#one that’s for more agility and planning from the back

[couch-potato28]

Imagine being a Blue Lock manager! ⚽️

VERSION XIII.

(a/n: g-g-goatmaru 🐐 okay i know he’s the gk so his jersey is supposed to be number 1 but i already messed them up since the first ep so no going back now. sorry and luv ❤️)

Warning-none

wc: 0,9k

also: @ttheggrimrreaper @irethepotato @ohagiyo 🔥

——————

FROM THE PROLOGUE:

"Congratulations L/N Y/N! Based on your results, you've earned your place in Blue Lock as the manager of player number...

...99, Gagamaru Gin.”

After confirming your player, you left the room, and headed to collect your stuff from Anri. On the way to the field, you skimmed through your schedule along with his profile sheet, pausing every two seconds at each data. He seemed like a promising player with some oddly fascinating habits, almost like a mystery waiting to be unraveled, making you eager to meet him.

Imagine being Gagamaru Gin’s manager.

——————

Gagamaru Gin who you barely even register during the ongoing match you just walked into before he’s already diving mid-air to kick the ball, leaving a very strong first impression by performing a Scorpion kick if you recall from your studies right.

Did you just witness that in real life? Who is this man and why is he defying gravity so easily? Intrigued, you went closer to the barrier, observing him for the rest of the game.

The sound of the whistle was soon heard, meaning the end of the match. Turning around, you locked eyes, giving him a wave as he slowly approached you.

“Manager?” he assumed from yesterday’s information given by Ego.

“Yes, nice to meet you! I was shocked by your play on the field. That kick was amazing—“ you started, a bit caught up by the whole game as he patiently waited for you to finish.

“Thank you. Uh, what’s your name again?”

——————

•Gagamaru who doesn’t say a word but instead lets his black eyes do the talking during the first week. He’s a giant compared to you, making you feel just a tad bit intimidated by his height, but no worries. He’s actually fun to be around, even getting to the point of joking about his teammates.

•He turns out to be one of the easiest guys to work with, the literal embodiment of a chill guy. He’s usually ready on time, and doesn’t whine during training meaning getting actual work done, making you happily tick off all the schedules planned for the day.

•He’s not a picky eater either, so you don’t even need to worry about him not following his diet.

•You also get to learn how he doesn’t like packaged food at all during that one time when he straight up rejected the snacks you secretly offered him, saying he would much rather have a bowl of fruit than those artificially flavored chips. (makes you want to eat healthier)

•Some strange facts about him include eating with his hands or that his handmade hairtie is made of ivy. No judging tho, you let him do his things although you do offer him utensils. Gives you a personalized ivy bracelet for your birthday.

•Gagamaru who lets you drag him around like a teddy bear, and does what you say without a doubt. You earn his trust quite fast, making him listen to your advice during warm-ups and plays. Between stretches, he’ll tell you some of his crazy adventures.

•“Wait, so did a bear do that to your ear?”

•You swear your heart did something funny when he went from being a striker to a goalkeeper without a complaint. You would have put up a fight with Ego but seeing him enjoy his new position made you relieved, supporting him wholeheartedly.

•He strongly believes that you two will make it through the program together as you hype him up by telling him that with a talent like that, it’s practically guaranteed that he’s gonna have a spot on the team.

——————

AFTER THE U20 MATCH…

•Gagamaru who’s honestly quite the same as before just more focused with sharper instincts and overall improved skills. After the match, his stats got even better than before with quicker reflexes and stronger agility including an inhuman reaction time.

•Sometimes you forget just how strong your player is—easily lifting you up, or helping carry triple the amount of training balls.

•Still, some things never change—his bluntness, nature-loving self unintentionally causes quite a shake in Japan, gaining fans all over the world.

•Pictures and memes of him go viral, like the word goatmaru, or how soulless his eyes are, making some fans wonder if he even blinks. You always explain them to him and loudly laugh at them during the night when you two are supposed to be analyzing his performance.

•You grow closer to Gagamaru over time. From keeping a bit of distance to now you shamelessly making him carry you on his back while you explain your observations, clipboard in hand.

•Or when he lets you brush out his two-toned hair in the morning, making you jealous every time at how soft it is as you listen to him talk about what his teammates have been up to.

•You’re glad that he’s become a bit more human like due to your interactions, easily forming bonds with the new team he’s in. Yet one of his funny habits till to this day remains the same—you catching him sleep, or read mangas inside the goal post, comfortably resting his head inside the net.

•It’s well known how Gagamaru loves animals and nature overall, but one of the most amazing things he does with the fame he got? Mentioning animal cruelty in interviews, and being an activist on national TV. Thanks to him, people began giving more attention to these problems, making you tear up anytime he’s doing an interview.

•His alien-like nature always shows, especially when you’re teaching him cute poses for meeting fans, or when he completely misses your subtle flirting, just staring at you with wide eyes like a confused cub.

[tothesolarium]

The rule of cool and trying to make a mech design somewhat practical having a fistfight in my skull as I design Labyrinth Breaker v.2

[kaivenom]

Hii, can you do op dilfs with a blind reader if ur not busy? Feel free to reject

OP Dilfs with a blind!reader

Characters: Doflamingo, Mihawk, Crocodile, Smoker, Shanks

Warnings: one mention to Doflamingo's pennies.

A/N: i believe that a blind reader that gets to meet these men, would surely have some type of haki like Fujitora.

Masterlist

Dracule Mihawk

He says he doesn't care about you being blind.

But you hear how he closes gabinets with his legs before you even get there. You plan on closing it, but he goes faster.

Sometimes you feel a little like a baby that has everything done but he always denies it.

"I heard you, i even felt your knee."

"It was the wind."

Once he saw you in battle or a dangerous situation, he starts trying to be less overprotective.

He still does some things for you, but he warns you or at least admites doing them and kisses you after.

That is the sweetest thing someone has ever done to you, and that's one of the things why you love Mihawk.

Donquixote Doflamingo

He takes it as the best joke ever.

He can do things on you pressence and you don't see it? the best for him.

Trying to kill someone one, making you go thru bloody halls or slipery corridors.

But you let it be cause you can take care of yourself.

And still, there are situations and situations, some more surreal than others, like making you touch weird things and a particular one:

"Put your d*ck back on your jeans."

"How...

"I heard the zipper, idiot."

Dating him is like the biggest sensory experiment/stimulation ever.

Sr. Crocodile

Wants to know everything about the subject.

Once he decides that wants to be with you for a long time, he also got the goal of knowing everything he could to make your life easier or better.

Asking you what type of blindness, notifying you about the newest treatments (even though you don't want them), instaling sound systems or ordering especial braille labels so you can tags things.

He is somehow the most supportive men you could have ever dreamed about in this subject, in his own dramatic way.

"Why did you buy this tags for the cereals?"

"Cause that way you could differentiate them."

"I do that by the shape of the package, how do you think i buy them from the store." he coughs in surprise, he didn't thought about that.

"I don't know, i just wanted to make it easier... "

You laugh and hug him, sometimes he buys useless things, you don't need everything that comes out for blind people but he tries every time.

Smoker

He is surprised about your skills.

Until now, the only blind person he knows is Fujitora and he is really powerfull.

So, seeing that you are as amazing and noble as Fujitora made him take an interest on you.

The real funny thing about dating him is that you always predict him on battle and anticipate his orders... and he has a heart attack, every single time.

He tends to overprotect you some times but then you kick him on the knee with you cane and he has to shut his mouth about

"You don't know how to protect yourself"

At the end, is really funny to date him while being blind.

Akagami Shanks

He didn't notice it at first.

Sounds impossible but is Shanks who we are talking about.

The first times you both met, you seem so agile and prepare that he didn't thought about it.

He discovered it when he asked you out to take dinner, when you asked him to read you the menu.

"But you have one too."

"But i can't read it, i am fucking blind."

He even has the nerve to pretend hitting you just to see if you flinch, which you didn't, obviously.

He felt really bad about not noticing it first and tried to be more attentive.

In fact, the best thing about dating Shanks is the attention he gives you, everytime.

[urno1luv]

squid game (s1) aespa x reader🫣?? ningning is the only sane member + gets a happy ending tho😭

(as for the asks, don't worry!! i saw them all and i'm working on posting them!!)

tags: saebyeok's murder mentioned (😔), yandere behaviour, drugging, noncon, sadism, suicide mentioned once (reader), audiz are written together

🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪

KARINA and GISELLE, the VIPs

- flew over with giselle from japan just to watch this event, her perversion evident on her sharp features. she's definitely gonna have the time of her life

- her bets were placed on player 101, seeing how he was one of the most brutal players in the games, but giselle advised her to chose number 067 instead, citing her agility and her supposedly "callous" behaviour as a force to be reckoned with. aeri, after all, is one to listen to🙂‍↕️

- however, when both players have died and the only ones left are 456, 218, and you, 457, karina becomes pretty annoyed with giselle's guesses. "yah, uchinaga. we lost a million already, so choose a better player, don't make me lose more."

- luckily for rina, giselle already had her eyes on the cutest thing ever!!! your beautiful doe eyes glistening and filled with fear from player 218's sudden killing of your friend saebyeok. "hmm.... how about you bet on 456 and I bet on 457?" aeri suggests, smirking. "i feel like they might team up against 218, and the other VIPs are betting on him to win. let's divide our chances?" through a lot of coaxing, jimin agrees, her eyes following your every move.

- giselle and karina are pleasantly shocked once you suddenly use that brain of yours and successfully kill player 456 while he's occupied with the other player. with tears in your eyes, your knife enters his throat, giving him a quick death. though you cared about him very much, you couldn't afford to go against him in the next game when you were the finalists. rina tuts once you kill her pick, but it doesn't matter, bc the other VIPs now owe the girls their money since you won!!

- the guards escort you out of the arena, your legs weak with fatigue and guilt. aeri, however, has other plans for you ♡ "unnie, why don't we have some fun before we leave? think of it as a final parting gift!" jimin scoffs, but after thinking about it, why not?

- after being knocked out by gas during the ride in the lift, you wake up rather painfully, two slender but long fingers rammed into your cunt, pounding deep. you can't move your head to see who it is, but you feel woman's chest pressed against your back, her hot tongue on your neck, lips acting like a suction. your fingers twitch weakly, whimpering softly. your brain is too fried to realise that there's another woman sat beside you, smoking a cigarette, her deep voice ringing in your ears. "aeri, you made a good decision. she'll be pretty fun to play with," and she ended with small chuckle, hand snaking around your thigh. seems like you won't rest well tonight...

WINTER, the frontman

- she's by far the most evil, depraved, person out of all. her love for violence stems from an incident that happened when she was younger, in which her father got murdered before her eyes, and that changed her. it seemed as if her prayers were answered, bc he was not a good person to her at all. from then on, she grew up to believe violence was the answer, and violence was needed in order to get what she wanted

- she first saw you while watching players get their id photos taken, and your anxious and hesitant manner got her attention. what is this feeling she's experiencing right now...?

- her eyes gravitate towards you, even in a crowded room. minjeong feels a strange sense of protectiveness over you as you find a bed to sleep on, away from the others. her eyes gloss over with want as she obsessively watches you sleeping, chest rising up and down in your deep slumber. you must've cursed her because she stood in the security room all night, rooted to her spot. she's come to a conclusion, she has to have you.

- during the game where you had to take the marbles away from another player, using no force, you find yourself feeling sorry for the old man you were playing against. i mean, you only joined these games as a final resort, so if you die, it's what you would have wanted anyway. winter, on the other hand, was NOT going to let that happen.

- she orders the guard to not kill you, but after the game finished, bring you to her instead. her heart is pounding quickly, and her breathing has quickened. she would finally get what she wanted. a taste of you, your touch, your beautiful voice and your compassion for others, minjeong was ecstatic that she would have it ALL to herself..

NINGNING, □

- the detective who snuck in when she found out that her sister went missing. she killed a guard and took his clothing so she can investigate the place

- her plans quickly go to waste when she sees you while watching the cameras, your purity shining bright amongst the other players. she finds out that you came here to find the money to pay for your brother's university and for the massive debt you had, and ning makes it her mission to protect you <3

- quickly becomes hooked onto you, cooing as she sees you cowering from the guards whose guns point to your heads as you try to carve the designated shapes in the honeycomb cookies. she totally forgot her original mission, now she's here just for you

- once the night comes, she watches, in pain, as you scream and run from the mob who tries to kill as many players as they could, her fist shaking, fingernails drawing blood from her palm. she wishes she could help, but has to wait for orders from the head

- she decides that it's time for her to leave, but not without you. when the right time comes, she slips you a note, saying that she could help you escape, with the money, if you wanted. the two of you make a quick plan during your trips to the toilet, and you can't help but feel an immense gratitude for ningning. whatever would you do without her?

- once ning murders all the VIPs in cold blood, disgusting etched into her soft features, she quickly secures a suitcase containing millions of won. though it might not be the billions that were promised, it's better than nothing. she throws in some expensive items that the VIPs owned, and knocks twice on the room where the players stayed. successful in your joint mission, you both go through a secret pathway, and hop onto a boat that harboured nearby.

- fast forward to 2 years from now, ningning has won your love as well. after escaping to jeju island, she was surprised to see that you seemed to reciprocate her feelings, your plump lips landing on hers. not only has she secured a generation of money, but she also earned your affections <33

in case anyone wants the pictures, here they are!!!

ning is so baby here.. she cannot look intimidating for the life of her

[xichilie]

UR PHIANON PURDICAMENT WRITING WAS SOOSOSO CUTE 🥰🥰🥰

Would you mayhaps consider making a version where mydei somehow gets turned into one too 🙏😇

NO PRESSURE, LOVE THE FOOD ANYWAYS!!!!!!!

Mydei x (fem) reader

Mydei’s Feline Misfortune

The streets of Amphoreus were alive with movement, a labyrinth of twisting alleys and flickering lanterns casting long shadows against ancient stone walls. The scent of sizzling meats and fresh bread mixed with the salty sea breeze, creating a deceptive sense of peace.

But Mydei had no time for distractions.

His eyes were locked onto a faint purple glow bobbing and weaving through the marketplace—a tiny, mischievous sprite with an all-too-familiar smirk.

Bartholos.

The Spirit Thief.

A thorn in his side.

It had been a simple task—secure an artifact, return it to its rightful owner. But of course, Bartholos had other plans.

The little trickster had snatched it right out of his hands.

And Mydei was not letting it get away.

He darted through the crowd, dodging startled merchants and vaulting over crates, his movements swift and precise. Bartholos giggled—an eerie, echoing sound that sent a shiver down his spine—as it twirled mid-air, effortlessly keeping ahead of him.

“Come back here, you wretched little—”

Bartholos whirled around mid-flight, its glowing eyes gleaming with mischief.

“Oh, you’re no fun, Mydeimos!” it cooed. “Why don’t we make this more interesting?”

And before Mydei could react—

A flash of purple light engulfed him.

The world tilted. His vision blurred, his body felt strange—

Then, just as suddenly as it happened, the light vanished.

And something was very, very wrong.

The first thing he noticed was how low to the ground he was. The second was the unsettling sensation of fur.

His limbs felt—shorter. His ears twitched. His tail—TAIL?!

Bartholos floated overhead, cackling.

“Oh, now this is delightful! You’re adorable, Mydeimos!”

Mydei hissed.

HE H I S S E D.

His pupils narrowed into thin slits as his ears flattened against his head, golden eyes burning with fury. He tried to lunge at Bartholos, but instead of his usual, imposing form—

A tiny, furious cat leaped at the spirit.

Bartholos dodged effortlessly, giggling all the while. “Now, now! You should be thanking me. You’re much more agile like this!”

Mydei landed awkwardly, his tiny paws slipping slightly on the stone street. He shook himself in absolute outrage.

This could not be happening.

He was Mydeimos.

Prince of Kremnos.

A Chrysos heir.

Not—A CAT.

He was going to kill Bartholos.

As soon as he figured out how to walk properly.

The Spirit Thief cackled, twirling midair just out of reach.

“Oh, Mydeimos, I must say—” Bartholos snickered. “You make a very dashing little feline!”

Mydei’s golden fur bristled as he tried to puff himself up, his tail lashing behind him.

He was going to rip this damn spirit apart.

If only he could—

MOVE PROPERLY.

He lunged. Or at least, he tried to.

What should have been a powerful, warrior’s leap turned into a clumsy pounce, his paws slipping against the stone street. He went skidding forward, his tiny body tumbling in an embarrassing roll before coming to a stop on his back.

The worst part?

Bartholos was wheezing.

The spirit’s entire form flickered wildly, as if it could barely hold itself together from laughter.

“Oh, this is great! I didn’t even have to do anything!”

Mydei growled, flipping himself over and crouching low, ears flattened in pure feline rage.

This body was infuriating.

He tried again, paws scrabbling against the pavement, but every time he attempted a proper sprint, his movements felt awkward, wobbly— his instincts told him to move differently, but his warrior’s mind refused to accept it.

Bartholos, delighted beyond words, twirled in the air once more.

“I’d love to stay and watch you humiliate yourself further, but alas, I have places to be!”

Mydei swiped at him with his tiny claws, but the spirit only giggled, dodging effortlessly.

“Good luck, little prince! Try not to get stepped on!”

And with that, the spirit vanished in a flicker of purple light, leaving only the faint echo of laughter behind.

Mydei stood there, fur bristling, completely and utterly livid.

He had just been turned into a helpless little housecat.

He took a slow breath, his ears twitching in irritation.

Fine.

He’d deal with Bartholos later.

Right now, he needed to find a way to fix this mess.

With that goal in mind, Mydei stalked off, determined—despite his ridiculous new body

Mydei stalked forward—or at least, he tried to.

His tail lashed, his ears twitched in irritation, and every step felt wrong.

Walking on four legs was infuriating. His balance was all over the place, and his once-powerful strides were now tiny, careful steps. A part of him knew he should just embrace the feline instincts taking over his body, but his mind—his warrior’s mind—rejected it outright.

He was Mydeimos. A warrior. A Chrysos heir. Not some delicate little house pet.

And yet—

His paws padded silently against the stone streets of Okhema as he forced himself forward, keeping to the shadows. The last thing he needed was someone spotting him like this.

(If Phainon saw him, he would never live it down.)

He made it halfway down an alley before something caught his attention.

A flicker of movement.

A large metal bucket teetered on the edge of a wooden cart. Someone must’ve left it poorly balanced, because with the slightest gust of wind—

CRASH!

The sound shattered the silence, and Mydei jumped.

Not just a normal startle—no, his entire body reacted instinctively.

His fur puffed up so violently that he looked twice his size. His back arched, claws unsheathed, tail bristled like a bottlebrush—

And worst of all?

He let out a sharp, startled meow.

Silence followed.

Mydei blinked, realization sinking in.

His ears flattened in sheer mortification.

He took a slow breath, forcing his fur to settle.

No one saw that.

He was fine.

With renewed determination (and a bruised ego), Mydei pushed forward.

Navigating the streets of Okhema as a cat was proving to be a nightmare.

Mydei was used to towering over people, not weaving between their legs. Every step was a new hazard—from careless boots nearly crushing his tail to merchants swinging baskets dangerously close to his head.

Still, he pressed on.

But just as he was rounding a corner, the sound of rushing water reached his sensitive ears.

That’s when he saw it.

A small stone bridge overlooked one of Okhema’s canals, where the river ran through the city. A group of children leaned over the edge, giggling and pointing at something.

Mydei paid them no mind. He had bigger concerns.

Until—

Something smacked into his side.

It was a blur—a running child who didn’t see him. Too late for Mydei to react.

His paws slipped on the slick stones.

And then—

SPLASH.

Cold.

The world went silent.

For a moment, he just sank. The weight of his fur dragged him down as water rushed around him, stealing his breath. His limbs flailed, but everything was wrong—he couldn't move the way he used to, couldn't rely on his usual strength—

He was drowning.

That’s when a pair of hands plunged into the water.

He felt warm fingers wrap around him, lifting him out of the river and into the open air.

Coughing. Sputtering. Shivering.

A soft voice, warm and soothing, broke through the haze.

“Oh, you poor thing…”

Y/N.

She held him close, cradling him against her chest. Water dripped from his fur, soaking into her clothes, but she didn’t seem to mind.

Mydei, however, was mortified.

A low, miserable grumble escaped him as he shivered violently, his soaked fur clinging to his body.

Y/N chuckled, pressing a gentle hand to his tiny head. “Aww, you must be freezing.”

He bristled. Freezing and humiliated.

Before he could wriggle away, she wrapped him up in her cloak, cocooning him in warmth. The sudden contrast of cold water and her body heat made him still for a moment.

He felt… safe.

“I’ll take care of you,” Y/N murmured softly, rubbing his back to warm him up.

Mydei hated how much he melted into it.

(He was still going to kill that spirit thief when he got his hands on it.)

Y/N carried the drenched cat into her home, her brows furrowed in concern as she carefully shut the door behind her. The poor thing was shivering, and she could feel the slight tremble in its tiny body.

"You're a mess," she murmured, cradling him against her chest as she walked toward the fireplace. "How did you even end up like this?"

Mydei, absolutely humiliated, flattened his ears. He did not want to be handled like some fragile little creature, but at the same time, her warmth was… nice. His soaked fur made everything colder than it should be, and despite himself, he leaned just a little into her hold.

Y/N gently placed him onto a pile of soft blankets near the fire and disappeared for a moment. Mydei let out a long sigh, flicking his tail in frustration. He had been minding his own business, doing his duty as a warrior, and then—that damned spirit thief. He had chased it, and now he was this. Small. Powerless. And worst of all, adorable.

He scowled at the thought.

Just as he thought this wouldn't get any worse

Phainon stepped into the room, shaking off the cold air from outside. "Y/N, I was looking for—"

His words trailed off as his gaze landed on the soaked, grumpy-looking cat curled up in the blankets near the fire.

Silence.

A slow, amused grin spread across his face.

Y/N, who had been rummaging through her cupboards, glanced up. "Oh? Do you know him?"

Phainon barely held back his laughter, crossing his arms as he studied the furious-looking feline. "Oh, I definitely do."

Mydei bristled, his fur fluffing up in absolute rage. His tail lashed behind him, ears pinned back, warning Phainon to keep his mouth shut.

Phainon, of course, did not.

"So, Mydei," Phainon said casually, crouching down beside him. "Rough day?"

Mydei hissed at him, actually hissed, which only made Phainon laugh outright.

"Oh, this is good," Phainon murmured, eyes twinkling with amusement. "I mean, really. Of all things, you got turned into this?"

Mydei growled lowly, narrowing his golden eyes.

Phainon leaned in slightly, grinning. "You know, I always thought you'd make a great house pet. Fierce, protective, a little high-maintenance—"

Swipe.

Mydei's paw shot out, barely missing Phainon's face.

Phainon dodged, still grinning like this was the best day of his life.

Y/N, completely unaware, turned back to them with a towel.

She paused, noticing Phainon snickering and Mydei looking one second away from launching himself at him.

"...Did I miss something?" she asked, blinking.

Phainon very deliberately straightened up, dusting off his coat. "Nope. Nothing at all."

Mydei shot him the deadliest glare a cat had ever given a person.

Oh, he was going to pay for this.

Y/N knelt beside the bundle of damp fur, her brows furrowing in concern. “You poor thing,” she murmured, reaching out to gently scratch behind Mydei’s ears.

Mydei froze.

Phainon, meanwhile, did not. He leaned against the doorframe, grinning like he had just won a bet.

Y/N, oblivious to the tension between them, continued her gentle ministrations. “I’ll get you dried off, don’t worry.” She reached for a soft towel, wrapping Mydei in it and rubbing his fur carefully.

Mydei desperately tried to ignore how warm and soft her hands were. This was humiliating. Not the being-a-cat part—this. The gentle cooing, the soft petting, the fact that Phainon was watching all of this unfold like it was the most entertaining thing he'd ever seen.

“I think he likes you,” Phainon said, biting back a laugh as Mydei tensed.

Y/N smiled. “He’s just cold and tired.” She looked down at Mydei with nothing but kindness. “Aren’t you, little guy?”

Little guy— Mydei physically twitched.

Phainon straight-up wheezed.

Mydei’s tail whipped violently under the towel, and Phainon had to step back to avoid getting smacked.

“Oh, he’s got spirit,” Phainon said, clearly enjoying himself. “I like him.”

Y/N placed Mydei on her lap, carefully inspecting his damp fur. “Poor thing. You must be starving.”

Phainon snorted.

Oh, this was too good.

Y/N scratched under Mydei’s chin. “I’ll get you something warm, okay?”

Phainon stared at Mydei’s face, watching as the Kremnoan prince battled between sheer frustration and some deeply buried appreciation for the attention.

Phainon leaned down, smirking. “Enjoying yourself, Mydei?” he whispered low enough for only him to hear.

Mydei hissed.

Phainon dodged another furious swipe, laughing the entire time.

Y/N hummed softly in the background, focused as she stirred a small pot over the stove, filling the home with the warm scent of honeyed herbs and vegetables. The little golden cat sat quietly on the windowsill, his tail flicking with building frustration as Phainon stood near the table, leaning casually against it, arms crossed and lips curled into a smug grin.

“Well, well, who would've thought,” Phainon drawled. “The great Mydeimos—brought down by a prankster spirit and turned into... this.” He gestured dramatically toward the feline, who narrowed his golden eyes in warning.

Mydei’s ears flattened.

“Honestly,” Phainon chuckled, “I’m not even mad. It’s kind of poetic.”

Mydei let out a growl—not a particularly intimidating one, but angry enough. His claws flexed against the wood. His body tensed.

“You look ridiculous, by the way,” Phainon added, clearly unable to help himself. “I mean, look at you—tiny, fluffy, and helpless. I don’t think I’ll ever let you live this down.”

That was it.

With a furious yowl, Mydei launched himself off the windowsill and flew straight at Phainon. He shouted in surprise as the full weight of a determined cat landed square on his chest, claws sinking into his coat.

“WHAT THE—!” Phainon stumbled backward, flailing. “Get off me, Mydei!”

Y/N froze.

Her spoon clattered into the pot as her head whipped around. “Wait—what?”

Phainon blinked. Mydei froze mid-swipe, now half-latched onto his shoulder. Both of them turned toward Y/N, who was standing with wide eyes and an expression that flickered rapidly between confusion and dawning realization.

“You just said—” she pointed at the cat, then at Phainon, “—Mydei?”

Phainon opened his mouth. Closed it. “...Oops.”

Mydei let out a strangled noise that might’ve been a furious growl if it wasn’t coming from his tiny feline throat. He released Phainon with a hiss and dropped to the floor with a soft thump, immediately darting under the table.

Y/N slowly walked forward, peering underneath. There, golden fur puffed and tail twitching, was the cat she’d been nursing back to health and gently cooing at for the past hour.

“You mean to tell me…” she crouched, eyes wide, “this—is Mydei?”

Mydei didn’t move. He just stared back at her with unmistakably human guilt and embarrassment radiating from his big golden eyes.

“Oh my god.” Y/N sat back on her heels, utterly dumbfounded. “I’ve been—carrying you. Talking to you. Letting you sleep on my lap. Scratching behind your ears.”

A small, mortified mewl came from under the table.

Phainon snorted. “Yeah, that one’s been hard to keep quiet about.”

Y/N turned her gaze slowly on Phainon. “You knew?”

He shrugged, grinning. “Of course I knew. How could I not? That furious glare? The offended silence? Classic Mydei.”

Mydei poked his head out from beneath the table, cautiously watching Y/N with wide eyes. He looked... sheepish. Which was saying a lot for a cat.

While phainon explained what happened.

Y/N sighed and rubbed her forehead. “Okay. So let me get this straight. He chased the Spirithief—Bartholos—got caught in one of their tricks and ended up like this?”

Phainon nodded helpfully. “Oh yeah. And now he’s stuck until we figure out how to reverse it. So until then…” He looked at Mydei and smirked. “...He’s your new house cat.”

Y/N stared at Mydei again.

And despite everything—despite the absurdity, the surprise, the confusion—a laugh escaped her lips.

“I can’t believe this,” she said, reaching under the table. “This is so you.”

Mydei hesitated, then slowly stepped forward. She gently scooped him up, cradling him in her arms. His little ears burned red at the tips, his fur still puffed slightly from embarrassment. He refused to meet her eyes.

“You could’ve just tried writing something in the dirt, you know,” she murmured softly, giving his ear a light scratch. “Instead of attacking Phainon.”

Phainon snorted again from the corner. “You say that like he hasn’t wanted to attack me for years.”

Mydei grumbled in her arms.

Y/N’s voice softened. “Well... I guess I’ll just have to take care of you until we fix this.”

Phainon leaned against the doorway. “Careful. If he likes the attention too much, he might not want to change back.”

That earned him another growl.

Y/N smiled. “Don’t worry. I’ve got you, Mydei.”

The cat in her arms stopped squirming and leaned slightly into her touch, still mortified, still flustered—but maybe, just maybe... a little comforted.

And Phainon, watching them from the doorway, grinned to himself, already drafting a list of nicknames for Prince Meowdeimos.

Bartholos had almost gotten away.

Slipping through shadows and dipping beneath market stalls, it danced over rain-slick rooftops, purple light flickering like mischief trailing behind him. It swirled with delight as it zipped through Okhema’s winding alleys, smug and carefree.

Right up until it zipped straight into a glowing ward.

With a loud zzzzzap! and a startled yelp, the Spirit Thief hit the invisible wall midair and bounced back into a tightly drawn net of shimmering runes.

It's tiny form dropped onto the cobblestone with an indignant squeak, tail flicking wildly as the trap shimmered around him—spell-etched lines and all.

“Got you,” Y/N said calmly.

She stepped out from the shadows of the alley, arms folded and expression sharp—not angry, but stern in a way that made even the spirit’s glow dim slightly.

Bartholos blinked up at her, then flicked it's gaze to the golden-furred cat sitting at her heels.

“Oh... oh this is a problem,” the spirit muttered, inching backward. “You brought her here?”

Mydei, in cat form, sat tall and smug, tail lazily curled around his paws as he gave Bartholos a slow, victorious blink. There was satisfaction in that stare.

Y/N crouched beside the trapped spirit, inspecting it like one might a misbehaving child.

“You turned him into a cat,” she said simply, her voice firm but not cruel.

Bartholos looked around for an escape, but the glowing trap pulsed tighter with every movement. He gave a sheepish shrug. “It was a prank. A little mischief! No harm done.”

“No harm?” Y/N raised a brow. “You stranded him, made him sleep outside, couldn’t speak, couldn’t explain anything—and you let me believe he was just a stray. Do you know how worried I was?”

Bartholos fidgeted. “I mean, he was warm and fluffy. And he did get ear scratches. Sounds like a win.”

Y/N leaned in, gaze narrowing just slightly.

Bartholos shrank under the weight of it.

“I could trap you in a bottle,” she said. “Do you want to live the next week in a jar?”

Bartholos let out a tiny squeak. “...No.”

“I could send you to aglaea

,” she added. “You know how she feels about troublemakers.”

“Okay, okay, okay!” the spirit whined, coiling it's tail anxiously. “I get it. You’re scary! You win!”

Mydei, beside her, let out a pleased rumble in his throat and gave the spirit the most self-satisfied cat smile to ever grace the realm of Amphoreus.

“I’ll fix it,” Bartholos muttered. “I’ll fix it now. Sheesh.”

Y/N stepped back and dispelled the net with a flick of her hand. “Good.”

Bartholos floated in place, rubbing it's arms with a pout. “You’d think being chased by a cat prince was bad enough... now I’m being mom’d.”

Mydei growled softly.

Bartholos flinched. “Okay! Okay!”

With a frustrated swirl of energy, the spirit clapped its tiny hands together. A shimmer of purple magic spiraled around Mydei, lifting him into the air in a glow of light.

In a blink, the cat was gone—and standing in his place, now barefoot and tousled, was Mydei once more.

He straightened slowly, blinking at the world like it was suddenly too big again. “Finally.”

Y/N turned to him with a breath of relief—and before she could say anything, he reached out and gently took her hand.

“I didn’t think you’d actually catch him,” he said, lips twitching upward. “Let alone scare him.”

She smirked. “He deserved it.”

Behind them, Bartholos hovered with a shiver, arms crossed and tail tangled. “Remind me not to prank your girlfriend again,” it grumbled, sulking into the shadows.

Mydei leaned closer, brushing a kiss against her temple. “Remind me not to get on ypur bad side.”

Y/N raised a brow. “What, too scary?”

He grinned. “Terrifying.”

They walked off together, leaving the chastened spirit to grumble in the alley behind them.

Bartholos huffed and folded its arms. “Mortals. No sense of humor anymore.”

But the spirit didn’t try to follow them.

He’d learned his lesson—for now.

[obsessivevoidkitten]

The Adoring Fan

Kinktober Day 7: Worshipped

Human Male Yandere x Gender Neutral Vampire Reader

CW: Noncon, stalking, kidnapping, religious symbols, reader worshipped, vampirism, blood consumption, general yandere behavior

Word Count: 840

(Hope you enjoy this short fic. At least it's longer than a drabble.)

You were a high-ranking member of the Warrior's Guild. You were pretty renowned and had saved many people from all manner of beasts and disasters.

You weren't as bulky and brutish as most of the members, but you were just as strong and agile as the best of them.

This was because you were a vampire. Though no one actually knew that.

No one but the young man you had saved a few years back from a burning building. His silver crucifix necklace had touched your skin and burned you, forcing you to use your vampiric form. Pointy ears, fangs, dark eyes.

The young man, Nael, had promised to keep your secret. You had saved him after all. To him, your vampiric form was perfection.

But the more he thought about it, the more inspired by you he had become. He also became increasingly worried that someone would find your secret and hurt you. Your renown had gradually grown until you were a famous hero. He reasoned that the more eyes that were on you, the more likely it would be for someone to discover your secret.

His home and livelihood as a farmer had turned to cinders. It made it easy for him to leave his life behind.

Nael researched vampires, lived with monks for a while, and learned how to fight.

Then he set about finding you. It wasn't hard to find rumors and tales of your exploits, but you never stayed in the same place very long.

He decided to join the guild to make finding you easier. It did. It didn't take long for you to come to the main guil hall and pick up some assignments from the board.

Then he just had to wait on the path to your next job and ambush you.

Of course, your keen predatory senses could sniff out a human in hiding easily. Even hear their heartbeat.

Nael was prepared.

He used the most minor magic, available to all humans who were dedicated enough to learn, and silenced himself completely. He used sanctified dirt from hallowed ground to hide his natural smell.

As you passed him, he stuck you with an arrow that had been annointed in holy water. It wasn't lethal but rather acted as a paralytic sleeping agent.

You woke up in a cabin far from civilization that Nael had painstakingly prepared for you.

"Ah, you're awake!"

You were still paralyzed and could only grunt in anger and confusion. Had you been discovered? Was this an assassin? Why hadn't they disposed of you already? Were they hoping for information first? For you to turn them? Were they planning to blackmail you into doing something?

Your frantic racing thoughts were cut off by a greedy kiss and shaky hands rubbing up and down your thighs and then your sides.

You growled both in surprise and to show you did not approve.

"Shhhh, it's okay. You're safe now! You saved me years ago, and now I'm saving you!"

He stared into your eyes in sheer reverence before trailing kisses down your body.

"You m-must have been so scared that you'd be d-discovered! Your selfless nature would have g-gotten you hurt eventually… I'm s-saving you from yourself."

His voice was a comforting coo, and he pressed gentle kisses all over your face. You grunted, but he ignored it.

"I l-love you so much! I'll t-take care of all your needs, okay?"

He said this as he rubbed his hand between your legs. You made a strangled, high-pitched noise that sounded somewhat like a yelp.

"Blood, sex, safety. I-I'll take care of it all."

He pulled your clothing off and used his mouth between your legs until you climaxed, then he licked you clean of your fluids. After that he lubed you up and slid into your hole, gently fucking into you as he blushed deeply.

"I know your kind have a huge sexual appetite! I-I'll make sure to sate it~"

Nael kissed you constantly during the whole ordeal, moaning your name as he filled you deeply with the physical manifestation of his unbridled love.

When the holy water wore off, you jumped up and headed for the door. You found yourself sluggish and unable to overpower the amorous human.

"Get away from me, you psycho!"

He pulled you back into bed with him and held you close.

"I-I'm not a psycho… I just want w-what's best for you. You'll s-see soon. Your heroics exposed you, o-others would have found out eventually! Do you want to see the shrine I made for you??"

And you did see. The entire forest had been meticulously blessed and consecrated, and a large fence made from holy silver alloy enclosed the entirety of the land around the cabin.

That combined with the fact that Nael put a tiny dose of holy water in the blood he fed you resulted in you being majorly weakened and almost constantly fatigued.

There was no other choice but to let Nael tend to you in whatever manner he chose.

[mapis-putellas]

𝑳𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒎𝒆 𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓

Pairing: Alexia Putellas x reader

Words: 2897

Warnings: body image issues. Quite detailed too, so be careful and look out for yourselves.

Summary: After you tear your acl, your mental health takes quite a severe hit. [Requested]

Notes: one more draft to go after this, then we is done for a little while

It was no secret that Alexia was the epitome of fitness. Every muscle seemed to have its place on her body, sculpted from years of dedication on the field and in the gym. She was renowned for her strength and endurance, and her intense daily workouts left her with abs sharp enough to carve ice. Her legs were powerful, capable of sprinting up and down the pitch for ninety minutes straight, and when she wrapped them around you, every single coherent though you had immediately leaves your mind. It was impossible not to admire her—no, to adore her for it. She didn't just look incredible; she carried herself with a natural grace, a quiet confidence that made her strength seem even more alluring.

She was up before the crack of dawn every morning, lacing up her trainers and stretching quietly in the hallway while you mumbled sleepy protests from bed. And she'd just smile, soft and affectionate, bending down to press a kiss to your forehead before heading out.

Sometimes, she'd even sneak a second workout into her day, returning to the gym after training if she was feeling restless. It was her way of clearing her mind, finding her center amidst the stresses of her intense schedule. Her body was her temple, her mind, a fortress—and she was diligent in caring for both.

You were in good shape, too, of course. It was a necessity as a professional footballer, but you didn't feel the same love for exercise as Alexia did. To her, fitness was a passion; to you, it was a means to an end. You'd lace up for runs, lift weights, and do the drills, but it was all about maintaining strength for the game, not about striving for the chiseled perfection that Alexia seemed to attain effortlessly. You had some definition—your muscles were toned in places, and you were proud of the fitness you had. But you didn't have a six-pack, or the rock-hard thighs and sculpted arms that Alexia did. There was softness to your body, a gentle curve that felt miles away from the physique she held herself to.

You'd grown to accept that, too. Sure, some days, you'd catch a glimpse of Alexia in her workout gear, fresh from a morning session, muscles rippling under her taut skin, and you'd feel a pang of envy. But it wasn't enough to change how you viewed yourself. You might not have the carved-out, intensely toned build that she had, but your body was yours, and that was enough. You nourished it, rested it, treated it well. Alexia adored you for who you were, and she'd always made it abundantly clear that you didn't need to change a thing. So, you held onto that, content in the comfort of her steady admiration and your own quiet acceptance.

And then it happened.

Tearing your ACL was more than a setback. It was a wrench thrown into everything you knew about yourself, your career, and your confidence. The physical pain was intense, yes, but the mental toll? That was a different beast altogether. The moment the diagnosis came, you were handed a new path, one that demanded you start over, essentially relearning how to walk, run, and move in ways that had once come effortlessly.

Your recovery plan was strict. "Get stronger," the physical therapist had told you. "Anything you can do to support that knee." The aim was to build strength before agility, to make sure that when you eventually stepped back onto the field, your knee would hold up. And to build that strength, you needed more muscle.

So you followed the program. A different nutrition plan meant eating more, much more than you were used to. It was a meticulous routine of high-protein meals and heavier weights, adjusting your body to a new rhythm. The change in your body was immediate and striking. Muscle mass took time, but the weight gain didn't wait for anyone. Your once lean and toned frame grew softer, the athletic lines you'd been so familiar with blurred into something different. Every time you caught yourself in the mirror, the difference seemed glaring.

You tried to remind yourself that it was part of the plan, and in some ways, it was working. The muscle you gained gave you the stability you needed in your knee, and as you got stronger, so did your confidence in moving. But it was a far cry from what you were used to, and the internet, naturally, had a field day with it. Photos started surfacing, snapshots of you out and about or in training, and the comments came fast and merciless. Every little flaw was picked apart: a fold in your chin, the curve of your waist, the size of your thighs. Strangers felt entitled to judge you, to dissect every inch of your body in ways that left you reeling.

It got to you. How could it not? The comments slipped into your thoughts, lingering like a shadow every time you ate, trained, or even looked at yourself in the mirror. Even the smallest gestures became tainted by this newfound self-consciousness. In the shower, you'd notice the places that felt softer. In the gym, you'd feel acutely aware of the way your body didn't look like it used to. And it followed you home, creeping into the space you shared with Alexia, a place that had once felt like a sanctuary.

Alexia, in her usual affectionate way, was none the wiser. She treated you exactly the same, her hands roaming freely over your body with the same warmth and adoration she'd always shown. But every time she touched your waist, your stomach, or the soft flesh of your thighs, you'd feel a pang, a quiet discomfort that you tried desperately to ignore. You told yourself it was silly, that she hadn't even noticed the change. But each time her hands grazed over the parts of you that felt different, the ones the internet was so quick to call out, you couldn't help but brace, almost flinch.

When Alexia would lie beside you on the sofa, her head resting on your thighs, the weight of her presence suddenly felt heavy, her fingers tracing gentle patterns on your skin. You'd struggle to enjoy the moment, fighting the urge to shift away, to hide. Or when she'd wrap her arms around you from behind, resting her head against your shoulder, and you'd feel her fingers press softly into your stomach, all you could think of was whether she felt the difference. If she noticed the extra softness there.

Then, there were the times she wanted to be closer, when her hands wandered a bit further, her gaze lingering with the kind of adoration that used to set you at ease. But now, each brush of her fingertips over your skin, every glance that she stole felt like a magnifying glass on every insecurity you'd grown to harbor. It was as if the comments you'd read online were imprinted on you, and every time Alexia's touch lingered, they echoed in your mind.

You tried to bury it, to keep your discomfort hidden beneath the surface. Alexia never let on that she'd noticed anything different; if she did, she was remarkably patient, waiting for you to open up. But you couldn't bring yourself to admit the insecurity gnawing at you. She didn't seem to mind, so why should you make her aware of something that, to her, didn't exist? So, you hid it, smiled through the lingering self-doubt, and tried to keep up appearances.

But it was exhausting, living in constant vigilance, battling an inner voice that refused to quiet. And as much as you wanted to shake it, to silence the nagging insecurities, they lingered, shadowing your every thought.

*

Alexia's gaze was intense as she leaned over you, her body pressed to yours, the warm weight of her presence grounding you in place as her lips moved insistently against yours. It was a familiar rhythm, one you usually found yourself melting into. Normally, her touch—firm yet gentle—would have had you feeling nothing but desire, lost in the anticipation that only she could draw out in you. But tonight, you found yourself bracing against her, your mind elsewhere as self-doubt seeped into every crevice of your thoughts.

Her hands moved purposefully down your sides, her fingertips grazing the hem of your shirt. The familiar touch that once filled you with security now left you tense. She had been so patient, so understanding, never pressing you to go further. You hadn't made love since before the surgery. First, it was because you couldn't physically handle it. Then, as you started healing, there was always some excuse. You'd kept her at arm's length, letting yourself be the one in control, making sure her attention stayed solely on her own pleasure. You'd hoped it would distract her, keep her from noticing the hesitation that lingered in your own movements.

But tonight, Alexia's determination to close the distance between you was clear. Her hands, more insistent than before, slid up the curve of your waist, drawing you closer, pulling you back into the intimacy you'd once shared without question. The air felt heavy with the unspoken, and you felt the edges of your own defenses starting to fray, your discomfort edging into something you couldn't suppress.

When she tugged at your waistband, her intention was unmistakable, and your body instinctively pulled back as your voice rose, pleading, "Stop." It was barely more than a whisper, but the tremor in your tone cut through the haze between you, and Alexia stilled immediately. Her hands halted as she pulled back, her gaze filled with a mixture of concern and yearning. Her breathing was still ragged as she leaned back, moving to her knees, studying you with furrowed brows. The way she looked at you, raw and concerned, was almost too much, the shame twisting inside you like a vice.

She asked gently what was wrong, her voice softened, but the words sat heavy in the air.

Your hands flew to your face, covering your eyes in an effort to hide the turmoil, but you felt her move closer, her presence warm and unwavering. Her hands reached for you, wrapping around your shoulders as she drew you to her chest, her bare leg slipping behind your back as she cradled you against her. One of her arms slipped under your legs, tugging you sideways so that you were cocooned in her embrace, sheltered and safe.

The tears you had been holding back spilled over, and you stifled your sobs against your palms, feeling Alexia's gentle sway as she rocked you. Her hand stroked up and down your back, a steady rhythm that eased some of the tension from your body. You clung to her, desperate for the comfort her touch provided, feeling your breath catch as you tried to force yourself to calm down.

There, in her arms, you knew that hiding wasn't an option anymore.

"What's wrong, amor?" her voice was so tender that the words you'd been holding back spilled out before you could stop them. Choking on each syllable, you told her everything—how much you hated the way you looked, how every curve felt wrong, how the stretch marks on your thighs and hips felt like a betrayal. You admitted that fueling your body had become a battle, that you'd started skipping meals, working out to the point of straining your knee, forcing yourself to push through the ache just to feel worthy.

"I spend so much time," you said, your voice breaking, "just standing in front of the mirror, analysing everything. Picking myself apart until I can't stand it anymore. I can't even..." Your voice faltered, thick with tears. "I can't even look at myself."

Alexia's hold on you tightened, her fingers digging slightly into your back, as if to keep you grounded. Her eyes never left your face, absorbing every raw word, her own eyes brimming with tears, reflecting the hurt you'd been carrying.

"I didn't want you to see me like this. I didn't want you to look at me without clothes because... if I hate what I see, then... then surely you would too." The admission slipped out, a final, aching confession. "Maybe if you just waited... if you could just hold on a little while longer, I'll be back to how I was before. And then...then it'd be okay. Maybe—”

But before you could finish, Alexia cut you off, her voice firmer than you'd ever heard it, startling you with the sharpness of her words. "Don't you dare say that," she whispered, her tone fierce with a hurt that mirrored your own. You flinched, and she immediately softened, her fingers brushing your cheek as she leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. "I'm sorry, amor. I didn't mean to scare you. But you're wrong," she said, her voice still laced with intensity. She tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet her gaze.

"Please, just listen."

You nodded, still sniffling, your fingers curled into her shirt as you leaned into her touch.

"You are beautiful," she said firmly. "Siempre. Every day. Every moment." You opened your mouth to protest, but she pressed a finger to your lips, silencing you before you could interrupt. Her gaze softened, her thumb brushing away the remnants of your tears as she continued.

"Do you know what I see when I look at you? I see someone strong, even when you don't feel it." Her hands slid down your arms, squeezing gently. "These arms? They hold me, support me, even when you're feeling like this. And your legs? I know you think they're different now, but to me, they're perfect." She moved her hand down to rest on your thigh, tracing small circles with her thumb. "Do you remember the times I've rested my head here, just because it's where I feel safe?"

You bit your lip, feeling your resolve waver as her words seeped into the cracks of your defenses.

"And your stretch marks?" She leaned down, her lips brushing over your thigh, a gentle kiss that made you shiver. "They're proof of what you've been through. Proof that your body is fighting, that you're healing. They're beautiful to me. You are beautiful to me."

Still, the doubts clawed at you, whispers of insecurity that wouldn't quiet. She saw the uncertainty in your eyes and, as if reading your thoughts, she brought her hand up to cup your face, her gaze locked with yours.

"Please, amor," she murmured, her voice almost a plea. "Let me show you."

You could barely bring yourself to nod.

With that, she kissed you, her lips moving slowly, reverently. Her hands cupped your face, her fingers tracing the lines of your jaw, holding you as though you were something precious. And with each kiss, each soft murmur of adoration, you felt a little bit of the weight start to lift.

She coaxed you to lie back, settling you against the pillows, her hand trailing down to link with yours, her fingers warm. As she leaned over you, her lips found your neck, pressing soft, lingering kisses that sent warmth spreading through you. Her lips traced every inch of exposed skin, reverent, tender, making you feel seen in a way you hadn't allowed yourself to feel in so long.

“I love this," she murmured, her fingers tracing over your hips, the slight curve of your waist. "Every part of you is beautiful to me."

She kissed the stretch marks on your thighs, her lips brushing over them with a tenderness that brought fresh tears to your eyes.

Her hands remained steady, her fingers tracing over your body as if memorising every curve, every line. She didn't rush, allowing you to sink into the feeling of her touch, to let yourself be held, to let yourself be loved without hesitation or restraint. She murmured soft assurances, telling you how much she adored you, how lucky she felt to have you.

And somewhere in the midst of her gentle worship, you found yourself relaxing, the tension in your body easing as her love wrapped around you like a soft blanket. You felt her hands against your sides, her lips pressing tender kisses to your skin, and for the first time in a long time, you allowed yourself to feel beautiful.

As she continued, her lips pressing gentle, adoring kisses over every inch of your body, you knew that healing wouldn't be immediate, that learning to love yourself again would take time. But with Alexia by your side, holding you, loving you, showing you the beauty she saw in you, you felt a glimmer of hope that one day, you might see it too.

**

Tags:

@ceesimz @marysfics @codiemarin @girlgenius1111 @silentwolfsstuff @simp4panos @goldenempyrean @xxnaiaxx @liloandstitchstan

[scarlett-ggv]

Giving up is not an option

Jazz x Reader - NSFW to the last

Maybe it was the distant roar of an engine filling the air or the way the sunlight reflected off his polished chassis that made you look at him twice. Jazz had always been confident, from the first moment his wheels touched the ground of Cybertron to every sharp turn he took on Earth. There was never hesitation in the way he moved, never uncertainty in the way he tilted his head with that effortless self-assurance. He didn’t need words to prove what he already knew: he was strong, fast, agile. And most importantly, he was attractive.

When he began working alongside Optimus Prime, he learned to live with the attention. Stares filled with admiration, whispers among bots every time he passed by. He had gone from being just another Autobot to one of Optimus’ most loyal companions. It didn’t matter if he was in his original form or transformed into a pristine car—eyes were always on him. And he did nothing to avoid them; in fact, sometimes he sought them out, reveling in the sensation of being watched, of being desired.

But with you, everything was different.

He didn’t need to show off. He didn’t need to do too much. He moved naturally around you, lighting up only for you. He knew how to find you at just the right moment, how to make sure you felt seen, protected. Everything was there, planned without words, understood without explanations.

And when he was truly interested, he made it clear in gestures only you could notice. A touch that seemed accidental when he handed you a tool, the light brush of his metal fingers against your arm, his thumb barely grazing you—a touch so soft it was almost not a touch at all. He left you wondering: had that been intentional? Or was it just part of his playful nature?

Maybe in those fleeting moments when his hand rested low on your back, firm but unhurried, guiding you through a crowd as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Maybe in the way his engine vibrated ever so slightly when you were too close, when the warmth of your body against his hood forced him to regulate his internal temperature.

Jazz always found a way to say everything. He wasn’t in a rush. He didn’t need to hurry. Because at the end of the day, the goal wasn’t just to get your attention—it was to make sure that when he finally reached for you, you were more than ready to receive him.

He had never felt insecure about himself—until that night.

It had always been an honor to take you anywhere in his vehicle form, to cover miles with you at the wheel, feeling the exhilaration of speed and the shared freedom. He loved the way everyone looked at you when you arrived—dazzling, radiant… and in a car that only made your presence even more striking. Proud, satisfied, he always enjoyed those moments.

But this time was different.

He had come to pick you up from an elegant, open-air party. Warm lights floated over the scene, like stars caught in invisible threads.

Maybe it was the golden glow of the evening filtering through the string lights above, or the distant sound of a saxophone drifting through the air like a whispered lullaby. Or maybe it was simply the weight of an unexpected thought, a strange feeling he had never known before.

Jazz saw you.

Among the crowd, amidst the laughter and conversation, his gaze found you effortlessly, as if the universe itself had guided him there. But this time, it wasn’t like before. This time, it wasn’t just admiration.

It was more.

There you were, sitting, wearing a black dress that clung to your figure as if it had been made for you and only you. The fabric cascaded down to the ground with impossible elegance, leaving your shoulders bare, exposing your neck, the soft curve of your collarbone. Golden jewelry gleamed against your skin, and your makeup was nothing more than a whisper of light across your face. Perfect. Unreal. So beautiful it hurt.

And then, he saw him.

A human.

A good-looking man who leaned in slightly as he spoke to you, a confident smile on his lips—the kind of confidence that came from knowing he had a chance.

Something inside Jazz sank.

For the first time, he realized what the difference between you truly meant.

That man could ask you out without hesitation, could take your hand without thinking twice, could whisper something in your ear and make you laugh in that way Jazz longed to.

He couldn’t.

Because at the end of the day, Jazz wasn’t human.

And that truth, the one he had always known but had never really felt like a barrier, hit him like a shot straight into the Spark.

For a moment, just one fleeting second, he wondered if everything he had felt, all the hope he had nurtured inside him, was nothing more than an impossible dream.

But then, you smiled.

Not at the man talking to you.

At him.

And in that instant, when your eyes sought his through the crowd, when your lips curved into a soft, genuine smile upon seeing him waiting for you, he understood something else.

Maybe the world would always remind him that you were different.

Maybe others would think he could never be enough for you.

But Jazz was never one to give up.

And this time, he wouldn’t be the exception. You were going to be his, no matter what.

<-------------------------------------------------->

The sound of his hips set a frantic rhythm, a desperate pace that spoke of nights of unsatisfied longing, of a desire that had burned in silence until it became unbearable. Jazz had her right beneath him, trapped between his body and the cold metallic surface he had so easily lifted her onto. His hands firm, large, and warm held her in place, gripping her as if he feared she might disappear if he let go.

The contrast between the hardness of his structure and the softness of her skin was intoxicating. He moved with precision, each thrust deep, driven by the voracious need to feel her in every fiber of his being. Her moans were the melody guiding his movements, and every sound that escaped her lips pushed him to go deeper, to claim every inch of her with his imposing presence. The sensation of her surrounding him was a delicious torture, a searing paradise that consumed him from the inside out.

Jazz’s fingers traced down her spine, gripping her hips with urgency, lifting her effortlessly to sink even deeper. His name spilled from her lips in a breathless gasp, a strangled cry that made him growl in response, the vibration of his voice sending shivers down her spine. The damp heat of her skin, the sweat beading along her collarbone, the trembling of her legs tightening around him… it all drove him wild, made him lose himself in her.

Movements became erratic, urgent, the tension thick in the air, woven from desire and friction. His grip tightened, his lips found her neck, biting down gently, tasting the salt of her skin before capturing her mouth in a deep, hungry kiss—a clash of tongues and ragged breaths that made them both shudder. He felt her unravel beneath him, her body arching with a strangled cry as she shattered completely, dragging him along into the abyss of pleasure.

For a moment, he remained still, feeling the aftershocks of pleasure rippling through his system, lighting up every circuit, every connection. She lay beneath him, chest rising and falling as wildly as his own. Jazz opened his optics, taking in the sight of her—flushed, satisfied, lips trembling around a smile that was just beginning to form.

And then, he smiled too.

No words were needed. None were necessary. Just that shared look, that silent understanding brimming with unspoken emotions. Every effort, every doubt, every night spent wondering if he could ever reach her… it had all been worth it.

Jazz had done it.

She was his. <----------------------------------------------->

El traductor es una kk - Writing about my man is my passion, forgive me if there are any spelling mistakes. The translator and I are competing over who is whose bitch HAHAHA MAUAJJAJAJ bueno

OK Jazz MY MAN Quiero que me preñe aaah. Maybe next time I'll write about Starscream. idk

[cassiemaebarnes]

Grumpy & the New Girl: Part 4

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Masterlist

Bucky x reader

Summary: She wasn’t supposed to meet him like that. He wasn’t supposed to let her in. But sometimes, things don’t go according to plan.

Word Count: 3600

Later that afternoon, while everyone else was still in meetings, you made your way down to the training room for your solo workout. It wasn’t going to be long before you started training with the rest of the team.

You ran through your typical stretching and warm ups quickly before pulling up the workout Steve sent you. Today was mainly focused on speed and agility.

You were in the middle of some agility drills, bouncing between cones and pivoting sharply, when your foot landed wrong. Your ankle twisted beneath you, and a sharp jolt of pain shot up your leg as you stumbled, barely catching yourself before you hit the floor.

“Shit,” you hissed, rolling onto your side as you reached down to grab your ankle. You took a breath, hoping it wasn’t as bad as it felt.

After a minute, you pulled yourself up and tried to stand, but as soon as you put weight on your foot, pain seared through it and your leg buckled. You landed hard, realizing walking it off wasn’t an option.

You sat there, breathing heavy, a little bit of panic creeping in. You looked down at your ankle, which was already starting to swell, and you reached over for your phone.

There was really only one person you wanted to call.

You didn’t want to interrupt their meeting, but you knew you couldn’t just sit here until they were done. You finally tapped Bucky’s name and lifted the phone to your ear. He answered on the second ring.

“Hey,” he said. “Everything okay?”

You tried to keep your voice steady, but it trembled just slightly as tears began to run down your face. “Bucky, I think I sprained my ankle. I’m in the training room.”

There was a pause. Then the sound of a chair scraping and hurried footsteps. “I’m coming.”

And he hung up.

--

In the conference room across the compound, chairs shifted as Bucky stood up so fast his coffee nearly tipped.

“Where are you going?” Steve asked, brows raised.

Bucky didn’t even slow down as he jogged out. “Emergency.”

The door slammed behind him.

Sam blinked. “Emergency?”

Tony leaned back with a smirk. “Anybody wanna take bets that ‘emergency’ is code for ‘something happened to Sleeping Beauty’?”

Nat raised her hand. “I’ve got ten bucks on that.”

“Please,” Sam scoffed. “He sprinted. She probably stubbed her toe and he’s already planning to carry her to med bay bridal-style.”

Steve sighed but didn’t argue. “Let’s just hope she’s okay.”

--

Meanwhile, Bucky practically kicked open the doors to the training room, scanning the space until he spotted you sitting near the far wall, holding your ankle.

He was by your side in seconds, crouching in front of you. “Hey. What happened?”

You gave him a sheepish look. “Caught it wrong during drills. Thought I could walk it off.”

He gave you a look. The really? kind.

You shrugged. “Okay, I was wrong.”

“Let me see,” he said gently.

You nodded, and he eased your shoe off, careful not to move your ankle more than necessary. His brows knit together when he saw the swelling. “You’re not walking on this.”

“Wasn’t planning to anymore,” you muttered.

Without another word, he slipped one arm under your legs, the other behind your back, and lifted you effortlessly off the mat.

“You know,” you said as he started carrying you out of the room, “we really gotta stop making this a habit.”

He smirked down at you. “Can’t help it if you keep giving me reasons to carry you.”

You just shook your head before letting your head rest lightly against his chest, already knowing the group chat was going to explode again.

Once you were in med bay, Bucky gently set you down on a cot, his arms lingering a second longer than necessary before he stepped back and grabbed an ice pack from the freezer. He crouched in front of you again, his fingers brushing your ankle carefully as he adjusted it into place.

You winced slightly, and he immediately looked up, concern etched in every line of his face.

“Sorry,” he murmured. “I’ll be more careful.”

“I’m okay,” you said softly. “You don’t have to look so worried.”

“You called me,” he said, like it was explanation enough.

Your heart tugged a little at that. “Of course I did.”

There was a pause – quiet, warm. He stayed knelt in front of you, hands resting lightly on the edge of the cot, eyes locked on yours.

“You’re really bad at this solo workout thing,” he said eventually, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You laughed, but before you could respond, the door swung open.

“Well, well, well,” Sam’s voice rang out. “Look who faked an injury for cuddles.”

You groaned, flopping back dramatically onto the cot. “Seriously?”

Bucky stood up and crossed his arms, sighing. “She actually got hurt.”

“Oh, we believe you,” Sam said. “That doesn’t mean we’re not gonna tease the hell out of you for sprinting out of a classified mission meeting like a rom-com lead.”

“Pretty sure I heard dramatic music when he left,” Tony added, poking his head in.

“Domestic Soldiers, volume two,” Nat chimed in, holding up her phone. “Should we update the group chat name again?”

Bucky just shook his head and muttered, “I hate all of you.”

You peeked out from under your hands to catch him trying not to smile. And you couldn’t help but smile too.

After the teasing chaos in med bay calmed down and the others left to finish their meetings, Bucky lingered behind with you for a few minutes. You’d propped your leg up, the ice pack slowly melting, and he sat on the edge of the cot beside you, resting his elbows on his knees.

“I’ve gotta head to the last meeting,” he said softly, like he didn’t really want to.

You nodded. “I’ll be fine. It’s just a sprain.”

He gave you a skeptical look, then leaned down and pulled something from behind the door – your crutches.

“Here,” he said, holding them out to you. “For when you’re ready to hobble around.”

You took them with a dramatic sigh. “Great. Now I get to feel even more pathetic.”

“Please,” Bucky said with a crooked grin, “you’ll still be the most dangerous person in the room. Just...on sticks.”

You smiled, and his hand brushed your knee gently before he stood.

“I’ll come find you after,” he said.

You nodded again, watching him go before grabbing the crutches and slowly making your way back to your room. You managed to shower – slowly and carefully – and changed into comfier clothes, then stretched out on your bed for a while, scrolling through your phone and trying not to overthink the fifty new group chat notifications.

Eventually, hunger won out, and you crutched your way down to the kitchen.

Some of the team was already in there, scattered around the kitchen island and stovetops, making their own dinner or picking at leftovers. The room buzzed with conversation and clattering utensils, and you tried to quietly maneuver your way in.

You reached the fridge, grabbed a container, then tried to make it to the counter with a plate balanced in one hand and a crutch under each arm. But the end of one crutch snagged on the leg of a stool.

You stumbled but caught yourself with a hiss, steadying the plate.

No one noticed.

You blew out a breath, determined to not make a scene. You kept going, trying to scoot sideways past Steve and Sam. This time, one crutch clipped the edge of the rug near the sink.

Your stomach dropped as your balance gave out, and your hands shot forward instinctively.

Before you hit the floor, arms wrapped around you, steadying you mid-fall as your crutches clattered to the ground.

“You okay?” Bucky’s voice rumbled right near your ear.

You blinked, heart thudding. “Yeah – I’m fine.”

The room had gone suspiciously quiet.

Then—

“She’s falling for you, Barnes,” Sam called out, grinning like he’d been waiting all day for that one.

“She literally just fell,” Tony said. “It’s poetic, honestly.”

“You gonna carry her again, or should we give you space?” Nat asked casually, biting into an apple.

Bucky sighed but didn’t let go of you right away. “Is your ankle okay?”

You nodded, cheeks burning. “It’s fine. I’m just mildly humiliated.”

He chuckled, brushing a piece of hair behind your ear before finally stepping back. “Let’s get you a chair before they write a fanfic about it.”

“Too late,” Sam said. “I already titled it The Fall of the Soldier’s Heart.”

You buried your face in your hands as Bucky picked up your crutches and handed them to you, guiding you to a seat, laughing softly under his breath the whole way.

Once you were safely seated, Bucky grabbed the plate you’d been trying to carry and set it aside.

“You’re not cooking,” he said, already rolling up his sleeves. “You almost broke your neck trying to get leftovers.”

“I was fine,” you argued, though even you didn’t sound convinced.

He gave you a look. “You were about to do a crutch-assisted faceplant into the counter.”

Tony, still loitering near the coffee machine, perked up. “Wait a second. Is the Winter Soldier about to cook for her again?”

Sam leaned around the fridge door, grinning. “What is this, a rom-com or a cooking show?”

Nat popped a grape into her mouth. “Why not both?”

Steve held up a hand and backed out. “I’m leaving. Enjoy your date night.”

“It’s not a date,” Bucky called after him.

Sam just shook his head. “Classic denial.”

“Okay, out,” Bucky finally barked, half-laughing. “Go bother someone else.”

Tony dramatically sighed and tossed a paper towel into the trash. “Fine. But don’t think this isn’t going in the group chat.”

“I’ll send a photo,” Nat offered.

“You take a photo, and I will replace your shampoo with glitter,” Bucky warned.

She winked and strolled out. “Worth it.”

Eventually, the rest of the team filtered out, leaving behind empty mugs, crumpled napkins, and a smug silence.

Bucky turned back to you and gave a sigh of relief. “Finally.”

“You really gonna cook for me again?” you asked, amused.

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” he said, already chopping vegetables.

You tilted your head. “And hopefully it won’t be the last. You’re a pretty good cook if I do say so myself.”

He glanced over his shoulder at you, laughing. “Keep that up, and I might cook for you every night.”

You blinked, caught a little off guard, but you recovered fast. “Careful, Barnes. That sounded dangerously close to a promise.”

He just turned back to the stove, but you saw the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

The kitchen settled into a warm, quiet rhythm. After a while, he set a plate in front of you and sat down beside you, just a little too close to be casual.

“Careful, it’s still hot,” he said, nudging the fork toward you.

You took a bite and raised your eyebrows in genuine surprise. “Okay, wow. This is actually amazing.”

“Told you I had skills.”

“You keep cooking like this, I’m never feeding myself again,” you said, chewing thoughtfully. “You’ll be stuck with me forever.”

He looked at you then, expression soft. “Maybe I wouldn’t mind that.”

The air shifted slightly - less teasing, more real. You opened your mouth to respond, but your phone buzzed loudly on the table. You both glanced at it.

New message from the group chat:

Tony: someone get Barnes a frilly apron, Chef Bucky is IN LOVE

You groaned and slapped your palm over your face. “They’re never gonna stop.”

Bucky reached over, turned your phone face down, and gave a quiet laugh. “Let ‘em talk.”

And with his knee brushing lightly against yours under the table and the soft, fond look still in his eyes, you realized…you really didn’t mind if they did.

--

Once you finished eating, Bucky helped you hobble over to the couch in the lounge. He brought along a cooler with more ice packs, a pillow for your ankle, and a blanket he draped over your lap like you were the fragile old lady from a black-and-white drama.

“I swear, you’re enjoying this,” you muttered as he fussed with the blanket.

He gave you that crooked little smirk and plopped down next to you, resting your crutches against the armrest. “Maybe a little. You make a cute patient.”

You gave him a look. “You’re lucky I can’t chase you right now.”

He adjusted the pillow under your leg and grabbed a fresh ice pack, gently settling it over your swollen ankle. His fingers brushed your skin, cool and careful.

But the cold made you flinch. “Ugh, that’s freezing.”

“You want it to work or not?” he asked, clearly amused.

You narrowed your eyes at him and dipped your hand into the melting bag from earlier, flicking a few drops of ice water onto his arm.

He blinked.

Then calmly set down the new ice pack.

“I see how it is,” he said, reaching behind him into the cooler he’d brought in, pulling out a second – very drippy – ice pack.

“Bucky,” you warned, already awkwardly scooting sideways.

Too late.

He slapped the cold pack lightly against your arm, making you yelp.

“Oh, it’s on,” you said, swiping the old pack and slapping it against his metal shoulder.

And that’s how the two of you ended up in a full-blown ice-pack war on the couch – hissing, giggling, and slipping around in melting water.

You were trying to reach the baggie that slid down onto the floor when your body twisted wrong, sending a jolt of pain through your ankle.

When you winced, Bucky instantly dropped the ice pack. “Okay, okay – game over,” he said, catching you before you slid too far. “Truce. You win.”

You grimaced and nodded. “I claim victory by technicality.”

“You claim victory by being injured,” he muttered, helping ease you back into the cushions and readjusting the ice on your ankle again. His movements slowed, and the playful energy faded into something softer.

He sank down next to you into the couch, and the two of you fell into casual conversation, laughing about anything and everything.

Your body sagged a little toward him, worn out from the pain and the laughing. Without thinking too hard about it, you leaned into his side, your head resting just beneath his shoulder. He didn’t move away – instead, his arm slowly slipped around your shoulders.

You smiled, letting your eyes drift shut.

“Thanks,” you murmured.

“For what?”

“For dinner. And the ice. And not laughing when I almost face-planted into the sink.”

His fingers brushed gently against your upper arm. “I like taking care of you.”

You meant to respond. You really did.

But the comfort, the warmth, the low rumble of his voice…it all pulled you under.

--

You blinked awake slowly, the room dim and still. It took a second for your brain to register the quiet – the kind of quiet that only happens when the compound is truly empty. No footsteps, no clattering, no TV noise from the next room. Just the faint hum of the fridge and the low glow from the security light in the kitchen.

You shifted slightly – and that’s when you realized you weren’t just wrapped in a blanket. You were wrapped in Bucky.

Your head rested on his chest, his arm draped across your shoulders, and your hand – oh, no – your hand was tucked just under the hem of his t-shirt. His other hand rested over yours, warm and completely still in sleep.

You held your breath.

Then, with a soft sigh, Bucky stirred. His brow furrowed as he blinked his eyes open, sleep-heavy and unfocused at first.

“…Did we fall asleep?” he murmured, voice husky and low.

“I think we passed out,” you whispered. “It’s dark out.”

He turned his head slightly toward the window, then let out a quiet groan. “It’s gotta be past midnight.”

Neither of you moved right away.

Finally, you shifted, slowly sitting up. “I should probably get back to my room…”

Bucky nodded, rubbing a hand over his face, then through his hair. “Yeah, yeah…I’ll help you.”

You picked up your phone to look at the time, but saw dozens of notifications from the group chat instead.

“Oh no,” you whispered, clicking on the notification.

“What?” Bucky leaned in to look over your shoulder – and froze.

There you both were, dead asleep on the couch. One of the pictures was straight-up rom-com worthy: your face buried in his shoulder, his head tilted slightly down toward yours, both of you tucked into the blanket like it had been staged.

Then there was the boomerang.

You pulling him closer in your sleep. Him nuzzling against your hair.

You stared at it in horror. “…They were watching us.”

“They filmed us.” Bucky sounded personally betrayed.

You groaned and flopped back onto the couch, dragging the blanket over your face. “I can never show my face again.”

Bucky just leaned his head back against the cushions, staring at the ceiling like it had personally wronged him. “They were never even here when we fell asleep!”

You let out a strangled laugh from under the blanket. “We’re never gonna live this down.”

Bucky gave a resigned sigh, bumping your knee gently. “Might as well stay here. Damage is already done.”

“True,” you said, peeking out at him. “At least it was a good nap.”

He smirked, brushing a piece of hair away from your face. “Best nap I’ve had in years.”

Eventually, after the two of you had stared at the group chat long enough to accept your fate as the team’s newest rom-com subplot, you stood up with a groan and reached for your crutches.

Bucky stood up beside you instantly, reaching over and gently steadying you while you got your balance on the crutches. You looked up at him with a tired smile.

“You don’t have to walk me. I’ve got it.”

He gave you a flat look, like you’d just said the most ridiculous thing he’d heard all week. “Yeah, no. You can barely sneak a snack without falling into my arms – think I’m gonna let you crutch your way down the hall alone at two in the morning?”

You opened your mouth to argue – then closed it again. “Fair point.”

“Mm-hmm,” he said smugly, stepping to the side. “Lead the way, hop-along.”

“You know, insulting the injured isn’t very gentlemanly,” you muttered as you maneuvered into the hallway.

“I carried you twice this week. I’ve got room for a little sass.”

You grinned despite yourself as the two of you made your slow way down the hallway. Every step echoed a little more in the hush, and your crutches tapped rhythmically across the floor.

About halfway to your room, Bucky reached out to steady you again, just instinctively.

You glanced up at him. “You do that a lot.”

“What?”

“Hover.”

He looked down at you, slightly sheepish. “I just…worry.”

Your heart squeezed a little.

“I don’t mind,” you added quickly. “It’s kind of sweet.”

You finally made it to your room, and he cleared his throat, backing up half a step. “Alright, get inside before I say something dumb and end up in more screenshots.”

You laughed and opened your door. “Thanks for the walk, Bucky.”

He nodded once, hand brushing your arm lightly. “Anytime. Get some sleep.”

You lingered in the doorway for a second longer, then gave him a little smile and stepped inside.

And you could still feel his eyes on you even after the door clicked shut.

You set your crutches aside with a small wince, leaning against the wall as you made your way to your bed. As you slowly settled in, the weight of the day – the teasing, the jokes, and the unexpected comfort – finally hit you.

You thought back to the first few days. Bucky had been a constant presence, always there when you needed him, always patient, always gentle in a way that had slowly wormed its way into your chest. The teasing from the others, the way they kept nudging you both, it used to make you roll your eyes. But tonight, with him walking you to your door, something shifted. You weren’t sure when it happened, but somewhere between his quiet concern and that teasing smile, you’d realized – maybe they were right.

Maybe there was something more between you two, something deeper than the easy friendship you’d shared at first. The way he’d always found an excuse to be near you, the little touches that now felt less like accidents and more like promises. You’d never really thought of yourself as someone who fell into a fairytale romance, but if you were honest…it was starting to feel a little bit like one.

And yet, the thought of it felt almost too big to hold on your own, like if you admitted it out loud, everything would shift. Maybe that was why you were so hesitant. But as you lay back on the bed, eyes staring up at the ceiling, you couldn’t help but wonder if that was exactly what you wanted.

You smiled softly to yourself, the weight of your feelings a little less heavy than before. Maybe tomorrow, you’d figure it out. Maybe. For now, you could just let yourself fall asleep, knowing he’d be there when you woke up.

--

Part 5 | Masterlist

Tag list: @ordelixx @read-just-cant-stop @erinallene @crazycleo @magnoliamermaid @thewriters64 @nelachu2423 @kjah97 @awesompawsum @winchestert101 @buckyb-stan @crazyunsexycool @buckysmetalgoddamnarm @buckybarnesfic @ozwriterchick @multiversefanfics @blavikennbutcher @mysoggywaffle @nameless-ken

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Thanks for all your support!

[azen13]

CW: Yandere Themes

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Yandere!Alhaitham x Endangered Animal Hybrid!Reader...

It starts off innocently enough. After escaping a group of Treasure Hoarders looking to sell you off to whoever would pay the most, you find yourself lost in Gandharva Ville for several days until Tighnari finds you. Knowing that you're at risk of being poached due to your rarity, but also knowing that keeping you—a feral, dangerous, and intelligent being—in close proximity to Collei is a bad idea, the Forest Ranger writes to Alhaitham asking him to house you and keep an eye on you.

After several letters sent back and forth over the course of days, it only takes a little bit of begging on Tighnari's part to convince Alhaitham to look after you for a month. Soon enough, you're moving in and sulking around the confines of your new "home", a pout on your face at the fact that you can't escape. After all, for all your strength and agility, Alhaitham possesses a vision and a powerful intellect. You're outmatched.

Despite your attitude, Alhaitham pays you little mind. He makes sure you're fed, hydrated, and healthy, but rarely speaks more than one or two sentences at a time when talking to you. Over the days, the two of you warm up to one another a little, but nothing noticeable changes in the Scribe's demeanor.

Until he comes home one day to you sitting on a sofa, a book plucked from his personal collection spread on your lap. An Introductory Guide to Zoology, the title reads. After a moment, your ears perk up, registering the door creaking. In a flash, you turn to face him, shock painted bright red across your face.

For a few seconds, all you can hear is the battering ram that is your heartbeat smashing against your mind, chastising you for being so stupid. Now you'd be thrown out and defenseless, with plenty of dangerous people who'd jump at the chance to earn a pretty penny by pawning off a rare hybrid such as yourself.

"S-sorry," you say, shaky hands shutting the cover. But before you can, Alhaitham is quick to grab hold of the book, keeping it open.

He's so close to you, to the point where you can see the rise and fall of his chest, the sheen of sweat on his forehead from walking home in the warm weather, the pure intrigue in his eyes at this new discovery.

You intrigue him.

His eyes narrow slightly. "I didn't know you could read?" He glances at the text, discerning what exactly you're studying—if you are studying at all, that is.

You nod. "I learned when I was very young," you say, your own eyes slowly falling to the floor, willing this conversation to be over. Luckily, the divine seem to answer your prayer and Alhaitham simply shrugs and walks away.

Little do you know, the spark of curiosity he allowed you to see had already grown into a roaring fire, burning with the desire to know you. He could hardly call his interest rational, though he does his best to find justifications and act like he believes them.

The month flies by, and you continue to believe that all is well in the world. You've just begun looking through your few belongings, trying to decide what to keep and what to get rid of before you move out, when Alhaitham enters the doorway. "Tighnari told me that you plan to leave in less than a week."

Looking up from the knick-knacks you own, you turn to Alhaitham. "Yeah. I was planning to go back to Gandharva Ville and live there for a few months," you say, your attention beginning to shift back to your possessions. Conversations with Alhaitham mostly ended after one or two sentences, and you had no reason to believe that this conversation would be any different.

"About that." Alhaitham's voice breaks through your focus like glass. "There have been reports from the Matra of increased poaching in the areas around Gandharva Ville. I'm not forcing you to stay, and neither is Tighnari, but we won't be able to protect you there as well as we can here," he says.

You frown. You had been looking forward to leaving for so long now, tired of being cooped up inside Alhaitham's home with only brief walks outside—under the Acting Grand Sage's supervision, of course—to break up the boredom, only to learn that it would be dangerous to leave the city.

"I...I suppose if it's okay, I'd like to stay," you say after a moment of mental debate.

For a moment, you swear you can see the corners of Alhaitham's lips quirk upwards.

"I'll inform Tighnari of your decision as soon as possible." As per usual, after a moment of silence, Alhaitham walks away.

Time seems to fly by in increasingly rapid intervals. One week becomes two. Two weeks becomes four. Four weeks becomes eight, and so on and so forth. You slowly find yourself ensnared by Alhaitham's careful, subtle manipulation. Gandharva Ville really isn't overrun with poachers, but with how sheltered you are, you don't know that.

And week by week, day by day, you don't realize it but Alhaitham is slowly working to decode you. What about you fascinates him so deeply? As he studies you like he would one of his projects, he only finds himself falling deeper and deeper into obsession, an inescapable loop of positive feedback.

The realization comes to him one night, as dreams of you dance in his head as he sleeps. Your hand brushing against his for only a moment. The empty space on the other side of his bed filled by you, his arms holding you close every night. The tender press of your lips against his. The kind of love that transcends human nature. The kind of love that is divine.

Alhaitham is in love.

And now that he knows it, he can't let you go. Luckily for him though, you'll never escape. After all, he's already domesticated you. It's only a matter of time before you learn to love him, too.

[maevesheart]

only angel (2)

FINNICK ODAIR X FEM!READER

note: wasn’t originally planning on making a part two to this but it just seemed so unfinished??!?! and i love ruthless reader idk she’s a queen

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

wc: 5.2k

tw: violence, death, brutal!!reader, blood, allusions to forced prostitution

only angel (1)

SEVEN YEARS EARLIER, THE 68TH HUNGER GAMES

Brutus and Enobaria sat in front of you and Mace, your district mate.

They reminded you of strategies that you had been taught your whole life, ensuring that as long as you two played into the Capitol’s hands, you’d get plenty of sponsors and come out alive.

Mace and you had never been close back home, but you saw him in the shopping centers, had some mutual friends. It was someone familiar, and even though your two mentors spent more time perfecting your wielding of knives and crocodile tears, you hoped Mace could somehow make it far in the games. Like you knew you would.

Enobaria and Brutus had introduced you to the various other Career Tributes, taking their time to butter up the other mentors, ensuring a ticket for your survival.

You were small compared to the other tributes, even the girl from Twelve was bigger than you.

But you trained, and you trained hard, showing off the various knife and sword tricks that had been engraved in your brain since you were a child.

Enobaria helped with your endurance, shocked by how fast you were. She had instructed you to not show that off to the other tributes, don’t give too much away.

After the private sessions with your mentors, you were stronger, faster, and more agile than Mace could even dream. You almost felt bad, the way Enobaria and Brutus were setting him up for death.

But, at the end of the day, only one can make it out alive.

Enobaria was strategic, determined for you to win. She instructed you to not show too many strengths in the private session with the Gamemakers, just enough to get a respectable score for someone from a Career District.

You followed her instructions to a tee, refusing to be one of the 23 fallen.

For the interviews, Ceasar laughed at your innocent comments and jokes, complimenting the head piece you wore, noting how it looked like a halo.

“Beautiful, like an Angel,” he smiled, the crowed cheering in agreement.

You giggled, smoothing down the uncomfortable golden dress they had sewn you into.

The crowd roared with your unwavering confidence, the arrogance paired with your baby-face and innocent smile was enough to send them into a fit of convivial.

It was just too easy.

The night before the games you had snuck out of the floor for Two, going up to the rooftop in hopes of having a moment to yourself.

You perched on the ledge, a small nightgown barely covering your shivering body.

You closed your eyes to relish in what could possibly be your last moments of peace, before being snapped from your trance by footsteps echoing.

You whipped around, teeth barring and senses on high alert. You were already acting like the wild animal Enobaria had been training you to be.

“Not in the arena just yet,” a smooth voice sounds out, a boy a few years older than you coming into view.

You recognized him as Finnick Odair. He had won a few years back, and was now returning as a mentor.

You ignored him, turning back to the outline of the Capitol.

He approached you slowly, leaning his body against the glass railing you were propped against.

You looked up to him, tired-eyes meeting his, somehow seemingly sparkling.

“Unfortunately,” you spoke, your mouth in a straight line. Enobaria had introduced you to him during the parade, but his tributes were not ally-material.

He laughed at your response. You stared at him, unamused.

“Feisty,” he smirked, watching you look away from him and back to the skyline.

“Not really in the mood to talk about my fate,” you said, his eyes still burning two holes into the side of your face.

His smile dropped slightly, having once been in your position himself.

He reminded himself you were only 15. A year older than he was when he won.

He had only won 3 years ago, and stood on this same rooftop. Looking out on the same city skyline.

Your peripheral vision caught him lean both his forearms onto the glass, shifting closer to you.

“Is it just as scary as it seems?” You ask. You were a child. A child that had been trained to hunt and kill. But deep down, you were just a scared kid. How would you kill all those people?

Finnick hums, acknowledging the same question that wracked his mind the nights before his games.

“It is,” he recognized your fear, but refused to give you false hope that it wouldn’t be as brutal as it truly is.

The words Enobaria had spoken to you earlier bounced around your brain, it’s just killing. Self-defense. All of it. Don’t be scared to kill someone who isn’t scared to kill you.

You let out a long breath, closing your eyes.

“I don’t want to die,”

It was quiet, but Finnick heard it, head perking up and turning to stare at you.

The role as a tribute was meant to bring great honor to someone from your district, but you were terrified. You were young, passionate. You had so much to give and so little time to give it all.

“Enobaria told me to hide my strengths, and I did. I’ll be able to kill them, once it comes down to it. But how will I live with myself?”

Finnick asked himself the same question everyday. How did he kill all those people? Sure, it was survival. Him or them. But how do you continue your life, pretending like you hadn’t murdered people on live national television?

“I—“ Finnick fell short, eyes still watching the side of your face.

“How do you cope with it all?” You finally turned to him, salty tears on your cheeks.

He knew you were preparing yourself for the inevitable. He had heard Enobaria boast about you, and had seen you in training. Other tributes would be frightened to get close to you.

He didn’t answer, swallowing thickly. You would soon understand, you would be in his position.

You choked out a sob, hands wrapping around your body.

He watched with wild eyes, before pulling you into his warm chest, head burrowing in his body.

You made no move to remove yourself from his body, and his arms were snug against your back.

“Kill as many as you can, as soon as you can. Then lay low, hunt. Don’t fall for any of that ally-bullshit.”

His voice was rushed, eyes filled with emotion. He felt for you, a scared child. He remembered his fear all too well.

You sniffled in his chest, hands balling at the thin fabric of his top.

And you listened to him.

In those next few hours, during the bloodbath, you killed two, both with knives to the chest. The Capitol citizens cheered as your face reflected the highest kill-count. You knew it was nothing to be proud of.

That next evening, while the rest of the Career pack slept, you stole the boy from One’s — Yves — backpack, shoving their weapons into it as quietly as possible.

Your small size came handy, being able to stealthily move around them, you were lucky the arena was a desert, sand not making a noise.

The girl from One — Aithon — began to lightly stir, and you knew it was now or never. Finnick’s words from the night before mixed with Enobaria’s, and that was all you needed to take a sword in each hand and take down the two tributes from One.

Their deaths were quick, the canons sounding out and Mace waking up, his laying figure looking up at you. Small but powerful.

You stood over his body, one foot on each of his arms, keeping him from reaching up to you.

His face twisted in confusion, looking over to the blood pouring from Yves and Aithon, each who had just been sleeping soundly next to him.

Your knife neared his face in milliseconds, and you had to force your arms down as he began to scream.

“I’m sorry,” was all you could whisper, guilt beginning to cloud your senses.

But you pushed past it, knowing you had to come out alive. No other option.

“Y/N! Please!”

And then there was silence.

He wasn’t anything special, but he was from home.

You held in tears as the canon sounded, running from the three as quickly as you could.

Whilst you hid behind one of the large cacti around the arena, Enobaria grinned as Capitol citizens celebrated her and you, her star tribute.

Finnick watched, heart tugging, knowing that he had encouraged the killings, he had told you to trust no one. And you had listened.

And from then on, you became the Capitol’s angel, their winged symbol of purity, despite the blood and deaths of many on your hands.

When Snow placed the crown on your head, you smiled, naively, and thanked the crowd. Thanked them for their donations, and their belief in you from the beginning.

But that’s all you were to them: a spectacle. A little girl who killed five in one day, a little girl who’s life had been dedicated to these games, to win. A little girl who would never get her purity back, never get to sleep without seeing Mace’s terrified face before she killed him.

He didn’t deserve it, none of them did. But it was life or death. And there was no way you were going to die.

PRESENT DAY, THE THIRD QUARTER QUELL

Your group continued up to the Cornucopia, you and Finnick taking the tail.

Peeta and Finnick drew a map in the dark sand, you leaned against the side of the metal Cornucopia, Johanna plopping down next to you, and Katniss on your other side.

It all happened in a blur. One second, Wiress was singing her song about a mouse and the clock, and the next, Gloss was on top of her, knife straight into the heart.

Katniss’s arrow struck him, you grabbing your swords to get Cashmere who was standing behind him.

Finnick rushed after you. He knew you could take Cashmere, but what happened if Brutus appeared? Brutus had never been kind to you, and it was doubtful he would start now.

Your sword stuck Cashmere in the leg, and she screamed, falling onto the little amount of ground that the middle sector offered.

She turned over, knife in her left hand, grazing your ankle slightly. Luckily your stylist had dressed you in thicker socks; she had been an absolute idiot about most things, but at least she had your back in the arena.

Your thigh was still slightly burning with pain, but you pushed through it, sticking both your swords into Cashmere’s chest, a strangled gasp leaving her lips and her head falling back against the ground.

The canon sounded out, but you continued to pull your swords out and drive them back into her chest, more blood pouring out.

You were grunting now, mind hyper-aware of your actions, but refusing to stop.

You kept driving the sharp tools into her chest, her body slightly moving up when you retracted the metal, and then caving in as you pushed them back.

You weren’t going to die; you refused to.

Hands were on your shoulders, pulling you backwards, and you turned, swinging.

Finnick let go and backed away, hands held up. He knew you’d never hurt him, but once you’re in the killing mindset, it’s very hard to break it.

You dropped the weapons to your side, a long breath leaving your lips that you hadn’t realized you’d be holding in.

Finnick pulled you along with him, hand on your side as he brought you over to everyone else.

All of them were staring with wide eyes — besides Johanna of course.

Katniss knew you were brutal, but she didn’t realize how quickly you did turn into the angel of death. One second you were smiling, laughing at something Johanna had said.

Then your eyes were lit with a fire, teeth out, and running, faster than Katniss had ever seen someone move.

She had watched you kill Cashmere in seconds, continuing to drive the weapons into her, sounds of exasperation leaving your lips but you were unrelenting.

You felt like you were fifteen again, scared and angry, brutal to anyone who crossed your path. Your swordsmanship was uncanny, and Katniss dreaded the moment that she had to try and kill you.

And then the Cornucopia began to spin, extremely fast. You grabbed onto Finnick, a sword sucking down into the water, your other tight in the palm of your opposite hand.

You and Finnick fell to the ground, grabbing at the hard rocks to keep from flying to the water.

And then you heard Peeta scream Katniss’s name, and the two of you both yelled a loud, “shit!”

You pushed off the hard ground, crawling to the side of the island, hand reaching down to grab Johanna’s axe and try to hoist the two of them up.

You grunted, holding onto a small portion of the metal that wasn’t sharp. Your feet dug into the ground, sword shoved into the rock to keep you grounded.

You watched as Katniss went flying down, and then Johanna was on top of you, the two of you gasping for oxygen when the spinning stopped.

You and Johanna were back on your feet, rushing to help Katniss out of the water.

You all made your way back onto the sand, where it was relatively safe.

You discussed strategy, your fingers tracing different shapes into Finnick’s thigh.

“Who’s left then?” Katniss asked, eyes flickering between you and Johanna, the two of you having a conversation with your eyes.

“Brutus and Chaff, I think that’s all,” Peeta announced, all eyes shifting to you at the mention of your district-mate.

“I get Brutus,” you spoke clearly, eyes hard.

“Y/N…” Finnick spoke, hand smoothing down your arm.

“Just… I know him. I can handle it, I swear,”

He had helped train you, of course you would know his methods like the back of your hand. You had been seeking revenge for years, waiting for the day you could get him back.

What had the games done to you? Fantasizing about killing someone?

And then you were back there, back to the moment your life really ended.

You were dressed in clothes Snow had picked out, a hairstyle Snow had picked out, makeup Snow had picked out. You were his newest doll, malleable to his every demand.

It was your victory tour, and Enobaria and Brutus were accompanying you, helping you with speeches and coming to terms with your new life as a Capitol pet.

You were finishing up in the Capitol, the final destination. Snow had laid out his conditions for you: your pride and body now belonged to the Capitol, and with it, they could do what they pleased. Your company came with a high price.

He had threatened your family back in Two, describing in detail what would become of them if you didn’t comply with his wishes.

You had gone back to the train and told Enobaria and Brutus, eyes spilling hot tears when Enobaria pulled you into her arms, hands stroking your hair. At least she was kind.

Brutus, however, was not.

His boisterous laugh rang off the walls of the train, your eyes peeking out from Enobaria’s embrace to glare at him.

“Let me know when you start, sweetheart,” he smirked, a scowl overtaking your features.

You had been waiting to get him back, to show him that weren’t a little slave for his disposal. Finnick understood your rage, more than any other person could.

He wanted to kill Brutus just as badly as you did.

No one else asked any questions, and for that you were grateful.

And then the screaming started, and you jumped to your feet, eyes frantic and scanning the area.

Whoever it was, they were screaming for Katniss, and rather brutally as well.

And off she took. You were the fastest, so you caught her first, arms around her shoulders to steady her, but she kept moving, screaming back to the voice.

She stopped abruptly, and shot an arrow into a large black bird that was flying over your heads.

The screaming stopped immediately. And then it began again, this time, it was the voice of Mace. And you felt the blood drain from your entire body, legs suddenly shaking and threatening to go out.

The words he had screamed to you before you had slit his throat were wrapping around your body, swallowing you whole.

“Y/N! Please! Y/N!” You were running then, the screaming getting louder and louder, tears streaming down your face as you tried to escape it; the horror that would haunt you forever.

“It’s not real, they’re jabberjays!” Katniss assured you, running behind you, trying to catch up.

You saw Finnick and Johanna’s faces ahead through your blurry vision, and you sped up, Finnick’s arms wide for you to run into.

But it was a force field, and you collided right into it, falling to the ground in a heap of tears and painful memories.

You covered your ears, head digging into the ground to stop the noise, but it wouldn’t stop. You wailed, and Finnick was hitting the force field, which he was standing on the direct other side, but there was no avail.

He was screaming for you, to look at him, listen to his voice. But the field was soundproof, and he had to watch with a heavy heart as you sobbed, the sounds of the person you betrayed all those years ago the only thing you could focus on.

Finnick’s hands were all over you, smoothing down your hair, checking your face, helping you stand.

Peeta was doing the same with Katniss, the both of you having tear-stains down your cheeks and dirt smudged into your cheeks.

You were frozen solid, eyes big and wide, legs slightly shaking. You had never felt worse about something than what you did to Mace that dreadful night. His screams haunted your dreams, and to have the Gamemakers play into that weakness reminded you just who the real enemy is.

“Y/N, look at me,” Finnick’s hands were on the sides of your face, pulling you closer to his protective figure.

“It wasn’t real. It wasn’t him,” he shook his head lightly, your lips still quivering from fear.

You could only muster the strength to simply nod, telling him that you knew, but the Gamemakers were cruel, so cruel, and they had hit you right where it hurt.

Just as you were beginning to regain your usual automatic-kill mindset, a small box flew down, straight into your hands.

Everyone gathered around you, curious as to what could’ve been sent.

You knew Enobaria would have your back, and considering the sponsors this year were based upon what you had left over from your games, you were lucky. You had a large pot of donations under your name, not needing much assistance when you were in your first games.

You screwed off the top, being met with a small vile of Crave Cure, the very concoction that she had sent you during your games. It came with a note reading: remember who the real enemy is. I’m always rooting for you. - Baria

That assured you of Enobaria’s stance, likely scheming with Haymitch and Plutarch behind the scenes, ensuring your protection by Thirteen.

Finnick smiled next to you, Johanna calling out with happiness.

“Finally!” Johanna cheered, axe thrust into the air.

You even broke a smile, suddenly distracted from the traumatic experience you had just endured.

You looked up, seeing the confused looks on Katniss and Peeta’s faces.

They would’ve never heard of Crave Cure, it was the most expensive thing a mentor could send their tribute, and required many sponsors. It was usually only sent to the Careers, both you and Finnick had received it during your games.

“Crave Cure,” you spoke, Katniss’s eyes meeting yours.

“One drop on your tongue and it cures hunger for 12 hours,” you smiled to them, picking up the vile.

“Enobaria is a saint,” Johanna spoke, watching as you dropped a tiny bit of the brown liquid onto your tongue, a content sigh escaping your lips.

Beetee went next, then Finnick and Johanna.

Katniss and Peeta stood awkwardly to the side, not knowing to approach or not.

“Oh, enough of that! We’re allied, aren’t we? Take a drop,” you urged, placing the vile into her hands.

Peeta nodded, and that seemed to be all the convincing Katniss needed before mimicking your action and gagging when she tasted the fluid.

You laughed at her expression, a light-hearted tease. “Not the best, but it does do its job,”

You figured you had really won her trust, considering how she walked next to you during the hike to the big tree.

The two of you talked about your families back home. You complimented her dedication, to protect her little sister.

She had killed your Cato and Clove; the two you had spent hours coaching, assuring they’d be okay in the end. Words you had needed so badly during your games.

Through talking with Katniss, you realized no one deserved to win as much as she did. She was selfless, willing to sacrifice herself for both her sister and Peeta, placing herself as a protector, not a victim.

And then the peace you had all been building crashed down, Katniss suddenly retreating from the trust you all had built after Beetee offered she go with you and Johanna.

“Why can’t Johanna and Y/N go? I’ll protect you with Peeta,” she spoke, and you met Finnick’s gaze. You read the fear in his eyes, knowing this the was now or never moment.

“Katniss,” you spoke, hands resting on her shoulders.

“You know who the true enemy is,” you whispered, holding her intense eye-contact.

Her eyes softened at your words, everything seemingly clicking into place. With a nod, you grabbed her hand, and pulled her with you and Johanna.

A look over your shoulder to Finnick, and a nod. Your eyes said it all: I love you. I’ll see you soon, once we are safe and out of the Capitol’s hands.

You and Johanna halted your movements, stopping Katniss as you did.

“Stay down,” Johanna instructed Katniss, grabbing her arm.

“What-“ Katniss was about to scream, and you could not let that happen.

You grabbed her face with your hands, eyes frantic for her faith.

“You can trust us,” you whispered, barely loud enough for the cameras to pick up on.

But the raw emotion in your eyes calmed Katniss, giving Johanna the opportunity to cut the tracker out, Katniss’s arm beginning to bleed heavily.

“It’s alright,” you soothed her, your arm out to Johanna, waiting for the inevitable sear of pain.

And then it came, and you placed your body over Katniss’s not allowing her to get up and try to attack.

But then you spotted Brutus over the rock, his hard eyes staring straight into yours.

“Y/N,” Johanna warned, watching the familiar fire begin to brew.

You were up in seconds, sword in one hand, knife in the other, running up the rocky hill. The pain in your arm was masked by the rush of adrenaline you ran high off, killing spree — if you will.

Johanna grunted in anger, but she knew not to expect anything different from you.

“Do not move,” she instructed Katniss, picking up her axe to follow you.

You had reached Brutus quickly, pouncing onto his back and driving your sword straight through his abdomen.

He cried out in pain, blood soon coating your legs that wrapped around his waist.

You pulled the sword out, taking the knife to his neck. He was dead in seconds, the familiar canon sounding throughout the arena.

After registering what you had done, images of Katniss flooded your mind and you internally cursed yourself, rushing back to the spot you had left her and Johanna.

Johanna was back to your side, but Katniss was no where to be seen.

“Fuck!” You cursed, sprinting back towards the tree where Beetee, Finnick, and Peeta were.

She had likely gone back to protect Peeta and kill Finnick, and you were not about to let that happen.

Johanna tried to keep up with you; but even with a gushing arm and slit leg, you were fast. Much faster than anyone else.

“Finnick!” You screamed, feet pounding against the hard ground, propelling you towards the tree, where you watched Katniss aim her arrow straight at Finnick’s head.

Beetee was on the ground, and you crouched, feeling for his pulse. His heart was still beating and you hovered over him protectively, in case Katniss decided to turn around and fire at you too. Which seemed very likely.

You watched as Finnick said something to Katniss, obviously resonating with her, the bow slightly lowering.

“Johanna! Give me your arm!” You swung around, panic-struck and searching for the familiar face.

And you saw her a few feet below, trying to climb the vines you had mounted with ease.

You looked between Finnick and her, torn as to which to try and protect. You knew Finnick would hold his own, so you turned back around and began to move for Johanna, quick feet avoiding possible injuries.

But just as you were in grabbing-distance of her, Finnick’s voice rang out, screaming, “Get away from that tree!”

A crack of something echoed around you, and you turned wildly, trying to figure out what had just happened.

Then you understand what Finnick had meant, a loud crack of lightening rained down and sent you flying, reaching for Johanna as you flew past her, her terrified eyes meeting yours.

The last thing you remembered was being pulled up into the air by a large claw, head and limbs limp as you were hoisted up; sword still secure in your palm, a protection habit you had picked up since your games. You always needed to be armed, after all, life was the arena.

You awoke to the sound of a heart monitor, steady beeping lightly calming your high-alert nerves.

You winced sitting up, large bandages wrapped around your forearm and thigh.

You inspected your surroundings, two empty mats in front of you, and Katniss sleeping to your left.

You stood, hushed voices on the other side of the door that reached the ceiling of the craft you were on.

You looked for a weapon of sorts, not willing to go in unarmed. On the other side of the empty room was your sword, glimmering and coated in blood.

You walked over to it, legs sore and aching, the familiar metal calming against your palm.

The door immediately opened as you approached it, Haymitch and Plutarch’s widening as they spotted your weapon of choice clutched in your ruthless hands.

But it dropped to the floor with a loud clatter when your tired eyes met Finnick’s, a relieved smile coming over your features.

You rushed to him, throwing yourself into his arms. His lips met yours halfway, melting into his strong hold around your body.

The two of you fit together perfectly, like you had been made in the same mold.

Your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him tighter to your already close bodies.

You poured all your pent up feelings into the kiss, all the feelings you had suppressed since the fight that had ended your relationship.

It was the most relaxed you had been in the whole week, since your name was plucked from the bowl of living victors.

His lips moved against yours as he squeezed your hips, hands feeling everything they could, to ensure that it was in fact you, and you were alive and safe in front of him.

You pulled a part, a grin across your small face.

He smiled back, but your bliss was interrupted from the clearing of a throat behind you. You spun around, eyes meeting the expectant ones of Haymitch, Plutarch, and Beetee.

The look on your face said it all. And Haymitch nodded, validating all the thoughts that had been running through your head.

You were safe, headed for the secret hideout of Thirteen. All was okay.

You almost began to laugh thinking about how the Capitol would react, their Angel and Darling being two of the biggest conspirators in a rebellion. How ironic.

And Katniss was on the ship, you had successfully carried out your tasks.

“Where’s Johanna?” You asked, a smile still dotting your face.

Finnick’s composure broke, and your heart dropped, realizing the obvious.

“No, no, no, no,” you began to back away, spine hitting the hard metal of the table.

“I went after Brutus, I didn’t cut the tracker… fuck! Oh my god, Finnick, oh god,” you began to dry-heave, accepting her capture as your fault.

Finnick’s hands were on your biceps, steadying you and pulling you back into his chest.

“Johanna and Peeta are in the Capitol,” Plutarch spoke, your worst fears being confirmed.

“It’s all my fault,” you groaned, head in your hands. You had killed, hunted, and tortured. But the idea of a friend’s death being on your hands hurt more than any of those ever did.

Haymitch spoke reassuring words behind you, but Finnick’s hold and the idea of betraying Johanna was all you could focus on.

How would she forgive you? Was she alive? How would you ever cope if she wasn’t, and it was all your fault? Of course, you let the murderer take over, and went after Brutus.

Finnick’s arms soothed down your back, keeping your grounded as you were flooded with grief, with the heavy weight of betrayal.

Johanna and you were close friends, you were supposed to protect each other in the games. She had protected you, always by your side, and you neglected to do the same.

“We’re going to try and rescue them as soon as we can,” Haymitch said, even though you all knew that might be an impossible task.

And then Finnick slipped his hand into yours, fingers curling around yours and softly rubbing your knuckles.

You composed yourself, closing your eyes as you took in a deep breath, regaining focus on just your interlocked hands. Finnick always knew how to relax you.

All you had wanted initially was to get out of this quarter quell alive, to return home to your big mansion and family. To hug them again, to prove to the Capitol that they could take everything from you, but they couldn’t kill you.

But now, you realized that all had been in vain. Where you really belonged was here, holding hands with Finnick, discussing how you were going to break your friends from the Capitol’s mean grip.

You’d die for him, for them. You’d flap your wings once more to ensure they’d all live.

When Katniss first volunteered for Primrose, you hadn’t understood how she would sacrifice her life for another.

But now you knew, and you knew you’d do it too.

You finally had something to live for, someone you loved, who understood all that you had gone through better than anyone else.

Life was the arena, and if it came down to it, you knew the angel would sacrifice herself for the darling.

**

[thatnonameuser]

Can MC make a cat cult and use cat to attack Yanderes.

MC getting a cat for each dorm/ event and all of them are scheming to get you away from the boys is cute. Unlike Grim, these fur babies can’t be bribed. 

*                    *                    *                    *                    *

You love cats.

What’s not to love? The little fluff balls are adorable. And surprisingly the most normal part of this world. 

You were a cat person. Plain and simple.

You loved cats, back in your world always feeding them, petting them, cuddling them. You loved them so much that when you first met Grim, you loved him even if he was a pain in the neck that went through tuna like fish breathed in water. 

Plus, given how stressful your situation was, they were the perfect stress relief. You can’t count how many nights you fell asleep petting Grim, cuddling Grim in your arms as you slept. 

Grim was your ghost repellent, your flame thrower, and your bestfriend/boss. Grim was like a rescue, throwing claws at you at first, and then cuddling up on you for your love and attention. 

Grim was a possessive cat, always wanting to be around you and constantly trying to be around you. And when you were threatened or in danger he would attack with his claws or his magic. There was even that one time that he tried to claw out Jamil’s eyes for mind controlling you back during winter break. 

To you, that was your one good thing. And because you deserved more good things after everything you went through…..the universe decided to give you a bunch more cats. Yay!

Besides Grim, the first one you met was Cheshire. Who somehow broke into your kitchen and got into Grim’s tuna. The orange tabby had a habit of coming and going whenever he pleased and causing mischief all over Ramshackle, destroying dishes and glasses. But despite your intruder cat’s reign of terror, he had a wonderful habit of popping up from nowhere whenever you visited Heartslabyul. 

It was a breath of fresh air whenever he managed to ruin the dorm’s peace and cause disaster to fall like a tower of cards. Like the namesake, Cheshire loved messing things up and causing chaos, breaking teacups, knocking over cakes and treats and vanishing before he could get caught and popping up again whenever anyone thought he was gone to continue it. And whenever one of the boys got too close to you, he’d pop out of nowhere and deliver them a hail of scratches and bites. 

So when they inevitably caught him, you scooped the poor baby into your arms and took him as your own before they skinned the cat alive. Cheshire just loved ruining yanderes’ evil plans, and being so adorable that being mad at him for his casual destruction was borderline impossible, and being a free spirit / vigilante that came out of nowhere was quite helpful. And then came more.

After Cheshire, it was Nala, Sushi and Rajah. Your violent babies.

Because much like his namesake, Cheshire came and went as he pleased, only coming in when it was time to be a hero. So you left food for him to eat when he decided to come back. Grim mourned his loss of tuna, but your other cat needed feeding, so you left an open can on the porch with some water. You woke up to Cheshire on your porch with his new friends. Who all jumped you as soon as you opened the door. 

Nala, a savannah cat, was a hunter and a fighter. She was a very peaceful kitty with you, but a violent hellspawn with anyone else. She was a territorial kitty so whenever the Savanaclaw boys came near she would leave enough bloody bite marks on them to warrant a rabies shot. 

Sushi, a spotted orange, black and white kitty, wasn’t the most feral, but he had a taste for the sea. The tiny kitty always followed you to Octavinelle, and whenever the trio got near he would eye them like dinner. Gotta love merfolk technically being seafood. Sushi was very agile too, so Floyd couldn’t catch them whenever she got too close. 

Rajah, an orange and black striped cat the size of a medium-sized dog he’d rip and tear through clothes with his teeth and claws. He hated all your suitors, ripping holes into pants legs, baring fangs and hissing whenever they got too close. He couldn’t be bribed despite even Kalim trying to warm up with him with expensive and delicious smelling treats. But unlike Grim, he couldn’t be tricked.

And after them, it was Duchess, Chimera, and then Diablo. Your crafty kitties.

Duchess, a Persian cat with white fur so long that when you brushed her it looked like your sheets got snowed on, was a spoiled loud princess. So loud that she would yowl at all hours and alert anyone unfortunate or otherwise to hear it. Much to your surprise, whenever Rook decided to invade your privacy she always managed to find him. Which is both strange because the fact Rook barely ever got caught, and helpful because then he couldn’t do whatever. But thanks to…. something, Duchess always found her way to him. And when she did she was like a siren, yowling so loud it woke you up when you were sleeping. 

Chimera was an adorably fat patchwork cat that was as lazy as Grim, but had a penchant for finding electronics in Ramshackle and sitting on them. While Idia loves cats to an unhealthy degree, you could see that it was bothering him that Chimera kept destroying his cameras. Too bad, your fat little-big Chimera is a danger to those hidden cameras and as a result of that, a lovely roommate that won’t be moving out.

Diablo, a black cat no surprise, had appeared on top of you when you opened your eyes one morning and didn’t ever leave. You were suspicious of whether or not he was a normal cat, because you noticed the little blue lights that came into the air when he popped out of nowhere. His speciality was messing with magic, or more specifically magical artifacts meant to lure and bind you. The food spelled with potions, necklaces with curses of binding, and even  Whatever was sent would be smashed, shattered and broken before you could be tricked into using them. Incredibly helpful given Diasomnia’s antics, specifically Malleus’ gift giving of precious and usually cursed jewelry. 

And then, Count Claudius. And Foxy. And Gideon. And Skelly.

All your possessive and protective little kitties, that made biscuits in your blankets and bite marks on your suitors. 

Sure Grim was a lil’ jealous. He was still your number one, you did your best to make sure that he wasn’t going to fight with the cats in a jealous rage. 

As for your suitors…..

They were probably pissed. You had to free your precious babies from traps to make sure they were able to come back to Ramshackle come morning. But, Grim mostly fell for them. 

But hey, you’d rather be a single cat lady than deal with your yandere suitors. Maybe you could take them home with you.

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

All of your Time | Yandere Hybrid SatoSugu

The thing about introverts is that they need to recharge

They need time by themselves to be able to handle more interaction

They greatly value their lonesome 

Whether to enjoy their imagination without distraction or to put themselves nose-deep in their field of interest

They have a safe space – a time or place meant to belong to them and only them

It’s why you didn’t go out on the unplanned drinking escapade when your boss and his partner offered

“No, thank you I have something to do tonight.”

Unbeknownst to you, you smashed their hearts into a tiny million pieces with that polite sentence

Though it wouldn’t be the first time

The only time they could get you to agree was when they made plans with many of your friends at a significantly later date

They decided to be nice about getting your affection so why was this so hard

Why was it taking so long to get any of your free time

“Sugu! I’m tired of waiting! Why can’t we just take them now!?”

“We both decided to be patient with them…you’ve already said you didn’t want them to hate you. Right?”

“...Yeah…”

“So we’ll be taking the long way…for now.”

He says that but their patience is running thin

And like a starving pack of wolves, they need something

“Oh yeah (Y/n) kind of really needs their alone time.”

They decide to do some digging as to why this keeps happening

by they I mean Suguru eventually gets an answer from your friend

“They make plans with themselves all the time. Honestly, we’re just lucky the days we do hang out don’t fall on the dates they’ve already picked out.”

Why must their darling be oh so fickle?

They decide to go to their other plan 

One they’ve crafted after many trips with you home where they stayed 3 meters behind and you didn’t know they were there

Passing by an ally you always do stopping at a familiar sound

“Oh my! Two cute friendly kitties in one day? I must be dreaming!”

You aren’t and when you return home you’ve got two fluffy cats that refuse to leave your side

Finally the perfect turnaround of seeing you composed and restrained at work

Then seeing you fawn and coddle them when they transform into cats in your home

Suguru and Satoru had gained their wealth through several means

Privilege, hard work, physical prowess, and agility that made them a force to be reckoned with in the underworld

Suddenly their ability to transform into their ‘lesser forms’ comes in handy when they feel the need to have more of your time

This time when you cancel going out with them they’re not too hurt

Knowing you're already running back home to be with them

It’s the perfect little plan that lets them have see so much more of you:

“Awww my little Nightsky~your like my little guardian! Even when I’m in the bath you watch after me, thank you!”

The black, purple-eyed cat purred in contentment as you let your fingers massage the cat’s head. Readjusting your robe you slipped into your slippers and made your way to your bed. On your way, you lightly rubbed the cheek of your white cat who was sat on his cat tree aggressively flicking his tail. 

You cooed,” Don’t be jealous Cream, it’s just that you get a little crazy whenever I let you in while I’m taking a bath.”

The cat meowed indignantly. Chuckling to yourself you grabbed your phone from your nightstand. Plopping on your bed you started scrolling through unanswered messages sent to you. In your peripheral you watched the cats mew at one another before beginning to playfully wrestle.

“Be careful on the cat tree, you two.”

They seemed to ignore you subsequently rolling off the perch and onto the floor. Having seen them do this exact action before you didn’t bother looking away as you read the messages from your friend in your department. Your lips pursed as the string of messages ended with a voice note.

“Hey, those two are still asking about you. Why don’t you give them a chance? Maybe they just want to be your friends?”

Sighing you prepped yourself to make your own voice note, unaware of both your cats’ attention solely directed towards you.

“If they do want that–and I highly doubt that–don’t they feel off? Like did you see how that grumpy old man gets so mousy when they’re around? I just don’t think I’d want to associate with that.”

After ending and sending your voice note, you hold your phone as it pings with messages from your friend. Holding in a giggle you tap back your response. Conveniently Cream and Nightsky are at your side rubbing their bodies and tails in front of your face as they both sprawl out on your forearms.

“Guys!”

You scold them but you have no plans to move them instead continuing to text your friend. Occasionally kissing your cat’s heads you continue to inform them–your friend—of even more dirt you’d found on your overly-friendly employers. It lightly amuses you how it looks like your cats are reading the texts as well though you're sure it’s your fingers quickly moving that they’re so entranced by.

A ping goes off and you quickly shoot up to throw on some clothes. The cats look curiously as you crazily hop around before snatching your keys. You smiled at your approaching cats,” Okay boys! Our delivery gal got caught at the gate. So I’m going to go get food be my good boys!”

Blowing kisses, you disappear with a slam and locking of the door.

Your footsteps disappear down the hallway. 

And your apartment is silent. 

For a little while.

“Geez are we really that off-putting?”

Standing and looking longingly at the door is the pouting and naked, Gojo Satoru. An owner of the company (Y/n) is currently employed at and the only white-haired man who was rubbing his face into the intimate threads of their robe.

Suguru Geto, also stark naked and the CEO of that company was sighing and holding the bridge of his nose, “ Perhaps we really won’t be able to convince them otherwise.”

“Why don’t we just take them now? Burn the condo and sweep ‘em off their feet?”

“Because I know you know they’d hate that.”

Satoru lifted his head with a sadistic smirk and shrugged his shoulders,” So? They’ll get over it!”

Suguru put a disappointed hand over his face if only to hide the smile that tickled his lips. “They’re not like me…or you…we have to be gentle. Too much shock and we’ll ruin them forever.”

Satoru whined, abandoning the robe he snagged to join Suguru on the couch. Posturing himself right above his husband, “C’mmmooonnn! They’re strong enough, they can take it!”

The ravenette wasn’t swayed, teasingly turning his head as he rested he his chin on his hand. “No ‘Toru too high a risk.”

“Then why don’t we take another approach, Satoru lightly turned Suguru’s head towards him flashing his award-winning smile,” How about we work a different angle.”

Suguru’s brow quirked in intrigue.

“One where we happened to be their perfectly timed saviors.”

“Do you really think that’d work?”

“I say we try it! Otherwise, I’m back to Plan: A!”

Suguru couldn’t help but laugh bringing the man down to nuzzle his own nose. Planting a kiss on his lips, he opened wider as Satoru dove in. Pulling away after a minute Suguru cutely mimicked his cat form as he batted his eyes,” Am I forgiven for me and (Y/n)’s time in the bath?”

Satoru sucked his teeth. “You almost made me forget you slimy snake! How dare you?!”

Suguru shrugged with a smirk on his face, sending a scolding look when Gojo growled and angrily clutched at his hair. The tension was released when they both let out boisterous laughter. 

The apartment wasn’t silent anymore.

And you’d returned from getting takeout a while ago.

“What the actual f–!”

[abbyslovergirlxo]

Weaken Me 1

Young Ambessa Medarda x NoxianFem!Reader

synopsis: Noxus was never your home, not truly. But finally you have the chance to leave, and you have the love of your life right beside you.

a/n: there will be a part two to this which will be the final part. also I am aware this isn’t accurate to Noxus, just for story purposes. 💕

One by one you stuffed the little cracker packages into the bag. You contemplated how much to take, worried your estimates of stock weren't the best. But you knew she could eat enough for three, so you settled to take all of them. For a moment, you felt guilty.

These ones were your mothers favorite and you hadn’t even left her a single one. Ignoring that voice in your head, you took one out, throwing it back into the golden pantry. She wouldn’t notice you’d left it for her. You knew that. But the idea of your mother searching for you frantically, anxious about her insolent daughter, with not even a cracker to console her made you unwell. Deep down maybe it was your way of saying sorry, for everything.

I’m really sorry I ran away Mum. I’m really sorry that you had me as a daughter and all I can offer are a pack of fucking crackers. It’s all I can offer, please accept it.

The thought made you grimace, made you angry. And that wasn’t part of your plan tonight.

Get it and go. Get it and go. Get it and go. Get it and go. You repeat to yourself, over and over and over.

Quietly and quickly you moved your feet against the same floor you had your first steps. You grabbed convenient and easy clothes, in the same closet you’d had since you got a ‘proper’ room at age seven. You cried silently as you grabbed the wipes from the bathroom you had your first period. The tears were forced to be even more discreet as you walked past your parents bedroom. You never stopped walking but just for a second you looked at their door and imagined them opening it, apologizing for everything and begging you to stay. Just for a second.

An empathizer for a daughter, the gods laugh at me.

Ever since you were a little girl, you noticed that there was something wrong with you. Most distinctly when you were seven you told your parents that you preferred to stay at home and read, which was of no issue. Initially. Their concern grew when the only books you’d ever snatch from the family library were ones about farming and trivial things as such. You remembered your father snatching the book from you, and placing another one in your hands. The Art of War, it had been called. You hadn’t enjoyed the book much to say the least.

Another time when you were fourteen and your cousin had come over, some dispute turned explosive and your mother found you on the floor with blood leaking from your nose. Your cousin was punished promptly but you didn’t miss the expression on your mothers face when she asked you why you hadn’t hit her back. I didn’t want to hurt them, you’d said. A murmured ‘weak’ was all you got in return. Memories like those made you feel empty. And you knew so long as you stayed here, you’d always be.

The next tear that spilt this time was quickly wiped away. Noxians didn’t need tears, they didn’t deserve them. Even if they were your own parents. With a heavy bag and a heavier heart, you slouched the grey pack over your shoulder, taking one last look at the enormous house you had grown up in. You wouldn’t miss it, not particularly. It was hard to miss a home that felt like a prison. But it had been your only home. So maybe you’d miss that, the idea of what it could’ve been, should’ve been.

The journey to the meet up spot wasn’t nearly as heartbreaking as the venture in your home, this one was a walk in the park. You did well to evade any Noxian soldier roaming the streets at night. Your teachers had always commented that your offensive training was below standard but your agility was unmatched, the one thing you could hold somewhat proudly. So without even a hiccup, you made it to the large abandoned glass house.

It was silent, completely still. Not even the sound of some distant animal or bug could be heard, just voidless silence. It was a bit eerie you’d admit. Of all your times you’ve come here, this was undoubtedly the most un-routine, most risky. As you made your way through the broken furniture and peeled down wallpaper, you wondered if she made it here safe. You knew that she’d always been better than you when it came to combat and studies and yet you clenched your bag tighter at the idea the silence was a warning.

Finally, you made it to the room. It was the same as it always was, dark and cold. You placed your bag on the floor next to the makeshift sitting area you both put together years ago. For a moment you considered going and looking around for her but you knew that to be fully emotion fuelled. It would do neither of you good if you moved around too much.

Besides, you thought, my Ambessa is capable.

She also wasn’t a liar. So you sat complacently on the old dull chair, closing your eyes and relaxing into it. You didn't realize how tense you were until you released your spring trap like muscles.

“ You got here fast.”

You sprung open your eyes, turning to the doorframe, a tall familiar silhouette greeting you. Without so much as a hello, you ran to her. She accepted the hug as always, pulling you even harder than you pulled her. It felt like gratification, having her close like this. She also accepted the kisses you gave her, some on her lips, others on her cheeks.

“ I missed you.” You murmured into her neck, refusing to break the embrace. Her chin rested on your head as she nodded.

“ I’m here now.” It held a gentle She said the words with such finality, such certainty that it calmed you. Finally now, you allowed her the freedom of her body again.

“ So,” you said. “ When are they coming?”

“ It should be no longer than an hour.”

You nodded. But anxiety still tugged at you.

“ An hour? Do you think anyone will notice before then? It’s late but…”

She noticed your mind wandering off, probably imagining emotionless soldiers rounding the two of you up, taking you off to god knows where, facing god knows what. She put her hand on your shoulder, using her finger to lift your chin up to look up at her.

“ Everything's going to go just fine, Darling. I promise you.”

She also said this with a certain finality, in all fairness you were sure Ambessa said most things like this. Even if she wasn’t certain, she spoke as such. So you relied on the love you know she held for you, the respect. If Ambessa said everything was going to be okay, then it was.

It was. You thought. It’s going to go just fine. She said so.

You hummed, shaking your head slightly in an attempt to think about what it’d be like once everything actually did go according to plan. Your mind imagined the boat, being out in the ocean. Then you envisioned Piltover, the large and bright city. Well according to your parents. They didn’t say it so fondly though, mainly with contempt. But typically anything they hated you loved.

“ Here.” Her voice knocked you out of your thoughts.

You looked down at her hand, a bottle of water she offered you.

“ To calm you.”

You smiled at her, raising a brow.

“ Thank you sooo much, my savior.” You joked, uncharacteristically she didn’t reciprocate it, humming and only waiting for you to grab it.

You brushed it off, deciding that maybe she was more anxious than she let on. That was fair, you both were leaving behind a great deal. Your families, both high ranking, wealth and a secured life. As brutal as you knew them to be, your life was set out for you here, you were born with a purpose already bestowed. You just had to be worthy of it.

But you were also escaping a life of emptiness, war, the darkness that was being a mindless soldier. This was the right thing to do, uncertainty was better than what you knew what your life would be like if you stayed. Still, many things are to be left behind. You prayed silently in your mind that whatever possibly plagued Ambessa quelled quickly. You both deserved as much.

Thankfully you took the water bottle, making a point to drink some in front of her. She seemed to calm more after that so you took the opportunity to drag her over the tattered chairs. Ambessa sat in the seat you preoccupied before.

“ Rude.” You joked, hoping to see her relax just a bit.

She smiled up at you. “ Oh hush, come sit with me.”

She couldn’t see it but your heart leaped at the sight. Her eyes crinkled in that peculiar way, hair shifting among her shoulders. Years of knowing her and yet she made you feel so deeply even still. You wondered if she knew how much she made you feel, how much you loved her. Sure, you’d tell her. But in your soul it didn’t feel like something words could portray. To you, whatever affirmations of love you’d whispered to her was a poor conveyment of your being, of your affections for her.

“...I love you Ambessa.”

Suddenly the room was heavier like before, but instead of anxiety it was filled with need. Her face dropped just the slightest as she seemed to almost reach out for you. But you stayed still, unsure of how to move with the sudden wave of emotion washing over you.

“ Thank you…so much.”

You weren’t sure what you were thanking her for. Maybe everything? Maybe for when she held you for hours after your mother made you feel small? Maybe for when she kissed your scars from training? Maybe for when she reassured over and over how much she loved you? Maybe for this very moment? Years of not being seen by the people who should’ve held onto you without doubt made you so weary. And then there she was, loving and willing.

You looked through blurry eyes over at the sacks. She was ready to give up her whole life for you. Ambessa could be ruthless, she was strong. She was formidable in all the way Noxus loved. You weren’t. She could thrive here, she had no reason to leave. And she was giving it all up for you.

“ t-thank y–”

She didn’t allow you to finish your sob filled statement before she was by your side again, squeezing you.

“ shh…its ok.” She whispered.

“ I would do anything for you. You’re my people, you’re my home. I’m not leaving anything behind, so long as I haven’t left you.”

Of course she knew what was coursing through your mind, she always did. You sobbed into her, the tears creating small puddles on her shirt. But she couldn’t bother with that. All she could think about was you. And Ambessa hated to see you cry, maybe that's always why she tucked you so close when you were like this.

“ I love you too, darling.”

Even through tears, you wished for her.

“ Kiss me…please.”

She pulled back, that small smile she always offered you when you were upset adorned her face.

“ so polite.” She whispered before she captured your lips. You practically melted in her at the act, her strong arms so easy to fall into. Ambessa always kissed you like you were fragile, like your lips were a glass that could never be dropped. It used to make you desperate, needy for more. But now all you could do was push back with equal care. Even if Ambessa was strong to everyone else, in your eyes she was fragile too. You couldn’t imagine hurting her, your sweet girl. So softly and so lovingly, you both shared a passionate embrace.

The tears slowly subsided as she pulled away. She kissed your tear stained cheeks, trailing her kisses from your neck to your collarbone. You whimpered only the slightest as she bit at the skin, licking gently over it. She nuzzled her head into your neck and for a moment you thought she was inhaling the very essence from you.

“ so beautiful…” she whispered.

“ y-you’re beautiful too…”

She laughed softly into your skin, kissing wherever your skin allowed room. You didn’t protest when she tugged at the hem of your shirt, her brown fingers running over your stomach. You shut your eyes, lost in the feeling of her consuming you. Flickers of that familiar desire sparked in your belly. Flashes of memories flooded your head. Her eyes, unyielding and sincere, staring into yours as she feasted between your legs.

You clenched your thighs at the thought, breath uneven as she continued. You felt the trace of her smile as she kissed your stomach, your shirt now long gone and chest exposed.

“ Remembering something?”

You huffed a nervous laugh, “ Just…continue.”

“ Where’s my please? What happened to my polite girl?”

The blush on your face was hot enough to burn down the abandoned building and everything in it. And yet somehow all it managed to do was make your lover smile wider, waiting for your response. You lifted your hips just the slightest at the feeling of her fingers teasing your waistband.

“ please bessa, please…”

The desperation in your voice made her drop any sense of composure either of you thought she might’ve had. Suddenly she looked as desperate as you, nodding before she began to pull down your pants. But then your breath hitched and you caught her hand with yours. Instantly she stopped, looking up at you.

“ What if they come while…we’re…you know? Shouldn’t we be ready?”

Maybe this is when you should’ve noticed that crease in her brow, that look on her face.

“ You’re right. I’m sorry. I got…carried away.”

You pulled her hand to your face, kissing it gently.

“ It’s ok,” You giggled slightly. “ I think we both got carried away.”

You leaned forward to grab her face with both your hands, hating the sullen look on her face. She slumped into your hands, accepting the quick kisses to the corners of her mouth.

“ Plus, we’ll have plenty of time for this in Piltover.”

“ Right…”

You stared at her, noticing the way she refused to catch your eye. She looked so upset. Ambessa was never one to mop about such things, and yet she looked so defeated in front of you.

“ look at me,” You whispered. Her hazel eyes drifted to yours but they still seemed so heavy. “ what’s wrong?”

Her mouth opened, as if she was on the cusp of saying something. You even felt the sudden clench of her fist against your leg. You searched her face as if you’d find what she was holding back, as if you’d unearth her worries. But instead she suddenly retracted from your hands, her fist relaxing.

“ I’m ok.”

Wordlessly she pulled your pants back over your hips, ignoring your stare as she helped put your shirt back on.

“ bessa—”

“ Here, darling. They’ll be here soon and it’ll be a long journey.”

You looked at the water bottle that you’d placed down not too long ago. You wanted to ask her what troubled her again but you decided against it. She’d tell you when she was ready. She always did. So without hesitation you took the bottle from her again, being sure to finish it. But unfortunately, unlike last time she didn’t ease up. Instead she took the bottle from you, tossing it into a random dark corner.

“ bessa…I feel–”

She captured you again, holding you in her arms.

“ Please understand. You’re my home…I could never let you go.”

Your arms felt heavy suddenly and yet you managed to cling to her. Even through slurred words she understood.

“ I would never leave you…”

You felt the faint drip of something wet hit your shoulder.

“ I know, sweet girl. I k-know…”

Your arms dropped, the feeling of holding them up making your body hurt. Why was your head spinning? Your fingertips felt numb, your feet quickly following. When you tried to speak again, you couldn’t. It was as if your body was too weak to do anything. Before you knew it, Ambessa was the only thing keeping your upper half upright.

When she pulled back, you looked at her face. You could see two of her, but the tears on her face were so evident.

“ I’m going to help you. I swear. Like always.”

With the last bit of strength in you, you looked to the corner where the empty water bottle lay. Ambessa watched as you hazily looked back at her, a deep frown on your face. One of the last things you could hear were the faint footsteps of someone else. And the last thing you saw was a Noxian soldier lifting you up, the faintest command from Ambessa of ‘be gentle with her’ being heard.

No. You thought. Not her.

[irradiated-imp]

First post in a while. I have since made many things, but for now have my Godzilla work. The First King of the Monsters, The original Godzilla. He first rose from the depths in 1954. He suffered great pain from the nuclear bomb testing's in Bikini Atoll. He took his pain and wrath out on the people of Japan, or any unfortunate neough to find themselves at sea in his territory. He terrorized Japan for years, occasionally battling off other gargantuan monstrosities in his time, before his inevitable demise. He was killed by the Oxygen Destroyer, a super weapon created by the late doctor Daisuke Serizawa, who took his own life after destroying his work on the Oxygen destroyer to keep it from being recreated.

The Second King of the Monsters, Godzilla Though Godzilla perished in the 70's with the first and only ever use of the Oxygen Destroyer, his offspring survived. Godzilla Sr.'s offspring, simply called Godzilla during his time, had taken to his mutations much more easily than his father. Though he was born in his current form, and his body had adapted to its current form so he lived without pain, he knew the ones responsible for leaving him alone, without his father. In 1985, this Godzilla surfaced to unleash his own fury on Japan. Tho he was still destructive, after a few years he settled into life on Infant Island, and only came to Japan when he felt his territory was endangered. He died when his internal nuclear reactor had a melt down, irradiating all of Infant Island.

The Prince of the Monsters, Godzilla Junior The current Godzilla, and son of the previous. It's unknown where he, or his father, came from, but his presence on Infant Island was known prior to Godzilla's death. The radiation from his Father's death empowered him, allowing him to grow into a more powerful form. Jr. is notably more agile and faster than his father and grandfather were, having adapted perfectly to his new form. His atomic breath is also considerably more powerful than both of his predecessors. Unlike his family, Jr. never grew to hate humanity. Though he does not go out of his way for the express purpose of saving man kind, he doesn't actively seek its destruction.

The Golden Demise, King Ghidorah. A three headed alien from an unknown planet. He ofund his way to the Solar System landing on Venus. He eradicated all life on the planet, draining the energy from all of the beings on the planet, before moving on to the next planet, Earth. King Ghidorah however did not expect the planet to be crawling with other, equally large, equally deadly monsters, and often found himself unable to drain the life from Earth. Most often he would face either Mothra or Godzilla, the pair eventually forcing him to flee back into space, before Godzilla's death. Once he has absorbed enough energy, he plans to return to Earth and finally wipe out all life on the Planet.

Multi-Puprose Fighting System 3, Mecha Godzilla With the ever rising presence of giant monsters across the world, the people of Earth came together with a plan to deal with them. The UN formed the AMF, Anti Megalosaurus Force. This military force was made to combat any and all giant monsters that appear, when they appear. The AMF, using state of the art tech, advanced computers, and the bones of the original Godzilla as a base to work off of, created the Multi-Purpose fighting System 3, or Mecha Godzilla. It is piloted by a single person remotely. Mecha Godzilla comes with numerous armaments. On its right arm is a pair of rail guns. The base structure of the rail guns can also extend an electrically charged blade. The left arm comes equipped with the most powerful Maser Cannon ever built. Mounted on either shoulder is a more recently created weapon, high power twin plasma cannons, designed with the purpose of burning through hardened shells. Finally, the most powerful of Mecha Godzilla's abilities is dubbed the Proton Scream, a beam fired from the mouth with enough power put into it to slice many monsters clean in half. This ability is rarely used due to the amount of power it consumes. Though the machine has no life nor will of it's own, many of maintenance crew believe it to be haunted, often making reports of it moving, or activating on its own. One particular report from an engineer claims that Mecha Godzilla came online and watched the Engineer as they worked. These reports are unsubstantiated and assumed to be untrue.

Type 1 Maser Tank The original Maser Tanks invented in the late 60's to deter Godzilla Senior prior to his death. The technology has improved considerably since then, with modern Maser Tanks having a minimum power output nearly double the maximum of the Type 1's.

Size comp of Mecha-G, Ghidorah, Sr., Goji, and Jr.

[matchpointfaist]

tw;; violence, mentions of death/murder, brief mentions of suicide, the hunger games is a tw in itself i fear. please be nice i was very brave w this!

art donaldson had been kind, once. in his distant memory, he’d been happy, unaware, naive. it didn’t last. nothing ever does in the districts, no matter how rich 2 may have been.

before he even knew who he really was, the training started. long days were spent in a padded room, surrounded by trainers and mentors and past victors, all hammering the same thing into his mind; don’t lose.

the days were followed by even longer nights, nightmares full of the footage of past games he’d been forced to watch on a loop, preparing him for what was to come. by 16, he was more machine than man. he had friends at the academy, of course, but no one he’d get too close to be able to kill when the time came. relationships were measured in vulnerability, and that wasn’t a commodity art had to spare.

the plan was simple- if his name wasn’t called at the reaping, he would volunteer. he’d spent his entire life preparing for the games, to either prove himself or die the coward that his mentor always accused him of being. better him than some poor, unsuspecting kid, he figured.

the process had been easy, too easy, and soon enough art was on the first train to the capitol, for all his primping and interviewing and displaying before he was sent to the arena. he knew, distantly, that this was just as important as the game itself. win over the capitol, win yourself a spot at the top, a chance at security when he came home.

it was all going according to his plan. all until they announced the catch in this years games; twice as many tributes, twice as many winners. he told himself it didn’t matter, he was under no obligation to help his fellow district 2 tributes, after all. as far as he was concerned, it was still every man for himself. survival of the fittest, the entire point of the games. twice as many people he’d have to kill, sure, but he could handle it. or die trying, as the little voice in his head loved to remind him.

he’d met you in the first round of interviews. one of four tributes from district 4, just another career he’d have to take out. and god, you were good. you worked all the right angles, playing up to your strengths through every interview, every prying question answered with the poise of someone who must have done this before. you’d be trouble, he knew. even when the evening was over and his mentor told him you were just some girl, he knew.

you had the same faraway look in your eyes that could be constantly found in his own, like you were already living in the future, safe in a time where you’d already won. the week before the games, when the capitol so courteously let you all train, he’d seen glimpses. you were fast, dangerously so, agile with a blade in a way that he’d never quite mastered. he was fast enough, sure, but you moved with assurance that could never be taught.

he didn't even get a chance to say goodbye to his parents before getting shipped of to the arena. just a pat on the back from his mentor and some cheap inspirational speeches from the capitol's various television personalities. a quick 'good luck' before he was sent away to become forever changed, regardless of the outcome.

it all went so fast after that. getting dropped in the center of the arena, the flash speed of killings just after the games begun, the deadly fight for supplies. he didn't even remember the first tribute he killed, he realized long after. he took someone's life and couldn't be bothered to commit their face to memory. the first, then four more soon after, and by the end of the first night he was in the lead with a staggering eleven tributes, dead by his hand.

the only thing he was sure of, killing all those people, was that you weren't one of them. he looked for you constantly, right at first, glimpses of stranger's faces between fights and screams, checking to see if you were one of the fallen with each canon sound. at the end of the first night, the score flashed across the arena's makeshift sky; art on top, you just behind.

he was immediately filled with irritation, frustration, that some girl from four would be anywhere near him. he found the anger replaced soon after by something like relief. maybe he hadn't wanted anything to happen to you, maybe he'd hoped you'd end up beside him on the victor's carriage.

the second day was long, tedious, hours spent creeping through lush trees in search of any tributes hiding. the canon sounded as he made his way through a grove of trees, one of the boys from seven's portrait flashing through the sky. you were up one.

it went on for days. you'd have the upper hand, then art, back and forth on a loop. he never encountered you himself, though, always one step ahead or behind, always out of line with whatever your plan seemed to be. by the end of the week, there were only seven tributes left. art himself, you, the last girl from 12, a boy and girl from 1, a boy from 8 and girl from 10. he tried to hunt them down, scoured what felt like every inch of the arena to no avail, until he finally went with his last resort plan.

he was headed for the center of the arena when he heard it; a sharp, piercing scream. he chased after the sound, more curious than anything, until he finally found the source. you were pinned to the ground, the district 1 tributes above you. the boy had you pinned, the girl watching in what seemed to be amusement as he taunted you, a blade pressed to your throat just hard enough for a tiny trail of blood to drip down your skin.

he didn't even contemplate his actions, something so unlike himself, before the blade of his axe was sunk into the boy's back, thrown from his spot behind the shadow of trees. the girl gasped, turning with wild eyes for the source of the blade, but before art could reach for his weapon you'd thrown the body off of you and tackled the girl, pushing her facedown into the mud as you reached for your weapon.

he watched in something like an awestruck horror as you slit her throat, dropping her back down to the ground as you stood, eyes on him like a cautioned animal. "i'm not gonna hurt you," he said, despite everything he'd ever been taught until this moment, "you can drop the knife," "no chance," you scoffed, taking one step back. he had the fleeting thought that if you wanted him dead, you'd have done it already, taken things into your own hands while he watched you like some kind of lovestruck idiot.

"if i wanted to kill you, you'd already be dead," the lie came surprisingly easy, "i think we could help each other," "help each other?" you repeated it like it was the most ridiculous idea he could've come up with, "why would you think i'd need help from you?" "i'm sure you don't," god, this was not going well, "but we might as well secure our spots as the victors, don't you think? we're down to three other tributes. we could split up, take them out quicker," "yeah, or i could just handle it myself and kill you, too. i don't need another victor,"

"that's not how it works," god, you were infuriating, "let's just call ourselves allies, okay? truce?" you took a step closer, and he couldn't decide if he was afraid or entranced, "fine, ally," it sounded difficult for you to say, "but if you so much as even look at me wrong, you're dead," "i believe you," he nodded, and he supposed he truly did. you didn't seem like the type to let anyone have the upper hand, especially not here. "i have a camp set up near the tree line. you can come with me,"

you showed him your setup, the small bonfire you'd arranged and a tent sent by your sponsor. it was nicer than what he'd had going, just shacking up in a tree, and he guessed it was safer, too, especially with both of you there. "we can sleep in shifts," your tone was all business, like you'd been trained for this just as much as he had, "do you need to go first?" "no, no, you can go ahead," he shook his head, just grateful for an eventual chance at actual rest, "i'll wait out here, make sure nothing comes this way," "you can come inside if it starts to rain," it sounded, once again, like the niceties pained you, "night,"

you disappeared into the tent, leaving him to sit in his own thoughts, busying himself by sorting through your combined supplies and combing through details of the tributes that remained. 8, 10, and 12 weren't exactly trained districts, he knew, and it wouldn't take much of a fight once you finally found them. they'd run out of food soon enough, come searching and stumble on your camp. he was sure of it.

eventually, the rain started, and he hesitated before unzipping the tent, climbing just enough inside to keep out of the storm. he made the mistake of glancing towards you, all the breath knocked from his lungs as he looked over your sleeping face, every ounce of tension and apprehension drained. you were peaceful, he thought, your cheeks flushed with warmth and your lips parted. he had to force his eyes away, embarrassed of the way something so simple had made him feel. this is the fucking hunger games, he reminded himself, not the time to be stupid.

you woke up after a while, immediately returning to your typical state, grabbing a knife and telling him he could get some sleep. he settled into the makeshift pillow, thoughts occupied by how you had just been there, how you were breathing the same air. he heard someone humming outside the tent as he dozed off, distantly aware that it had to have been you.

you were outside poking at a small fire when he woke hours later, the embers casting an orange glow over your face. "sleep okay?" you asked, glancing up at him. he just nodded, voice hoarse from sleep still, and settled down beside you on the damp ground. "8's dead," you told him, tracing a line in the dirt. "what?" you sounded so nonchalant, he almost thought he misheard you, "did you- or was it someone else?"

"someone else. probably 10, if i had to assume," you shrugged, "down to two, though, if 10 doesn't get to 12 before we do. i'd like to be done by morning," "you're confident," he mumbled, watching you from the corner of his eye, "do you want to go after them? or let them come to us?" "probably just stay here, at this point. we'll hear them coming, at least, and less chance of us getting separated," the thought alone was enough to set him on edge, "yeah, good idea," he nodded, "so what's district four like?"

the two of you stayed that way for hours, idle conversation about your own lives, comparing training stories and tricks you'd learned. you were more like him than he realized, the same sharp lines and realistic thinking. it was like looking into a distorted mirror. where he was raised to be a machine, to forever live this way, you'd only been raised to win, then to live a normal, functional life.

he'd given little to no thought to after, while that seemed to be the only thing getting you through. "when i win this, i'm gonna go home," you told him, the darkness making you look vulnerable, somehow, "i'm not staying in that victor's village. i'm gonna go back to four," you told him about the beaches, about how your family would go out every afternoon and walk along the shore. he couldn't imagine anything more beautiful, more free. he desperately hoped that it would become reality for you. "i'll probably go wherever they put me," he shrugged, "haven't given it much thought,"

you looked at him then, face all serious, "this is your life, art. don't ever let them take that from you," your hand was on his arm, clutching it like that would make him hear you more, "they might have you trapped now, but keep on with that attitude and they'll have you trapped forever," it was staggering, hearing you say such things about the capitol. no one spoke freely that way, no one spoke out or encouraged even the smallest acts of rebellion. it filled him with a strange sort of ache, a yearning for something he hadn't known he wanted. maybe he could run along the beach with you, he thought distantly, maybe he could have a real life.

the sound of another canon pulled him from his thoughts, the girl from 12's face flashing through the night. "oh my god," you laughed, a startling, awakening sound, "i told you! there's just one now!" and then your arms were around him, hugging him like you weren't waiting for the last tribute to come try and kill one of you, like you weren't stranded in a makeshift paradise that existed only for torture. he let himself lean into the fantasy, into you, for just one blissful moment, his arms wrapping around you as tight as he'd allow himself. "we'll be out of here soon," he mumbled, unsure who exactly he was reassuring, "promise,

when it was time for his sleep shift, you'd followed him into the tent, perched at the end of the sleeping bag quietly. "tell me more about home?" he asked, already half asleep. you'd smiled, quick and subtle, but enough for him to catch it. then you'd continued on and on, about the water and the people you missed and the rain that broke through the scorching summers. he listened until he couldn't anymore, and when he fell asleep, he dreamed of it.

he woke with a start, mouth dry, ears ringing, to find you missing. panic crept into his veins, his heart racing as he tore of the blankets, trying to reassure himself that you were just tending to the fire outside. "art!" the scream tore through the night, and he was out of the tent in an instant, eyes searching rapidly for any trace of you.

you were holding your own, but looked horrified as the tribute from 10 fought you, nearly backing you into a nearby tree as he swung again and again with his knife, too close for art's comfort. "stay away from her!" it came out with such force he startled even himself as he rushed towards the two of you with no real plan other than to get the boy off of you. the tribute turned, reaching for art, and in that split second your knife was in his chest, a gasp leaving him as you twisted with a sick, tearing sound. "are you okay?" he didn't care that you'd just won, couldn't focus on anything other than the bruise blooming along your cheekbone, or the tear in your coat, "jesus, i didn't even hear-"

you threw yourself at him, your arms around his shoulders, pressed flush against him as you trembled, "we did it," you exhaled, voice shaky and sharp, "thank you," "what are allies for?" he half joked, one arm coming to wrap around your waist, the other cradling your head, "please tell me you're okay," "i'm fine," you pulled back to wipe your eyes, "asshole came at me while i wasn't looking, elbowed me in the face. i promise i'm okay,"

the final canon cracked through the air as he traced his fingers over the bruise, surveying the damage, and the two of you paused to take one final look around the arena, the place where everything had changed. the next few moments were a blur, peacekeepeers escorting you to choppers and lifting you out, back to the capitol. art's hand never left yours, holding you as close as he could manage through it all, until you were forced to separate by capitol staff and dragged to your own bedrooms to get cleaned up. you may have won the games, but it was far from over, he knew.

he didn't see you again for hours, and had to constantly remind himself that you were safe, you were out. he was tense all over as the stylists did their work, pampering him until you could never tell he'd spent days on end doing things he'd never forget. he was rushed out to the victor's parade entrance, where he'd overheard you'd be meeting him, anticipation adding to his already racing thoughts.

when you finally came, he nearly turned away, ashamed of the way he was thinking about you in the moment. you were a wash of color, a dress as blue as the oceans back in your district clinging to your figure, pale flowers woven through your intricately put together hairstyle, a dusting of silver on your eyelids. you were so beautiful, the picture of resilience and life, of everything he wasn't. art's outfit was a stark contrast of your own, an all black suit with smudges of gold under his eyes, void of any excitement or lavishness.

"hated being away from you," the statement passed between the two of you like a secret, your voice soft, "who knew three days could make someone so attached?" "well we did survive together," his hand settled on your low back as he helped you into the victor's carriage, "i was worried the entire time," you slipped your hand over his along the railing as the parade started, smiling brightly and waving like a true professional, like you were made for this. he caught on after a bit, remembering his role and playing it well, but his free hand stayed with yours the entire time.

two long, painful days later, all the post-game interviews were done, all the press was appeased, you were truly free, or at least as much as you could be. you'd come to art's room that night, knocking lightly, and he'd panicked before discovering it was only you. "i just wanted to see you," you said softly, hovering by the door, "i shouldn't stay, but i needed to thank you. you saved my life," he pat the bed beside him, desperate to keep you a little longer, "there's no one i'd rather have won with," he smiled slightly, and he found that he truly did mean that. you may have been the only person he'd ever had these feelings for.

"i wanted to tell you before someone else did," you looked hesitant, "they agreed to let me go home, so i really won't be joining you in the village. i'll have a house there, i think, just a formality. but i'll be on the train home tomorrow morning," a horrible wave of conflicting emotions settled over him. he was unbearably happy that you'd return to your own district, have some sense of normalcy, but he couldn't ignore the ache at the thought of being away from you after all you'd been through together. "that's great," he hoped it sounded sincere, "really, i know how badly you wanted to go home,"

"i'll see you after the reaping next year," you smiled despite the tears he found forming in your eyes, "we'll be mentors together," "right, of course," he nodded, clearing his throat. "i meant it, when i said thank you," you laid your hand over top his, "i couldn't have survived that without you, art," "you were doing pretty well yourself," a small smile crossed his lips, "but you're welcome. thank you, too. i'm sure i couldn't have made it through the last couple nights without your camp," i was losing my mind out there, he wanted to tell you, you kept me sane.

he rested his palm against your cheek, just over the partially healed bruise, "i had the time of my life winning the games with you," he'd hoped it would come out like a joke, but his voice cracked halfway through, his eyes watering, "please take care of yourself," "you can come visit," you looked hopeful, vulnerable, "you'd love it there," "i know i would," he stroked the skin of your jaw lightly, "i'll come when i can, i promise," "isn't it odd, to go from strangers to-" you stopped, a tear slipping, "to whatever this is, killing together, to strangers again?" "oh, we won't ever be strangers," he gave you a small laugh, wiping your eyes, "you'll always know me,"

your hand moved up, resting on his bicep, and the two of you sat in silence, only your quiet breathing echoing inside the room. "you're more than just a tribute," you whispered, "don't forget that, okay? promise me," it caught him off guard, the breath catching in his throat at the sincerity in your voice, "you showed me that," he finally managed, "what you said about not letting them control me, it stuck," "good," there was a ghost of a smile on your lips, "you're so brave, art. do you know that?"

he let his eyes close, your words warming his chest, "it's just the way i was raised," "you're more than that," your hand worked its way up to his shoulders, then his jaw, resting there lightly, "you're a human being with a soul and a will and a life," a quiet, desperate sort of noise left his throat as he tried to hold back tears, "stop talkin like you're never gonna see me again," "i'm just telling you what everyone else should have been this whole time," you murmured, and he felt something inside him snap at the softness in your tone. he pulled you into his lap, his hands trembling as he rested them on your waist before taking your own to place them on his shoulders, "you make me feel alive," he said quietly, hoping to make you understand the depth of it, "like i'm real," "you are real," your breath was fanning over his lips, "real as anything else,"

you kissed him, finally, and it felt like he was waking up, like he'd been blind and finally saw a sunrise, like everything in him was on fire. his hands wound in your hair, kissing you back feverishly deep, pulling you close and aching for more within seconds. you kissed him like you could pry him open and pour your own soul's goodness into him, like you could heal all his wounds if you just tried. he was gasping into your mouth, his hands grabbing anywhere he could, desperate for more but terrified to push it too far.

you led his hands to the hem of your shirt, pulling back to catch your breath, "i want this," you panted softly, "you can do what you want," that set him off, and both of your clothes were off in a pile minutes later, his lips brushing over your throat as you scratched at his scalp. "never felt like this before," he mumbled into your skin, trailing lower as he spoke, "thank you," "don't have to thank me," you said softly, pulling him back up to kiss him again, rolling off his lap to lay back on the bed, pulling him over you. he was helpless to your commands, desperate to do whatever you wanted. his hands trembled as he slid off your underwear, his own soon after, never pulling away from your lips.

he gripped your thigh as he slid inside you, your choked moan muffled by his mouth, small noises passing between you. "oh, god," your back arched, head falling against the pillow as his hands settled on your hips, holding you tightly as if you might slip away. "you're so beautiful," he whispered, afraid that if he gotten any louder he'd be unable to hold back his moans, "you look like an angel," he thought of the first time he saw you in training, the way you moved like a swan in water, so similar to the way you laid beneath him now. your legs wrapped around him, pulling him down closer so you could kiss him again, whimpering against his lips.

he was gentle with you, taking his time to draw out the moments he had with you, fleeting as they may have been. his head settled in the crook of your shoulder, kissing any spare inch of skin as he fucked you, hands trembling. your cheeks were damp, and for a brief moment he was horrified that he'd hurt you. "i'm okay," you whispered, kissing his jaw, "just a lot," he knew what you meant, this all consuming warp of emotions in his chest, the desperation clawing at his throat.

he intertwined his fingers in yours as his pace quickened slightly, the sound of soft moans and skin against skin filling the room. your free hand rested on his shoulders, nails scratching against him slightly, just enough to pull a groan from his swollen lips. his free hand went between your thighs, gentle even as he pressed against your clit, a surprised gasp leaving your throat, "oh, art, just like that," he was chasing your pleasure with fervor, hips rocking faster as you clenched around him, cheeks flushed and eyes rolled back. he committed it to memory, let the image burn into his mind as you came undone beneath him, muffling your sounds with your hand. he followed soon after, pulling out of you as he released onto your thigh, panting softly.

he took his time cleaning you up after, returning from the bathroom with a warm towel to wipe you down, humming quietly. "you really are beautiful," he said softly, pressing a kiss to your hipbone after he finished, "like a piece of art," you trailed your fingers over his, smiling hazily, "you're like one of the statues from before," you yawned, "like one of those greek men," he smiled at that, kissing your knuckles, "i don't know about all that, angel," "i do," you sounded so sure, he didn't bother to argue further.

he frowned when you sat up, stretching and reaching for your clothes. "you're going?" "my train leaves first thing in the morning," you reminded him, fastening your pants, "i have to be in my room when the peacekeepers come," "right, of course," he nodded, chest aching once again, "i can walk you," "you shouldn't," you shook your head, leaning down to kiss him again, smiling against his lips, "goodnight, art,"

"goodbye," he said softly, and you shook your head quickly, frowning, "not goodbye, just goodnight. i'll see you soon, right? you'll come visit?" "yeah, i will," he nodded, watching you head for the door, thinking of the space you'd carved out in his mind with a jolt, "goodnight, then. please be safe," "you know where to find me," you waved with two fingers, "i'll write you if i don't hear from you soon," and then you were gone, and he felt sick, revolted by the thought of moving into some big empty house in victor's village while yours sat empty next door.

he had the distant thought that he may have been falling in love with you. then, he turned out the lamp and went to sleep. machines didn't love, and you had not changed him forever. you were just a girl, he told himself. but when he slept, he dreamt of seeing you again, of your sunkissed cheeks and salt sprayed hair running along the beach of your hometown. he'd see you soon, after all.