#like it wasn't meant to last long. BUT IT WILL

[floralscented]

dean winchester x angel!reader — kissing lessons.

or, the defenses are down, the blockades shattered, and you dont know how to kiss. or, let dean help you.

cw, 18+, MDNI! dean talks you through it for real this time. backseat sex LOL. fluffy smut? lowkey subby dean hehehe. no protection yell @ them not me.

word count: 5.6k

notes, dean gets to be his full freak self here hehehe. everyone say ur welcome since i've been being HOUNDED SINCE THE BEGINNING OF TIMEMEEEEMEEEE TO POST THIS. unfortunately for all of u this is the planned conclusion to their tale </3 don't crucify me. u legally can't since i'm giving u this.

★ ˚⋆

things were... a little awkward, after you saved dean's life with a kiss. like passion drove you over the edge, a desperate need to save him and to do it any way possible, that was the only time that you managed to kiss him right.

and he didn't — well, he kind of judged you for it. just little laughs, when you'd lean in to try and kiss him and end up flushing and sinking backwards. it was cute. sure, it did mean he wasn't getting any action anytime soon, and every bedtime kiss you promised him ended up becoming a bedtime smack for him laughing at your struggle, but hey, you guys just had a different dynamic.

he still thought you were the prettiest thing to ever grace earth. just because you didn't know how to kiss properly didn't mean he was going to suddenly stop being interested. it just opened doors to getting to teach you.

sam stayed back at the motel while dean volunteered to go on a drink run. it was one of those nights; a roundabout case that the both of them knew was going to keep them up looking for the slightest detail in the research that could alter their investigation for the better. sam needed a beer, dean wanted a beer, and you wanted whiskey.

literally. girl of his dreams, he'd thought. still thinks.

plus, you love car rides. dean had not let you back behind the wheel since the last time, and you didn't seem to want to try again either, more than content to sit and look pretty in the seat next to him.

the nearest liquor tour in whatever small town you guys were camping out in for the night was a good few miles away, and so he got to play all of his cards in one fell swoop. hand on your thigh, fingers trailing up the seams of your jeans, tracing with his nail on the inside of your palm.

you were squirming. he loved when you squirmed.

his fingers are just at the inside of your thigh, long enough to have gently walked their way over like they owned the place ( he did, you didn't know it yet ) and rest easily. that is the moment you speak up, those narrowed eyes locked on his in a glare.

"stop that."

dean's eyebrows flick up. he spares a single glance toward you, the picture of innocence written into the marrow of his sinful bones. "stop what?"

"you're touching me."

he hums to himself for a moment, eyes turned toward the stoplight he'd rolled up to. "could be touching you more."

"no."

dean huffs out a laugh. "are you scared of my hands, dove?" even as he says it, his hand moves again, to the safety of your thigh. "you know they'd never hurt you."

your eyes roll furiously. you grab his wrist and practically throw his hand onto the gearstick. "your hands are not sentient beings and cannot make that choice for you."

dean's gotten really receptive to you, over these past few weeks. what your expressions meant in the rare times that you didn't voice your confusion, what your body language said, and so now he's confident that he knows what you're feeling right now. your hands are clenched tightly in your lap, purposely not touching him, fisted so tightly that they shake a little. your eyes are facing forward without budging, even though he knows that his gaze is burning into the side of your face.

the stoplight illuminates your face in a green glow. "it's a green light," you say without turning to look at him, and that pretty much confirms it for dean. you're afraid. afraid, embarrassed, and not wanting to tell him any of it. "so go."

dean's jaw clenches as he restrains a frown behind the cage of his teeth. the absolute last thing he wanted was for you to feel like you had to hide away from him, keeping every one of those thoughts locked away in your inexperienced, curious head.

the car rolls into drive again, passing the parking lot for the liquor store. he sees it out of the corner of his eye; the way your head cocks to the side, your lip between your teeth while you try to figure out what he was doing. you could ask. he wanted you to ask. whatever was eating at you was keeping all of his pretty girl's first thoughts from him.

he pulls off on the side of the road and cuts the engine, leaving the both of you in darkness except for the moonlight pouring in through the windshield.

dean nods toward the backseat. "hop on back there, sweet girl," he says with a sigh, unbuckling his seatbelt and sliding out of the driver's seat. you don't move. he props himself in the doorway with an unmoved expression. "c'mon. it's late. don't wanna have to tell you twice."

the way your face twists up in annoyance is exactly what he wanted to see. good. anything but that weariness that had marred your features. he slips into the backseat, shuts the door behind him, before your door opens.

seconds later, you're dropping into the seat next to dean. he turns on the leather to face you better, his hand coming up to brush the hair out of your face. "you know you can talk to me, right? i act like an ass all the time, i know, but you don't have to lock yourself away."

your face goes pink at his words. that angry twitch of your nose makes an appearance, and it's all dean can do not to break into a wider grin. knowing that something so delicate could also be so wicked was an enticing thought all in itself.

"it's embarrassing."

"so what?" his lips twist as his shoulders raise in a shrug. "who's gonna judge you? me? be serious, dove."

your nose twitches again, mouth in a tight scowl. "you would definitely judge me."

"that's how i know you're feelin' all insecure up there," dean says, tapping your temple with his finger, "because you know that's not true. i know that's not true."

you growl, actually growl, and dean wants nothing more than to grab you by the hand and tug your mouth onto his. even if you don't kiss him back, he wants to kiss you. your furious frustration was a common occurrence around him, but that didn't mean it got any less attractive.

"when you touch me," you grit out through your clenched teeth, your hands fisted in your lap like you might hit him. hell, he'd have taken the punch right then, if it kept you talking. "i feel things."

dean blinks twice in quick succession. "and?" you do hit him square in the shoulder. your hands carry much more of a punch than he could have predicted. he lets out a little oof, his lips pursing with his lack of amusement. "it's a serious question!"

"i can't say." you look adamant, your frustration so pretty on your features, and dean's a bit dazed. "it's embarrassing," you repeat, and dean gets it. or, he thinks he does.

one corner of his mouth quirks again, his cheek dimpling. the hand on your face falls to your thighs again, fingers lightly dancing on the inner seam of your jeans. "here?"

your hand raises to punch him again, and he knows he's right; catches it just in time before you can bruise that spot on his shoulder. "well, i can't leave you feelin' all hot and bothered, can i?"

"i am not hot," you scoff out almost in disgust at the suggestion, and dean does laugh, then. you were so hot it was ridiculous, but alright. "but i am very bothered."

"lucky for you," dean murmurs, his hand releasing your wrist and moving to your jaw, turning your head to look at him again, "i am very good at handlin' bothered girls." he leans in, brushes his lips against yours. "angels, i should say."

dean can feel you retreating already at the slight touch of his lips, but now he knows that it's not because you don't want to kiss him, or don't want what he's offering. you're afraid of it like the feelings will bite you, nervous to feel the full extent of it. his fingers hold your jaw more firmly.

"now, i'm not gonna ask," he says, driven further by the soft sound of your breath catching, "since you're feeling a little trigger happy right now... but i think it's time my little dove has herself some kissing lessons."

to his surprise, you don't hit him again. you just stare into his eyes with such earnest honesty that it's his turn to lose his breath. you trusted him so much. he wanted to show you just how much it meant to him; let you watch as he cradled your heart in his hands.

the distance closes in a second between your mouths, the brush of his slow and languid against yours, judging your reactions. your kiss is hesitant, and then suddenly you're pressing further into him, the force of it almost bruising when you don't move your lips. he pulls back enough to look into your eyes.

dean's finger comes up to pinch your lips closed, smiling softly as he does. "don't have to try n' bite my face off, honey, i promise," he chides without any malice in his words, taking advantage of the gentle grasp he had on your lips to lean in again. he kisses you slowly again, deliberate in the way his mouth moves, so you could figure it out.

your fingers uncurl in your lap and move to his shirt, twisting the soft cotton lightly. that's when he releases your lips, his hand shifting to cup your cheek in his palm. dean's thumb traces reassuringly on your cheekbone.

when your mouth opens this time, it's less like you're trying to sink your teeth into him and more like an invitation. dean knew you were a quick learner; had from the moment he'd let you behind baby's wheel. seeing it action like this, with your hands in his shirt and your tongue swiping across his, was on another level.

his free hand reaches for your hands one at a time, his touch on your wrist light as he lifts your fingers to his hair. he has to force his mouth away from yours, has to pull away from the taste of your tongue. "i know how much you wanna yank my hair out," dean teases, letting go of your hand to let you take over, "so go ahead n' pull, baby."

you look between his eyes again with that same open look, and he's sure he's melting right there into the leather backseat. "really?"

dean laughs. "yeah, really." he leans in to nuzzle his nose against yours. "matter of fact, touch anywhere you want, baby. this is all for you. so y'can get outta that head of yours."

something flashes in your eyes at that. he doesn't know what it was - the offer or the idea - that caught your attention, but he's intrigued, too. one of your hand drops from his hair to his shirt again, this time at the waist of it.

he's a little dazed, admittedly, as you untuck it from being bunched up in the waist of his jeans. it's intense to have your eyes on him while you pull his shirt up until it catches on his extended arms.

"took the first chance y'could to get me naked, huh?" dean asks, even as his voice comes out more strained than it'd been before, his jeans suddenly feeling just as tight.

you use your elbow to nudge his arms up, and he raises his hands in defense at your sudden act of authority before he lifts them. then, you've got his shirt off, tossing it behind your back. "shut up."

"there's my girl," he murmurs, hooking his finger in your belt loop and tugging you closer. maybe he was moving too fast. maybe he knew you'd adapt quickly.

and you do. he never doubted you for a second. your hand rests on his cheek, guiding him back into a kiss, more confidently than any of your kisses had been so far. your fingers tangle in his hair, and dean has to physically bite back on the groan in his throat.

he takes advantage of his hold on your jeans to start unfastening them. you're so good for him, a perfect match, because you don't even know what you're doing but your hips are lifting so he can start pulling them down.

dean breaks the kiss with a pop of your mouths, and the growl you let out goes straight to the hardening cock trapped in his jeans. he doesn't want to move so fast, but you've always been a little cruel like this, tempting him in ways that he should have been stronger to resist. there was no resistance now.

he hooks his arm under your legs to turn you in the seat, draping them across his lap. he unties your boots for you, pulling them off and setting them on the floor of the backseat. then, he's grabbing the bunched denim on your thighs and tugging until they're off. dean has more care with your clothes than you did with his. he'd always treat everything about you as gently as glass, setting them on the middle console between the front seats.

you look at him for a second, like you're trying to gauge the situation you've both found yourselves in. pulled over on the side of the road like teenagers that couldn't wait, stripping each other naked in the backseat. it'd be laughable if you didn't look so vulnerable. for the second time that night, dean realized how big the trust you had in him was, and he didn't want to do a thing to mess it up.

"lemme get this off of you, yeah?" he asks, his hands moving to the bottom of your shirt. he meets your gaze for confirmation; gets a single nod. "it means a lot, y'know," he continues on, trying to keep you out of the black hole that was your worries, as he pulls your shirt up and over your head, "that you're trusting me with this. all of it."

"don't start," you whine, your hands moving to your eyes, covering your face. dean grabs your wrists and pulls them apart, moving your arms out of the way so he could properly see you. "hey!"

dean's lips pull into a small smile. "hi."

"this is a lot," you say, and his smile softens considerably, "i don't know what to do now."

dean lifts his shoulders in a shrug. "whatever you wanna do. this is all you, baby, i'm just here to provide." he rests his large palm on your kneecap, the pad of his thumb rubbing soothingly against your skin. "we can stop. you can kiss me again, or punch me again, if that's what you want. we can get dressed again, get what we actually came for..."

"no." you blink a few times before you shake your head. "i don't want to stop, i..."

dean's not a patient man. he's used to time limits and counting his days. but in this backseat with you, he's certain time has stopped just for the both of you. he feels the world at his disposal, like every bit of time existed like pieces of sand in his palms.

when you realize he is, for once, not going to interrupt you, and not try and put thoughts in place of your feelings, you huff. "i do not know what to do from here."

dean grabs for one of your discarded hands, holding your fingers in his lap. "do you want us to be on equal ground?" he asks, nodding down at himself. you were in nothing but undergarments; he still had his jeans on. "and then we can figure it out from there?"

your smile is beautiful in its hesitance. "okay."

"okay like you want my pants off, or okay like you'd just feel better if we were both freezin' our asses off back here?" dean teases, even as he shifts a little in the cramped space to start taking off his jeans.

your huff is practically a wordless grumble in itself. "why do you want me to spell things out?"

"i want you comfortable, dove," he says, the waistband of his jeans paused at his thighs, "there's no pressure here at all. if there's pressure, then it's not fun anymore."

you think on it for a second. dean watches your expression shift with your feelings and acceptance. "you may continue."

"oh, mama's bossy now, is she?"

you grab a handful of the leg of his jeans and yank. "shut up."

"yes, ma'am."

you wad up his discarded jeans and toss them at him in a ball of denim. "shut up."

"you're so pretty when you're mad, honey," dean mumbles, using his grip on your hand to tug you forward. you stumble a little in the small space, falling into his lap. "come n' make me shut up."

your eyes are narrowed on him as you shift to make yourself comfortable. your leg tosses over his thighs, settling into his lap. his breath hitches in his throat at the feel of your heat through both of the thin undergarments on you, and from the look in your eyes, the evidence of his own arousal has made itself prominent against you, too.

you look like you might say something. you don't. your hands grab him by his face and drag him in for another kiss. he actually chokes on a noise in his throat at the suddenness, and he thinks he might love you. knows he does, but has never felt the intensity of it quite like this before.

dean's mouth opens to let you in, craving the taste of you again. your tongue meets his instantly, lapping against each other's in a languid slow dance. he's content like this. he could stop here, and go back to the motel with or without the alcohol and use this memory here of your tongue in his mouth while you sat all pretty in his lap to get himself off, and be perfectly fine.

but if there was one thing that you were full of, it was surprises. his little whiskey drinking, praise adoring, bossy angel. your fingers fall between the both of your bodies and rest on his hard on through his boxers, and dean looses a shuddering breath.

you pull away from his mouth with his saliva on your lips. dean's head falls back onto the headrest of the backseat with a groan. "you told me i could touch," you say, your innocent voice so out of place with your devilish hands.

"i did," dean says, tracing his thumb over your cheekbone. "didn't expect you to go for the gold immediately, though."

your answering smile is the prettiest thing he's ever seen. the moon sits high in the sky outside of the window, glowing and whitecast down onto you.

a halo of your own making.

dean thinks he's going to die.

you raise your hips off of him for the time being, your light touch teasing and electric at once. dean grasps that hand and lifts it to his mouth, kissing each of your fingertips. "here," he says quietly, his other hand going to your waist. he traces over your ribcage lightly before he closes his fingers over your side.

he pulls you closer, lets you grind against the swell in his boxers. he groans, your breath hitches with a little whine, and he's sure, then, that he'll die like this.

"you like that?" dean asks you, dipping his head to get a better look at your eyes. you look dazed, a little drunk, and dean wants to see those pretty eyes glimmer and glisten.

he lifts you up again by your thigh, just enough to slide his boxers off of him as gently as he can. the space is cramped, and it's finally starting to feel like it.

dean's done this plenty of times, but there's something about your gaze that makes him feel more vulnerable than he ever has before. he's naked underneath you; you, who has never done anything like this before, and he feels more exposed than you seem to.

it's like a game, now. when he does something, you do it, like you don't want to fall behind in this back and forth. your hips stay up, and it's more awkward for you to tug your panties off, but you manage it with a few lifts of your legs, and a kick that sends them, somehow, into the driver's seat.

you laugh. it's breathtaking.

dean helps you settle back on his thighs, and it's all he can do to not fall apart there. you're warm, you're wet enough that he feels it on his legs, and all he wants to do is make you feel even better than you do now.

"green light?" dean asks, lifting his eyes to look at you again, and not at all of the skin bared to him. he doesn't want to overwhelm you with how intense he must be staring at you, but you're mesmerizing. perfection in the form of a wingless angel sat on his lap.

you blink a couple of times before the realization settles in. "go?"

"i'm askin' you, dove," he says in answer, hand going to the back of your neck to pull you closer, to press a kiss to your forehead. "red light or green light?"

your face is so close to his, but dean can see the melted expression in your eyes. instead of answering, you press a kiss to his mouth again. he's glad you like it, now that you know how to do it. he could handle kissing you over and over, but your lips kissing him back is something he was already getting addicted to.

on his mouth, you whisper, "green light."

dean blinks, now. his teeth drag your bottom lip back lightly until it pops back into place. "yeah?"

at your nod, he sits up a little better, his arms snaking around your waist. once he's got a good grip on you, he moves the both of you so that he's sprawled beneath you in the backseat, fully extended. he doesn't fit, his legs bent a little as his back presses into the door, but it's fine. everything is fine when he has you. plus, his bent knees only draws you closer to him.

"i promise this is the last time i'm gonna do this to you," he says with a teasing lilt to his voice, lifting you off of his thighs again. "just say red light if it's too much, okay?"

"okay."

it's more gentle than he's ever been, the way he spreads your legs open a little more, the way he lines the aching length of his cock up with your waiting entrance. just the brush of the tip against the wetness of your folds could make him crumble.

dean pushes up enough to just barely rest inside of you, giving you the moment to adjust. your gasp is small, breathless. he stops instantly, his hand on your thigh loosening its grip. your face twists into a frown. "i didn't say red light," you grumble through the pout, and he's always been a sucker for that little pout, as much as he is for when you sink your teeth into the puffy lip.

his laugh is warm, free hand raising in surrender again. "sorry, baby, jus' lookin' out for you."

you start to sink down further on him yourself with nothing but his hand in guidance. your eyes are wide, your lips parted in a soundless 'o', but you don't tell him to stop, and he trusts you enough to know that you would, if you needed it. he couldn't helicopter monitor you just because he was afraid of breaking the pretty thing he'd grown so attached to.

it's a tight fit, being inside of you. he can feel every bit of your walls expanding to fit him, and he tries not to groan, tries to not get too ahead of himself, but goddamn. months of fantasizing about this, of denying himself those same fantasies out of fear of ruining the trust you were building between each other, comes nowhere near the reality of how it feels to have you in his arms.

your head drops to press against his, and dean's unable to resist the way he leans up to peck a kiss to your mouth. a quick one, light and easy, that you take as a sign to deepen. your teeth scrape his lip, your tongue explores the expanse of his mouth, and dean takes this distraction from the discomfort he knew you were feeling to push the rest of the way inside of you.

you whine on his lips, and he kisses away the little noises. "i know," dean mumbles on your mouth, "it's okay."

the red light is unspoken, but he's not about to push you, or overstep anyways. you trace shapes with your fingertips on his bare chest, worrying at your bottom lip with your teeth.

"green light," you say after a few moments, and a few more soft kisses from him in the crook of your shoulder.

dean nods, leaving a last lingering kiss on your collarbone before he shifts enough to properly start to move inside of you. the thrusts are shallow and gentle, letting you get a feel for it, letting you adjust to his size.

your forehead drops to rest on his shoulder, each little whimper twisting at his heart, even if the sounds of them were beginning to get louder and less strained.

"feelin' better?" he asks, all of the strain from your voice stolen and bottled up in his. the way that you squeeze around him has all of his rational thought fogging, and it takes a conscious effort to be gentle with you. this wasn't about dean; it was about you.

you nod once, your hair tickling at his chest. he's about to keep up the slow pace, to keep going as gently as possible, until you sit up a little straighter and start to meet each of his thrusts with a grind of your hips. dean's head knocks against the passenger window, his breath leaving his mouth in a shudder.

you must like it, too, because you let out a breathless laugh. you grab his hands and hold his fingers between yours, letting them fall to rest on his stomach. it's that game again; you doing something to keep up with what he's doing.

dean grins as he watches you, the tight expression on your face melding into something a little more wild and free. he's never seen you like this. he'd take a picture if he wasn't absolutely certain that you and him were gonna do this again.

again, he moves your hand to his mouth to kiss your knuckles this time, his groan reverberating through your fingers. you match him so easily, like you were made for whatever he gave to you. your increasing confidence makes him feel comfortable enough to speed up, his other arm braced on the back of the seats for stability as he rolls his hips deeper into you.

your head tips backwards with the first real moan he's ever heard out of you. your reckless abandon is utterly disarming. he sits up straighter, letting go of your hand to wrap his arm around your waist, holding you pressed against him as he buries himself inside of you.

your hands tremble as they lock onto his face, holding it to be nose to nose with him. you're panting on his mouth, and he can't stop staring at your lips, and he's so deep inside of you that he can feel the tip against your cervix, deep enough to make a rough groan slip out of his throat.

there was no need for kissing lessons. you would have figured it out on your own, dean's sure of it, with how you tilt his head back to suck his top lip between yours, tongue languid against his.

it's embarrassing how close he is to coming already. how couldn't he? he was enamored, transfixed, and getting this little taste of you was intoxicating. your fingers move from his cheeks to his jaw, clawing at his lip, tugging the bottom one down as you ride him.

he lets you. he'd let you do anything.

dean's thumb finds it's way between your legs, slipping between your slick folds to rub gentle circles into your clit. your thighs clench around his, grinding your hips down further onto his, against his hand.

his head tilts up to capture your mouth again, wanting to taste each moan that you let out, to swallow your pleasure and keep it to himself, where no one else can ever see it. each of those shuddering moans gets louder, more frantic, and he knows you're close.

"dean," you whisper into his mouth, and dean wants to hear his name said like this every time from you, now. breathless, desperate, and as needy as he felt.

he thumbs more deliberately at the swollen nub, pressing a final kiss to your mouth before he works little hot kisses down your jaw, your neck. "dean, i--"

"it's okay," his voice is as rough as gravel. "that's how it's supposed to feel." he knows your head like his own, knows from the frenzied breath into his shoulder that you're going to come, and that it must be a little much, trying to live through those feelings and try to figure them out. "it's supposed to, okay? jus' let go, i've got you."

dean would always have you. he loved you too much to let go.

that thought is what breaks his resolve. his thrusts become more sloppy, harder than he should probably be with you, but he loves you, and it's ruining him to not show it, or tell you. the car is thick with hot air, the windows are foggy, his skin is sticking to the leather seats, but he loves you.

you come apart on top of him with the moonlight still bathing you in a halo's glow. your hips still, your fingers claw at his face, scratching red marks into his stubble, and you cry out a moan against his lips.

he loves you, he loves you, he loves you. his hips stutter to a stop inside of you, a gasping groan punctuating his pants into the column of your throat, his cock twitching inside of you as his cum fills you. he'd worry about that later. or maybe he wouldn't. he didn't care about anything in the world besides how much he loves you.

dean doesn't realize he's whispering it out loud until he registers that pretty laugh of yours.

your hair is stuck to your forehead, your skin glassy with sweat in the pale moonlight, and the halo of the moon still hangs above your head. you're the most divine thing he's ever seen, the closest to divinity he's ever let himself be.

"you love me?" you ask, your eyes so sweet and so warm as they watch him.

dean leans up to kiss each corner of your mouth. "where'd you get that impression?"

he can never tell when you'll be matter-of-fact or when you'll play around. he forgets sometimes all of the things he's taught you, every bad idea you've got wedged in your mind because of his influence. dean winchester never wanted to corrupt you or your innocence, but he knew he'd always end up pulling you into the dark with him. you were stuck together, after all, now that he'd embedded himself to you for saving his life.

"i had a hunch." your head tilts up pridefully, chin jutted out. the act is cute while it lasts but falls apart instantly when you start to laugh again. dean's never heard you laugh so much since you'd met. how'd he get so lucky?

the car ride back to the motel is peaceful, the frigid air conditioning blasting to try and clear the fog from the windows and cool the sweat on your skin. the entire time, dean's hand is on your thigh, and the entire time, you don't move it. the moon follows his angel out the window the entire drive, like it knows, too, that you were as divine as beings could be.

sam calls two miles from the motel. "everything okay?" he asks, genuine concern in his voice. "it's been at least an hour. i didn't think you could get lost on a beer trip in this town."

beer. liquor store. alcohol run. it all comes back to dean now that his head is a little more clear.

"oh," is all dean can say for a few seconds, gaze flickering over to you in the passenger seat. you pick at the threads on his jacket he'd given to you, head downturned to unsuccessfully hide your laugh, "got sidetracked. we'll be back in twenty or so."

it was sam's turn to be silent. his following laugh is more like a scoff than anything else. "jesus christ, dean."

"blame dove," dean cackles into the speaker, eyes fond as he glances over at you again. he makes a (definitely illegal) u-turn at the same stoplight that acted as the tipping point for the night's event back in the direction of the liquor store. "she's the one who needed taught how to kiss."

tags, @figthoughts @jasvtsc @titsout4jackles @deanswidow @deansbite @whisperingwillowxox @bombarda-babe @whyyouegg @loverslantern @bitchykittenconnoisseur @jensenacklesantidote @keira-kaz2y5 @sthefferrete @depressionbarbie2023 @honeyryewhiskey @ultravi0lence14 @bleuatlas @minettacreekk @moonstruksandco @moodyquesadilla @severe-mental-illness @cevansbaby-dove @deansbeer @bluestrd @mccartneyqp @im-bili @chevroletdean @angelblqde @lyarr24 @psyches-reid @momoewn @globetrotter28 @starzify @jackleslvr @ryngzmn @aileenunfiltered @beausling @frosttbitessam @amberlthomas

[jifloulette]

heads up . . ! not proofread.. 0.7k wrds!

you should be used to these midnight break-ins of shidou by now. he was your boyfriend after all and you didn't really tell him that he wasn't allowed to do it, you just gave him a reminder to text you if he were to do so. but him texting you meant giving you a heads up at least an hour before he was going to break in! though this attitude of your lover was something you were already familiar with..

now here he was, knocking on your bedroom window ever so quietly as to not wake up anyone else inside the house. you had just read the message he sent you three minutes ago and now he was already here, you knew he was fast in terms of running but to have walked that long from his place to yours in that small amount of time and without sweating seemed absolutely impossible??

"heyyyy baby!", shidou said in a low yet excited tone. he gives you a quick peck on the lip before going inside your bedroom. you looked obviously annoyed and he doesn't know why, he did give you a message before climbing up to the second floor of the house... "why'd you come here in such a short notice? you could've at least given me a bit of time to clean up and look good, you know!" you scold him to which he laughs and responds by giving you another quick peck on your forehead. "what were you doing here anyways? yer room's so messy..", he asks to which you just scoff and go back to your laptop, working on finishing this project of yours that was supposed to be due during christmas break, who even gives projects during christmas anyway??

it didn't even reach his usual three minute mark of bothering you before he pulled you out of your chair to a tight embrace on your bed, he seemed much more needy than last time but who you were to worry about that now? you were already working on something and here was your big baby of a boyfriend holding you in his arms as if it was a lifeline of his. "shidou! i'm literally working on the same project that i was doing when you barged here the last few times this week!", you remind him as you try to get off of him but really, your strength couldn't compare to his so it was useless. "okay okay, but do you reaaally need to be working on that now? ya could just do it the second i leave which would be in another hour or so!"

this was like a regular thing for him now, to give you a message five minutes before knocking on your window, then pulling you aside whatever you were working on after waiting at least three minutes, and then you'll just stay in his embrace the whole time he was there. that's how frequently these midnight break-ins occurred, you had memorized how long shidou took to send you a chat and to climb up to your bedroom. "how'd you even get here so quickly anyways.. it's at least a few kilometers from here to yours and you sent that message 3 minutes before already knocking at my window?" you ask, "well, i was already in front of your house when i sent it, just waited a bit before getting up here" he replied before giving you a kiss on your forehead. and before you knew it, you were already fast asleep on his chest, your project being long forgotten once again. even if shidou really wanted to hold you in his arms for as long as the night lasted, he was bound to be caught by your parents if he did. so once he knew that you were deep in your slumber, he laid you on your bed and put a blanket on top of you. but before he left, he needed to do one last thing.

when you woke up, you could've swore your bedroom did not look this.. clean? or unorganized? it looked like your boyfriend did a semi-good job of tidying it up, it still looked better than what it originally looked last night. you check your phone before seeing a message sent of 2:04 am — "heh.. cleaned ur room because im such a good boyfriend arent i??? make sure to gimme a kiss latr as a thank you gift ;)"

©🇯​​🇮​​🇫​​🇱​​🇴​​🇺​​🇱​​🇪​​🇹​​🇹​​🇪​, do not steal, translate, or repost any of my writings anywhere else. ౨ৎ

[madwomansapologist]

★彡 synopsis: kento wasn't to blame. it was never his intention to hate you. the blame was completely on you for being the most irritating omega he has ever met. kento's only fault was his inability to ignore your presence.

content warnings: no curse au, omegaverse, alpha!kento x omega!reader, co-workers, meet cute, hate at first sight, one sided (delusional) hate, scent blockers.

word count: [1.3K]

First day into elementary school, blonde hair combed to exhaustion and round glasses with thick lenses, Kento wrote down everything that sounded important. Languages are ancient, his meticulous handwriting occupied the very first line of the notebook. Black ink, underlined twice.

Annoyingly meticulous handwriting, since Kento remember being mocked by a taller boy for ripping out one of the pages after a misspell. He also remembers that it was something about words as evidence of how long mankind survived—by the time he didn’t know what mankind meant. His teacher was too old and far too poetic, but learning new words made Kento excited for mondays.

Weeks later, Kento had a secret: he loved studying. He despised school around his friends, but Kento always knew what chapter the teacher finished off last class or what pages to read for the next exam. First week of school meant discovering the semester’s mandatory reading—which Kento would devour in a month.

His family praised him for being smart, so it shouldn’t be a surprise that Kento wouldn’t believe them once they started saying words can lose meaning if not used correctly. That’s the opposite of what his literature teacher spent the entire year explaining. Kento has his notebook to prove it.

“If they did”, Kento reasoned with his dad as if he was the adult. “Not a single language would have survived. You yell my name all the time and I still answer. It has the same meaning it ever did.”

“Some words, if used too often, will lose meaning inside of your heart”, his dad sighed. “Hate is one of those words. One you use way too much, puppy.”

That made Kento snarl. “I’m eight and a half!”

“On that we won’t argue”, his father grinned. Messing up the hair Kento combed for ages, he went back to slicing vegetables. Without washing his hand first, Kento quietly judged him. “You’re just like your mom. I bet you’ll be an alpha.”

Kento pretended to agree since he planned on not eating green bell pepper at dinner. His father should be grateful that he isn’t an adult already, because Adult Kento wouldn’t fear disgusting food as punishment for saying the truth. Adult Kento wouldn’t be ashamed for being right.

As if presenting as an omega or beta would stop him from questioning what doesn’t make sense. And that whole story about losing meaning inside his heart? If I forget the meaning of a word, Kento cursed inside his bedroom, I can just read a dictionary.

His father was being unfair and Kento absolutely hates that.

He thought adults didn’t need to agree with illogical arguments, but years later Adult Kento was made aware of his past self’s mistake. The countless times he heard that hate is such a strong word without uttering a word. One that he shouldn’t be so casual about. Otherwise, they always warn, it’ll turn meaningless.

Needless to say, Kento hates illogical arguments. And he hates his neighbor’s predisposition to loud music. Not charging his phone at night, working overtime, stumbling on a stair at night. Green bell pepper, as one does. And you. Recently, Kento hates you the most.

Better wage, same workhours, different boss: it was a good offer. Good enough for Kento to submit his resignation letter and start as an accountant in this firm. Annoying tasks, tense meetings, coffee machine out of order: with that salary, nothing would be a problem for Kento. But you had to ruin it.

After a quick meeting with the manager and being introduced to the financial team, Kento placed his briefcase on the desk designated for him. That is, on what little space was left for him. Kento sighed for the first time that day.

Frames lacking pictures, empty perfume flask, crumpled post its. There was a cup filled with pens and a hairbrush, but most of them were all over the place. Who even needs that many pens nowadays? Who even uses pens nowadays? The pen-hairbrush cup even had lipstick marks on.

Kento sighed for the second time when he looked at the desk besides his.

It’s clear his colleague doesn’t know the basics of a keyboard, considering the bag pressing P onto an open document. Neither do they understand that one shouldn’t pile used plastic cups and folded science magazines on top of a printer. A vase of magnolias was a surprise amidst that mess, forgotten once his right eyelid twitched at the sight of acetone and nail polish.

“Morning.” Trying his best to contain a snarl, a low voice scared Kento off his thoughts. “You’re the new accountant, right?”

He expected you to be embarrassed but turning around all Kento saw was an omega far more interest on her coffee than his face. As if something with that much whipped cream could be considered coffee. Staring at your eyelids, he didn’t notice the third sigh.

What he noticed was your fully exposed throat. No adhesive patch over your glands or collar around your neck. Golden bracelets covered part of your inner wrists but the pendants tinkling only brough more attention to your bare glands.

Thankfully, there was no nauseating scent—a side effect of his suppressants. Your scent wasn’t absent, only hidden by a faint touch of magnolia and acetone on the air. For that he was grateful. It would feel like a bad omen to throw up on his first day at this job.

Kento could never go out like that. His dark blue collar covered the base of his neck, both glands fully concealed as thick bracelets did the same beneath his sleeves. He had spares on his briefcase and a flask of black pepper perfume―the strongest Kento ever found. He would never go out like that.

That doesn’t mean he judges you for not using anything to cover your scent, specially since it’s delicate enough to go unnoticed. Kento uses them because he wants to cover himself, anyone that doesn’t desire the same shouldn’t do the same. Still, he would bet money that you simply forgot to put them. And for that Kento does judge you.

“Yes, I am”, he bent down, trying to remain polite. “Nanami Kento.”

“No need for formalities”, you yawned, gesturing for him to stood up. Posture fixed, Kento watched you unlock the second drawer of your desk. In quick movements, you put all your mess inside the drawer and locked it once more.

Sitting down, you smiled. It reached your eyes, baring your fangs to him. “Welcome.” After telling him your name, you took a sip from the so-called coffee and grabbed your bag. “I’m here if you need any help.”

Kento made a silent promise to never ever come to you if he needed help.

Erasing everything your bag pressed, you searched for something inside it and quickly forgot about Kento’s existence. He grabbed a few ignored crumbled papers and, after finding a trash can, came back to his desk to find you holding a headphone.

Not only you didn’t care about the organization of your workplace, but you were unable of apologizing or even collecting all your things on your own. And as if it wasn’t enough, you offered help just to immediately make sure Kento wouldn’t be able of talking to you.

Adult Kento realized that, to a certain extent, his father was right. Inside his heart, the word hate lost its meaning. You and loud music can’t be described with the same word. Maybe he really shouldn’t have used it so often…

No. Kento realized that wasn’t the problem. This isn’t about a word losing meaning, but simply about it not being the correct choice to describe what Kento feels about you.

Within knowing you for less than two minutes, he knew. Kento loathed you.

What a nice alpha, you put the noise canceling headset so you could finish the presentation for today’s meeting. Making a mental note to search on your folders for the introductory material to send him, you smiled once more. He didn’t even made me feel bad about all this mess. I’ll get him some coffee later.

TAGLIST: @aviesnapkindoodles @starry-eyed--dreamer

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all rights reserved to © madwomansapologist

[pinkxpantha]

Harbingers being domestic

part 1/3 (Scaramouche, Childe, Signora)

#: synopsis- scaramouche contemplates physical intimacy like its the trolley problem

#: cw- 560~ words Scaramouche) × GN!reader, scaramouche kind of watches you sleep(not meant to be creepy I SWEAR) reader is assumed to be human, you/they pronouns, drabble

Scaramouche isn't the type to be super intimate or domestic with his partner for a while, especially if they're human. Of course he would be more pleasant with you, but ultimately these loving actions feel strange to him. (ugh emotions)

Scaramouche would walk in on you asleep for whatever reason. Maybe you exerted yourself again in your work. Nonetheless your constant nagging about him getting a good night's rest ;which he doesn't need, led him to lay you on your bed. If you preach it then you should follow it.

He would notice how you'd almost sag with some form of relief that he could only describe as a need for comfort. He'd be foolish to think he could provide that for you. Hah, no way.

But he stands there, watching over your sleeping form. The deep inhale you take as you drift into a dream, and the shallower exhales as you look so much lighter.

For a moment he wonders if he could dream like you.

After that day, you'd barely be able to go to sleep alone. The skeptic looks you shot Scaramouche as he drawled "Sleep is for the weak and naive." seldom repeated.

It wasn't long before you invited him to sleep with you. You even offered to put a pillow in between the both of you so he could feel more comfortable. (You didn't say the last part aloud.)

To which he refused. It was somewhat expected, but you promised the offer was always open.

Scaramouche had quickly fallen into temptation though, a few days later you might've felt a sudden weight in the bed as you lay asleep. You might've turned around to see Scaramouche laid next to you. and you might've seen how his eyelids grew heavy with each breath you took until he fell asleep as well.

Normally he'd be sure to wake up before you, and slink out of your bed like a clever thief.

If only he knew of how sporadic sleep could be. Without a way to measure time in the abyss of rest, it was only expected you'd wake up to him sleeping beside you at some point.

It wasn't a shock to you to see your partner next to you, deep in slumber. Truth was, having the weight of another person suddenly next to you didn't keep you asleep for long.

You smiled seeing his peaceful form right next to you, his lips parted slightly, acting mimick of breathing.

You wrapped your arms around him, you might've noticed how he woke up, jolting at the sudden warmth of your arms. You might've noticed how he didn't say anything, but accept your radiated heat.

After that, it was basically set in stone. Soft moments of quietness where Scaramouche would allow himself to experience what you felt at night. There wasn't a day when you both were in the same place and hadn't fallen asleep together.

Even after arguments of any scale, you would always feel him indulge in your humanity. Your dormancy also became his.

[forestshadow-wolf]

His leg buckled, and the ground met him hard at the knees, but he didn't feel it. Couldn't feel it. Couldn't feel anything but fucking agony.

Ghost was dying; he could feel it in his heart. Literally. He could feel the soulbond unraveling. Out and away and away and away. Like plucking a live chicken, except he was the bird not the butcher. It was an anguish all too familiar. Only last time was like ripping his flesh open with rose thorns over and over again to pain the petals red, and this time felt like stitching open a wound to leave it weeping blood and guts and fluids and infection. This time it felt like festering evil.

"WHERE IS HE!" He roared, snapping at the hands on him, grabbing at others to haul himself to his feet again. His knee went weak again, but he would not let his limbs fail him. Fail Ghost. "GET OFF ME!" He did not wipe out an entire enemy outpost, only to be stopped by his own allies, while the very thing keeping him alive dies.

Some barking command that he didn't hear from outside his tunnel of vision had the burning touches release him. He obeyed a command that he didn't discern out of forced submission. The rabid thing rearing it's ugly face recognizing authority in the face of anger.

He wasn't sane as he stalked through the halls, following a faceless form he knew but didn't recognize. It's didn't matter. Nothing much but the decade old pain twisting where his heart should be mattered. None of it mattered because Ghost was dying.

He was dying while he loved.

Because some unlucky tosser touched what was his, and now Ghost was dying with fire as blood, as he unraveled Soap's heart. And Soap could feel every bit of it. The pain and agony of losing a soulbond. Again.

He knew the fire burning Ghost alive. I made the vial in his possession feel that much heavier. He carried the world in his pocket. It was smaller than his littlest finger, and it fit in his hand like he was meant to crush it. And it would save his life.

It would save Ghost's life.

He doesn't remember the walk to bring him to Ghost. Only flashes of anger where he snapped at too many hands.

But then he's there. Surrounded by white walls, and a white cot. Staring at a bloodied man in a dirty kit and black mask. Untouched on the command of an even less sane, more rabid him, only 27 hours ago.

He doesn't know who came and who left. Only remembers him, and his body, and the little glass vial, and Ghost. He remembers the chilled, damp skin when he pulled fabric back to reveal too pale skin underneath. He remembers how the needle went in easily. He doesn't move after that. Someone takes the needle from him. He felt it. Didn't see it. Saw only Ghost.

He just. Stood there. Watching. But not looking. Not seeing. He couldn't think. Couldn't move. Didn't dare hope. Couldn't pray. Couldn't beg. Pure catatonia. Nobody moved him. Nobody touched him. He heard people talking. Maybe to him. Maybe not. He doesn't know.

He doesn't remember how long it was. Maybe that night. Maybe that day too. But he remembers what brought him back.

He remembers the chest rhythm change. Something not just a natural sigh. Something deeper. Rousing. And the way Ghost's eyes flicked behind his eyelids for what felt like hours before they opened. Ghost was awake. He was alive.

And it's only then that he realizes that the agony had drained from his veins. The thread around his heart rewound. And it's then that exertion takes him. He falls to his knees hard. Ghost is quick on the call button with panic. But Soap doesn't make it 'til a nurse rushes in before black invades the rest of his vision like a shot to the skull

It couldn't have been more than half a minute before he comes too. It's bright, and there are hands touching him and voices speaking over his head and it's all too much.

"Where is he?" He swats at the abrasive touches, "Ghost. He's awake." Everything hurts. His muscles, his bones, even his teeth. But it's of small importance.

"Easy, Sunshine." A gruff voice pulls everything back into perspective. Price. Crouched at his thigh with a worried look on his face. Soap presses himself up despite protests from the nurses. "He's fine, lad." Price cups the back of his neck, "you made it in time. You saved him." He says it like a prayer. Like he knows it's the only thing that'll keep the rabid thing leashed. And he might be right.

[storiesforallfandoms]

nature trip ~ sergei "kraven" kravinoff;marvel

word count: 2675

request?: no

description: in which she's on a camping trip to explore and connect with nature, and she doesn't expect to run into anyone else

pairing: kraven x female!reader

warnings: swearing, one use of y/n, scary encounter with a jaguar but no one is harmed, mentions of cheating

masterlist (one, two, three)

My friends thought I was crazy when I told them I was going to northern Russia for a nature trip. Of all the places to go, they said, why would I want to go to Russia? Nobody understood that there was some of the most beautiful places in Russia, places that were hardly ever explored because everyone thought the same way as my friends did. Going there meant it was way less likely for me to run into anyone else. I could explore on my own, take in nature, reconnect with it. It's what I needed after the last few months.

My first night was very peaceful. I had set up camp far enough in a wooded area that, on the off chance anyone else was around, they wouldn't come across my camp. It was a warm enough night that I didn't need to have the extra cover on my tent and I could watch the stars before I drifted off to sleep. I woke up early enough to make myself breakfast from the small amount of food I had brought with me, pack up my camp, and set off to explore.

That is when things became much less peaceful.

I had found a trail to take. I was considering taking a break anyways. I had been walking so long that my legs were starting to hurt, and my water bottle was starting to run empty. So, I was in search of any body of water I could fill my bottle with and could sit down next to, when I heard the low growl.

I stopped. When there was no follow up noise, I was sure I had imagined it. But then I heard rustling, and then I saw the jaguar.

She was large, even at such a distance I could tell. She was low to the ground, stalking towards me; a predator stalking her prey. My heart was pounding so hard. I knew she could hear it. Predators knew when their prey was afraid, after all.

I knew coming across wildlife was likely. I thought it was something I'd be prepared for. But in that moment, I had never felt less prepared. My only thought was fight or flight, but I knew I'd never win a fight with a jaguar, and I likely wouldn't out run one either. I was completely helpless, with a large, snarling jaguar inching closer to me.

Suddenly, I wasn't alone. I thought I had imagined hearing more rustling, but then someone was stood in front of me. It was a man, and I truly had no idea where he came from. I could've sworn I was the only person out here. There hadn't been another campsite as far as I could tell.

He was stood between the jaguar and I, almost shielding me from her.

"Back down, girl," he said. His voice was both gentle and stern somehow. "This is not an enemy."

The jaguar lowered herself to the ground. She was still on alert, but it seemed like she was trusting this man. Her eyes kept flickering between us, a slight snarl still curled on her lips.

"Hey!" The jaguar's eyes snapped to him. "She's good. She's not here to hurt anyone. Walk away."

Her eyes found me again. I felt like she was studying me. I felt the need to shift so she could see my camping gear and understand that I wasn't going to hurt her. Not that she needed that reassurance. I'm sure we both knew she could easily take me down if she wanted to.

To my surprise, the jaguar rose from her crouched position. She kept her eyes on us as she stalked back into the woods.

The man turned to face me. It took me a moment to realize he was talking to me. I couldn't understand what he was saying because his voice was muffled, but he was right in front of me. The edges of my vision was starting to go black. Next thing I knew, the man was rushing to catch me as I fell to the ground. My vision went black before I hit the ground.

~~~~~~

When I came to, it took me a while to remember what had happened. When it all came back to me, I sat up quickly. I had expected to find myself still on the ground in the woods, but instead I was laying on something soft; a bed. I looked around to see I was no longer in the woods, or even in my tent. I was in some sort of building, rounded and made completely of windows.

And I wasn't alone.

I jumped when my eyes landed on a man stood in the doorway. It took me a second to remember who he was.

"Good morning," he said, a light tone in his voice. "Are you feeling alright?"

I nodded. "What - uh - what happened?"

"You passed out," he explained. "It must've been the adrenaline wearing off from your run in with the jaguar. Or the shock kicking in. It's not an unusual reaction to have."

I tensed a little when he started to approach me. He noticed and stopped. He held something out to me, and that's when I realized he had been holding my water bottle, and he had filled it.

I reached out to take it from him. "Thanks."

The feeling of the cold liquid was refreshing. I downed nearly the entire bottle in one go.

I capped the bottle and looked back to my savior. "And thank you for saving me out there. How did you do that, though? I mean...she was a wild animal, and you just...talked her down."

"I have a way with animals," he answered, shrugging as if it were that simple.

I narrowed my eyes at him. I wasn't about to argue when it came to how he saved my life, but it didn't mean I couldn't be skeptical. How was someone able to speak to a wild animal to stop it from attacking? Even if he "had a way with animals", no one was that good with any animal.

"My name is Sergei, by the way," he said. I mentally noted his quick change in subject.

"(Y/N)," I said. "Where are we?"

"My home."

I looked at him with wide eyes. "You live out here?"

He chuckled. "It's that hard to believe?"

"Kind of. I did research about this place before my trip and there was nothing about anyone living out here."

"I like to keep it that way. Less people bothering me."

"Except for campers who run into angry jaguars."

He nodded, an amused smile on his face. "Yeah, except for campers who run into angry jaguars."

There was an awkward moment of silence. I wasn't sure what I was supposed to do now. I guess I should've been planning to leave. After all, Sergei only saved me and brought me here because I had fainted. I wasn't supposed to be a guest or anything. But I wasn't exactly jumping to go back out into the woods again. I knew I would have to eventually, but the encounter was still too fresh in my mind.

Sergei broke the silence by saying, "I made food if you're hungry."

My stomach rumbled in response. We both laughed and Sergei gestured for me to follow him. I stood slowly from the bed, testing my ability to stand and walk after having been laid down for so long.

I couldn't believe how big Sergei's place was. I still didn't understand how he was able to live in secrecy like this. There was no way nobody had ever come across his place before. A giant dome home in the middle of nowhere was certainly enough to even just be added to a "trivia" section on Wikipedia when researching the area.

"I hope you like fish," Sergei was saying, snapping me from my trance. "The only other thing I have is some vegetable made food if you don't."

"I can eat fish," I said. "Do you gather your own food?"

"I catch fish to eat, and I have a garden," he explained. "I don't go after any of the other wildlife out here. I don't eat any meat."

"Just fish."

He gave me a look. I would've thought I had offended him, but there was a slight smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "I don't get along with fish as well as I do other animals."

He passed me a plate of his self caught, homecooked fish, as well as some of his home grown vegetables. To say I was impressed would be an understatement. I couldn't remember the last time I had ever met someone who was this self sufficient. I mean, I had one friend who had a garden, but she mainly grew a few carrots and strawberries. Sergei seemed to be completely living off the land.

I took a mouthful of the meal Sergei had given me. It was delicious, and a much needed change from the protein bars and other smaller foods I had taken with me.

"What were you doing out in the woods anyways?" Sergei asked me.

"Camping," I responded.

He raised an eyebrow at me. "In Russia?"

I nodded. "I was looking for somewhere that other people don't typically go to. Somewhere that I could be by myself and get in touch with nature."

"And you didn't prepare for the event of running into dangerous wildlife."

I looked down at my plate as I shrugged. There was something about admitting how unprepared I was for that situation that kind of made me embarrassed, although I wasn't sure why. Who is ever really prepared to run into a jaguar? Besides Sergei, apparently.

"I knew it was likely," I said. "I guess I just didn't fully prepare myself in the event of it happening."

More silence fell over us. I could feel his eyes on me, studying me the way the jaguar had. I didn't want to meet his eye, though. I was feeling a little intimidated, just as I had when the jaguar had been watching me so closely.

"Most people go to Canada to camp," he pointed out. "Or like...Australia."

I scoffed. "You saw how unprepared I was for a jaguar. You really think I was ready to go toe to toe with snakes and giant spiders?"

He chuckled. "No, I guess not."

"Besides, like I said, I wanted to go somewhere that other people weren't going to go to. Somewhere that I could just...be alone. That I could reconnect with nature and clear my head."

Sergei hummed. "There's a story there."

I dared to look up at him, trying to glare. I hadn't noticed before - mainly because I was fearing for my life - but he was an incredibly handsome man. His dark hair a little long and unruly, but not in a way that made him look a mess or anything. It made him more appealing, actually.

"There's a story as to why you're living all the way out here on your own and keep a low enough profile for no one else to know you're here," I retorted.

He nodded. "There is."

I kept looking at him, expecting him to go on. Not that he owed me an explanation or anything, just like I didn't owe him one for why I was on a nature trip the furthest away from society that I could get. But I'd be lying if I said my interest wasn't piqued.

He was looking back at me, though, the same look on his face.

I sighed. "My story is boring."

"Who says mine isn't?"

"I have a hunch there isn't much boring about you."

He smiled, but he didn't say anything else. I knew he wasn't going to back down. So, because my curiosity to know more about Sergei was killing me, I rolled my eyes and said, "I've had a rough few months."

He shook his head. "You gotta give me more than that."

I let out another sigh. "I found out my boyfriend of a year was cheating on me with someone from his work for six months. He dumped me and immediately started flaunting around his relationship with her. And the way I found out was because I was passed over for a promotion I had been promised weeks ago in favor of someone else who hasn't been with my company even half as long as I have, so I was driving over to his place for comfort and found him fucking someone else instead. Oh, and then my fish died."

"Jesus," he breathed.

I nodded. "Yeah. So...your turn."

He hesitated. For a second I thought he wasn't going to tell me, and I was going to remind him that I had just dumped my trauma on him so it wasn't fair to not tell me his. Finally, he said, "I needed to get away from my dad."

I looked at him for a moment before gesturing for him to continue."

"He wasn't a good man. He...he did terrible things. To my mom, mainly, but also to my brother and I. I was sick of it. This place used to belong to my mom, so I ran away from home one night and came here. I keep a low profile so my dad can't find me here."

"That's a pretty far distance to run."

"The further the better."

I stabbed at the food on my plate. Suddenly I was not feeling as hungry as I was before. Something about exchanging traumas left a sour taste in my mouth.

"That's why there's no record of anyone living out this way," I said, mainly to myself but Sergei was nodding along anyways. "Has anyone ever found you out here?"

He shook his head. "I'm not found unless I want to be."

"And...you wanted me to find you?"

"Technically I found you."

I rolled my eyes. "Okay, yes, but you brought me back here. And don't say that's because I fainted, because you could've just stayed with me in the woods and left when you knew I was alright. You're okay with me knowing that you're here."

For the first time, Sergei turned away from me. Now it was him who was unable to meet my eye.

"I don't meet a lot of good people," he finally said. "Out here, there's a lot of poachers and hunters. There's never anyone who is just trying to connect with nature. You...intrigued me, for a lack of better words."

I almost wanted to laugh. This man was living off grid in Russia, in a huge sanctuary that once belonged to his mother. He was able to communicate with animals in one way or another, he was completely self sufficient, and, once again, he was probably the most gorgeous man I had ever laid my eyes on. And yet he was saying that I was the intriguing one, just because I wasn't trying to destroy the nature.

When my food was gone, I reluctantly pushed my plate towards him. "Thank you, again. For...well, everything. I guess...I should probably get back out there."

Sergei nodded. "I guess."

I went to stand, when he added, "Or you could...you could stay a bit longer. If you'd prefer. I know it's not exactly camping here, but...there's no jaguars."

"That's a pretty good sales pitch."

He smiled. "It's up to you, but I don't often get company out here that I actually like. I...I wouldn't mind getting to spend more time together."

I tried to seem nonchalant. I shrugged my shoulders, as if I couldn't be bothered with the decision making, and mumbled something along the lines of, "I guess I could."

But Sergei could see right through me. The look he was giving me was enough to completely shatter the facade. "I would love to stay, Sergei."

In fact, I didn't care if I ever left.

[bumblesimagines]

The Pup and The Cub

Request: Yes or No

Summary: While (Y/N) is eager to spend time with and help an old friend, he can't stand to be around his adoptive daughter. Until one night changes things.

Pronouns: He/Him/His, M!Reader

CW/TW: Typical Witcher warnings, sexual content, added a little bit of ✨spice✨, mentions of blood, accidental blood kink?? OOPS, virginity loss on both sides

I would've finished days ago if the universe hadn't decided to say fuck you each time I tried working on it

~~~

Summer was at its peak and (Y/N) wished for nothing more than to lay in the soft grass like a snake eager to bask in the sun rays peering down at them from the vibrant and cloudless sky. The baby blue of daytime was fading into a familiar shade of orange that reminded him of flames, mixing and swirling with a soft pink as the blazing sun slowly descended behind the trees.

His nose tickled when he inhaled the fresh air, and the comforting floral scents wafting from the wildflowers scattered around the expanding fields surrounding them reached him. Their vibrant colors splashed against the green sea and he watched them dance with the gentle breezes that blew by, a sense of serenity settling on his chest.

It felt nice to take a break, he admitted to himself. His childhood and early teen years were spent cooped up in Kaer Morhen with Vesemir, and while the mountain blossomed with life during spring and summer, it was nothing compared to the beauty around him now. He felt as if he could sit and stare out into the wilderness for hours without the startling howling winds of the mountain or Vesemir's grumbling.

His father had been reluctant to let him go so far from Kaer Morhen, but Geralt needed him now more than ever, even if it meant dealing with his adoptive daughter, the vexing Cub of Cintra. 

In all his years, (Y/N) had only ever seen Geralt smile and laugh so freely with his brethren, with his real family. Those rumbling laughs where he'd tilt his head back and find a fleeting moment of relaxation untypical of the usually guarded witcher were reserved for them, not for the girl.

Ciri was only around because of one stupid mistake Geralt had made years prior: taunting destiny and facing the consequences in the form of a spoilt little royal. He found victory in the knowledge Geralt had pointedly ignored her existence until she needed his protection.

He remembered the cold winter day he met her when he strode into Kaer Morhen with Eskel, eager to escape the chilling winds and reunite with his family, only to take note of the figure bundled up in furs giggling into her cup like the little girl she was (yes, (Y/N) only had two years on her, but that hardly mattered in his opinion) and flaunting her title of princess before them when questioned. Chin tilted up and brow arched challengingly, she made his skin prickle.

"Who brought the girl up here?" He'd asked in disbelief. It was against their code to reveal the secret location of the keep to anyone other than their brethren, so he naturally looked toward Lambert and Coen for an explanation, assuming it was all another prank from them that Vesemir was begrudgingly ignoring for the sake of their long-awaited reunion.

Instead, she answered, lips almost pulled into a scowl and speaking words that had him turning toward Geralt with furrowed brows. "The girl is Princess Cirilla of Cintra. And I'm with Geralt."

(Y/N) scoffed just thinking about it. 

Yennefer, he could tolerate. Geralt loved her, that much he knew well, and he knew how much it ate at the older witcher with her betrayal still aching like a wound refusing to heal. She'd groveled for days and weeks, practically begging for his forgiveness in different ways, begging him to speak at least one word that wasn't related to their next destination, but Geralt was a notoriously stubborn man.

He was strong, stronger than (Y/N), at least. He wasn't sure how long he'd last if he were on the receiving end of her pretty violet eyes and velvety words.

Yennefer was humorous, too, with her snark and sharp wit that often left him grinning from ear to ear and Geralt quietly scoffing as if nobody saw the brief smirk that always flashed over his rough features before he remembered he was supposed to be mad at her. She was a spitfire with a kind heart, effortlessly dancing between aloofness and warmth. He gave it another week before Geralt's resolve vanished.

With Geralt and Yennefer watching over Ciri as if she were a precious little jewel and not a princess who by all means should've died when her kingdom had been sacked and lit ablaze by Nilfgaard, it was up to (Y/N) to watch their backs for them. And Ciri, too, he supposed. He'd still happily watch her slip off her horse and faceplant into the dirt, though. Hell, it'd probably make his day brighter.

Death followed her like a plague, she'd said so herself. It was better to keep his distance than risk being one of the many casualties left in her wake. Besides, he'd never forget how close she'd managed to get to killing both him and Vesemir while possessed by Voleth Meir.. nor the lives taken that day.

The sound of laughter drew his attention away from the scenery before him, his eyes immediately locking on Ciri and Geralt as they shared laughter, smiles, and words forgotten in the breeze. They were supposed to be feeding Roach and Desert to ensure the horses were ready in case they had to make a last-minute escape. (Y/N) huffed. She was such a distraction.

It irked him just how much she looked like Geralt too, how easily she could pass as his, and he despised all of it: from her ashen-gray hair verging on nearly being a pale blonde, her green eyes that sparkled like emeralds when the light directly hit them, her pale skin that easily flushed red when she grew embarrassed or frustrated to the way she bristled like an enraged kitten and never allowed herself to back down from his comments.

His stomach twisted just staring at her scrawny figure. Witchers weren't supposed to meddle in human business nor their stupid politics. It was part of their code to remain neutral, to remain free from the clutches of politics, and to avoid falling into loyalties with ruling governments. Geralt rarely, if ever, broke their code willingly, and now he did it without thinking twice for a measly human.

She was going to get him killed. She was going to get all of them killed. And for what? A kingdom that no longer belonged to her family?

"You could've saved yourself a lot of trouble by not coming." Yennefer's voice rang clear behind him and she entered his peripheral, her raven locks clashing with the greenery around them and naturally demanding attention. Everything about her demanded attention; that was simply the way of a mage like her. Deadly beautiful and with a bite stronger than her bark. "I've seen you pout more times than I've heard you speak."

(Y/N) felt his skin warm. "You know better than anyone how obnoxious nobles are. They love prancing around enacting their power over others. They're ungrateful and-"

"Ciri is but a girl and you are but a boy. You have both lived vastly different lives and been raised by vastly different people." Her brows lifted in a manner that reminded him of Vesemir, and he felt a lesson inbound. She placed her hand over his shoulder and brushed her fingernails over his cheek delicately, tittering on affectionately. "Ciri is a princess, yes, but she's not ungrateful, and you know it. She believes you are cruel and a bully, but I know you're more sensitive than you let on. Perhaps you will find more in common if you give her a chance."

"Unlikely." 

"Don't be so sure." Yennefer squeezed him lightly, the hint of a smile on her face. "Come inside, supper is ready."

Despite the fact they were on the run, the past couple of weeks had been the best (Y/N) had ever eaten. He often settled for simple meals he could create from things he bought at the market or meat he caught cooked over a fire, but the food they ate now was made with much gentler care. Mixed with herbs and spices, he practically inhaled the rabbit stew, savoring it and listening to the idle chatter between Geralt and Ciri. 

He thought about Vesemir and how he was doing. If he was well after the chaos that'd erupted in Kaer Morhen, after losing half the men he helped raise from boys and parting ways with the child he took in as a babe. They'd parted ways plenty of times before; it was simply how the life of a witcher went. But this time felt different, and they'd both sensed it in the air, as if something big was on its way.

"Well," Yennefer exhaled, dabbing her lips with a napkin and rising from the table. "I believe we should check the perimeters, ensure nothing is amiss."

Geralt grunted. "(Y/N)-"

"I will go with you, Geralt." Yennefer interrupted swiftly and his golden eyes cut to her, narrowing with confusion and then squinting with suspicion. She stared at him, seemingly communicating whatever was going on in her head with her eyes alone and leaving (Y/N) and Ciri to try and decipher what was going on.

Geralt took in a deep breath and stood up, his hand curling around the sheath of his sword. "Fine." He nodded, his silver strands bouncing off his cheeks where he'd begun growing stubble. His eyes darted to (Y/N) and the intensity in them softened, the corner of his lip lifting. "Be good to Ciri, Pup."

(Y/N) recalled a time he watched a mother usher her child to another boy, quietly insisting that the two needed to get along before she plastered on a smile and claimed it'd been her son's idea to share his toys despite the clear reluctance on his face. He concluded Yennefer was the mother, him the son, and Ciri the other child completely oblivious to the plan in action. (Y/N) would rather choke than play along.

Ciri lingered near the window, peering out of it as if she'd be able to see anything through the pitch darkness enveloping the cottage. The moon remained hidden by the towering trees, and he doubted the two wouldn't be back before it reached the top of the sky. They'd never leave Ciri for that long, no matter how much they trusted him to take care of her.

"Do you think they're going to make up?" She asked, her fingers busying themselves with undoing her braid.

The tableware clattered when he propped his feet up. "I don't know."

Surely she could hear the irritation in his voice, his lack of interest in speaking with her. He liked pretending as if she were just another noble with a head full of air, but he'd seen the different ways her brain worked, how quickly she managed to adapt to her surroundings. 

She suckled her bottom lip into her mouth and dug her teeth into it. Was she nervous? He couldn't really tell, even if she almost constantly wore her emotions on her sleeve for the world to see. Her eyes always spoke before her mouth did.

"It's about time they do, don't you think?" She raked her hand through her hair and undid the small knots that'd formed before pushing her hair over her shoulder to rest along her back.

"I don't know." 

Ciri scowled. "Do you have anything else to say other than 'I don't know'?"

He smirked and her eyes narrowed. "I don't know."

She made a noise in the back of her throat akin to a low, irritated groan and finally peeled herself away from the window to collect the plates on the table, taking them to the sink where she gave the sleeves of her tunic a hard tug and began scrubbing the plates. If she scrubbed them any harder, they'd probably crack and break into pieces.

He chuckled under his breath at her annoyance and reached down to his hips, unclasping his holster and setting it over the table before freeing his dagger from its sheath and inspecting the blade. His fingers ran along the cool metal, eyes tracking the distorted reflection staring back at him. He swore his eyes glimmered a different color and felt his chest tighten. 

The loud sound of clattering brought his gaze upward at Ciri, catching her bracing herself against the counter while her wet hand rubbed against her pantleg hard enough to leave a streak of pink that slowly faded. "Why do you hate me so much?" She asked, voice nearing a frustrated hiss. "What have I done to you?" 

"Exist, for starters." (Y/N) muttered immediately, uncaringly, his attention returning to the dagger as he pressed his thumb into the chestnut brown hilt. "You strolled into Kaer Morhen, my home, and proceeded to paint the fucking floors with the blood of my brothers. You damn near painted it with my blood, too, and my father's."

The frustration on her face faded and her nostrils flared with a deep inhale. The guilt was heavy in her eyes, her fingers curling and uncurling to hide the way they trembled. "I-I didn't-" Her voice cracked and she looked away, her lips pressing tightly together. "I didn't want to. I-I didn't even realize what I was doing. You know that. She had me trapped in a dream. I would have never done that-"

"But you did.. and half the men who helped raise me are dead, Princess." (Y/N) tossed his dagger aside and dragged his feet off the table, planting themselves on the floor with thumps. His arms moved to rest over his thighs, fingers lacing together as his mind conjured up the most venomous thing he could think of.

Years of harassment from ungrateful humans taught him plenty of where to aim where it truly hurt.

"If one can still call you that. To be a princess you need lands, a castle, a royal family. All those things turned to ashes while you were busy running from your kingdom like a coward."

A spark ignited in the green of her eyes and she darted forward with quick steps, snatching the dagger from the table and squeezing the hilt so hard her knuckles turned white. She pointed the blade at him, her jaw clenching and eyes bright with threat yet her hand trembled ever so slightly.

"Fuck you." She spat, inching the blade closer until it almost poked at his forehead. "Didn't your mother turn to ashes? I know that's what happens to bru-"

Ciri barely had the chance to gasp before he grabbed her wrists and shot up from his chair, the force causing it to topple backward onto the floor with a hard thud. He backed her up into the nearest wall, slamming her wrists into it and forcing her to drop the dagger at their feet with a wince. She blinked at him, soft breaths escaping her parted lips that he felt against his skin. He could see the different shades of green in her eyes more clearly, see the way her eyes flickered around different parts of his face.

"You're a real piece of work, Cirilla." 

He released her wrists and leaned back, forcing himself to take a deep breath to calm the rapid beating of his heart. His eyes were drawn to the red around the skin of her wrists from his tightened hold and grimaced, a begrudged apology forming on his tongue because his job was to protect not hurt, but before he could get a single word out, Ciri lunged forward. 

His nerves flared immediately with alert, only for his instincts to protect himself to short circuit when- instead of being shoved or slapped or even punched for touching her so roughly- he felt soft clumsy lips placed over his.

One of Ciri's arms curled around his shoulders as her chest pressed against his, holding onto him as he staggered backward from surprise. His hands grabbed onto her hips, his mind torn between the tantalizing urge to kiss her back and the possibility of Geralt walking in and seeing the sight of the girl he considered his daughter kissing someone. 

He pressed his forehead against hers to break the kiss and sucked in a breath of air. "Ciri-"

"I don't care." She panted softly. "I've been thinking about this for weeks."

The revelation flicked something in him, something in his chest. The heated emotion that always spread through his body whenever he lied eyes on her, the constant need to poke at her until she diverted her attention to him with a scowl, the willingness to put himself between her and danger; he assumed it was complicated hate, his need to protect and his dislike for her constantly battling. Had it been something else? Something so foreign to him he'd mistaken it for loathing?

He watched the desperation swirl in her eyes before he squeezed his shut and pressed his lips against hers, swallowing the shaky exhale she released and darting his tongue past her parted lips. She shivered and wriggled in his grasp, her lack of experience surging in how intensely she reacted to him just grazing his hands over her thighs before he heaved her up fully into his arms. Her legs encircled his waist and the bottom of her boots pressed into the heels, pushing until they fell from her feet. 

Twisting around toward the table, he set her down on it and crept his up toward her sleeveless leather vest where he worked on untying the laces until it grew loose enough to discard onto the floor. Her white tunic sagged without the vest and he slipped his hand underneath it, palms roaming over the smooth skin of her abdomen and hips free of any scars unlike his. Her breath quickened when his hand moved higher, and her hold on his tightened when he delicately ran his fingers over her breast.

(Y/N) pulled away, leaving butterfly kisses over her cheek and down to the side of her throat. She drew him in closer and dipped her own hands underneath his tunic to feel along the muscle and scars he'd obtained throughout the years, whispering soft pleas for more into his ear, but his mind focused on the warmth of her skin.

If he listened hard enough he could hear the blood flowing through her veins, the rapid beat of her heart dancing in her chest. His tongue darted out to lick a long line along her skin and she tilted her head to the side, exposing more of her neck. 

An alarm blared in his head; his witcher upbringing clashing with the animalistic instinct embedded in his genes in a turbulent fight. Vesemir's voice echoed in his head and urged him to stop, to put an end to the heated moment before it could become gruesome and deadly for them both. He was always so careful but Ciri was such a distraction. If only Vesemir could see him, speak to him.

Vesemir was roughly shoved out of his head in favor of hooking his fingers into the belt buckles of Ciri's worn pants and tugging down roughly enough to drag them to her thighs without unbuttoning them. Her hands were clumsy as she pushed on them, legs kicking wildly until they slumped down onto the floor to be forgotten with the rest of the mess they left in their wake.

He hugged her close to his body and lifted her into his arms again, letting his feet lead him to the room he typically shared with Geralt so the girls could sleep separately from them. 

She slipped from his arms and onto the bed, a laugh knocking out of her chest when she collided with the mattress. She curled her fingers around the hem of her tunic and tugged it downward as she pressed her thighs together, the flush on her face burning harder under his eyes and spreading when he took his own clothes off. 

His arms curled around her thighs and she gave a light squeak when he pulled her closer to the edge of the bed, her eyes widening as his knees met the floorboard and his hands pried open her legs. His face buried in the mound and a long curse dragged out of her throat in response, her hips threatening to buck and quiver as he began lapping at her like a starved dog, the bridge of his nose occasionally brushing against half-curled hairs the same color as the hair on her head.

He hardly knew what he was doing; he'd never had the same urges as his fellow brothers, his mind focused on the monsters over the brothels whenever he visited towns. But, he'd heard plenty of tales and recountings told over food by drunken men (some likely more fabricated than the rest) to have some idea of what he was supposed to be doing, even though he barely paid any mind to precision and focus. He licked and suckled until her quivering thighs caged around his head.

"(Y/N)!" Ciri abruptly cried out, her ankles digging into his back and pushing his face further against her as she flooded his mouth with her juices. 

"That was fast." He exhaled, the fleeting humanity managing to grasp onto the reins for a moment, and he wiped at his mouth and chin with his forearm. He dragged his arms from her thighs and traced the lingering imprints before carefully rising from the floor to hover over her and study her features. 

Her chest heaved with deep inhales and exhales, her parted lips red and nearly raw from their kissing. He thumbed at the trickle of drool threatening to slide down her cheek and felt her lean into his touch, her trembling hands slowly dragging over his arms and shoulders and tugging him down. She pressed her cheek against his, almost nuzzling into him, and wrapped her legs around his waist. 

There was a line in front of him, one he could cross and face multiple different consequences: they could risk the chance of Geralt's reaction, whether it was disapproving or angered, or risk the chance of a secret being exposed through an accidental pregnancy.

He was no true witcher. Unlike his brothers who lost their fertility upon becoming mutants, he had the chance of knocking someone up, a fact Vesemir consistently reminded him of. He was already a hybrid, a creature made up of the blood of human and monster. Could he inflict that on someone else?

But when she tightened her legs around him and purposefully grinded against him, he decided to cross the line regardless. 

Ciri's gummy walls resisted the intrusion, and he still had enough clarity to remind himself she was still considered a princess, one who still had the chance of marrying some prickly noble who'd expect his bride to be a virgin pure. "Ciri, are you-" 

"Yes." She whined with a tremble, sounding out of breath.

He pushed forward and nearly pressed his full weight down on her when the faint yet familiar scent of blood reached his nose. In most circumstances, it hardly ever phased him, but he usually never allowed the untamed monster side of him to rear its head for longer than a few seconds.

He pressed his face into the sheets and held on tighter to her, his mind escaping him and returning to the chilly mountain Kaer Morhen resided upon until the ringing in his ears ceased and he could move without Ciri wincing. 

Part of him desired nothing more than to give in to the creature he kept buried but this was Ciri and he knew better than risking potentially hurting her. He dragged out of her slowly enough for her to whine, only to plunge back in with enough force to knock the wind out of her lungs.

The room quickly filled with the smell of sweat and sex and the subtle hint of blood that still urged him to fall into a state of delirium, choked words and moans filling his ears and keeping him grounded enough to keep his wits. 

Ciri's nails raked down his back feverishly, clawing at him as if she were trying to cut him open. The long marks healed seconds after they were made, something Ciri barely noticed in her hazy state of pleasure.

His lips pressed into her collarbone and they parted with the overwhelming urge to bite, but he had half a mind to tilt his head to the side and dig the sharp row of teeth that'd grown into his bicep instead. Blood immediately spilled into his mouth, not the blood he wanted but good enough to sedate the urges. 

Almost instantaneously, his hips stuttered and his body threatened to give out on him, his high crashing into him like a tidal wave. His hips continued to move, thrusting into Ciri until she cried out again, practically milking every last drop of his release with her squeezing around him like a vice. She panted into his ear, sounding as if she'd just ran miles upon miles, before her palms slapped against his shoulders and shoved him upward. 

"You're bleeding- did you bite yourself?" She blinked wildly at him, eyes darting back and forth between the blood coating his lips and the blood smeared across his bicep.

The row of punctures wounds had healed the moment he'd taken his teeth out of the muscle but the sight still looked like he'd taken a chunk out of himself. Droplets of blood ran down his forearm, dripping onto the bed and turning frizzy strands of her hair into a crimson color.

"It was either you-" He gulped down a breath of air and swiped his tongue over his lips. "-or me." 

Gently, Ciri ran her fingers over the blood on his face, her lips twisting into a frown. "I knew a bruxa once. She had a lover she fed on and- and they were fine for a while. Maybe if you-" 

The sound of the front door slamming shut startled them both, and they were hardly given enough time to process what that meant before Yennefer and Geralt appeared in the doorway, their panicked and concerned faces plunging through several differing emotions at the sight of them tangled up together. Geralt quickly turned his back on them and Yennefer released a long, somewhat amused sigh.

"This is not what I meant when I said you should give her a chance. Get dressed. We obviously need to have a chat."

[loveaurapearl]

Rewatching 3rd life again from both Grian's and Scar's perspectives because man is it a trip. Not only on how different it is from what it is now but also what it was originally meant to be. Remember, 3rd Life wasn't meant to be a death game. Sure, it was always meant to be a mini-series with no script, but the wars, the betrayals, the curses, those weren't meant to be what it would be. There were meant to be two sides, the Greens versus the Reds with the Greens trying to last as long as they could before everyone became red. The series was meant to be cooperative instead of a death game.

I want to note that everything that Third Life is, what the Life series has become is because of Scar. Obviously, the other lifers had a hand in turning the Life series into the series it is today, but Scar was the one who got the ball rolling. Scar was the one who initiated his crew of mischiefs to raid the village. Scar planted the idea of raiding the village and taking everything for yourself, that you have to win the game. Scar made Grian agreed to a monopoly on Sand which got Grian's brian think of other possible monopolies they could have. Scar planted the idea in Etho's head that you can't trust people by burning the tree of Dark Oak which caused the Village people to be more hostile to Ren. Scar invites idea that they have to compete with each other for resources. Scar's scams caused people to be distrusting towards others since they lost their stuff to Scar. Scar's obsession with Pizza caused Cleo to steal it and leading her to lie in order to keep a secret. And of course, Scar threatened Ren for the Enchanter leading him to need to toughen up to become the Red King. Scar planted the idea in everyone's head that this is a death game and in Scar's mind from the start, he kind of knew it was a death game. He confessed to Etho that he knows it is, it's why he has such trouble trusting people.

In Scar's first life, he was paranoid. He was basically acting like a Yellow life while on his Green life because he is the king of Death. He wasn't sure who to trust and scared of death. He began to relax a bit once he and his group raid the village and he begins to think normally. He devises a plan with Grian since he doesn't really trust his team, after all, they left him all alone even though they know he dies a lot and try to be 'reasonable' with Etho and Tago. Then he dies to Grian's prank and everything changes. He finally has Grian on his side but he finds out everyone just left him to die and he feels betrayed. His anger grows and closes his heart to everyone but the guy who offered his first life to Scar. Scar threatened people while on yellow by having Grian put lava on them. Scar threatened everyone with death which intrigued Grian. Grian made this series to be cooperative and fun, but he also wants to be red and to be a killer, he wants that dangerous side of his brian to be released, but he also knows he shouldn't be like this, after all, he's only on Green. But the more and more he interacts with Scar, the more his malicious and villainous side is released and the two begin thinking of ways to get revenge on everyone who hurt them. Then Scar dies again due to the revine and everything changes again.

Scar is on red but Grian is still stuck with the man due to his debt. This was not how the dynamic of the Reds and Greens was meant to play out, but Grian can't stop it now, Scar changes his skin which invites other people change their skin once they become red. Scar wants cookies and death and it's up the Grian, the Green name, to come up with ways to kill people for Scar and to protect Scar. Scar, meanwhile, doesn't want to lose Grian and so does everything in his power to keep Grian around and for Grian to love him. They make alliances and packs. It convinces the Crastle to make Impulse a mole on both sides, thus making him the first traitor, and at the end of the series, Scar convinces Bdubs to kill Impulse over a watch for the first biggest betrayals. Then there was Scar's betrayal with Grian over the paper then Scar's betrayal to Bdubs and of course, Scar giving his life to Grian because all he ever wanted was Grian. Then it was the final fight. Scar is the first Victor of Third Life with Grian, but only history thinks Grian won, after all, that's what the murals and watchers say. But in the Cactus ring, there were two victors, Scar and Grian who both died by the Ring. Also, it means that yes, we already have a double victor. It's Scar. Scar won Third Life and Secret Life. But so much has happened that Grian and everyone else forgot that fact. Grian in Wild Life thinks that he could be the first ever double victor of the games, not remembering that Scar won Third life with him. So yeah, let be heard, that Scar is the first ever double victor since Scott didn't win Double life. Scott came in Second in Double life, but Scar came in first with Grian in Third Life. Spread the Word! Scar is a double victor and also stuck in Secret Life.

[orphicarchives]

For The Glory of Rome

MARCUS ACACIUS X READER

You're finishing your senior year at Orpheus University when your history class is chosen to give an evaluation on one of the professors. Why does he feel so familiar?

⚠️ Past lives AU! Reader is Geta and Caracalla's sister! Reader is also 22 years old, Pedro is older. ⚠️

The mountains were just visible through the window you were sitting next to; their peaks reaching toward the sky above, almost as if in embrace. They were beautiful at this wintry time of year, with the snow cascading down their formations and painting them white. Bare trees that flanked them transformed into branches of green where the cold hadn't hit just yet- your eyes traveling further down the scene. It was that transitory period of the merging seasons, where autumn became winter and left everyone with an odd illness due to the changing weather patterns. Both snow and leaves were tracked inside the bustling classrooms that were alive with the excited chatter amongst the students. Everyone was excited for the upcoming break that would mark the end of the semester. For you, it would mean the midway point of your senior year at Orpheus.

You'd gone to Orpheus all three years of your college career so far, immediately entranced by the large stone pillared building it was. It was so different from your usual pace in the rainy countryside, with its suburban feel and authentic restaurants. It wasn't immediately that you felt the urge to explore the grand halls of the place and to make it your home, but that feeling came soon enough. One glance at the psychology department and a sip of coffee from the bistro down the road were enough to convince whatever part of you left unsure this would be the place. Even with how far you had to uproot yourself and make such a move, you'd made the connections you'd needed and the friends you'd always wanted.

Lee had sat himself next to you this morning with a coffee cup in hand and his phone in the other. He was addicted to that screen- any video that would appear around his recent interest in Danish pop music would be enough to send him down a spiral of excitement. The coffee, however, was for you.

"Morning!" He said, way too chipper for an 8:00am class. He usually went to Starbucks way too close to the time you were meant to be seated with only a minute left to spare. How he didn't have crippling anxiety around his time management, you'd never know. But he did bring you a drink.

"Hey, Lee." You said, with as much energy as you could muster at the moment given how tired you were. "Thanks for the coffee."

Lee threw his bag onto the ground under the long tables in the lecture hall. His spot had been on the other side of the room for the majority of the class as he'd argued he couldn't focus if seated next to you for laughter purposes. However, today he plopped himself down into the one next to you with his notebook open to the most recent material from last week. His hair was a mess as he'd most likely not had the time to brush it but at least his pants matched his shirt today.

"Yeah, 'course."

You took a sip of the drink, wincing slightly at the heat on your tongue. He'd remembered you liked your coffee black.

This morning, you had your history course which was conveniently in the building furthest from your shared apartment. Deciding the added three minutes to your walk would mean a warmer outfit for the day, you wore a white button down with fleece tights under your skirt. You had to substitute your usual leather jacket in favor for a heavier coat but still opted to wear the full face of makeup you had on every day. Eyeliner was your saving grace and you swore you'd never be caught outside without it on. You weren't much of a "girly girl," but that beauty product was the one exception.

Your shoes were still a little damp from the snow and the water had melted into the bottom of your bookbag, to your dismay. Your notebook was mostly fine except for the bottom edge, where the pen ink had run together, ruining your script.

"Did you hear about the evaluation today?" Lee asked, with his arm outstretched, offering you one of the Starbucks napkins to dry your notebook.

You hummed in a quizzing tone, signalling you didn't hear about it as you got to work cleaning up the mess before class started. There wasn't much you could do about the few pages that had been destroyed, but thankfully it wasn't the topic you needed at the moment.

"Well," Lee went on assuming you wanted him to continue, "Professor Klotsbach had to officially go on maternity leave so they're giving us someone else for the duration of this year. Apparently they're having this new guy come in today and we get to decide whether we like him or not." Lee said, rustling through his own belongings. "The history majors are saying this is the fifth one this semester."

"Oh? that'll be interesting. I didn't realize she was out already." You stated, throwing the napkins into your coat pocket. At least that meant this class would be easy today and you wouldn't have to worry too much about the notes. You took another sip of your coffee and turned your attention back to the large window to stare at the mountains again. The sun was really starting to come up now, which would hopefully make the walk home warmer. The sunlight shone over the leaves and made its way into the classroom, turning the wood paneling into that comforting auburn color you loved. Even with the weather outside, the inside felt like summer.

You directed your attention back to Lee, who was now back on his phone. You decided you weren't too tired for a conversation.

"I wonder why they're so particular about a professor for a general education course?" You asked, inquiring Lee as though he'd know the ins and outs of how the administration worked. Orpheus was always a semi-prestigious university; you wondered if they did so many evaluations for all the subjects.

"No idea," he said, taking a sip of his own drink, "I guess they wanted insight from other majors as well."

"Ah." You said, thankful that it would at least be some form of deviance from your usual schedule. After this, you and Lee had plans with the rest of your roommates to go to the bistro down the road so you considered today an easy one. A listening lecture followed by a sweet treat was a great morning.

As you were thinking of your plans, the door on the right side of the room finally opened, meaning the professor had officially walked in and class was about to start. Lee put his phone in his pocket although he didn't turn it off, so you assumed he was listening to music. You scavenged in your case for a pencil that wasn't broken and directed your focus to the front of the room, where the evaluated professor would begin.

Your breath hitched in your throat.

This man had to have been about ten years older than you but he was gorgeous. The brown in his eyes and his hair shone under the sun with such elegance; he appeared to be a painting. His brown leather jacket placed stylishly over his buttoned shirt- save for the two at the top- and his dress pants neatly drawn with a belt. An expensive one at that. He looked less like a professor and more like the cover of a teenage romance novel. Even his facial hair was properly trimmed and accentuated the angular curves of his face, which widened into a heartthrobbing smile.

"Hello, I'm Mr. Marcus." He said, turning around and writing it onto the chalkboard with whatever chalk was left in the tray from the class before. He then wiped his hands against each other and stood in front of the desk, leaning against it in an effortless grace as he stared at the class. His eyes scanned the room before they fell on you. It was only for a moment before he looked elsewhere, but you were starstruck and your stomach flipped.

Lee snickered quietly at the face you were making which took you out of your trance. "Dilf season, huh?"

Your cheeks were flushed and your whole body felt hot. It was unlike you to immediately be so caught off-guard. You shook it aside and attributed it to intimidation. That had to be it, you were just nervous of a new professor and at this guy's confident yet inviting demeanor.

"Shut up, Lee." You said with a small smile, so he'd know not to take offense although you were serious. You didn't want to draw any attention to your heart beating wildly in your chest.

As he continued talking, however, the burning in your abdomen only got stronger. There was something to this man, some sense of familiarity that struck you defenseless, although you were unsure as to why. You were certain you'd never seen the man before in your life, yet there was an undeniable pull that rendered you speechless for the rest of the class. He was wonderful at explaining everything in full detail and perfect when it came to answering questions. One thing was for certain though, and that was there'd be no way you could focus on any topic if Mr. Marcus was the professor. Despite how well he performed his job, you just couldn't concentrate. So, when the papers came around at the end of the class for the evaluation, you checked the box stating your disinterest in Mr. Marcus as your professor. How would you be expected to learn in a place where he was the teacher if you were so flustered? All you wanted to do was go home and decompress.

You submitted your paper to the front of the room, Lee in tow. You placed it face down on the desk even though the evaluations were anonymous; you felt awful for the decision you made. How was it fair for him to do everything perfectly and to not be granted the occupation?

As you were about to turn towards the door, you locked eyes with Mr. Marcus. They were a golden honey brown, very similar to the warmth of the room you were in, and they had you entranced. He smiled at you and raised his eyebrows as invitation for conversation, which was when you realized you'd been standing there in front of him with open eyes for longer than you meant to.

"Miss (Y/N), did you enjoy the lecture?" He asked, calm and composed. He must've read your name off the seating arrangement sheet and pieced two and two together.

"Uh, yeah-yes. Yes, I did. I find Rome pretty fascinating." You said, trying to regain your own composure. You smiled back at him in a last effort to appear normal and then walked out of the room and into the large hall where Lee followed close behind.

Alone in the Lecture Hall once all the students had departed, Marcus let out a hitched breath. You must have noticed it too? There was something so off about you and he was immediately drawn to your presence the minute he'd entered the room. It was as if he'd bumped into you before, only this odd feeling of familiarity was far more intense than anything he'd encountered before.

He learned against the desk for support and reached for the evaluation papers. He remembered exactly which one you'd placed down as he counted the number of sheets placed on top. He was unsure as to why he needed this clarification so badly, as if the evaluation was going to be enough insight as to how you truly felt about him.

You'd written that he performed everything perfectly. Checked all the boxes showing the administrators that he'd done as he should. But, at the end of the form, you'd written you didn't want him to have the job.

He smiled to himself, just slightly. He must've been overreacting.

...

It was with disdain that his eyes followed yours, the vituperative look etched into his skin. He appeared no older, even with the worry lines becoming apparent as he frowned; kohl seemingly molded into the flesh of his face with its darkness around his eyes. His tunic adorned with goldened jewelry held his red cloak fastened at his shoulder, which swiftly moved side to side as he walked about the palace floor. With his domineering personality and flamboyant demeanor, one could argue he very much belonged here. But those who truly knew him, such as you, would argue the complete opposite. A child in the body of man, ruling over the Roman Empire with the ability to kill any one of the men who'd built the imperial palace with the flick of his wrist.

And to think, he was your brother.

Emperor Geta manically moved back and forth, his steps echoing in the greatness of the hall where the two of you stood. Your other misfortune of a sibling somewhere entranced by his monkey, you presumed. Even with neither of them being much too intelligent, Geta was definitely the force to be reckoned with. This flurry of anger he felt was often of your own doing and today was no different- although the situation was more dire than previous mishaps.

What was usual sibling banter had turned into something fierce, unforgiving. It seemed as though the two of you no longer stood on the same plane and no words could be spoken to alleviate the tenseness between you two.

"There's a traitor-" He began, voice laced with more anger than anything else now that the shock had subsided. "Someone is helping the Senate to conspire against us. A traitor within the castle?" Geta dramatically flung his fingers over his heart and buried it into the fabric of his dress, steadying himself from falling as if he were intoxicated.

"I've heard nothing of the sort, brother." You let out, hardly above a whisper. It felt wrong for the secret to spill past your lips after all this time of keeping it. Although this had been going on for nearly five months, to speak it aloud even partially breathed it into existence. You, who had no family other than Geta and Caracalla, were plotting the demise of both of them. Rome was a collective and you'd been appointed to preserve the democracy of the people- something your brothers had turned into tyranny under their rule. However, it seemed as though they'd just caught wind of the plot without knowing who was leading the rebellion. Of course, Geta would eventually figure it out but the best thing you could do would be to deny anything that would lead to you or Acacius. He would have his head by morn and yours by the next.

Geta focused his eyes toward the nearest column so as not to look at you, forcing himself to tongue over the idea as it repeated within his head. His ornate laurel wreath crown he wore glistened in the light from above, casting a radiant glow on the floor. He was beautiful, if undeservingly so.

"Geta." You started, still fighting the fear that was always prevalent when conversing with your brother, "You are the emperor. Who would dare conspire against you?" you asked, knowing you had to do damage control. It all felt too real and too sudden for anything to happen just yet, this was unplanned. There was still so much more to be done and now that Geta had heard, Caracalla would be next to be informed- potentially halting the senate from being able to make a proper move. Your brothers would behead them all and force you to watch.

There had to be an informant within the Senate, someone who sided with your brothers in hopes of some grand reward for ratting you out. If they told Geta of the uprising, there's no telling how long it would take until they knew you and Acacius were leading it.

Suddenly, it was as if the color returned to Geta's white painted face. The creases that had formed out of worry now resumed with a smile so horrid and vile that your stomach seemed to drop to your toes with dread. The redhead inched closer to you until he was standing directly before you, inches away from your faltering breath. Smug look upon his face with his hands placed behind his back, he whispered in your ear the one thing you never wanted to hear from him.

"Make sure to relay this message to the Senate. If I hear of any further plans or catch the name of anyone involved within the operation, I will make sure the streets of Rome run red with their excrements."

Your veins turned to ice. It was as if your body had become as still as the marble statues surrounding the two of you. The sunlight hitting your brother's hair was not a warm and comforting light, but the light of a thousand fires ready to destroy anything within its path. You could smell the antimony from his makeup, and it was churning your stomach the longer you stood next to him. And then, he pulled you into a forceful embrace.

"You're my brethren, (Y/N). But bloodshed triumphs over blood. My mercy doesn't spill out of my fingertips such as the weak do. I am to carry on the tree of my lineage and I will do so from the seed of my power. Don't let me ever hear my dear sister has fallen into the conspiracy of the people."

Then he left, and a piece of your soul died with the slam of the door behind him.

...

General Marcus Acacius, still clad in the paludamentum from the evening's dinner, gathered himself after a lengthy conversation with some of his troops. He was fortunate for the day's conquer, but he was entirely ready to return to his chambers to meet with his love; hoping she could soothe the grievances that emanated from his soul. A slight glance into the reflection of the gate showed a man worn down by war. Physically and spiritually he felt beaten and old. His face, which had appeared so bright when he'd first started his efforts, had now succumbed to the weight he felt inside. He was duller than the man he'd always been. A light had been extinguished and would never again be set aflame. His body felt as though it were an empty chamber, hollow with only the sounds of the maternal screaming he heard from war. Mothers calling home their only sons that would stay calling for the remainder of their lives. Praying for the boys who'd become soldiers, fallen under an empire that prided themselves on greatness.

The Romans were cruel murderers. And he did their bidding.

Trying his best to push his stressors aside, he stepped into the small garden flanking the back perimeter of the palace, knowing that was your usual place upon nightfall. The fountain seemed to hum as the water rushed down into the basin. The sounds of bugs chirping filled his ears. The calmness of the fire tamed within the confines of the torches made flickering shadows upon the stones beneath his feet.

And then, there was you. Turning to face him once he'd entered the palace and meeting his gaze. He'd sworn he never understood the meaning of goddess until he'd met you. From the first encounter at the palace, Acacius knew he was in love. Every statue and painting couldn't compare to the beauty that radiated off you, he knew. Your eyes were pools of mystery and your skin softer than the sheets lining the bed you shared, fragile under the callouses of his hands that were worn by the hilt of his sword. You were a delicacy. He thought you were more striking than the sun itself.

The word love would never be enough to describe the power that flowed through his veins upon the mere mention of your name or the gentleness of your kiss.

You were here in your usual palla, the purple dye of the fabric shimmering under the soft glow of the fire. Your face was hardened into a concerned expression and your lips were downturned. What was usually a gleeful expression when your fiancé returned home safely seemed to be just a little short of animosity.

Acacius immediately went to place his hands gently at your sides, pulling you in slightly with a quizzical look, assessing for any physical ailments. "What troubles you, my Lady?"

You wanted to cry, to scream, to let out all your frustrations through vile words such as your brothers did, but you felt so beaten down you couldn't even formulate the words. Acacius had done nothing wrong but be within your proximity. And now your lover would be subjected to the unforgiving wrath of Geta.

"My Lady?" He asked once more, softer this time. He had a rough day, you could tell, and his forehead lines became more apparent as his brows furrowed. His beard was trimmed but not shaven, so as not to flaunt off some of the scars he'd gathered below his nose. He had one on his cheek and one on the back of his hand that you would run your fingers over in an intimate embrace. He was beautiful, even with the years of war embroidered into his skin. He was your heart.

"It's Geta," you finally mustered, holding Acacius's hand to your cheek and letting a tear fall, "he's enlightened to our uprising."

It was the General's turn to express his worry. "How was he informed?" Hs asked, pulling you in for a stiff hug as he was still wearing his breastplate.

"Macrinus must have caught word after last night's gathering. W-we were so careful, I-"

"Shh." Acacius said, slowly rubbing circles into your back, "We'll be okay, we'll find a way." He said this almost so convincingly you wanted to believe it yourself. But you knew Geta would do his best to punish you in every way humanly possible. There would be no escaping.

"We can run away before they find out its us-"

"To where? We both have the faces of those known in Rome, we'll never even make it past the gate without our identities being revealed. And then what? Where will we go that has no promise of being conquered?" He asked, holding onto you as though your arms alone would ground him. "And (Y/N), you know my heart belongs to you and the people. I couldn't leave one in place of the other."

Any form of democracy was going to be dead if your brothers continued to be the ultimate monarchs the were. Their reign had caused nothing but horrors to the people .

"Geta may want my head when he finds out, but he'll never kill you," Acacius said, looking into your eyes, "He'd never kill our kin." At this, his hand dropped to your stomach, caressing the top of it gently.

"You will not die without me." You said, knowing what he would suggest in the hopes of keeping you safe. "I will not allow it."

"And then what? You die and there will be no hope. Not for the people or politics or our son. My work to free us from the grasp of Rome will be for nought."

Your tears started to cascade down your face as quickly as they came, taking your kohl along with it. This was unfair. All of it was unfair. You wanted nothing to do with your brothers or ruling or Rome or anything. All you'd hoped for was to live peacefully in a world without it- how foolish.

"I love you, Acacius. You know this." You said, burying your face into his shoulder. You took in the metallic scent of his breastplate, trying to ease yourself. You knew as a general that he would never leave Rome defenseless.

"As I love you," he said, moving you gently so you were facing each other, "You know what has to be done."

You composed yourself and met his eyes, trying to find solace in them. He felt more like family than the insufferable gingers you shared a bloodline with. And you knew you'd do anything to protect the family you made for yourself, even if that meant sacrificing the birth one.

"We have to kill them." You said. You found the words didn't trouble as much as you thought they might.

[vikkirosko]

Hello, I wanted to know how Asmodeus, Stolas, Sir Pentious and Fizz would court the person they like.

Headcanons Courtship

🐍Sir Pentious x Reader 🎩

Sir Perntios tried to appear confident, but when it came to you, all his confidence crumbled. His feelings for you were obvious to everyone except, it would seem, you, or you just hid the fact that you knew everything perfectly well so as not to embarrass him even more. But he didn't want to just sit around and hope for a miracle. He wanted to show you his feelings, but he couldn't do it so easily. To do this, he had to prepare a lot, and first of all, prepare mentally himself, so as not to end up in an awkward situation through his own fault

Even though he had been dead for a long time, he remained a gentleman, which meant he had to act gallantly. One of his first steps in trying to show you his feelings was flowers. Sir Pentious came to you with a beautiful bouquet of flowers, muttering in embarrassment. You smiled softly and asked if these flowers were for you. He could only nod, after which you took the bouquet and thanked him for such a nice gift. He hurried away, feeling agitated, and only when he was alone with himself did he give free rein to his emotions and joy. He was genuinely glad that you accepted his little gift, and when he remembered how you smiled at him, he just couldn't calm his heart, which was beating furiously in his chest

Every time he was around, he tried to be gallant towards you. He held the door for you, even if your hands were free and you didn't need his help, he pulled up a chair for you when you sat down at the table, he helped you carry weights, even if it wasn't really hard for you and you could handle yourself. You were sure that he was doing it out of politeness, but everyone else who saw it understood perfectly well that the reason for this was not only politeness, but also his feelings for you. Sir Pentious tried his best to show you his feelings as best he could, even though you didn't perceive his actions as some kind of romantic gestures. But despite that, he wasn't going to despair

Your smile continued to be an incentive for him to continue courting for you. He wanted to give you another gift, so he was making a little surprise. He was sure of his skills as an inventor, and he decided to use them to show you his feelings. Sir Pentious used to make tools with which he tried to seize power, but for you he wanted to make something more elegant, more suitable for you, something that could please you. He spent a lot of time at work and dreamed of seeing your affectionate smile again. For the sake of you, your smile and the opportunity to show you his feelings, he was ready to create any number of new inventions, regardless of whether they were intended for attacks or just cute trinkets that you might like

🦉 Stolas x Reader 🎩

From the very day Stolas realized his feelings for you, he wanted you to understand that he was sincere when it came to you. He tried to surround you with attention and show the love that he didn't have a chance to show to anyone else, but Stolas also understood that if he was too intrusive or assertive, you could on the contrary, pull away, start avoiding him. That's why he tried to stick to the golden mean in his courtship of you, trying to find ways to please you and show his feelings, taking his time and trying not to do anything that could alienate you from him

He often invited you to restaurants. He chose places that you would like, where the menu had dishes that you would like to try or that you would just like, and at the same time these were places where the chance that something unexpected would happen was less. He was gallant, took you by the arm when you let him, he smiled gently at you and tried to make you smile too. When the weather was good, he would take you for walks, trying to find places where you wouldn't have a lot of prying eyes on you. The last thing Stolas wanted to do was put you in an awkward position because of the excessive attention of others, so he chose quiet, but at the same time picturesque places so that both of you could enjoy a walk

Stolas wasn't sure if giving you expensive gifts was a good idea. When he thought about it, he felt like he was buying your affection, and he wanted your relationship to be built on sincerity and nothing else. That's why he decided to refrain from expensive gifts at this stage of your relationship and preferred something more appropriate. He gave you flowers, he gave you books that he knew you might like. Gifts weren't the main way he showed his feelings for you, but they were signs of the attention he wanted to show you, and Stolas hoped you could figure out what he meant when he did it all

Many times Stolas worried that he would do something wrong. He was worried that he might offend you or push you away in some way. He was afraid that you would find him too intrusive or that he would deprive you of a choice. But that wasn't the case. He genuinely loved you, and if you turned him down because you didn't feel the same way about him, then he could try to understand and accept, hoping that you could at least remain friends. But until you refused him, he tried to make you understand how sincere he was in showing his sympathy towards you. It was probably one of the most sincere things in his life

🐓 Asmodeus x Reader 💕

Asmodeus was not someone who could be imagined romantically courting. He was the epitome of lust, and it imposed certain restrictions on him. That's why when he fell in love with you, he had some trouble openly expressing his feelings to you. But that didn't mean he wasn't going to try. He intended to approach this more creatively so that his reputation would not be damaged, and at the same time so that you would not think that he treats you lightly and that his feelings for you are only lust or a fleeting infatuation. He was more than serious about you and wanted to show you that despite all the obstacles

He often invited you to his restaurant. There he could not worry that someone would see you, because for him there was always a balcony free, from which you could perfectly see the whole hall, but no one would be able to see you in the semi-darkness. He always approached your dinners together with great attention, and the waiters who served your table knew perfectly well that they shouldn't chat too much if they didn't want to provoke his anger. Ozzie was courteous to you and chose the days when you would like the show that took place in his restaurant. It might not have been the most suitable place for a romantic pastime, but you liked going to his restaurant, and so far you liked everything, he was more than satisfied. After your dinners together, he always gave you a ride home so he wouldn't worry about whether you got home safely or if something happened on the way

When he was too busy with work and you couldn't meet in person, he always sent you gifts that could make you happy. Your favorite flowers, your favorite snacks, tickets to events you wanted to attend but couldn't get tickets. He always found something to please you with, and when you asked him with a soft smile if he could keep you company, he was only happy to agree, even if he knew that after that he would have to seriously sit down to work and documents that he had postponed for the sake of your time together. He never told you that he was putting things off for you, not wanting you to feel guilty. He wanted you to feel happy around him and not worry about problems. If the events you attended together included dancing, then Asmodeus was happy to spin you around, admiring your smile and the way your eyes shone with happiness

Every time you spent time together, Ozzie noticed that the blush on your cheeks began to appear more and more often, and this gave him hope that his feelings would be mutual. He was in no hurry to confess, knowing full well that such things were not worth rushing into. He wanted to be sure that he would find the right moment, and until that moment came, he continued his courtship, opening his heart and soul to you more and more

🎪 Fizzarolli x Reader 💟

From the first day you met Fizzarolli, he shone with confidence and determination. He was used to being like this in front of others, although next to you this confidence became sincere. But it got harder when he realized he was in love with you. He still tried to be smiling and confident, but he started to get nervous around you, his laughter could get nervous and you worried about him. Fizz convinced you every time that everything was fine and you didn't have to worry about it. He didn't want to tell you so early that he was in love with you, especially since you obviously saw him as just a friend. That's why he decided to try to romantically court you so that you could see in him not only a friend but also a possible object of your romantic sympathy

Every time you were sad, Fizz tried to make you laugh or support you. If you were too sick to laugh, he would hug you, showing you that he was there for you and that he was ready to help you in any way he could, and all you had to do was ask him. He would never refuse to help you. When he stayed at your apartment overnight, he often got up before you to make you breakfast. You woke up to the noise and saw the chaos he caused in your kitchen, but you didn't get angry and sometimes even ate what he cooked when the dish he cooked was at least more or less edible. Fizzarolli smiled contentedly, glad that he was able to please you, and then together you put your kitchen in order, eliminating traces of his cooking as much as possible

You couldn't go out very often, because he was famous. Fizzarolli didn't want your outings to be ruined by persistent fans or mercenaries who decided to kidnap him, so you preferred a quieter pastime. You were always happy to have his company in your apartment. He brought you something you might like. It could be your favorite snacks, self-care products that you could make together if you wanted to, several times he brought you a pair of sweaters that made you smile sincerely and a barely noticeable blush on your cheeks, which became stronger when Fizz put on one of the sweaters after you put on the other. Looking at your reaction, he was genuinely glad that he was able to please you, and your blush caused a similar blush on his cheeks and a flutter in his chest

Fizz became more and more convinced that he had to finally admit to you how he felt about you. He saw how you started to get embarrassed and worried around him, and he wanted to believe that it was because you fell in love with him. He didn't want it to turn out to be just an illusion that his mind had created in an attempt to pass off as wishful thinking. But he could only find out the truth by confessing to you and hearing your answer. He simply had no other way

[jacaeryslover]

FEELINGS: a finnick odair one-shot.

after winning the games, you thought life would be different, and it was. but not how you imagined it would be, life didn't get easier, but it did get more bearable in its own twisted way.

"honey, no one ever wins the games, not really" kaz—your mentor— said to you once, while holding a cup of fine aged wine in his slim but calloused hands, "someone in the capitol will always find a way to make your life harder, get used to it" he coldly said, while lifting the maroon liquid up to his dry lips, soaking them and leaving an almost unnoticeable red tint to them in the process.

remembering was the hardest part—the atrocities you commited and watched, haunted your every breath—reliving them even in your dreams, dreams that turned into haunting nightmares. but you did missed something. not everything was bad, not everyone.

finnick odair, one of the mentors from district 4, the one who gave you advices when you most needed them, the one who held you while you were crying, and the boy who loved you more than anything.

but it wasn't always like that, finnick hated you at first—and you knew that, but the reason? only he knows—a loathing so big that even himself didn't know how to explain.

"look sweetheart, you won. congratulations, now if you excuse me" he said bitterly while stepping forward, wanting to leave. "why do you hate me so much? i didn't do anything to you" you answered, your tone giving away your hurt.

"exactly, and you still won. now go and smile for the citizens of the capitol who love you so much, you don't want them on their bad side"

you thought that maybe—as a mentor—he got close with one of the kids you had to kill in order to win the 67th hunger games, and that was the reason of his hatred. you weren't so sure, and you never asked.

long story short, you grew on him. you were always the one to start conversations with him almost every year, the both of you being mentors made it easy, you had something to talk about. and just like that, one day his loathing became friendship, and that friendship became something much stronger, more real. love.

he didn't know when, or how. but he was grateful that you didn't give up on trying to make him your friend, for he would've missed the way you touched him, the way you looked at him—with so much love, so much passion—that he thought he didn't deserved.

and he wished you knew how much you meant for him, he would do anything in his power to keep you safe, to keep you happy. that's why when the quarter quell came, he hoped your name wouldn't be called. he hoped you could stay in the comfort of your house in district 10, he didn't want you to live this hell for a second time. but he couldn't do anything to stop it if that happened.

and just as he feared, your name was called, and you knew you probably wouldn't survive this, but you were happy you could live your last minutes alongside the man you loved so much, he had better chances than you, so it wasn't hard for you when you decided you would give your life to see finnick as the victor from the quarter quell.

no one knew someone already decided that it was time for a change, a change of power.

[just-a-mer]

The prince brushed the back of his hand over his mouth as the thought dawned on him, pulling it back to reveal a small smudge. He'd have to wash his hands too, it seemed. Luckily, he quite liked the water. Even if this instance would be an unfortunate washing away of a mark that he'd much rather keep as long as it would last.

Though his skin wasn't meant for makeup and may cause more harm than good ... Gods know his mother would be panicked should he end up poisoned by the materials inside such products. Ctimene already risked that once, and while nothing dangerous had come of it, his father made it very clear about the possibilities.

Odysseus scoffed in amusement, his smile remaining. He had one hand on the tree trunk, his feet pressed into the branch below him. It wasn't too far from the ground; worst case scenario, they may get a few scrapes from tumbling into the clearing. Perhaps a scolding, too.

"You better!" He replies with a mock challenge, deciding to take the leap.

Young Siren!Ody rp/open starter! (Set in the past, of course. Little Ody will not know about future events, but the past... feel free to interact as your present self or as a past version too! Have fun!)

Genre: Fluff?

Word Count: 140

Tw Warning: None!

Odysseus’ small claws dug into the wood of his bow, ears lowered in concentration. His legs were dangled over the edge of a fallen tree, bare feet barely brushing the soft grass. The only other sound between the scraping and nature itself was a quiet melody flowing from his lips. While the lyrics were nothing short of a mumble, they still danced along the wind, carried with gentle hands to greet the ears of whoever listened nearby.

He paused for a moment to blow the pieces of clipped wood from the indentations, wiping the remaining dust out with the edge of his cape before returning to his carving: a series of designs that would not mean anything to the common eye. Forget-me-nots, feathers, scales, and a thick thread all woven together to create a partially completed design on the handle.

Tagged: @totally-penelope-and-not-a-siren @thrpr0phetuseek @jump-into-my-op3n-arms @1ceyanonhasarrived @sleepy-4n0n (let me know if you'd like to be removed - you are also not forced to interact /gen)

[mattsfavouritewhore]

Just Go Part 3 - Chris sturniolo

a/n: oh hey pooks!! enjoy this little plot twist of a story

just go part 2 part 4

The morning after their confessions, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was… off. You woke to an empty bed, the cool sheets where Chris had been, and the space beside you felt wider than it ever had before.

You tried not to panic, but the absence of his warmth was a jolt to your system. Last night had been perfect, filled with kisses that seemed to echo long after they’d stopped, confessions that had revealed more than just the depth of your attraction—but also the tenderness neither of you had dared admit. And now, Chris was gone. Not even a note. No trace.

You sat up, your pulse quickening. Did I do something wrong?

But then you saw it: a text from Chris.

Chris: Good morning, I’m sorry, I needed to clear my head. I’ll be back in a little while. Let’s talk then, okay?

Your fingers tightened around the phone. You weren’t sure if it was the coolness of the message, the sudden distance, or the lingering doubt that gnawed at your insides, but you felt an unsettling sensation creep up your spine.

Clear his head?

A million questions raced through your mind, none of them satisfying. And so, you did what you often did when your thoughts spiraled—you poured yourself a cup of coffee, letting the warmth fill your hands as you tried to regain your composure.

You hadn’t expected the vulnerability of last night to be so easily eclipsed by confusion. You had been so… raw. So real. What was he afraid of?

Just as you were starting to tell yourself to relax, to breathe, there was a knock on the door. Your heart leapt in your chest.

You rushed to answer it.

Standing in the doorway, your eyes briefly flickering with recognition before you masked it, was… not Chris.

It was Harper. Your best friend.

Harper stood there, looking a little out of breath, her dark hair slightly askew, her eyes wide with something between curiosity and concern.

“Hey, can I come in?” Harper’s tone was too casual, but her gaze kept darting behind you, as if searching for someone.

“Uh… sure,” you said, stepping aside. Your mind was still racing. “What’s going on? Is something wrong?”

Harper stepped inside, shutting the door behind her. She held something in her hand, a small, folded piece of paper. Your stomach tightened, and a sudden unease crept in.

Harper cleared her throat, glancing down at the paper before holding it out. “I, uh… I think you need to read this.”

You frowned, your heart pounding as you took the paper from Harper’s hand. You unfolded it slowly, your eyes scanning the words that felt like a punch to your gut:

y/n,

I never meant to hurt you, but you deserve the truth. What happened last night—what you think happened with me—wasn't real.

The attraction I felt wasn’t to you. It was to someone else. Someone you know. I didn’t want to lie to you, but I was trying to figure out how to navigate the mess of feelings I have for both of you. I can't keep pretending. I hope you understand why I left so suddenly.

I’ll always care for you. But not in the way you think. Please don’t hate me.

—Chris.

The world tilted.

Your knees buckled, and you sank into the nearest chair, holding the letter as if it might slip from your fingers at any moment. Your chest was tight, the breath caught in your throat. Not in the way you think.

What was this? You looked up at Harper, but your best friend’s face was unreadable.

“Harper, what is this?” you whispered, your voice shaking. “Is this some kind of joke? Because this… this doesn’t make sense. Chris and I… we were…” You trailed off, feeling your heartbeat hammer against your ribs.

Harper didn’t answer right away, her eyes flickering as if she was weighing something heavy on her mind. After a long moment, she took a deep breath.

“Look, I don’t want to hurt you, but I think you need to hear this. Chris… Chris was never supposed to be with you.” Harper’s voice was soft, almost hesitant, but firm in the way she spoke the truth. “He came to me. Confessed everything. The attraction, the feelings he thought he had for you… but they were never really there.”

You blinked, trying to piece it together. “What are you talking about? Are you saying—”

Harper cut you off, her eyes filled with regret. “Look, I’m the one he’s in love with. Not you. It was always me.”

Your world collapsed. The ground beneath your feet felt like it was crumbling, but it wasn’t just your heartbreak you were feeling—it was the betrayal. Chris. And Harper. Your best friend and the man you had fallen for—how had they kept this from you?

Harper stepped forward, her eyes soft but laced with a sadness you had never seen before. "I’m sorry, I never meant for this to happen. But after last night… I couldn’t let him keep lying to you."

You stood up, your voice shaking with a mix of disbelief and hurt. “So you and Chris? All of this was just some twisted game to you both? Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”

Harper flinched but didn’t back down. “No, it wasn’t like that. I care about you. But I couldn’t watch him struggle like this, pretending he wanted something he didn’t.” She hesitated. “He tried to walk away from me. He even tried to convince himself it was you. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t lie anymore.”

Your mind was racing, every word, every memory of Chris replaying in your head—every kiss, every touch, all of it a lie.

But then, just as you were about to scream, to demand answers from both of them, there was a sudden knock at the door. A familiar knock.

Your heart stopped. You didn’t have to look to know who it was.

Chris.

Harper stiffened, her eyes darting toward the door, and for a moment, you were frozen, caught between rage and heartbreak.

This was a betrayal that ran deeper than you could’ve ever imagined. But Chris was standing there now, and somehow, this wasn’t over.

Not yet.

“Hey,” Chris’s voice called from the other side of the door. “I need to explain everything. Please, just let me—”

Before he could finish, you stormed toward the door, wrenching it open with every ounce of fury and heartbreak you could summon. You faced him, your chest rising and falling with the weight of everything you had just learned.

“No,” you said, your voice shaking but resolute. “No more lies. No more pretending.”

Chris’s face fell. But just as you were about to speak again, he took a step closer. “I didn’t mean for this to happen. You have to understand—”

But you stepped back. “I don’t need you to explain anything to me anymore. I need you to leave. And I need to find out who I really am without either of you.”

Chris opened his mouth to say something, but you turned away, slamming the door shut behind you, kicking both of them out.

You stood there for a long moment, breathing deeply, your hands trembling, and your heart shattering.

The love you thought was yours—was never yours to begin with.

And now, you had to figure out what came next.

a/n: oof the tensions hot.. i wonder what happens next, thats IF something happens next.

tag: @riggysworld

[khazadaimenu]

I did a sort of a hc post about Fili and Kili mere hours ago and that kinda opened the flood gates within me.

Cause I literally live some of my internal life in that world and have story lines I wanna share. But don't want to bother with a fic.

So I'm just gonna blather on about it here for a bit. Isn't it what this platform is for? i kinda want to talk about this one thing.

Warning: it's a long post and it has mature themes. As well as very specific hcs that develop into an evolved AU from my head. So read at your discretion.

In short: it's about Fili and love

I mentioned a hc in another post that Fili goes from awkward older teen to fully fledged young adult in the space of one season.

That summer, he spends all his time blacksmithing and building walls with other dwarves in a village suffering from frequent orc raids.

We're talking all day every day. And he gets strong.

Like one of those movie scenes, you know, the ones where a character gets thrown into water and reemerges seemingly years later, all grown up and shit. The one from The Last Kingdom lives forever in my head.

So imagine same but with Fili. He's no longer a scrawny kid, but broad and muscly. Cherry on top? He gets a peltful of chest hair. All in one go. Like, there was none to begin with and now it's all just fur.

Imagine him emerging from a swim in a lake after a long hard day of labour. Beads of water glistening, the last rays of the setting sun reflecting on his skin. And it becomes a habit as of late August that year. The change in his physique very apparent by now.

Naturally, all the lads and lasses in the vicinity are enamoured. Giggling. Whispering. And surreptitiously pointing.

Which Fili doesn't mind. In fact, he welcomes it. It's a sort of respite from all the princely duties. He wants to be young and live a little.

Here I have to clarify that personally (I know there's tons of variation here, so no hate, this is just my slutty corner of the universe) I hc Fili as pansexual. He's happy to love and share joy.

I think there's a particular type of pressure that only Fili feels and Kili doesn't. Where he knows he's loved, but Kili is the baby and Fili's the heir. And that's reflected in his relationship with his mother, with Thorin, with everyone. So he needs somewhere to just... be carefree. And that's either hanging out with Kili or... looking for adventure. And he's good at it so it gives him a confidence boost.

And no hearts broken. Cause dwarves only do this kinda stuff before they find their One. Or some dwarves aren't inclined romantically, but still go for it physically. And then there's the ace dwarves who choose their craft only. Either way, infidelity doesn't exist in dwarven culture. You either love someone and forget everyone else exists. Or you know you'll never have a One. Or you're not interested completely.

Fili is actually not sure about love. He's not sure it exists for him. He has long chats with Nori about it, who is 100% sure about his own standing: here just to f*k. But Fili's not so sure.

And when he miraculously gets saved before getting killed by Azog (I'm getting into my OC and AU here, so bear with me) he becomes even more convinced. Cause if he wasn't meant to live, why would Mahal make a One for him in the first place?

So when he falls in love with his human saviour, it all kinda gets too much.

1) The responsibility to his people. To uphold the culture.

2) Is he even capable of love?

3) Kili's in love with an elf. Everyone wants a happy ending for him. But dwarves as a group still hold quite a bit of prejudice. An elf in the royal bloodline? Not so fast!

So Fili has to take the fall. Kili will be alllowed to marry if he and any future heirs forsake their claim to the throne AND Fili provides said heirs as staunch 100% dwarves.

Fili tries to object - he doesn't think he can find a One (while internally wrestling with his existing feelings, denying them, burying them and gaslighting himself into oblivion). But then Dis digs up an old law about those in royal lineages marrying without love just to produce heirs (based on some earlier Tolkien drafts where only the dwarven kings married and nobody else among dwarves). And now Fili is well and truly f*ked stuck between a rock and a hard place.

He can't imagine his life without Kili, so the option where Kili is exiled hurts like hell.

In the meantime, his human leaves. They have their own duty to fulfill. That triggers the revelation in him that they are in fact his One.

Which means, by getting into arranged marriage he will forsake one of the most sacred laws of dwarves - he will betray his One.

The thought is unbearable. He considers briefly ending it all. Not a serious thought, just something that comes out of sheer exhaustion.

Kili remains unaware. Fili can't do this to his brother - he is giddy and talking excitedly about his own future happiness once Fili's wedding goes ahead.

Being an heir sucks sometimes. Sucks majorly.

Fili decides to go ahead with a union Dis chose for him. All the while keeping his feelings hidden from everyone.

He doesn't believe he'll ever see his person of choice ever again. And they're not a dwarf. So is it really a betrayal?..

I'll share what comes next in another post, hopefully. If I have a spurt of inspiration.

[gnckholin]

okay I need to preface this with yes I like having representation and anyone who's been around my blog long enough should know that renarin is my specialest little guy him and him and rlain are very cute and if y'all really need it this is coming from the perspective of a queer man if you turn this into a pissing on the poor type deal I will simply block you but. now that I've had time to stew on it.

the rlainarin arc was a bit boring.

part of this is I think rooted in Brandon trying to be a Good Ally™ doing Good Representation™ and he worked a lot with sensitivity readers to make sure things are handled well but it just felt a bit... tokenizing? like they were in the spiritual realm as a bit of plot convenience but also it kinda felt like an excuse to keep them relevant enough to give them pov chapters. and it's cute! don't get me wrong! but also every other characters get emotional arcs about growing as a person and they got...trying to ask your crush out? it felt very out of place.

now you might be saying hold on! they're not primarily pov characters you can't expect as much nuance emotionally as someone like kaladin. and you're right! but let's look at the other supporting cast members here. jasnah gets the struggle of power and her entire attempt to keep thaylenah which results in a meaningful paradigm shift for her! navani gets to work on her connection with the sibling and uncover the past. we don't even really see much of relationship between renarin and glys much less rlain and tumi. sure they may have been good representation! but they were mediocre arcs. even in the discussions I'm seeing lately of favorite parts, it's not that people have disliked it it's just...nothing to write home about?

it also feels particularly weird to have an arc around "my family will think it's weird" when it's been pretty well established that alethi in general are like. fine with queerness. and sure you can say "well they're nobles" but at this point renarin is in line for 0 titles. dalinar was only going to give king of urithiru to someone who wanted it, jasnah planned on being the last queen of alethkar, there's literally no point? it feels a little love Simon. and yes absolutely in modern western culture people can feel weird about coming out to people who would be accepting and that's fine! but that's also rooted in real world homophobia which alethkar doesn't seem to have.

even when we compare with the other canonically queer stormlight character, it just kinda. . .falls flat. part of this is that shallan wasn't intended to be queer but honestly it feels like it reads well. she doesn't have to turn to camera and say she's different she's bisexual she can just be a person. she can fall in love with adolin she can get flustered around jasnah veil can call women hot and it's like. fine. and it feels more authentic to the setting! a lot of the rlainarin arc in WAT felt like it was meant to be educational. for cishet people. and like that's fine! but it doesn't make for an engaging character arc. I can't even say it really makes for good reading.

and look, I get it, we all like seeing them get flustered and worry about what the other one thinks and we all get to be excited when they confess their feelings and kiss but it just feels so tonally dissonant that like. I can't believe this was intended to fit into the main plot. it feels a bit patronizing - like look we have good healthy representation now! I'm doing so good at this! and genuinely from the bottom of my heart it's thrilling that the largest name in fantasy is willing to do this even more so considering the religious background he's writing from I'm not writing all this to say Brandon is a bad guy or secretly a homophobe I'm just saying. I wish we had more, y'know? something less feel good for the cishets for being good allies something with more of a real plot that engages with the themes of the series and whatnot. I'm looking forward to arc 2 (in like 10-15 years)! I'm looking forward to more rlain and renarin and their dynamic! I just hope it feels less. educational.

anyway a lot of this was directly inspired by verilybitchie's video on good representation it really helped me out my finger on why their arc felt a bit flat so please go check it out she's a great creator.

[beetlesau]

Its Light Still Shines

Chapter 2 - 1.2k

(Chapter 1 here)

haters will say Shadow wasn't even in this chapter. sorry

The grass beneath me is soft. I've never felt anything like it in all my memories. I smell the earth, fresh and beautiful.

I don't know where I teleported away to.

An old abandoned cabin sits before me, and a running stream-turned-river sits not far from it. I can hear its flowing water and the small fish that splash its surface now and then. Morning is breaking just over the horizon, and pink and orange paint the sky as I approach the worn building.

"Hello?" I call out, but no one has been here in a long, long time.

I knocked on the door before opening it in case someone or something was waiting inside. I didn't expect how sturdy and tough the door would be. The outside looked like old wooden logs but resonated like a metal crate. When my knuckles made contact, a small, pin-sized light met my gaze and scanned my retina.

"Welcome, Experiment L2S-03xx. to SafeZone 12." A static voice chimed in the door, which swung open automatically. Dust and dirt accumulated around the crevasses, which were knocked loose and found their way to my throat. I coughed, covering my face, and tried to disperse the debris with my free hand.

I entered, and to my surprise, I found it looked like a cozy cabin you'd book for a vacation. It was an open floor concept, with a bed on the far left wall, a bathroom ahead of me, a kitchen, and a small dinette to the right. The decor was simple and a bit antique. A frilly duvet on the bed caught my gaze. I rolled my eyes when I realized I could even recognize such small details about something I'd never seen in my real life before—sudden thoughts of watching interior decorating on TV flashed in my mind's eye.

I groaned. I had other problems besides the clashing curtains in the dinette not matching the plates stacked on the shelves above the sink. Namely what the AI system called me.

"L2S? What? What was it you called me?" I asked aloud.

"That is your experiment identification code," it stated as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

"Where am I?"

"This is isolated SafeZone 12 erected by Professor Robotnik, Gerald."

"When was this last time he was here?"

"57 years, 8 months, 21 days. Would you like the question answered to the nearest second?"

"No! No, thank you. Do I have a name?"

"You were not assigned a name, only your experiment identification code."

"What is Shadows experiment code or whatever, then?"

"S2L-02xy - or Project Shadow."

I removed my jacket, shuffled over to the bed, and plopped onto the surprisingly soft mattress, caressing little angels into the plush comforter. "Bummer. How come he got a name, and I didn't?" I was speaking to myself now, but the system took it upon itself to answer anyway.  

"Records indicate you were an preliminary project that was not completed under the supervision of the Professor."

"Yeah, yeah. So what is my purpose?"

"Error. Purpose Obsolete."

"Ouch okay, what was my purpose?"

"You are a culmination of the residuals left over from Project Shadow, chaos emeralds, and the restructured DNA of the deceased Maria Robotnik. Your purpose was to serve as replacement parts for an incurable disease within Maria Robotnik. However, key parts of the experiment did not occur due to the ARK's destruction. Your consciousness was triggered and stages of your development were altered by the government organization known as GUN."

"You're kidding me."

"I do not understand; please rephrase."

I wept quietly to myself.

I was never meant to awaken. My purpose was never as divided from Maria as Shadow. If GUN hadn't intervened, there would be no me.

But then Maria may still be alive otherwise.

Did I even deserve to be alive instead?

I pulled one of the pillows close and buried my face into it.

All these memories of her kindness. Her beauty. I have them because she died.

It's too much for me.

I screw my eyes shut, hoping I can lock my tears away, but I can't. They come and soak through everything. The pounding in my head kicks up again. Before long, I cried myself to sleep at the thought of her and all she was. All that I can only hope to be for myself.

Being in stasis and actually sleeping are worlds apart. When I wake, my mind settles, and I better regulate my emotions. It's once again dark outside, and in the night, I see a flashing light coming from the dinette table. I pull myself up, groggy, and shuffle over to check it out.

"What is this?" I ask the system.

"There is an electronic pulse similar to that of the Professor's work in a quadrant of Japan that has recently appeared. Would you like to take a look?"

"Show me." Anything to do with the Professor now could only mean something involving Shadow.

The system flashes, and a small hologram feed floats just at eye level. It shows security footage of a pier in Japan, likely hacked into by Robotniks tech, which is still advanced all these years later. My skin prickles as I watch an immense mechanical crab surface from the water.

I've seen this before, but Shadow isn't there. Not yet. He's going to find the Professor, not the Doctor.

"Can you keep tabs on that crab from here?"

"I can mark it as an object of interest, of course. Would you like to be notified when it relocates?"

"Oh. Uh, I don't plan on staying here much longer, I'm leaving once I figure out where Shadow is."

"I have an electronic bracer in the refrigerator that can be used as a notification hub when you're away from SafeZone 12."

"The refrigerator?"

"It is the red box behind you and to your left, it typically holds items to keep them cool and fresher for longer than if they were left out at room tem--"

Okay! Thank you, that's not really what I meant when I-- you know what? Nevermind. Thank you. I'll be sure to grab that before I go."

"You are welcome, L2S-03xx."

"Could you call me something else?" I grumbled.

"I can reassign your name, yes. What would you prefer?"

I took a moment to think it over. I wasn't stuck to one thing. I could change my name as much as I wanted; it wasn't like I had one. And I wasn't really Maria; keeping hers didn't feel right. Though I could, as an homage. I didn't think this would be that hard, but a name might be a big deal.

"I don't actually know... I guess I should just shorten my experiment name for now. Call me L. I'm sure I can come up with something better later. Maybe." If I couldn't stop Shadow from what was to come, it wouldn't matter if I'd had a name.

I felt drained all over again. Although I've been alone all this time, I was never lonely—not when they occupied my mind. But now I felt the weight of things.

I'd never had Shadow. I was nothing to him, but I would fight for him.

I couldn't be his Maria; I must be something else. I would reach him.

"Its Light still shines."