonight.

Repeated in your mind until it warped like an overplayed tape.

No, honey.

Honey.

Honey.

Not tonight.

Tonight.

Tonight, he is gone—your last together before the trial—leaving you in the hollow apartment with his proxy, stung. Same dark clothes, same holstered gun, same little piece nestled in his ear, but not half of what you want. You want Dave: a man as solid as he is driven, immutable as he is tempting. Assigned to protect you until you deliver the account that’ll send a monster away.

Perhaps you’ve liked the game—how he watches you, but never gives in—but now it’s lost its shimmer.

Lights dimmed for the evening, all black curtains drawn, the vaulted ceilings of the kitchen feel miles high as you perch on a barstool at the breakfast counter to stare at the calendar taunting you across the quiet room. Beyond the pristine halls you’ve lapped all day like an anxious dog, the city serenades you. Traffic squealing through streets, sirens singing in the distance, the occasional shout of someone walking by outside, eight floors below. 

You are not, at night, permitted to part the curtains, lest someone get a glimpse of your illuminated face, but you long to open one now, see if Dave is out there, returning to your little castle turret one final time. Because it’s possible he won’t come back at all—that his coworker will escort you between lobby and truck, between truck and courthouse, between courthouse and whatever comes next. Maybe home. That you’ll never see Dave again, let alone throw caution to the wind and ask once more, tonight?

And then, just then, as your stomach begins to sink with disappointment, you hear the sudden crack of the front door unlocking and the creak of its surrender. You’ve conjured him, somehow, past the stroke of midnight. Then low, rumbled whispers, the unmistakable tone of Dave’s voice mumbling to his understudy. Your heart speeds as the door closes again and his stand-in retreats into the hall. How dizzying, the sound of locks settling into their rightful places, turned by Dave’s unerring hands. 

When he appears in the dining room behind you, bomber jacket hanging from one arm, he tucks a tiny apology into the twitch of his lips—or maybe it’s meant to be a smile. “It’s late,” he says, as your eyes drink him in. Polished as ever, despite the hour, not a stitch out of place. “Should be in bed.”

You shrug, hoping you might appear indifferent. “Couldn’t sleep,” you say, aware of how the satin of your robe slopes off your shoulder with no intention of righting it.

Does something darken in his face then, or do you imagine it? You can’t be sure, not in this umbra, at this time of night. Jaw ticking, Dave strides cautiously toward the dining table, drapes his jacket over the back of one glossy chair, and sinks into the seat at the head of the sleek table, same as usual. A quiet kind of reign, his claiming this position, always, for every meal. He scratches his cheek, slips the gun from the holster at his belt to rest on the table, and as he leans back you indulge yourself—how can you not—in the slight buck of his hips as he shifts to stretch out his legs. 

“Need your rest,” Dave chides softly. No edge to his tone.

Sighing before you can stop yourself, disappointed all over again as his gaze draws off you to the windows and drapes. On duty, still. On duty, always. Not you. Not tonight. “S’the last night,” you reply, staring at the calendar again. One little red X to go. “You weren’t here.”

Behind you, his deep and measured breath. The shiver of that unflappable restraint, you hope, but you don’t yet dare to look back. He might spook.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

You don’t budge. Don’t move.

“You hear me?” Voice a little harder now, solidifying. When he speaks to you, you always look him in the eye—or you always have before.

Electric, your heart. Revving just a breath faster, just a hair harder, at the sound of him huffing in frustration. Your lips tick up in one corner, hidden, a secret meant only for you. When Dave says your name, your whole body purrs and you at last turn your head enough to let him glimpse your profile, still withholding your gaze.

“Pouting,” he scolds, this time meaning it. “That what this is?”

“Avoiding me,” you counter. “That where you were?”

Dave hmphs, darkness fading and softness returning to his tone. “Course not, honey.”

You look at him now, properly. Barstool spinning as you push off the counter to face him. Under the dusk of dimmed pendant lights over the dining table, Dave glows. In the time you’ve looked away, he’s unbuttoned his shirt one button lower than it’d been when he walked in.

One button lower than you’ve ever seen him wear before.

“Said I’m sorry,” he says again, head tilted. His foot comes out to nudge the leg of the chair beside his, angling it in your direction. “Come here.”

He means for you to sit, maybe play a hand of Spades, but as you slink off the barstool you have no intention of taking the seat. Warmth flushing in your chest, cool, conditioned air greeting your bare legs and collarbones, all the skin not covered by your sleekest sleep set. You swear he drinks the sight of you, for once, as you cross the kitchen toward him. Eyes dark not only from shadows, from the time. Or else you hope, as you come to a stop between Dave’s knees, that the way he’s not yet blinked means what you want it to.

Lips parting, a breath from speaking when you beat him to the punch and ask, “Tonight?” Your chin lowered and eyes searching his. It’s the last night. Might as well show your hand while you still can, before he slinks back into the underbelly of a city where you know he’s lived for years but you’ve never once glimpsed him, and not just because it’s busy.

Because invisible is what he’s paid to be, what he’s good at. Unseen until the fist of him is needed, the gun.

Pink striping his bottom lip, a swipe of his tongue, eyes boring into you. The slightest shake of his head, clean-shaven cheeks sharked in the shadow and golden light. “Honey.” Not a no, honey. Not a not tonight. Just honey, like you’ve imagined.

Emboldened, you caress of your fingertips across his shoulder, tracing the seam of his crisp, pale blue dress shirt. So handsome, always so handsome. A man who takes care of himself, who tidies and cleans without your needing to ask. Spotless, always. Reserved, always. Killing you, always, with every brush of his gaze. 

You draw your fingers towards his shirt collar.

“Can’t,” says Dave, softer still. Breathy, almost. You pet the knife-cut of his pressed collar, the button just below it, and his Adam’s apple bobs slowly in his throat. Again, he shakes his head so slightly it looks more like a twitch. A reflex to say no. Not a desire to. “Can’t fuck you, honey. Wouldn’t be right.”

You bite your lip, brows drawing together, not lifting your hand from the button placket of his shirt. “Just tonight,” you breathe, and bat your eyes a little.

At last Dave’s dark eyes drop from yours, scanning the length of you above him with searing precision. Consideration. You slant your head to one side as his gaze slides back up, hesitating on your silk-draped chest, and you suck a sharper breath before it returns to meet yours. He cuffs your wrist with his hand to halt your teasing as he shakes his head once more, licking his bottom lip again with greater meaning. A glint in his eyes, lust finally flaring. 

Pride swirls in your stomach, honeyed and wanting. Then he tugs you by the hips with such reflexes you hardly register the movement of his hands before you’re on him, straddling him in the chair, your thighs framing his hips. Held. Your robe fanning behind you, over his knees. Heart pounding dangerously close to a cardiac event.

Dave tsks softly, smirking when you whimper, trying to roll your hips over the heat of his crotch. Those careful, deadly hands lock them in a vice as he clicks his tongue. “Not gonna fuck you,” he murmurs, and you lean in to kiss him but he pulls his head away. “Not gonna kiss you either. Not right.”

You don’t care about right. Now you pout for real, forehead wrinkling, staring at his upturned lips. You feel the unmistakable twitch of him growing hard against you and your cunt throbs in reply, needy and slick. You try to wiggle again but Dave pinches your hips in warning. “Look at me,” he repeats, that edge to his voice that curls your toes, and your eyes snap to his.

“Good girl.”

You moan quietly, made liquid by the tender swipe of his thumb over the satin of your sleep shorts. Your eyes fluttering at such a tiny stroke, not even the meeting of skin. 

“You can’t move, okay? Only allowed to sit.” When you don’t answer, too lost to the throb of his cock against your begging core, Dave pinches you again, voice gravelly in a way you’ve not heard before. “You hear me?”

Nodding, you hum. Can’t quite get out the word. 

“Need to hear you, honey. Gonna hold still for me?”

“Mhm,” you whine, fighting your every instinct to grind down against him as you meet his lust-blown eyes. “Yes. Only allowed to sit.”

Dave puffs a hot breath out that sends a wake of goosebumps across your chest. “Good girl,” he coos, and your brows pinch at the praise. “Soaking me already, honey. Can’t sleep like this, can you? Just need to turn your brain off, hm?” The movement of his hips below yours is so slight you might imagine it, that tiny grind as his cock grows. You nod, whine softly, and both his thumbs stroke your hips gently before stilling again.

“Show me, honey.” So quiet. So little air between you, and yet too much.

You scan his face until he offers a small nod. Those brown eyes hooded by dark lashes, devouring you without need for the press of his mouth. It’d be soft, you’re certain. The caress of his lips. Maybe the rest of him is hard and deadly, but those would be tender, careful—they’d take you apart, breath by breath. With the same precision with which he darts between shadows and cleans his gun and beats you at cards and tucks your hair behind your ear when you’re falling asleep on the couch, he’d dissolve you kiss by kiss with a kind of grace.

It’s his lips on which you pin your gaze as you let one hand drift between your legs, dipping easily between silk and skin—your body made jelly so quickly and by so little contact, already wet. You pray you don’t imagine the sharpness of his breath when your knuckles accidentally graze against his slacks as you slip your fingers between dewy folds. Then: your hand rising in the dim light, shining, honeyed. Dave watching them, the corner of his mouth cracking just a little. Tensing into his cheek.

He grunts, good girl, and then he’s lifting you just enough to peel down the zip of his slacks, flick open the button, but when your eyes fall hopeful for a glimpse of him he tsks, hooks one finger beneath your chin to tilt your face up, whispers a soft eyes on me, honey as he pulls himself out where you can’t see.

As his knuckles brush against the wet gusset of your shorts, nudging them to the side. Finding no panties to move.

As the head of his cock—plush, warm, weeping—nudges against the ache of you, the thrum of your longing.

He grins, wicked.

Then pressure, a moan lost to the air you’re hardly conscious of and the stretch of him, the slow press in and the ache of your cunt swallowing his girth inch by inch. You whimper, eyelids shuddering like old film, catching only still frames of Dave’s expression as he lowers you gently, burying himself in your drooling heat until you come to rest at his base, flush and full.

So full. Light-headed, sparkling. Your hips must rock because he squeezes your waist. “Hold still, honey,” he coos. “Remember?”

The terms of his touch sounded alright just a breath ago, but now you can’t imagine how you ever agreed. How you’re supposed to stay still with him throbbing inside you like this, heavy and sweet, exactly what you need. A flicker in his eyes like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you, how he’s scrubbing out every thought in your head. Cocky, yes. But earning it.

“Dave,” you sigh, breathy and desperate. Your cunt clenching and squeezing and pushing out slick, probably ruining his slacks but he won’t let you look down, just tilts your head up gently every time it hangs slack. “Please.”

His breathing catches for a beat, then it’s steady again. “I know, I know,” he murmurs, keeping his finger under your chin to keep your eyes on him—but he hardly needs to. You’d swear the whole world drained away the second he slid into you. There’s nothing else past your bodies, past this one dining room chair. Everything else disappears like magic. The trial, the dread, the drone of city noise. The slow leak of your heart knowing this is goodbye—all of it. Gone.

You’d have sworn it impossible to come like this, with no movement at all, but you will. You do. And months from now—safe in the swaddle of your actual apartment that for weeks has stood hollow and dusty, plants withering sadly on their windowsills—you’ll lie in bed longing, missing, remembering. Trying to recreate the swipe of his thick thumb on your clit as you replay this moment in your head. How you whined, wanna take care of you when Dave still wouldn’t let you move, even when you were close, just swiped and swiped his thumb until you were something more than alive, transcending.

How his pupils had set ablaze with your whispered plea. How you’d realized that was the point, for him. The begging and the not giving in.

How he’d growled, “Taking care of you is taking care of me. You don’t think I’m gonna come the second this pussy strangles my cock? ‘Cause I am. S’all I need, honey, just give it to me—”

His voice the thunder to your body’s crackle and lightning.

“Let her take care of me, that’a girl, that’s it, just like that honey, she’s so tight—fuck—so fuckin’ tight around me, just squeezin’ me, gonna come when you do, pretty girl, let me have it.”

How it hit you like a white bolt of heat and light, every cell in you tense and flaming, then melting, boneless on his lap as he murmured sweetly, grunted, tried to lift you off him just in time and you’d finally, finally touched him—lucid in an instant, hands slammed down on the muscle of his shoulders. Mumbling amidst your aftershocks, inside, inside, inside. Eyelids stuttering again, back to picture frames as your cunt seized and begged in tandem.

The snarl of his upper lip.

His knotted jaw.

Tongue sucked against his front teeth, resolve crumbling.

The allowance granted to your hands to stay right there, fisting his shirt collar as his locked your waist in a bruising vice. His hips bucking only once, grinding the head of his cock deeper, deliciously, almost too good to take. 

“Fuck, fuckfuck—yeah, that what she needs, honey? Needs me to fill her up?”

You’ll remember your own reply as you near a second-rate heaven in the nest of your duvet at home, all frantic hands and thrusting digits and eyes slammed shut, repainting him in your head. Golden in that gloomy light, hair straying out of position across his misted forehead for the first time. Yes. Please. Dave. Yes. Inside. Please—and his grunt, dark and sweet as caramel, as burnt brown sugar. That tiny grin dragging at his soft lips, pleased. You’d pleased him, surprised him maybe. 

That can make you sparkle now, to remember.

“Okay, honey. Okay—shit—gonna give it to you, hm? Gonna give you all of it, baby—she’s squeezing me so goddamn tight, fuck, wanna stay here all night—”

Then the granting of a wish, the heat of him spilling into your cunt, the unmistakable slide of slick leaking between your thighs and onto his; you didn’t have to look to know. You could feel it, that wholeness overflowing. You can almost feel it now; three fingers might be a poor attempt at recreation, but you fall off the cliff all the same, his name on your tongue, a cry in the night, all the curtains dark and drawn as you come down breathless and drowsy, your whole body limp and spent as it’d been that night with him—when he’d tucked himself away and petted your hair back from your face, so gentle with you, cooing that you did so good, honey. Such a good girl. Gonna get you into bed now, hm? Need your sleep, honey. Come on. 

Carrying you into your not-real bedroom, tucking you in so tenderly, like he hadn’t just taken you apart at the molecules. And Dave’s lips were just as plush as you’d imagined when they grazed your forehead, his big hand petting your cheek once more, then turning out the lights. That deep timbre whispering from the doorway, goodnight. The door clicking shut. All of it perfect. How you’d known you mattered more than a job for just one moment in time.

dividers by @saradika-graphics - tag list & some mutuals <3

@ak-vintage @thethirstwivesclub @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 @hediondoamor-blog @harriedandharassed 

@burntheedges @la-eterna-enamorada29 @goodgirlwannabe @guiltyasdave @for-a-longlongtime

@littlemisspascal @luxurychristmaspudding @tonysopranosrobe @evolnoomym @sweetpascal 

@spacelatinos4life @sweetpascal @biggetywitch @wannab-urs @jolapeno 

@pedgito @pastelpinkflowerlife @jessthebaker @rav3n-pascal22 @sixhours 

@noisynightmarepoetry @clawdee

[maevesheart]

only angel

FINNICK ODAIR X FEM!READER

note: takes place during the third quarter quell!

summary: through your alliance with katniss, you and finnick rekindle some buried feelings.

wc: 3.5k

tw: cursing, the different death traps within the arena

only angel (2)

Haymitch’s voice was sharp as he led Katniss and Peeta through the list of their new competition.

Your face lit up the screen, a smile as you took your place next to Brutus, your district-mate. Who you’d soon need to kill.

“Y/N L/N. District Two.”

“In the Capitol, they call her the angel,” Haymitch laughed, taking a swig from his flask after pointing to you.

“She looks harmless,” Peeta commented, noting your smaller-build as compared to other victors, especially Brutus.

“Trust me, she isn’t,” Haymitch shook his head, walking to the other side of the screen.

“The angel of death. One of the youngest Victors ever, winning the 68th games at 15. A Capitol favorite, but very different than the rest of the careers.”

Katniss and Peeta looked at each other in confusion. Considering you were from Two, you would’ve been a key member of a career pack.

Haymitch noted their expressions and continued, “she killed her career pack the first night. It was three versus one, very gruesome. But the Capitol loves her, and she’ll likely get lots of sponsors. The other careers will be hesitant to ally with her, including Brutus, who she publicly hates. Try not to make an enemy of her, she’s extremely well-trained in combat, especially with swords. Highest kill count the games had seen in years, around ten tributes.”

It was common that Career packs turned on each other as the games progressed, but to kill off the whole pack in one night was almost unheard of.

Katniss and Peeta remembered your games, they remembered watching as you slit your district-mate’s throat, and when you broke another’s neck while sitting on their shoulders. They remembered watching you in the final moments, taking out both tributes from Eleven with one sword, going through both their abdomens. You always put on a show for the Capitol citizen’s, killing the other contestants in the most gruesome ways possible.

And they knew that they definitely did not want to be on the receiving end of one of your death tricks.

“Why would we ally with her if she’s just going to kill us the first night, like she did her other games?” Katniss’ voice was hard and her lips were pressed in a straight line.

“Don’t we have that threat anyways? From all the other tributes as well?” Peeta asked Katniss, trying to get her more accustomed to the idea of an ally.

“The other Careers will steer clear of her, I recommend finding a way to get her on your side. The last thing you want is the Careers and the Angel hunting you.”

Katniss and Peeta both made a note to introduce themselves tomorrow during the parade, wanting to asses the angel of death themselves.

You scoffed looking down at your outfit, a thin, short bodycon dress that was golden, and a long flowing black and gold cape that reached the floor.

You had on knee-high boots, adding to the obvious sexual-appeal of your outfit. You would’ve killed your stylist on sight if it weren’t for the many other tributes and people around.

And of course, she had strapped you into a set of golden wings, always playing into the sardonic nickname you had been given all those years ago.

The sponsors loved it however, and you knew exactly how to play into the palms of their hands.

Brutus was in a matching get-up — without the wings, of course—, flexing his arms, waiting for a response from you. You hated him, and made it very well known.

You turned away, refusing to give a reaction. God, you detested your district. The only thing good that ever came out of the games for you was the money, which helped you and your family greatly, but you found your fellow Victor incompetent and selfish.

Your somewhat blissful bubble of isolation was broken when Finnick approached you, the two tributes from Twelve trailing him.

You rolled your eyes, rather dramatically, and stepped down from the Chariot, not missing the obvious ways the two men’s eyes raked up and down your very exposed body.

“I’ll make note of those stares when I decide to kill you,” you smile, earring a chuckle from Katniss. At least someone found it funny; you didn’t.

“And this is Y/N, my lovely friend,” Finnick announced, snaking an arm around you.

You and Finnick had a short-lived relationship a few years back, after you had won your games. He had won his very young, just like you had, and the two of you bonded over the shared trauma.

Snow had destined you to the same unwilling fate as Finnick, selling your body and pride to anyone interested in the Capitol.

Your brief love story ended after a rather bitter fight, you and Finnick throwing around baseless accusations.

You hadn’t talked to Finnick in over three years, other than the surface-level and small-talk conversations you shared at various parties and Victor events.

“Hardly a friend, but you know,” you smiled, pushing Finnick’s arm off your body.

If he was hurt by your action, he didn’t respond, and ushered for Peeta and Katniss to introduce themselves.

Finally, Peeta broke the tension.

“I’m Peeta, and this is Katniss,”

You recognized them, but honestly didn’t care. You knew Katniss could be a strategic killer but Peeta really didn’t have any skills other than his strength, and you figured he’d be an easy target.

“If we were under different circumstances, I’d say it’s nice to meet you. But I don’t think I should say that to someone I’ll be killing in a few days,” you laughed, the sickly-sweet one that you faked for the Capitol citizens. They loved you, more than they loved the star-crossed lovers. And you were not about to let two teenagers forget their place. 

Katniss’s face was hard, but Peeta broke an awkward laugh, eyes averting your gaze. Finnick was still smiling, trying hard to keep himself from laughing at your depreciating jokes.

You suddenly pointed to Katniss, a fire burning beneath your eyes.

“You’re the one who killed my Cato,” your voice was hard, almost… emotional?

Peeta’s eyes widening, remembering the boy from Two who almost killed them both. The boy you likely poured hours of training and dedication into.

“It was him or Peeta,” Katniss speaks, refusing to break your intense eye-contact.

You cock your head to the side, silently challenging her.

Cato was a strong warrior, fierce and powerful. You had high hopes he would win, unrelenting confidence in him. You mentored him the way Enobaria had mentored you… made him into a friend.

Looking back, you knew you had become too attached to the boy, but he was your shot of proving to everyone that you still had it in you. To not discount you.

Only other mentors would know the pain of becoming close with a tribute and then watching them die.

You didn’t respond to her, instead pursed your lips and held back a scoff, knowing he would’ve won if it weren’t for the Capitol’s adoration of the lovers from Twelve.

“I apologize for her crudeness. The games bring out her nasty side,” Finnick smiles, hiding a wince when you lodge your elbow into his ribs.

“Tiny but mighty!” He squeaks out, hand rubbing over where you just jammed him.

With one final rake over your unsuspecting body, Katniss grabbed Peeta and ushered him away. Much to your dismay, Finnick stayed next to you.

“I’m making us allies, Y/N. At least act a little civilized!” Finnick’s voice was low but stern, earning a scoff from you as a response.

“You think I’m going to fight alongside you?” You wonder aloud, narrowed eyes barring into his.

He looks slightly taken aback, eyes widening before he composes himself once again.

“Fine. I’ll see you later,” he brushes you off, walking away to his own Chariot.

You had your own friends in this game. Johanna, and… well that was really all. And you knew Johanna would want to work alongside Finnick as well.

You determined it wouldn’t be the end of the world, it would give you the ability to ensure that he wouldn’t be killed.

But that meant that you’d have to kill him in the end, right? There was only one winner, and you didn’t want to have to turn on your friends like you did the other Careers in your games.

The next day, during training, Katniss approached you alone.

She watched from behind as you practiced with Johanna, a sword in each hand blocking her repeated swings with her axe.

“No lover boy?” You asked, turning around and the swords lowering to your sides.

Johanna smirked, crossing her arms over her chest. She was one of the few who you didn’t dish out attitude to.

“Wanted to get to know you myself, Angel of death,” Katniss spoke, voice steady and unwavering.

You lightly tilted your head to the side, smirking at her use of your infamous nickname.

“Well here I am! An Angel in the flesh. What can I do for you, girl on fire?”

“If you teach me some of your combat tricks, I can teach you how to use a bow?”

You quirked a brow at her offer, Johanna stifling a laugh behind you.

“I know how to shoot a bow and arrow,” you replied. Katniss’s face didn’t falter, but she stayed silent for a moment before responding.

“Not like I do.”

You finally gave in, letting her instruct you how to properly pull the string back and which eye was most ideal for accuracy.

You worked with Katniss and found her company rather enjoyable. According to Enobaria, Katniss reminded her of you. Stubborn and combatant.

She was funny, usually without meaning to be, and as much as you hated to admit, your craftsmanship with the bow did increase. Even after just a few practices with her.

In the second day of training, you were teaching her how to effectively wield a knife, and where the best places to aim for were.

A few other tributes had gathered around to watch before you scared them off, mock-lunging at them from your spot on the mat.

“Making friends, are we?” Finnick’s voice cut through the sounds of Katniss’s grunts as you pinned her to the ground, snatching the blade from her hand.

You rolled your eyes and stood up, sticking out your hand for Katniss to take.

“Better than you, yes,” you smiled, hauling Katniss’s body up off the ground.

Katniss thanked you for the help and then excused herself, slinking back over to where Peeta stood with Mags.

“Finally taking my advice, it seems,” Finnick triumphantly smiled, watching you scowl.

“She wouldn’t make a bad accomplice,” you answer back, though slightly abashed.

“Mhm. Looks like we’re gonna be on the same team,” he picks his trident off the wall of weapons and you gesture for the mat you had just stepped off.

“Wanna go a round?”

You watched with annoyance as Cashmere and Gloss stood with Ceaser, fake crocodile tears down both their faces.

You agreed with all they were saying, but you couldn’t stand the faux-ness of everyone around you. You knew in a few moments it would be your turn, and you’d have to get up on that stage and act like the sweet little girl they all remembered you as. But you had changed, and all because of their stupid games.

“Everyone, please welcome our favorite angel, Y/N L/N of District Two!”

You plastered a grin on your face as you waltzed out, a large sun-inspired headpiece catching the attention of the audience.

Your halo, as they all would say.

You waved, laughing at every joke Ceasar cracked.

“We are so glad to have our Capitol’s Angel back, aren’t we everyone?!” Ceasar’s stark-white smile was bright and you mimicked it, blushing as the crowd cheered your name.

“Now, Y/N, it’s been seven years since you won your games. How do you think this time it will be different?”

You knew it was coming, the questions about your game. You hated speaking about it, but it was all a part of winning.

“Different? Oh, Ceasar, we both know this won’t be the last time you’re gonna see me!” You giggled, the crowd roaring with excitement over your confidence.

His laugh boomed through the auditorium and you smiled, having him eat right out of your palm.

He complimented your hair piece, noting that it was the perfect halo for the perfect Angel. You smiled, feigned innocence. Anything to get you sponsors.

“Our sweet Y/N, I don’t know how we’re going to let you go!”

“Well, you don’t have to!” You smiled again, the audience awe-ing.

“You all have been so gracious to me, so wonderful. I couldn’t have possibly been given a better life if it weren’t for you all,” you gestured out to the audience.

“You flatter us,”

“No, no. Just know that I’m not going by choice. And I would chose to stay with you all if I had the option.”

You shed a stray forced tear from your face, slightly smudging the makeup your prep-team had spent hours doing.

The audience loved it, continuing to play into your sweet facade.

How ironic. A sweet innocent angel who turns into a brutal murderer.

They roared as you stood up and gave them a small bow, before joining Brutus and the siblings up in the stands. The three of them offered you glares, knowing you had out-done them in sponsorships.

You watched impatiently as the other districts rolled in, holding in a gag when Finnick professed his love to a girl back in the districts.

The idea of him having a girl waiting back in Four caused your stomach to begin to hurt. How did he find someone else when your nights were spent alone in a cold bed?

You were jealous, though you wouldn’t admit it out loud. You were too stubborn for your own good.

You knew it wasn’t true though, just a ruse for possible sponsors and sympathy. You had done the same.

Finally, after Peeta had stepped down from the stage, you were all allowed to retreat back to your floors.

You laid in bed that night, every possible scenario wracking your mind. These weren’t gonna be like your games. There was no way.

These competitors, they were ruthless and driven, just like you. They had won once, just like you.

How the hell were you going to win this?

The first thing you noticed as you were brought to the surface was how hot it was. Blazing sun beating down onto your covered skin.

You didn’t let yourself focus on for long, and you looked to each side, Johanna on your left and the male tribute from Six on your right.

Johanna nodded to you, and you returned the gesture. She had snuck to your room last night and told you the plan. Haymitch had pitched it to her before the interviews, and your only job was to keep Katniss safe until Plutarch and Coin could retrieve all of you.

You took in your surroundings, lots of water — you were an excellent swimmer, you’d be fine —, a large cornucopia in the middle (easy enough if you’re fast), and dense forests with sand. The sand left a bad taste in your mouth, reminding you of your games, which had been in a desert.

You never wanted to see sand again in your life.

But you’d push through it, the idea of being rescued by Thirteen and finally getting to live in peace resonated in your mind, you knew who the real enemy was.

The sound of the familiar gong sounded out, and you dove into the water, moving your limbs as fast as you could.

You were small, but damn, you were fast.

You reached the Cornucopia in record time, lunging for your two swords, and then throwing a belt of knives around your body.

You turned, knife quickly entering the abdomen of the girl of Eight.

Gloss grinned at you from behind the girl, and you scowled back, running back down the middle to get to the sand.

You found Wiress in the middle of the rocks, and tugged her with you, finding Johanna and Beetee a little ways away.

“Let’s get as far as we can,” Johanna announced, axe glistening in her hand.

The four of you walked for what felt like hours, Beetee and Wiress whispering about something relating to technology that you didn’t care about.

Finally, once nightfall neared, you set up camp. Wiress and Beetee offered to stay up, and you and Johanna had no problem allowing that, drifting off to sleep against a tree.

The next day came quickly, the four of you trying to gain more ground and hopefully find Finnick, Katniss, and Peeta.

You had watched Mags’s name flash across the sky last night and felt your heart-strings tug, wishing you could console Finnick.

The landscape was vast and there was lots of vegetation, your sword becoming very useful to get through the thick plants.

You and Johanna walked behind the two tech-savvy’s, silence as the two of you tried your hardest not to trip.

“Fuck, it’s hot,” you groaned, wiping the sweat from your forehead.

Johanna hummed, but before she could respond, the sound of rain echoed around your bodies.

You cried in happiness, opening your mouth to take in the water.

As soon as the first drop hit your tongue you knew, eyes widening in realization.

“It’s blood! Run!” You screamed, tugging Beetee as you barreled to the ground, running through a thick fog of blood.

Who’s — you didn’t want to know.

You stumbled around in the dark, blood coating your entire body. You were choking on it, coughing and sputtering, not caring anymore if Beetee and Wiress were following.

Your foot caught on a root, and you went tumbling down, one sword being thrown to a side, out of your view.

The belt of knives sat snug around your waist, your other sword still in your palm.

You shrieked as you fell, Johanna’s voice distant as she called your name.

You hit a tree, back bracing most of the impact. You groaned, slightly pushing yourself up off the ground.

A hand gripped your bicep, tugging you off the ground. You weren’t entirely sure who it was, but they shoved your other sword back into your hand, and gave you a push forwards, encouraging you to keep moving forwards.

You obliged, using one sword as a brim to keep the blood rain from your eyes.

“Y/N! Y/N!”

You now could hear Johanna more clearly, her hands grabbing you and pulling you into the sand, Beetee trailing out after you.

Johanna repeatedly slapped your back, helping you cough out all the blood. You were gagging on the air, a hand on Johanna’s shoulder to steady yourself.

She pulled you towards the beach, helping you sit down in the water.

“Tick tock, tick tock,” Wiress mumbled behind you two, wandering around on the sand.

“Nuts,” Johanna shook her head, cleaning off her face as you did the same.

You winced as you moved down to clean your legs, a large gash across your thigh.

“Ouch,” Johanna commented, noting the blood pouring out the wound.

“Guess I sliced it when I fell,” you bit your lip as you tried to clean the wound, using the sleeve of your top.

“Y/N! Johanna!”

Your head snapped up at the sound of Finnick’s voice, a relieved smile spreading across your face.

You ignored the pain searing through your leg as you rushed to him, hands wrapping around his torso.

He stumbled back in shock, but quickly wrapped his arms around you, asking what was wrong.

“Oh, Finn, I’m sorry about Mags,”

You pulled back to look at his face, eyes softening over the clear sleep-deprivation.

As you went to take a step backwards, you winced, Finnick’s hands on your biceps to keep you from toppling backwards.

“What happened?” He asked, eyes scouring your whole body.

You would’ve answered if you had the strength, but you fell forwards, straight into his chest, losing conscious.

Johanna helped Finnick prop you against the tree, and Katniss went to retrieve water while Peeta tried to fish for something to eat.

Finnick tried his hardest to clean the wound while you slept, prying all the information out of Johanna that she could.

You awoke to Katniss pouring water over your leg, grunting as you sat up, eyes screwing shut in pain.

“Thank you,” you breathed out, Katniss nodding before walking away to Peeta.

“You had me so worried,” Finnick shook his head, eyes not leaving your face.

“Just a cut, Finn. I’m alright,” you assure him, eyes soft as they meet his own.

“I’m sorry, by the way,” you add on, turning slightly so you’re facing him.

He shakes his head but you continue, “for all those awful things I said to you…. It wasn’t right.”

You knew this was being broadcasted for all the Districts to see, but you didn’t care. The only thing that mattered was that he knew how much you regretted your harsh words.

His hand comes up to cup your face, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear.

“I’m sorry too, I said things I shouldn’t have.”

“We both did,” you lightly laugh, pulling a small smile from Finnick.

“I missed you,” he whispers, “you really scared me earlier. Thought I had lost you,”

You shook your head, leaning into his hand that still cupped your face.

“Could never lose me. Not now,”

You flutter your eyes closed as his lips meet yours. Your hands tangle around his neck and into his hair, both his hands on your cheeks, pulling you impossibly closer to him.

All the unhatched feelings and emotions, the words the two of you wished to declare to each other, were poured into this kiss.

It was slow, passionate. Picking right up where you left off those years ago.

“Alright, love birds! Time to hunt!” Johanna exclaims, the two of you pulling a part. A light blush dots your cheeks and Finnick is wearing one of his stupid shit-eating grins.

Finnick stands quickly, helping you up. The pain is mostly gone, just a light sting as you all make your way back to the Cornucopia.

And you know then, that you’d die for him. Over and over. You’d lose these games, lose the war. Just to ensure that he’d live.

**