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popcornpoppypop · 2 days ago

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You Didn't Give a Girl a Chance!

Summary: Robby surprises Jess with an end-of-school-year celebration. As usual, no one makes it out unscathed.

Warnings: Injury, food, mentions of death (patients)

A/N: Look who managed make something fluffy and not torture her character! I wanted something nice for once. Let me know if you guys are tired of these two or if you want more from them and what.

The air was heavy in The Pitt. Two losses in a row. The normally chatty bunch was now silent as they fought blaming themselves. They all wanted to stop, to curl up in a ball and cry. But there were patients.

“Good evening- Oh shit. You guys look like hell.” Jess came walking back, boxes in her hands and Roger happily trotting by her side. He looked up at her and whined. “Yeah, I don’t know where you should start either.” She sighed.

“Hey, I told you I’d meet you at home.” Robby walked up to her, eyes sullen and his shoulders hunched.

“What’s going on?” Jess put her hand to his cheek, caressing it with her thumb.

“Couple of big losses. One was a teenager.” Robby sighed, the weight of the day evident.

“Fuck.” Jess cringed. “Well. I guess we arrived right on time.” She said as she marched up to the hub.

“Honey, I don’t know if this is the time.” Robby followed after her.

“Eckhem!” Jess loudly cleared her throat, grabbing the attention of the staff nearby. “I come bearing cupcakes and a cute dog!” She opened the two large boxes to reveal cupcakes decorated in glittery blues and purples. “Roger, do your thing.” She gave the off command and he ran up to the nearest person, Mateo, flopping on the floor for belly rubs. A gaggle of staff ran up to join in the cuddles.

“You’re a sweetheart.” Dana came around and hugged her.

“That’s what I keep telling people, they never believe me.” Jess shrugged.

“You made these?” Whitaker asked. Robby started cackling next to Jess.

“I resent that laughter.” She shoved her elbow into his side. “One of my kiddos heard that I had a doctor boyfriend, and she has a brother who works in an ER in Texas. She knows he gets sad sometimes and didn’t want you guys to be sad. So, she made her mom make cupcakes for you all. Kind of offended they never made me any, but here we are.”

“I’ve never seen you touch the oven.” Robby smirked.

“I could if I wanted to, but I don’t.” Jess shook her head.

“How do you feed yourself?” Whitaker asked with blue frosting all over his face.

“That’s what I keep him around for.” She gestured with her head toward Robby.

“I think that’s enough interaction with my interns.” Robby steered her away from the young man.

“Afraid I’ll reveal your secrets?”

“Terrified. They think I’m tough, I need to keep it up.” Robby puffed out his chest, standing a little taller. Jess started laughing.

“Sure, they do.” She poked his belly, making him deflate, swatting at her hand.

“It’s nice of you to drop those off.” He said, pulling her to a private corner.

“I wanted to see you. You were being short in your texts. I figured either I had pissed you off or something bad had happened.” She shrugged, leaning against the wall.

“Sorry.”

“No need. I’m a big girl.”

“I’m still taking you out tonight.” Robby tucked a stray hair behind her ear, his hand lingering along her cheek.

“We don’t have to. I know you’re tired.” She wrapped her arms around his neck, tugging him closer.

“I want to. I brought my change of clothes and everything.” His nose brushed against hers.

“Oh, well if you’ve already got the clothes.” She smiled. “I love a man dressed up and smelling like antiseptic.” She chuckled.

“We have showers here.” He hummed. “But if that’s your thing.”

“It might be. This is doing something to me right now, big time.” Her voice was breathy as he leaned closer, their lips nearly touching.

“You’re such a weirdo.”

“You fucking like it.” She pulled him the rest of the way, their lips colliding. They let themselves tumble into the closeness, the intimate moment taking over their senses. Hands grabbing at each other, roaming against warm skin in search of a way to get as close as possible.

“Dr. Rob- Oh shit! Sorry!” Whitaker covered his eyes and ran off.

“Shit.” Robby groaned.

“Why did he cover his eyes?” Jess laughed.

“This is definitely an HR write-up.” Robby shook his head.

“Oh, please. He’s not going to say anything. He’s terrified of you, remember?” Jess smirked.

“I gotta go see what he wants. Meet you at home?”

“I’ll be the one in the red dress.”

“Oh, that’s not fucking fair.”

“Life’s not fair, Mr. Tough-Guy.” Jess winked as they walked back to the hub. Roger was still on the floor, happily getting pets. Dana was trying to hide her laughter, Whitaker was ducked behind a computer. Jack was setting his things down, ready to start his shift, a disgusted look on his face.

“You’re scaring the interns.” He huffed.

“If that’s the worst thing he’s seen today, I fear he’s not long for this job.” Jess rolled her eyes.

“I-I didn’t say anything!” Whitaker squeaked.

“It was written all over your face.” Santos snorted.

“Alright, that’s enough.” Robby sighed.

“Remember, he’s the big, mean boss and should be feared!” Jess mocked.

“Very helpful, thank you.” Robby shook his head, giving her an annoyed look.

“Just doing my part. See you at home.” She winked. He grabbed her arm to stop her, pulling her back in for a quick kiss.

“If you aren’t wearing that red dress when I get home, I’ll be so upset.” He growled in her ear.

“Down, boy. You’re at work.” She slapped his chest as she walked over to Roger.

“That’s a workplace hazard violation,” Jack said.

“What?” Robby looked at him, confused.

“It’s going to make me puke, biohazard.”

“Oh, shut up.” Robby rolled his eyes.

“Roger you attention whore.” Jess put her hands on her hips, looking down at the dog who was in bliss as he got loved. “Let’s go.” She clipped the leash and he hopped up and went into work mode.

“It’s freaky when he does that.” Mateo said.

“He’s the most expensive equipment I own. You all forget that.”

“No, I know it. But it’s still creepy.” Mateo shook his head as he left.

The evening was warm, the start of summer had finally taken hold. Jess had opened the windows when she got home. She was sitting at her vanity putting the finishing touches on her hair, a gentle breeze flowing through the bedroom, when she heard the front door open and close.

“You better be ready to go! We’re already cutting it close for the reservation!” Robby called out into the house.

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” Jess yelled back as she dashed down the stairs.

“Oh fuck me.” Robby gasped as she came into view. Jess was wearing a red dress that hugged every curve, a slit that stopped high on her left thigh with a sweetheart neckline that framed her breasts like works of art.

“I plan to.” She winked as she walked over, pulling him into a kiss.

“I look like a chump next to you.” He said it like he had won a prize.

“I think you look handsome.” Jess smiled up at him. Robby was in a nice pair of black slacks, his forest green button-down tucked into them, a black dinner jacket that hung perfectly on his broad shoulders. Those shoulders could make Jess go insane.

“You ready to go?”

“I need to put my shoes on.” She said, dangling the heels in front of her. “Or would a gentleman, such as yourself, help me with that?” She raised an eyebrow. Robby laughed and shook his head as he took the shoes from her and guided her to sit down.

“You’re evil.” He growled as he bent down, taking her calf in his hand. He propped her foot on his thigh as he slipped the heel over her foot, repeating it on the other foot. His hands trailed up her left calf, leaving a chased kiss on her thigh. “I’ll tear this off later.” He promised.

“Roger, let’s go.” The dog came marching over, his vest on with the addition of a bowtie on his collar. “he wanted to be dressed up too.” Jess shrugged.

“Let’s get out of here before we never leave.” Robby offered her his hand.

They hadn’t been on a proper date in a while. Robby’s schedule was hard enough to work with, but with the end of the year, Jess never had time herself. Robby had been adamant that once the school year was over, he was taking her somewhere nice. Jess had thought it odd, he didn’t like fancy restaurants. They had gone to one early on and he fidgeted in his chair the whole time, angry at the amount of silverware he had to use. She had thought it was cute, how nervous he was.

“Where are you going? You missed the turn for the restaurant.” Jess looked at him, annoyance on her face.

“Oh, did I say we were going to Capital Grille?”

“Yes. What have you got planned, you snake?”

“I guess you’ll have to wait and see.” Robby smirked.

They pulled up to one of the high rises in the city. The building was mirrored and imposing. There was a valet waiting at the entrance. Robby hopped out and went around to offer Jess a hand as she stepped out, Roger trotting behind. He gave the keys to valet and walked her inside.

“What is this? A Hotel?”

“You are smart. I was worried.” He brought her hand to his lips.

“What are you pulling here?” Jess felt her cheeks warm as the excitement set in.

“I’m going to wine and dine you, how you deserve.” He smiled as they went into the elevator. He pressed a key card to a scanner and the top floor.

“You did not book the penthouse.” Jess looked at him shocked.

“Nothing’s too good for you.” He pulled her close, his hand resting on her hip.

The doors opened and Robby lead her out, scanning the card on the door. It opened into a beautiful living room, modern but warm. Jess walked in, jaw hung open. The fireplace was roaring. A wall of windows looked out over the city. Robby walked up behind her and kissed her shoulder. He guided her to the balcony, where a table with white linens lay waiting.

“I’m going to feed you and then I’m going to fuck you. Sound good?” Robby smirked as he pulled the chair out for her.

“Y-yes.” She nodded. Jess was never speechless. She always had a quick reply, but this was beyond anything anyone had done for her. She was okay being silent for once.

“Dr. Robinavitch, Miss Kahan, I’m Andrew. I’ll be taking care of you this evening.” A young man dressed in a pressed suit came up to them. “I understand you’ve put in your preferences for the evening, Dr. Robinavitch. I’ll be here just to make sure everything is to your liking.” He smiled.

“Thank you.” Robby nodded.

“What are my preferences exactly?” Jess cocked an eyebrow.

“You’re not that hard to read, baby. Not for me.” He smiled.

“The first course of the evening is baked brie with a fig jam topping and house-made baguette toasted with our signature herb oil. Paired with an Eisele Vineyard Sauvignon Blanc.” The waiters brought food to the table as Andrew poured the wine and disappeared.

“Robby…this is insane.” Jess shook her head.

“It’s not even close to what I want to give you.” He looked at her like she was the universe, everything.

“This might be a little much just to celebrate the end of the school year.” Jess smiled.

“Shut up and eat your cheese.” He rolled his eyes.

“So pushy.” Jess smiled as she started eating the brie. “Oh fuck, that’s good.” She said with a mouth full of food.

“I can’t take you anywhere.” Robby chuckled.

“I’d leave you for that.” She said as she continued eating.

“Noted. I’ll have to fight the cheese later.” He took a bite. “Oh, no, I get it.” He laughed.

“We’ve also taken to preparing a well balance meal for your canine companion. The meal meets all the requirements from the AVMA.” Andrew put a bowl that looked like it was made of marble down in front of Roger. It looked nicer than most meals Jess had. Roger looked up at her, seemingly surprised too.

“Go for it, bud.” Jess laughed. Roger devoured the meal.

“I think he likes the fancy stuff.” Robby said.

“He better not get used to it. Not on a teacher’s salary.” The sun was setting and it was making Robby look mythical.

“Our main course for Miss Kahan is Lapin La Moutarde;braised farm rabbit, tagliatelle, mustard crème. Paired with Louis Michel Chablis Grand Cru Les Grenouilles. And for Dr. Robinavitch, Mediterranean Sea Bass Fillet with saffron-braised potatoes, sauce vierge paired with Trimbach Pinot Gris Reserve. Enjoy.” The food was placed and off they disappeared.

“So do they just hide in the closet until the next course or what?” Jess chuckled.

“Ya know, I didn’t think to ask.” Robby looked over to see if he could spot them, but there was no sign.

“How did you know I like rabbit?” Jess gave a confused smile.

“Well, I try and remember all of the things you like. I have a list. But on our fourth date, I think, you told that story about going to teach in France. You said you had some dish with rabbit and mustard that you, and I quote, ‘would give my left tit for.’ Which is pretty hard to forget anyway.” Robby snorted.

“You have a list?” Jess’s brows knitted together in fascination. Robby nodded as he swallowed his food. He pulled out his wallet and pulled out a piece of crinkled paper.

“I was always a good note taker.” He handed it to her.

Jess looked at it in awe.

Likes Emma, hates Colleen Hoover

Likes Mexican, hates Tres Leches

Likes comedies unless Kevin Hart is in it, hates horror except 28 days later-does not think vampires and zombies are scary

Likes daisies-reminds her of the spring, hates orchids-reminds her of funerals

Likes putting feet in water to cool off in the heat, hates actually swimming-feels suffocating

Likes to eat the eyes off the peeps before eating the whole thing, hates taffy

Likes to save the best bite of food for last, hates when her mashed potatoes touch anything else on the plate

Likes red velvet cake with cream cheese icing, hates buttercream and will throw it if asked what the difference is

The list went on, but Jess could feel her eyes watering and handed it back to Robby. She hadn’t felt seen in a long time, if ever. He saw her, he saw all of her.

“Too much?” Robby had rarely seen her so quiet. It made him nervous.

“No. No, I just don’t know what to say.” She wiped at her eye.

“Wow. Do I win a prize? This has to be medal-worthy. I made Jess Kahan speechless.” Robby pumped his fists in the air.

“You’re a dork.” Jess laughed. “I’ll give you your prize when there aren’t mysterious, disappearing waiters about.” She winked.

“There she is.” Robby sat back, taking her in.

“Our final course for the evening is ready, if you are.” Andrew looked to Robby.

“I think we are.” He had a wicked smile on his face.

“The dessert course tonight was created specially for this occasion. A red velvet cake with a citrus cream cheese frosting with raspberry coulis encased in a white chocolate ganache. Paired with Roederer Cristal Rose Champagne, vintage 2007.” Andrew poured the champagne as a waiter placed a plate in front of them. On it was a cake in the shape of a ring box, it looked like the real thing if not for the slight shine to it.

“Michael…” Jess looked up at him.

“Thank you for your help tonight, Andrew.” Robby nodded at the man.

“Of course. We’ll take our leave, call if you need anything.” He smiled and left with his coworkers.

“Micheal, what is this?” Jess looked at him, almost annoyed with suspicion.

“I think it’s dessert.” He smirked.

“Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Shut up!”

“I didn’t say anything!” He chuckled. “Open it.” He gestured to the plate. Jess lifted the top of the fake box. Nestled in the cake was a Ringpop, bright green.

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me!” She burst into laughter, falling back in her chair, her hand covering her face as she laughed.

“You said last week that you didn’t care about a ring and it could be a Ringpop for all you cared!” Robby shrugged.

“You are such an ass!” She could hardly breathe. When she opened her eyes, Robby was on his knee in front of her, a velvet box in his hand.

“I thought you might be a little liar. I came prepared.” He smiled.

“Such an ass…” Her breath caught in her throat.

“I’ll be your ass forever if you want.” He chuckled.

“That’s not your speech, please say it isn’t.”

“Will you shut up for a second so I can propose?” Robby shook his head. “Jess, I love you so much it makes me dizzy. I feel ridiculous, all I think about is you; how you’re doing that day, if you’re happy, how to make you happy. You’re everything good in this world. You make me want to be a better person. When I see you with your kids, god! It takes my breath away.” Robby’s voice started to crack, he took a deep breath before continuing.

“You care about everyone so damn much. You know exactly what to say to make anyone smile. You never shut up and it’s like music to me and I never want it to stop. I swear that I will do everything in my power to make you happy. I…I thought I was put on this earth to be a doctor, for medicine. And maybe I was, but I think the bigger reason was to make sure you’re smiling.” He took a shaky breath before opening the velvet box to reveal a beautiful, vintage, oval diamond ring. “Will you marry me?” His eyes were red as he looked up at her. Jess had stopped trying to save her makeup, letting the tears fall.

“Jesus, Mikey. You didn’t give a girl a chance.” She laughed through the tears.

“Give me your damn hand.” He chuckled as he reached for her hand, sliding the ring on her finger.

“I love you. I can’t wait to marry you.” She sobbed. Robby leant over and kissed her, his hand on the back of her head, deepening the kiss. They broke apart only due to lack of oxygen.

“Did I do good?” Robby wiped the tears from her cheeks.

“Yeah, you did alright. I mean, I feel like you could have gotten a nicer hotel room. This place is a bit dingy.” She smirked.

“You smartass.” He chuckled.

“Take me to bed, Dr. Robinavitch.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Robby smiled. He offered her his hand, she took it happily. They kissed each other as they made their way into the room, neither caring where they were actually going. They didn’t see the step down toward the bed.

“Shit!” They went falling to the ground. Roger ran in to see what the chaos was.

“There’s no way that’s ADA compliant!” Jess chuckled as she sat up.

“Oh shit. No way! No fucking way!” Robby groaned.

“Oh my god, are you actually hurt?” Jess looked him over.

“My ankle, I think I broke my fucking ankle!” Robby rolled on the floor, grabbing at his ankle.

“You’re shitting me.” Jess chuckled as she got up to look at it.

“Just give me a minute. I’ll be okay.” Robby winced.

“Michael. This thing is pointing in a way that is not natural. I’m not the doctor here, but there is no way you’ll be okay in a minute.” She gave him a pointed look.

“No. I’m not letting this ruin it. I’m fucking you in that bed.” His eyes watered in pain.

“Oh my god, you’re ridiculous! I’m calling an ambulance.”

“No! Don’t do that!”

“I can’t carry you to the ER, Michael!” Jess put her hand on her hip.

The ER had slowed to a gentle hum. Everyone using the reprieve to catch up on charting and small tasks.

“Remind me to never cover for Bridgit again.” Dana groaned as she rubbed her eyes.

“It’s not that bad.” Jack snorted.

“You’re nocturnal.” Dana shook her head as she answered the phone. “Incoming, broken ankle, ETA five minutes.

“Eh, could be worse.” Jack shrugged as he put the finishing touches on his chart. “I’ll take it myself.” He stood up and grabbed some gloves. He walked over to the ambulance bay to wait.

“Oh my god. Oh, this is great.” Jack laughed as the ambulance was unloaded.

“What?” Dana walked over as the doors opened to reveal Robby on the gurney. “What the hell happened?” Dana asked.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Robby grumbled.

“You broke your ankle? Doing what?” Jack chortled as they went to the trauma bay.

“I don’t want to talk about it!” He yelled. Jess came running in, her dress looking wildly out of place in the ER.

“Is he being a baby?” She sighed.

“Yep.” Jack laughed as he looked at the ankle.

“Holy hell, you look great.” Dana said, looking her up and down. Jess started blushing and shrugged. “You gonna give us the story, he’s clammed up.” Dana asked.

“We fell.”

“You both fell? Are you hurt?” Jack suddenly became more concerned.

“Just a bruised elbow. I’m fine.” She waved him off.

“How did you fall?” Dana questioned.

“Well…we were…about to celebrate and there was a lip in the floor and yeah.” She shrugged.

“Oh my god you were about to fuck!” Jack laughed.

“Kill me. Kill me now.” Robby looked at the ceiling.

“Wait! Wait, what were you celebrating!?” Dana was practically bouncing in place. Jess gave a shy smile as she showed her the ring. “Finally!” She beamed as she pulled her into a hug.

“Way to fumble the best night of your life.” Jack laughed as he put orders into the computer.

“Oh please, at least he has the balls to ask the girl he loves to marry him, mister ‘I can’t start something with her, she’s a resident it would look bad and I’m a big pussy’.” Jess shot Jack a look. “That’s uncalled for.” Jack pointed at her.

“Totally called for. You big baby.”

“I’m being responsible.”

“You’re being a big scaredy cat.”

“Shut up.”

“You first.”

“Can I have some damn pain meds please!?” Robby groaned.

“Yeah, yeah. Dana?”

“Already on it.” She said as she came in with the medications.

“It’s funny seeing you on the gurney instead of me.” Jess smiled.

“I’m sorry, I ruined it.” He sighed.

“What are you talking about?” Jess looked at him, confused.

“We’re in the ER when we should be back at the hotel.” Robby felt like a failure.

“Mikey, this didn’t ruin anything. If anything, it just makes it feel more like us. More real.” She took his hand and lifted it to her lips, kissing his knuckles.

“Oh, so that rock on your finger doesn’t feel real enough?” He cocked an eyebrow.

“Could be bigger. Who am I to complain, though?” She smirked.

“Cruel, that’s just cruel.” He chuckled.

“Besides, once we get your boot and meds, we can still celebrate. I’m flexible.” She winked.

“Oh my god! You two are insufferable! I’m putting a rush on the imaging.” Jack growled.

“We certainly aren’t forgetting tonight any time soon.” Robby chuckled.

#the pitt #the pitt fanfiction #dr. michael robinavitch #dr. robby #robby robinavitch #michael robinavitch x reader #dr. robby fluff #dr. robby x oc #dr. michael robinavitch x oc #dr. michael “robby” robinavitch x reader #michael robinavitch #michael robinavich x reader #michael robinavitch x oc #tw food #tw death #tw epilepsy

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venusbyline · 2 days ago

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His little doll — Aegon II Targaryen.

— summary: In all those years, Aegon never stopped to think about the emotional effects of an obsession from the obsessed person's point of view. All of his opinions about this matter were shaped by the victim's point of view, which led him to sum it all up as "crazy people getting carried away by a sick insanity". After the second interaction between you two, Aegon finally realized that a person obsessed with someone was not always crazy. They were also in love.

— pairing: stalker!Aegon II Targaryen x high schooler!reader

— type: smut, dark, modern AU

— word count: 3.2k

— tags/warnings: DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, innocent!reader, dark!Aegon II Targaryen, modern AU, rape/non-con, underage sex, age gap (older man/younger woman), reader is 16 and Aegon is 32, loss of virginity, innocence kink, virginity kink, non-con somnophilia, unconscious sex, drugged sex, rough vaginal sex, missionary position, oral sex (female receiving), cunnilingus, rimming/anilingus, vaginal fingering, overstimulation, squirting, dacryphilia, ephebophilia, obsessive behaviour, Jacaerys Velaryon mentioned, minor Jacaerys Velaryon/reader, ambiguous/open ending, porn with plot. no use of y/n, english is not my first language.

— author's notes¹: This one-shot is based on an anon ask about modern!Aegon 💕💕

— author's notes²: This one-shot involves a lot of rape/non-con and Ephebophilia content. If you don't like that type of content or if you know the possibility of being triggered by my work, so please save your mental health AND DON'T READ IT!!!!

— crossposting: AO3

❥ Aegon II masterlist • HOTD masterlist

❥ about me • main masterlist

Two months ago, Aegon had first seen you when he went to buy some hot drink at a coffee shop. It was morning and the sky was overcast, not so cold that he needed wool clothes, but cold enough for him to grimace in frustration when he opened the front door of the establishment and was not greeted by a decent heater.

He remembered asking the purple-haired attendant for a short-sized Caffe Latte and then taking out his wallet, ready to grab a five-dollar bill and get out of that stupid place as quickly as possible. However, his attention was suddenly drawn to the other customer who was nearby: You.

Wearing a pastel pink knit sweater, a black pleated skirt and a white pantyhose, your appearance intrigued Aegon when his eyes landed on you. Not because of what you were wearing, it was no surprise that there were so many girls wearing that kind of clothing and walking around the town. What intrigued Aegon was something much more... Sweet.

That damn hair parted in the middle and two low braids, each held by white silk hair ties.

It was one of the cutest things he had ever seen in person. As soon as he noticed how the other attendant was rushing you to find the missing note for payment, Aegon did not think twice and interfered. "Here. I'll pay for her coffee."

Your eyes widened, shocked by the unknown man's kindness. Before you could say anything to stop him, the attendant had already accepted the money and handed the small change to Aegon, who tried not to stare at you like some kind of pervert.

Damn, it was not hard to tell that you were at least sixteen years younger than him. A high schooler, for sure, considering the pin that was pinned to your backpack with that school's symbol - a stupid decision, he thought. Any pervert could see this and know easy ways to kidnap you.

"Thanks, sir."

Your whisper warmed Aegon's heart, as did your shy smile that followed. "No problem, doll."

In all those years, Aegon never stopped to think about the emotional effects of an obsession from the obsessed person's point of view. All of his opinions about this matter were shaped by the victim's point of view, which led him to sum it all up as "crazy people getting carried away by a sick insanity".

After the second interaction between you two, Aegon finally realized that a person obsessed with someone was not always crazy. They were also in love.

He noticed this on a random Friday afternoon, sixteen days since he met you at the coffee shop. This time, however, the interaction was not as calm and adorable as that other one.

"Fucking hell, girl. Don't you watch where you're going?" Aegon yelled while he tried to pick up the girl who had just fallen off the bike near where he was walking. "How the hell did you—"

Any coherent thought disappeared, his mind going blank. Hands shook, his grip failing and he dropped you back down, a worried gasp when you hit the ground for again, sobbing right away.

He could not blame you for the scared look on your face, knees bleeding and the white pleated tennis skirt riding up enough for him to have a perfect view of your lilac cotton panties.

"Sorry, sorry!" the words came out quickly and almost desperately, feeling anxious and wondering about what reaction you would get if you noticed how tight his pants were starting to get. "How did you fall, doll?"

You allowed him to lift you up, very gentler this time. The fall had left you dizzy and with legs aching, but the man's touch at least made you feel a little calmer as he lifted you up.

Feeling your skin burning and joints being forced back to straight — just like your entire posture —, your eyes were filled with tears.

"Feeling dizzy, doll?" his hands went to your face, checking your pout and looking for any signs of pre-fainting.

"Not so much, sir..." you shook your head, closing eyelids at the feeling of him cupping your cheeks, his warm skin giving goosebumps on you, although the reason was not understandable yet.

You turned the head back, checking if the pink bike was intact. Luckily, it did not have any scratches, unlike the shoes you were wearing.

"I can give you a ride home, if you want."

From that day on, Aegon became completely obsessed with you.

Some people might say he was crazy a sick pedophile, complete pervert... Aegon did not care about nothing of that. He was in love, and there was nothing wrong with loving someone, right?

At least that was what he told himself every time he stopped the car in front of the high school you studied, watching you leave all smiles and walk back to the small house you lived in — the house where he took you the day of the little bike accident.

He always stayed there, just watching. Just wishing. Just loving.

Even though he was not someone who was very keen on making extremely elaborate plans, Aegon needed to think about something smart to do, something that would not scare you at first and also would not give too many clues about what would happen soon. Yet, he needed you faster than ever.

When he parked the car right near the school exit, he noticed the white and red gingham dress you wore, in addition of the red backpack, making you look like a cute little cherry in the middle of all that crowd of noisy and annoying teenagers.

A frustrated sigh escaped his lips as you turned around, about to walk the opposite way from where his car was parked. The presence of a guy with dark, curly hair wearing a school's basketball team uniform approaching you stopped him from starting the car to follow you. His blood boiled, his veins burning when he saw how you looked at the boy, a soft smile on those beautiful, pink lips.

To Aegon's relief, that brunette guy seemed to say something that took that passionate expression off your face. He could not hear what was being said between the two students, and yet he realized what it was about: a dump. That guy had just dumped you.

And that was exactly the reason why you turned back to the routine path, tears streaming down and the soft sounds of your sobs growing louder while you walked down the sidewalk: right next to where he needed you.

"Hey, doll!" Aegon called, rolling down the car window to attract the desired attention.

You tried to wipe away all tears in time, not wanting to look like an idiot around the man who had helped you get home safely these months befores, the same man you had met at the coffee shop and paid for a coffee.

Although you had never seen him again since the bike accident, you could not help but feel less anxious when you saw him there. Even the two times you interacted, he helped you without even complaining.

"Hi, sir..." your sad smile warmed his heart and he tightened the grip on the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white, having to control himself from simply pulling you and dragging you to his house. Patience was the essential part of the plan. He needed to be patience.

After all, he did not want to hurt his sweet little girl any more than necessary.

"So that jerk dumped you just because you didn't want sleep with him?"

Aegon invited you to his house after a few minutes of talking. It had not been hard to convince you to sit in the passenger seat and vent to him, and it had not been hard to convince you to spend a few hours in his living room either. Your mother was not home to welcome you after what happened outside school, and you did not want to be alone in an empty house as always.

Besides, you were too naive for your own good. It only took a few sweet words for you to agree to spend some time alone in the company of a stranger, and it only took a few sweet words for you to agree to go to his bedroom to look at the vinyl records he had kept for years, a souvenir of his grandparents.

Aegon had never been that interested in old songs before, collecting those old things just to preserve the memory of his family. He was more into eighties or nineties rock. Unlike you, who liked to admire anything retro, smiling excitedly with an Elvis Presley record on your lap.

"Yeah, I guess..." you replied with the attention still focused on running your fingertips over the slightly dusty object. "Jace's so pretty and nice, I liked him so much, Aeg. But he didn't like me back."

The nickname he convinced you to call him after a few minutes of talking sounded like music, your innocent, pretty face lifting from the record to his face, embarrassed for looking like a stupid girl with a broken heart.

Jacaerys Velaryon had been your crush since elementary school. You met him when you were still a kid and fell madly in love at that time. Despite being sixteen years old now, you thought you still could have a real chance with him. Which proved to be a complete illusion. His typical kindness did not stop him from feeling frustrated when you said you did not want to lose your virginity yet.

What was wrong with wanting to lose your virginity after marriage?

"Priscilla Presley also only had her first time when she officially married Elvis."

Your cheeks went red when you heard what he said. It was true, you knew that. There were even rumors that their daughter was born exactly nine months after their honeymoon — whether it was true or not, you never researched to find out. Those rumors were quite cute and the possibility of being disappointed with the results of a research was not so interesting.

"You're flushing..." Aegon joked, still sitting on the bed with his legs stretched out. When there was no response, he moved closer, his brow furrowed in false concern, placing his finger under your chin to make you look at him. "Hey, what's the matter, doll? Did I say something that upset you? I was just kidding..."

"No!" with a desperate voice, you denied it. The last thing you wanted to do was make it seem like you were bothered by that talk. He was the first person who was interested in listening to any rant you had to tell. Not even your mother gave you any emotional support since a second ex-boyfriend broke up with her in less than four months. According to her, it was your fault for seducing them, even though you had never done it. "I just... I don't wanna look silly around you, Aeg. I mean... You're thirty-two, I'm pretty sure that your problems are definitely more important than mine."

Aegon smiled genuinely, a pang of guilt burning inside his heart and his conscience starting to weigh more than usual. Maybe opting for the cup alternative would be better than doing what he desired with your conscience fully working.

Taking a deep breath, he picked up a glass cup he brought a few minutes before, the slight taste of the benzodiazepine diluted in the drink going unnoticed by you as he offered you the iced tea with the playful excuse that a good tea would lift your spirits and comfort your broken heart — or almost that.

"Don't worry, doll. We can talk about my boring, adult problems after some tea."

You nodded without even blinking, loving how he was so kind and helpful to you, even though he had no obligation to do so, no obligation to make you feel safe like a father or an older brother should.

Like your brother and your father never had done over the years.

"Thanks, Aeg..."

The conversation lasted only half an hour, the effect of the sedative coming in small signs: the way you blinked slowly, the way your cheeks flushed, the way your voice slowed down and the words stopped making sense...

It was cute and arousing at the same time. He did not even need to put a large amount of the medicine in the middle of the tea, you fell asleep as easily and quickly as a sleepy baby.

Aegon got up to lay you down on the mattress and guided your head to the pillow, admiring your sleeping face. You were so fucking beautiful, like a real doll. His own little doll.

For his personal use. Only his.

"So fucking perfect..." he whispered, climbing on top of you and bending down to capture your lips. They were still warm, all he had to do was press your cheeks together so he could access them and roll his tongue around yours, closing his eyes while he tasted the tea and the cherry lollipop you licked in the last class of that day.

You tasted sweet everywhere: the saliva that ran down your chins during the kisses, the skin heating up and being licked, your dry pussy getting wetter as he began to eat it out.

It felt like heaven. It was everything he had dreamed of for two whole months.

Aegon licked your plump little pussy desperately, closing his eyes and moaning against you. He sucked on your clit until it swelled, giving it one last suck and then starting to lick, shaking it from side to side with the tip of his tongue.

Your short dress was lifted up and your panties were thrown in some corner of the room — of course he would keep the fabric in his drawer, like that he would be able to smell it and jerking off at any opportunity and at any time.

"You're so fucking hot, doll. That little pussy of yours is the best," he growled during the licks, moving them down to your entrance, licking both it and your puckered hole, savoring the taste and the sensation of them.

After the inevitable physical reactions of your body spoke louder than the unconscious state you were in, your legs trembled, feeling a climax coming closer.

Aegon's thumb rubbed the swollen bud faster than he should do, his pent-up desires over the months consuming his rationality. He divided the attention between touching you there and thrusting two fingers inside your virgin core, shushing your sleepy discomfort with two kisses on both inner thighs. "Cum for me, doll. Let me feel you cumming on my fingers."

It did not take long for you to reach an orgasm: eight more intense finger strokes simultaneously with clitoral stimulation and your body was already convulsing with pleasure, juices running down to the other hole too, where Aegon lowered his mouth to clean every drop.

Aegon could not control himself — as expected —, going back to sucking on the bundle of nerves for several minutes, moaning against it and stimulating it so much that it began to throb so much and make you sob in your unconscious state.

Only satisfied feeling four soft spouts splashed into him, Aegon chuckled and lifted the upper body to admire the sight before him: you with legs spread, pussy all soaked and swollen, clit throbbing a lot, the cute dress wrinkled...

Aegon began to undress without delay, not caring about where the clothes would fall on the floor, nor bothering to pump his own cock, just spitting once on his palm to spread on the tip before guiding it to your entrance, holding your waist for something to steady himself.

"F-Fuck..." the loud moan echoed through the bedroom as he stretched you inside, the feeling of your hymen tearing apart made him roll his eyes back in his head, lost in the extent of the pleasure.

It was very tight, almost too tight if he did not feel so aroused at the thought of taking a young girl's virginity or if he did not love you so madly.

His cock felt like it was going to rip you apart from the insides, and he was sure the overwhelmed feeling was mutual. Tears ran down your face and you sobbed. "It's gonna be good, doll. I promise. You're gonna love this so much..."

There was not even a minute of patience to wait for you to get used to the stretching; Aegon began to thrust into you with an almost brutal pace, the sound of skin slapping against skin arousing him beyond the usual.

His cock was so thick and big that your breasts bounced with each thrust. Then Aegon smiled without pausing his movements. "Those pretty tits need to be worshipped too, right, doll?" pulling the top of your dress down, sighing at the absence of a bra. "What a naughty little slut you are."

With the feeling of his mouth on your nipples and two fingers rubbing your sensitive clit, you finally woke up, not so much that you could move or really understand what was happening there. But enough for you to whimper his name and feel you tearing apart inside. "A-Aeg..."

"Shhh, my beautiful little doll."

"It hurts s-so m-much..."

"I know. I know... But it'll pass, I promise. Your pussy is so pretty wet that you're almost creaming on my fat cock."

You found those dark words strange, trying to open eyes to see what was happening or at least to see what was being inserted inside your little flower. It was much more painful than all the other pains you had felt in sixteen years.

Maybe it was just a nightmare that would end in a few minutes. Maybe you would feel better as soon as you woke up. Maybe Aegon was just caressing your face and it was all the result of a sleepy brain.

Despite those failed attempts at optimism, you began to cry louder when the roughness and pace of Aegon's movements brought you back to consciousness — although it was only mental now. Sill being unable to move, much less get up.

"S-Stop, Aegon... You're hurting me, please stop!"

Aegon snorted, hating the way his hips lost the pace because you were struggling to get up, which forced him to hold both your arms with one hand and hold one of your legs with his free palm. "Stay still, doll."

Finally managing to open your eyes, they widened in shock. Aegon's naked body was sweaty and his dark blond hair stuck to his forehead. It was a beautiful sight to behold, you thought. The reason why your mouth opened for scream for help was the realization of what was happening.

No... Aegon would not do that. He would not hurt a girl like that. He could not be taking advantage of you in such a cruel way...

Even before Aegon could hear the scream that was about to echo there, he already did not hesitate to slap your cheek with an impact so strong that it made your lip bleed — the crimson liquid dripping from there as well as from your newly deflowered pussy.

"I told you to stay still, damn it! Don't you understand?" Aegon growled, gripping your chin tightly and forcing you to stare at him, continuing to fuck you. "I'mma fuck your little pussy and you're gonna endure every minute of it, without ever telling anyone. Now stay quiet and take every inch of my cock like a pretty little doll."

101 notes · View notes

jaja-salute · 1 day ago

Text

Desperate looks good on a man, pt. 2

summary: A man who yearns is a man who earns.

Link to part one

pairings: kwon soonyoung x reader

word count: 4k

tags/warnings: slight angst? idk, yearning, cursing, mentions of emotional distress, alcohol consumption (drink responsively), morally gray arrangement (getting paid for affection, not prostitution though), soonyoung is desperate for body warmth, Carat reader, post military enlistment, future hoshi, suggestive, smut

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

NOT SAFE FOR WORK

commentary:I never wrote this fast in my life. Cliché AF at some point. I still don't know if it's angst or not. I am a hopeless romantic SIIIIIIGH

The parts in italics are Hoshi's thoughts.

Tell me if I missed anything, and enjoy!

Reblogs and likes are highly appreciated :) <3

_______________________________________________________

Soonie drabble – desperation looks good on a man, PT. 2

You were tense as a violin chord, hyperaware of his touch and his breath on your neck, waiting for his next move. Soonyoung was tenacious yes, but not patient, and you very much liked to push his buttons like a cat enjoys walking on a keyboard. So you purred, vibrations right under his lips. You two were never this much on edge as tonight. Soonyoung let out a choked breath, and it dripped down your neck like thick mist.

Then, he slowly moved you, so you would be standing straight, and you almost dared to let out a whine. “Don’t play with me Bambi, you know I get annoyed and I don’t like to play when there’s food involved.” Is he talking about dinner or you? That reminds you, right now the stew is probably burnt. You glanced at it with panic in your eyes, but in that heated moment Soonyoung managed to turn off the flame under the pot. “I’m gonna go take a shower Bambi, promise I’ll be quick.” He says as he strides for the bathroom. Behind you the rice cooker goes off startling you and shaking you to reality. Soonyoung was true to his word, embarrassingly quick since he rubbed one in the shower, aftermath of your teasing.

When he arrived at the table, the food was set and you emerged from the kitchen with two beers. “I thought beer would go well with what we are having tonight.” You say with a smile. Soonyoung agrees and sits by the table. The tension has eased, but he his very aware of your presence, guard up, if you have some more mischief in you for the night.

Dinner went smoothly, Soonyoung ranted about his day but ended up laughing thanks to some of your remarks, and listened attentively when you spoke about your day. As you gathered the dishes and started loading the dishwasher, Soonyoung found his place again in the kitchen, watching you move around with ease. Seeing how well you knew the house, moving in it like it was your own made his heart warm. He was aware he was growing very attached to you, and your presence in the house.

He spoke about it with Jihoon, of course, and even if his lifetime friend and colleague was very sceptical about everything and very concerned about you being a Carat, he understood, like he always did. “Just, you know Soonyoung, don’t let her grow on you too much. See other people, even if you don’t feel the need to. I know you like the back of my hand, and you fall in love easily Soon. I am sick to see you look like shit, just because you let your heart be toyed with. Be selfish, please.” Jihoon talked to him like that two weeks ago, ne never dared to ask about you nor did he want to see you, he was relieved to see that his friend was feeling better. Even though it came from something non-conventional. What was worrying him like crazy, was the volatility of your relationship, which will come to an end, and how will his precious friend deal with it.

You called for him and it shook him from his thoughts. You two settled on the couch to watch some TV and cuddle. Soonyoung tensed a bit at the reestablished proximity, feeling his heartbeat faster and stomach churning. Come on man, you are not a teenager anymore, you’ve been with women already. Is just cuddling, you love it. Keeping him on edge and occasionally teasing him made Soonyoung feeling horny at simple skin ship, to the point that you started to notice it. In those moments you had to take initiative, because he was tired and you knew he wanted to be cuddled, but he was to embarrassed to sport a hard-on (no matter how many times he jerked off – he may be thirty, but he was damn healthy).

You pulled him closer, his side pressed to yours ad you wrapped an arm around him, letting his head fall onto your shoulder. You smelled like his shampoo and bodywash, like him. He started to relax into you, a hand in his hair and dragging your nails along his scalp doing wanders for his nerves. He understood why cats liked head scritches that much. At some point fatigue got the best of him and leaned more of his bodyweight on you. You shifted so the both of you got more comfortable and so did Soonyoung, drowsy and now warm and fuzzy.

His head found place on your chest, for the second time ever since the arrangement started. It’s too intimate, he thought to himself, too close to his heart, but you felt so soft under his touch, warm and you smelled like him. The steady beating of your heart lulled him to sleep, while you were torn between extreme cuteness aggression and horny panic.

You were a tease as much as he was to you, being around the house shirtless, spooning you in his sleep and grinding his morning wood in the morning, greeting you with that raspy and low morning voice, hugging and kissing your nape when you cooked his favourite dishes, the way he listened so attentively at what you rambled about, and even giving feedback! Coming back from the gym, sweaty and smelling undoubtedly like a man (yeah ew), but he wore that post work out sweat like it was Armani.

He was nestled with his face between your breast, looking like he was in heaven, or at least having the best sleep of his life. You stroked his nape, sliding down his nape, and he dipped his back, moving higher. His face was now in the crook of your neck, breath steady and soft. You continued your caresses, around his shoulder blades, down his spine and lower back. He sighed in his sleep, back dipping again, hips rolling in your inner thigh. You felt the half hard on he was growing, when men sleep and their body relaxes. It made you bite your lip, you wanted to feel it again, the drag of his hips on you. So you caressed his back again, fingers sinking deeper in the sore muscles, making him softly groan, and when he rolled his hips again you shifted, your pelvis meeting his at the perfect angle.

The precision which his half hard cock pushed up on you clit made you gasp. You felt your stomach tighten, right under you navel, and you throbbed under him. He must have felt it, or at least his dick, because it was getting harder by the second and he shifted again, moving his arm up your side and under your shirt, palm flat on your ribcage.

Forget the caresses, you straight up rolled your hips against his now, and you felt him in all his clothed glory, firm and scorching hot. His grip tightened, breathing a bit more laboured. He started thrusting his hips against yours at an uneven tempo, not with purpose but just feeling, senses blinded by sleep. His hand is now cupping the underside of your boob, squeezing on reflex when feeling something soft in his hand, and it moved up so he is cupping it fully. Yu moan under your breath, hips tilting so his tip pushed and got caught in the dip of your hole up to your clit, and you threw your head back, baring your throat for him for the second time tonight.

“Naughty Bambi...”

His voce came out thick and dripping with want, his breath burned your skin, as his tongue dragged from the base of your neck up your throat, teeth finally closing around your carotid and slowly sinking in your neck. He released your boob and used the hand to prop himself up, hovering over you, the other one gripping your hip and he finally thrusted into you as he should. You moaned without restraint now, your voice vibrating under his lips making him chuckle.

“I was sleeping,” thrust, “it felt like heaven with my face between your tits,” thrust, he sighs, “but you got greedy, and took advantage of me?” He thrusts again, pushing harder, “Bad girl… naughty, naughty Bambi…” he takes a deep breath and sits on his heels, both hands on your waist and he pulls you against him every time he thrusts against your clothed cunt.

You are out of breath and your brain can’t catch up with what he is doing, you just stare at him and moan at every drag of his hips. It was just dry humping, yet he has you wet and dripping. “You have been teasing me so much these past few weeks, I was about to fuck you over the counter or the table at some point, fuck, you in the fucking kitchen, why are you so fucking hot when you cook.” He groans low and deep. “You like riling me up and test me hmm? Don’t you, Bambi?” You shake your head and feign innocence, fearing what admitting it would involve. “Oh? Lying to my face now?” He grips your hips firmer and thrusts harder, earing a strangled cry from you. Then he stops, breath heavy.

“I need to know you want this, because I can’t wait for it anymore and it fucking hurts not touching you as I want to.”

You stare at him with eye wide but lost, taking a few seconds to understand what is he saying and what he wants from you. Your breath is heavy and your mouth is mouth salivating, horny beyond the point of no return. You manage a nod. His eyes narrow, expression stern. He doesn’t like it.

“Words Bambi, I want your consent. On paper or not, right now I need you to say that you want me to fuck you. Be convincing.”

You whimper at his words and swallow. You manage some lucidity to act up and you smile at him with the sweetest smile, making his eyes widen slightly and his nostrils flare. “I want you to rail me for each time I made you hard and you wanted to fuck me, on the counter, on the table, on this sofa and every time you humped your dick on my ass in the morning.”

You should have stayed tame and good for him.

Soonyoung is sitting on the floor, back against the sofa and his head laying on it, cock hard and leaking laying heavy on his lap, twitching at every sound you make as he shoves his face in your pussy. You are hovering over his face, not sitting as he wants (the position would fucking break his neck) and he is holding you down by your thighs. His nose is teasing your clit when he pushes his face in you, lapping and eating you out as if you starved him for weeks.

Well, you did, but how could he knew his new favourite meal was in front of his face this whole time? You gotta give him credit for patience.

You are a moaning and twitching mess above him, your hips rising every time he sucks your clit too much. “Get down” he growls in your core every time you try to escape his mouth. He worked out of you two orgasms with his fingers, one for the counter and one for the table, now going for the third to honour the sofa. “S-sooon- Soonie-e Ahh, no more, please fuck, p-please”, he clicks his tongue in disagreement, “Nu-huh Bambi, you brought this upon yourself” he licks his tongue flat on your slit, covering all your pussy with it, “now you are going to take it like the good girl you are.” Your orgasm comes embarrassingly fast after that and you almost collapse on his face if it wasn't for him holding you by your thighs. You look at him with unfocused eyes, “You are fucking insane.” To which he laughs as he kisses your face, “Early for that.”

He sits on the sofa and pulls you in his lap, cruel of him to ask you to ride him after three orgasms that turned your legs into jelly. You groan at the mere thought of having to engage your muscles for anything, and he laughs again, helping you staying up on your knees. “I wouldn’t dare to ask you to ride me princess, I just want you close.” He kisses your décolleté as his dick twitches against your thigh, wetting it with drops of precum. It catches your attention and when you look at it you feel yourself start to drool, he dick looks deliciously thick and heavy, long enough to feel him in your stomach. “Like what you see Bambi?”, you nod, “Lets see if your pussy likes it as much. Eyes on me baby.” You look at him, straight into his own. He smiles, “Hi baby” and he pecks your lips. “Keep them open, I want to see you and I want you to see how good you make me feel alright? Words Bambi.” “Yes, yes Soonie.”

He nods at you to take his cock and line him up with your cunt. Then he slowly helps you to sink down on it, your mouth parted but no moan comes out, the feeling you anticipated makes you so overwhelmed that you can’t breath properly, he stops and holds you there. “Breath Bambi, breath for me, come on. In and out, nose and mouth.” After the first few breaths he praises you and starts to lower you on him again, you instinctively shut your eyes, he stops again and you whimper in frustration. “Eyes on me Bambi, come on I know you can do it.” He says it with a shit eating grin when you look at him frowning. “Good girl, such a good girl… doing everything I ask you” he keeps talking as you sink on him now sitting on his lap, and he lets out a low groan, dipping his head back and closing his ayes at the sensation.

“Ffuuuuuuucking hell, yes, Bambi you feel so fucking good, warm and tight, fucking hell,” he laughs breathless, “I wish I gave in earlier.” You bring your hand behind his neck and grip the hair at his nape, bringing his head up as he hisses. “E-eyes on me.” You say trembling. He smiles wide and experimentally thrusts up into you, and you both moan at the feeling. He sets a slow pace, rolling his hips every time he bottoms out. You are putty in his hands, slumped in his chest and with your face in his neck, as he whispers in your ear and kissed and nips at your neck. “My doll, my sweet Babygirl. So wet, fuck mmh ah, this pussy was made for me, isn’t it Bambi? All for me to fuck and worship.”

He increases his pace and fucks you deeper and harder, planting his feet on the ground. He has you upright now, watching how your tits bounce at every push of his hips, groaning and muttering profanities under his breath. He feels his climax approach, and realises he forgot the condom. “Fuck baby the condom, need you to get down baby.” “N-no” you plant your palms on his lower stomach for leverage and start bouncing on him. “Fuck! Baby please wait, wait a sec- oh shit-” he feels your pussy clenching and squeezing him, your orgasm close as you start to whine and moan in his lap. “B-Bambi, Bambi fuck, stop baby wait- ah- ah fuck!!” He cums inside as you keep going, chasing your own release, and when you do, he jolts his hips up, your pussy squeezing and milking his cock dry. His head drops on the backrest and he breaths hard, you drop on his chest.

“I’m on the pill.” You say between breaths, and he lets out a groan of relief. “You could have told me that before giving me a heart attack.” And you laugh against his chest. He pulls you closer and kisses you deeply. You cuddle some more and then go wash up, Soonyoung doesn’t even bother to put you down until you are in the bathroom. In bed, he pulls you close and kisses you until you are both too tired to keep your eyes open. He wakes you in the morning with his hand between your legs, teasing your clit and kissing your neck. “Ready for some morning sex Bambi?”

The next weeks consists in Soonyoung pouncing on you at every chance he gets, after you send him nudes and pictures of your tits throughout the day, riling him up to the point that he has to take bathroom breaks for jerking off. He is feeling like a teenager who just discovered that girls make him hard and what orgasms are. The boys are suspicious about what has been happening after he has been coming with extremes levels of high energy, and vibrating when he has to go home. When your finals were close, you begged him to stay out with friends so you could study more, but all the time he kept glancing at his phone for you to give him the green light and come home. He was feeling the best he ever felt in these last four years, and people around him started to notice.

“Is it thanks to the girl you hired?” Soonyoung tenses at the words, making him pissed on the spot. “Don’t say it like that.” He replies to Jihoon, who is sitting behind his computer revising tracks.

“Well, it’s the truth, is it not?”

“You make her sound like a prostitute.”

“So you two started having sex too, good job.” Jihoon’s voice is filled with sarcasm and a tinge of disappointment as he scoffs. Fuck, good job idiot.

“Jihoonah-”

“No, no, don’t ‘Jihoonah’ me, I told you not to let it build up to this! To put some distance, not to start fucking her and letting yourself be even more tied to her!”

“You don’t know shit.”

“Oh yeah?” Jihoon is pissed at his point, turning his chair towards Soonyoung. “Look at me and tell me you are fucking her with zero feelings, not thinking even once about her in a way that is different from ‘good sex’ only.” “I-” he doesn’t let Soonyoung talk, it get’s this bad only when he pissed him off really bad. “Tell me you haven’t thought about fucking her pregnant.”

That makes Soonyoung widen his eyes in shock. Jihoon is surprised at his words too, he is collected and calm, but he is pissed and extremely concerned about Soonyoung, and he keeps going. “You are staring at you phone every time I look at you, and you are smiling like an idiot. I am so, so happy to see you that you stopped feeling like crying all the time and being drunk at every chance you get. Fuck, I was thinking about getting you an intervention for alcoholics for fucks sake.” He drags his palm down his face. “I am happy for you, don’t doubt me on that,” he takes a deep breath, “but how long is this going to last? Until the contract is over?” Soonyoung is looking at the ground, hands balled up in fists at his sides. “You don’t know how she is with me.”

“No, I don’t. What I know is that she is with you because you are paying her.” “Quit that shit Jihoon, I swear to god-” “Tell me it isn’t true! Tell me she would have agreed to this even if you asked her to do it for free, that you asked her to date you. Would you? Would you have asked a fucking fan to date you?!” Jihoon’s voice has risen now, not screaming yet, he would never scream at Soonyoung, but he is still glad the studio is soundproofed.

“She is a student, she hasn’t even started working for real. You are in this industry and working your ass off since you were a teenager. Is not the four years age gap, there’s a lifetime of a gap between you two. You have lived everything you wanted up until now, and you want to settle down. To build a family. Do you think that she would want that?” Soonyoung stays silent, not looking at his most cherished friend. “Soon, I don’t want you to start building something that will crumble under your feet and drag you lower than you have ever been in your life. This is too important for you, I have listened to you cry over the phone and in person at how lonely you were and how much you wanted and yearned for someone to build a family with. I can’t let you fall that deep.”

Soonyoung’s eyes sting. Because Jihoon has risen his voice at him, and because he voiced one of his most feared worries. He sniffles and brushes his eyes dry, nodding his head, but not uttering a word. Jihoon in on the verge of tears himself, but stands stubborn and unmoving. “Please Soonyoung, think about it.”

When Soonyoung comes home that evening, you are not home, is the last week of finals and you were studying with your friends to push through the last leg. He was feeling like shit and he wanted to drown in beer. His phone lit up on the table, a message from you.

Hey Soonie! How are you doing? My brain is fried @.@

I wish I was with you…I would really love to have one of your special energy boosting hugs <3

He smiles and chuckles at the message.

I miss you, more than you think.

That made his heart squeeze in a way he did not like. He inhaled with a shaky breath and kept reading.

Make sure to eat, and don’t order junk food with delivery!! I know you.

Tomorrow is the last test, and I can’t wait to be with you again.

I miss you. But I already said that…but I miss you, so much.

Good night Soonie

Soonyoung threw his phone in the air as if it was made of burning steel. Than he caught it, luckily.

Ly. Love you.

What the fuck. What THE FCUK?!

He did not even realise he was calling you, nor that he was crying.

You did not pick up the phone on the first ring. Not on the second. Not on the third. Do I wait? I should wait. Not on the fourth. OH MY FUCKING GOD PICK UP-

“Hello? Soonie?”

“The message.”

“Huh? What, which mess-“

“The last one.”

“Soonie, you need to help me, I don’t even know what time is it-“

“You wrote L-Y.”

A pause. He felt like drowning. He sniffled up snot two times before you spoke. “Yes, I did.”

“Do you mean it?” His voice was trembling now. He was emotionally devastated after the talk with Jihoon, he was absolutely not ready for a rejection, but he wanted to know it now. “Soonie, I-”

“Do you mean it?” he said with a broken sob.

Your heart shattered when you heard him. “Soonie, baby, what’s going on? Are you alright? Do I need to come home?” Yes, yes please come back to me, I need you here Bambi. You were already calling his place home.

“No,” he sniffled, “you have your last test tomorrow, I can’t ask you that. Just answer me.”

You don’t reply in the time he wants you to, he is not a patient man, even less now. “Y/n, Bambi please, I need to know, don’t play with me right now I can’t take it, please” he says with a broken voice.

“Can we talk about this tomorrow? Right after I finish the test. I promise you I’ll be home as soon as I finish.” Nonononono I need to know now please please please.

“I’ll send someone to wait for you.”

“Okay.” You pause for a second, then “Soonie?”

“Yes?” he says with a choked voice.

You chuckle, “Is not what you are overthinking about.”

Soonyoung passed the following morning feeling like vomiting with how bad his nerves were. Jihoon called him five times (the record was two, he waited for the second ring tops) and the group chat was buzzing nonstop. He called in sick for the first time in six years (military not counting) and Seokmin, Chan and Seungkwan (bless their hearts), were one beat away from storming to his place.

You have arrived at noon, not bothering to ring any doorbell and because you knew the code by heart. When the front door unlocked Soonyoung jumped out of his skin and barely on his feet.

“You are here.” he said as soon as he saw you. You nodded, out of breath from the run to his apartment.

“How did the test go?” “Aced it.” “Attagirl.” he smiled weakly. “Soonyoung i-” he gulped, nervous, but manage to interrupt you. “Let’s sit.” Gesturing to the sofa.

As you both sat down, he took a deep breath to steady himself, and looked at you. You were nervous too, it made him smile on the inside. He nodded at you to talk.

“Soonie, I meant it. The ‘Love you’. With all of my heart.” You weren’t looking at him, scared of his reaction, of what expression he had on his face. “For quite some time now, since what, week three into the arrangement?” you chuckle bitterly. “I should have told you. I know, but I thought it was only a crush and I could let myself be delusional that one of my favourite idols would reciprocate my feelings-”

“One of my favouriteidols?”

“Eh?”

“There are other man in your life that have your heart?”

“What?? No! of course not!! I love you, I could never love anyone els-”

Soonyoung cuts you off with a kiss that tastes of love and tears, and a hint of kimchi too. Your kimchi, the one you made for the first time in your life to surprise him and that could never be good enough for his kimchi expert&lover tastebuds. He never told you he ate it like it was his last meal and finished it this morning.

You melted in the kiss, hands gripping on his t-shirt, damp around the collar with his tears. Not like he almost sweat through it because he was nervous as fuck. When you parted, he held your face between his hands and whispered, “Then I am happy to have you all to myself to love.” And he kissed you again. You chuckled against his lips, “Maybe there should be a little spot saved for Felix-” “Nono, no take backs, you are mine.”

Soonyoung could not wait for that night to make love to you, and as he was pushing himself in and out of your warmth he realised, that he made love to you ever since that very first time in November. He was a goner since you held his hand in that bar in September.

When he asked you to marry him for the first time, that very evening, you told him you needed to finish your studies first. The second time was after your graduation ceremony, and you told him to wait at least that you start your job.

The third time he asked you to marry him, during the late night poop stroll with Latte, with the promise rings you got for you two on your fingers, which shook the K-Pop industry dangerously hard and gave Mr. Park almost near stroke, you said yes. He made you sprint home with Latte in your arms because poor puppy couldn’t keep up, because he left the ring at home.

He never told you he got it in December, the same day when you gave him the promise ring. His best man shivered in his studio, unaware of the fact that he would have to wear a tiger printed tie for the ceremony, no matter how much he would protest against it.

You married mid-May. Yes there were tiger themed details, and yes, Jihoon wore the tie and cried. Twice. Latte has a little brother, Macchiato. Still no kids in sight.

But you are craving kimchi a little too much.

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aurumalatus · 1 day ago

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𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐒, 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐇

pairing. kinich x fem!reader wc. 1.4k genre/warnings. harbinger!kinich, knight!kinich, assassin!kinich, mentions of killing/blood/violence, hurt/comfort summary. the ways kinich comforts you across different universes. author's note. this blog is the fucking kinich multiverse LMAO. all au sources will be linked! enjoy <3 unedited my b it's 2am reblogs/interaction highly appreciated!

BRIGHELLA, THE HELLRAISER [HARBINGER!KINICH]

The Tenth Harbinger is a busy man.

He doesn’t like to waste time, doesn’t bother with subtleties and anything he deems uneconomical. There are few issues that are worthwhile to a man of his stature—with the wealth of power at his fingertips, minor concerns can become mere memories.

And still, despite it all, he cancels the rest of his appointments for the day when he finds you alone, sobbing into your shirt.

There’s no hesitation. He simply turns to the closest Fatui agent, tells them to clear his schedule, and orders them to leave. Nothing excessive, nothing unnecessary. It’s how he always is.

The bed dips shallowly when he sits down next to you, a newfound warmth introduced at your side. For a few minutes, it’s quiet. Only your stuttering sobs fill the air, and Kinich just listens.

“I don’t like when you cry,” he finally sighs, smoothing down your hair.

“I know,” you murmur in reply, tucking yourself closer to him. The inky fur at his collar brushes your cheek. “I’m sorry.”

And really, you are. This kind of soft weakness isn’t accepted in the Fatui, at least not where you’ve seen.

He hums, the vibration making you shiver. “Don’t be.”

Kinich’s warmth disappears abruptly from beneath you, your eyes flying open in surprise.

He’s leaving?

“Wh—where are you going?” you ask, watching as he rises swiftly to his feet. The darkened silhouette of a long, spiked tail slithers beneath the shadow of his cloak.

There’s a note of something grim in his expression, a nightmarish aura drifting from his seemingly calm figure. Most wouldn’t notice it until it was too late, but you know.

You know the monstrous things he is capable of. You witness them every day.

Kinich glances back at you distantly.

You can never quite describe the way that his eyes rake over you, a chilling affection in his gaze. It makes you feel protected, but not warm. Loved, but caged.

“Tell me who made you cry,” he urges quietly, a single gloved finger tracing your jaw. The corner of his lip quirks up when your eyes widen. “And I’ll take care of it for you.”

PIXELPRINCESS!AU [KNIGHT!KINICH]

Royals raise their heads high before their people.

It’s one of the rules that you’ve learned since you were a child, so foundational that it’s been etched deeply into your brain. It’s the structure of your perfect posture, the chin-up smile that graces your face as you walk the halls of the castle. To underperform would be to disappoint your people and ignore what your role requires of you.

That’s why you only cry during the night.

No one usually catches you—the maids are long gone, and you should be fast asleep by now. But sometimes, the weight grows so overwhelming that it squeezes the sobs from your chest. Even despite your best efforts to remain quiet, the sounds echo from the tall ceilings of your room.

The door creaks open.

You know who it is without looking up. It couldn’t be anyone else, wouldn’t be anyone else, at least not at this hour.

There’s only one person who would check on you at this time.

“Princess?”

Kinich takes a few quick strides across the room, urgency written with every step. He’s faster than you expected, and before you can blink he’s already standing before you.

Without delay, he drops to his knees, discarding his blade at his side. The sight sobers you, if only for a moment—he usually treats it with the utmost care.

“Tell me where it hurts,” he urges, voice laced with subdued desperation, like he’s trying to stay calm for your sake.

But his fingers betray him, and they quiver as they sweep over your arms and hands, searching for signs of injury. You finally manage to shake your head, and Kinich’s gaze snaps up to your face instantly.

“What’s wrong, Princess? Please tell me.”

His tone is so gentle, with a firmness that is very suitable for the Captain of the Guard. But you’ve never heard him use such niceties with anyone else. You take quiet pride in that, deep in your heart—the unknown aspects of himself that Kinich solely saves for you.

The molten gold of his eyes makes a heat sprout in your chest. You look away.

You can’t manage to answer him, and he doesn’t demand more of you after that. He busies himself with looking you over, absolutely thorough in checking for even a millimeter of damage to your skin. You allow it, accepting the weightlessness of his touch.

A delicate thread of silence unfurls between you, the mutual understanding and comfort lulling your tears away.

You don’t go to sleep that night. Kinich doesn’t leave either.

You know that if you told him to, you would. You know if you told him to forget he saw anything, he would. You know that if you told him to go to the far lands and eliminate whatever sorry source was making you cry, he would.

But you don’t.

So, instead, you let the warm, familiar grip of Kinich’s hands in yours dry the tears on your cheeks.

THE BLOOD IN OUR SHADOWS [ASSASSIN!KINICH]

The family meetings are really such a drag.

If it wasn’t required of you, you wouldn’t step foot on this estate ever again. In fact, you would much prefer it that way. Because maybe then, you wouldn’t be forced to interact with your dreadful siblings every damn day of your life—

“I don’t know why you keep attending these, if not because you like being humiliated.”

At your side, Kinich freezes mid-step, prickling. You sigh in irritation, already expecting the sweet smile on the face of your older sister.

Amane. The Lovers.

“Even your acolyte is subpar,” your sister laughs, a thin, tinny sound that makes your ears ring and head ache. Your face scrunches in displeasure. She’s always been so vexing to interact with. “It’s no wonder that father doesn’t bother with you. That, or your whore of a mother.”

Her acolyte, Childe, chuckles at her side.

You bite your lip—you’ve grown soft, you think bitterly. Maybe too much time away from home has made you this way, but her words sting more than you remember.

The quiet hiss of Kinich’s katana leaving its sheath draws your attention, and your mouth barely has time to fall open before his blade is at your sister’s throat.

Her eyes are wide-open in silent shock. It’s probably a sick, vile thought, but you welcome the sight of anything but that ugly smile on her face.

At her neck, a thin, ruby-red line of blood blooms over her pale skin, slowly dripping toward the seams of her kimono. Childe had already reacted just as quickly, his dagger digging at Kinich’s jaw. Your partner doesn’t seem to mind, teeth gritted in rage and stare zeroed in on your sister’s face.

You would recognize that expression anywhere—he’s prepared to kill.

You sigh, weighing your options. As much as you hate Amane, you don’t think your father would take kindly to you killing his favorite daughter, especially not during such a precarious time.

“Kinich.”

His gaze flickers to you through his dark lashes, instantly warming as if there is no knife at his throat. “My Lady.”

If you gave him the go-ahead, you’re quite sure he would cut your sister down, or at least he would try. But Childe watches you with a sinister smile, as if daring you to urge Kinich’s hand.

“We should go,” you say, and his hand and sword immediately return to his sheath.

Despite the rage that you can feel boiling at your side, you offer a placating smile to your sibling, who seems overjoyed at your submission.

“Oh, look how sweet,” Amane sighs, a mocking hand pressed to her chest. She turns to Childe, snapping her fan open and whispering behind it conspiratorily. “If she tries for one-hundred more years, she might just be as charming as me.”

She suddenly doesn’t seem bothered by the blood that stains her neck. If anything, she seems even happier than she was before. It makes you feel ill.

You don’t dignify her with a response, opting to simply step past her as Kinich follows. His expression darkens when he walks past.

“Your life rests in My Lady’s hands,” he mutters dimly, eyes flashing. Amane flinches. “I’ll be gifting your head to her when the time comes.”

#genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #kinich x reader #genshin impact #kinich #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact x you #kinich x you #pixelprincess!au #adeptus ink

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cashewyamini · 2 days ago

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Saja Boys Headcanons

Jinu

The best cook in the group. Always cooks meals for the Saja boys after a long day.

Usually very reserved, but cares deeply for the saja boys in his own way. Getting Baby snacks he wants, accompanying Mystery in silence, letting Abby get touchy with him, and coming along to Romance’s shopping sprees

Does NOT understand modern slang and humor. Thought Baby was calling him a c*nt when he was complimenting him.

Has a 20 step skincare routine, second longest prep time next to Romance.

Doesn’t like the taste of coffee, so he usually just drinks energy drinks

Feeds and pets every stray animal he sees on the streets, no he doesn’t care if they’re behind schedule he’s gonna feed the damn cat

Doesn’t understand fashion trends so he always lets Romance or Mystery pick out his outfits

Isn’t on his phone often. He usually spends his free time reading or making music. It’s giving Grandpa

Romance

Has the taste of a white man when it comes to food. Bro CANNOT handle any form of spice

Does GRWM and fit check videos a lot

Takes the longest to get ready, not just because of his skincare routine or his hair routine—but also because he takes hours deciding what to wear

Got bullied in the past for being “too feminine” but never let that stop him from doing what he does and that's how he met Abby

Takes great care of his hair. he uses like 10 products for his hair because he doesn’t want his constant use of gel and hairspray to start damaging his hair

LOVES gift giving. Whenever he goes out he always makes sure to have a little treat to take home for the boys. Be it snacks, new accessories, drinks, food, etc.

Most close with the fans. He loves fan meet and greets, doing live streams, signing the most random stuff for fans, and pouring water on fans during concerts. He may get drained afterwards, but he does like seeing the fans happy.

Baby

Huge prankster. Always playing tricks with the boys and the fans. Adding hot sauce to Romance’s food, sneaking up behind fans, he just loves messing with people.

Is very sarcastic and lies for no reason. During a fan meet, a fan asked him where he was born. He said “Italy.” The fan excitedly asked. “Really!?” And he just replies with. “Haha, no.”

Chronically online as hell. Using internet slang and humor. Always enjoying Jinu’s confusion when he says “You’re funny, please don’t go bald.”

Is always glued to his phone and scrolling through social media.

Massive gamer. Posts his valorant clips a lot, loves rage baiting other players, but he actually really is good at the games he plays.

Is closest with Mystery. He and Mystery have known each other the longest, going back to middle school. Always enjoyed each other’s silence. He often goes to Mystery’s room just to hang out around him even if neither of them strike up a conversation

Has a tongue piercing that Mystery suggested he should get and actually really likes showing it off.

LOVES spicy food. Everything he eats needs to be paired with hot sauce.

Human trash can. His standards for food? Edible (optional)

He’s naturally smart. Back in school he never had to try too hard to be on top.

Mystery (AKA my favorite)

Stays up playing games or watching movies to the point where he has eyebags

Has a bridge piercing and brow piercing. Ever since he got his ears pierced he’s loved getting piercings.

Great at art. He has very stable hands which makes him good at painting and most forms of art in general. He likes doodling a lot (he has doodles of Zoey that only Baby knows about). He comes up with fashion and art concepts for the group which Jinu really appreciates. Not to mention he’s a master in color theory.

He’s a sweet tooth. He loves eating sweets and pastries. He mostly loves lemon and strawberry flavored stuff.

Picky eater. When he doesn’t like something in his meal he picks it out and hands it to the other members.

He doesn’t like physically interacting with people so his main way of interacting with his fans is through video games like roblox, valorant, minecraft, etc.

Has always been conventionally attractive to the point where back then his classmates would only approach him for his looks—and this is where he started hiding his face.

He actually approached Baby first back when they first met, because he saw that Baby was the only one who actually treated him normally and didn’t care about his looks.

Most curious about human stuff. Loves experimenting on human food, always curious about human gadgets and mannerisms. The boys often see him as a curious puppy.

Abby

Surprisingly a decent cook. One time Jinu got sick and he decided to take over the kitchen and actually made a delicious meal which the others didn’t expect at all.

HEAR ME OUT… N!pple piercing…

Loves physical touch. When he’s around the others, one part of his body is touching them. Arm around Jinu, playing footsies with Romance, letting Baby rest on his shoulder, or letting mystery rest on his lap. He usually initiates for the others, but with Mystery he lets him approach first.

Has great advice but gives it in the most himbo frat boy way possible. If he had a dictionary he’d be unstoppable

Loves posting thirst traps and mirror selfies. Of course the fans love it too

Sleeps naked.

Gives the best massages, when the others’ bodies get sore they always come to him for a massage

The worst driver in the group. He gets distracted easily and always takes his eyes off the road.

Knew Romance in highschool because he liked his makeup, which was something Romance got bullied for.

#kpop demon hunters #kpdh #mystery kpdh #jinu kpdh #abby kpdh #romance kpdh #baby kpdh #saja boys #saja boys headcanons #baby saja #abby saja #mystery saja #romance saja #jinu saja #kpdh headcanons

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ilianasbruce · 2 days ago

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heyyy I truly love how you write for Bruce and had a curious ask that maybe could also be a x reader kinda request - what would it take for him to cry or show really heavy emotion (either in front of the reader or in private)? I feel like he’s good at masking emotions but feels so much without knowing how to express them but idk I’m so interested to hear your thoughts :)

“Somewhere in the Gotham, there’s a wounded bat.”

word count: 4,090

summary: your Bruce and his vulnerability.

warnings: mentions of sexual intercourse. minors do not interact, please.

notes: hi, hi!! ♡ i want to thank you for your amazing vision, dear and i wanted to speak my mind on this!! and my other dears who requested the other pieces, i promise i’ll be delivering them in following weeks!! love you, mwah!!! ♡

My dearest stranger, I’ll answer this question of yours in a few different directions. I usually tend to answer the questions through his psychological breakdown, so for this one, I want to start with it until we reach the answer to your inquiry.

Bruce, specifically the young and ‘early Batman years’, was something else — a different breed. He was not a child anymore but at the same time, was the same angry and devastated boy inside. Young Bruce, twenty-five when he came back to Gotham, was headstrong and arrogant in his vision. So, we must look into these factors before we dissect his psychology and reach the answer to your intriguing question.

Bruce was fresh out of his training for twelve years with an incredible amount of things he had seen and learnt. He, somehow knew what he was but it was still impossible to know what your true desires were without a few years of practice on the field.

Young, Bat Bruce in his few years was focusing on one thing: Gotham. He tried not to heed anything other than his mission. But, of course, it was unimaginable that Gotham and her people did not affect him in some ways.

I’ll give a few timelines for you — it’s up to you which timeline you want to meet Bruce and each timeline will give us a different perspective I hope. Before we dive into the timeline, we must know that in all of them in my opinion, Bruce struggles with trust and vulnerability. That is the main factor, because he is not to blame in the situation since his care and love were used against him, his morals and perspective about love. It is deeply rooted in him and we’ll see it in every, early periods of his relationship with the reader.

The first timeline is if you met Bruce one year of becoming Bat, with no one else before you. I personally love this timeline, because in my many works and mind, I usually imagine Bruce in those moments when he had found the sole person in his life who never put him in dreadful situations about love. Bruce, as I mentioned in my other pieces, is a lover. He even admitted the power of his love in his comics (Batman: The Knight). I heavily support this version of him, because it is, — supposed to be the main fuel why Bruce chose the path to become who he is today. He has enough love for his city and humanity.

And if we say that Bruce loves deeply, we are never wrong. I’m so fucking tired of people and modern comic writers painting him as a terrible individual and lover when in fact, he is the most intense lover we could see. He is the hope of Gotham, a disciplined soul who tries to protect the people’s lives from the same kind of traumas that stained and shattered his whole life forevermore. How can we overlook this, when Bruce literally loves and cares for people? And they dare to write him an abusive, morally terrible man when in reality Bruce is the whole opposite of it? I think it is the worst case to put him down, to represent and paint him as the man he would never be in any universe.

I can give a basic example, draw a line to show how the mere simple things are accepted about him proves the point of Bruce being a lover.

His playboy persona. It is the most basic instance, too easy to prove his love life.

Do we really think and accept that Bruce was a natural seducer? That he was blessed with that personality? That he never needed a teacher to guide him how to manipulate and get into people’s minds? That he was a siren to pull them and use them for a mere release? Do we?

Bruce, in fact, was the boy (if we are talking about his teenage years) who was already darkened with his tragedy but still had the capability of pure love. He was the complete opposite of being a player, never bearing an inch of temptation in his body to lure them. He had true intentions as a decent person since the murder of his parents, and as he believed in justice, he believed in the truthfulness, pureness of love, too. If he loved, he’d mean it. He ached for both emotional and physical connection. He’d never chase the feeling of altering his partners over and over again, seducing them as much as he wanted.

This notion comes from his moral and ethical traits, his own pure and virtuous intentions. He was never a deceiver in love and he ached for a true understanding, even though he was unaware of it. Bruce had his time to learn about the master of seduction and manipulation from his mentors, then he sharpened them in his ongoing Batman years because he understood that the world revolved around something else that was against his morals. And he was okay with that since it was the only thing that let him achieve his lifetime mission.

We saw his despise, his difference from the playboy Bruce Wayne, clashing with each other overly because that’s not who he is. It is the a mere example of his psychological inclination.

So, here comes the interesting part about Bruce’s preferences in love as we saw in the comics. The real justification why Bruce was caught up in a romantic tension with chaotic ‘love interests’ is because of the unconscious roots of his morals and trauma. (Bear with me, please.) I had seen on internet once, an user saying that Bruce was specifically into the morally wrong women, (which I’m heavily agreeing with it) — I mean Selina or Talia, it was because he was senselessly into the idea of helping them in the back of his mind; (the one he did not even dive into) and bringing ‘justice’ into their worlds. That’s why I never accept a ‘criminal x hero’ love story which for years Bruce had been written in this trope, because when we dissect the psychology part, it’s just Bruce being unconsciously tied to ‘prove, settle’ something in them. It could never be romantic love, because love stands for different things. The same goes for the ‘enemies-to-lovers’ situation, too. I never understand why a person would love their actual enemy, realistically it is very unlikely for me to grasp the idea and that’s why I loathe the trope indeed; because under everything, we have buried factors that we’re able to look into with them to the main justifications of our preferences. Then, we can decide whether it is real or a trauma response to our tragedies.

Same goes for Bruce, too. It is the main reason why he has complexity and we need to value him through the fundamental, realistic factors. (but that’s just me. I’ve no judgment of people, though. I love to hear about people’s experiences and likes. ♡)

Thus, if we can dive deeper, we can understand Bruce’s ‘comic’ preferences for chaotic, criminal people and his inner struggles with vulnerability through them. (’Catwoman & Batman’ is the result of pure male fantasy, no one can change my mind on this. I never have respect or support for characters written like Selina, which is one of the reasons why I am against the relationship between ’Bat and Cat’.)

The real reason I wanted to include this section of my thoughts because I wanted to show the real contrast of Bruce’s character, because I do really believe that Bruce needs a decent partner who isn't clawing or clashing him, but supporting and loving him with decent, normal, and realistic morals. We need to focus on these since I’ll explain Bruce’s struggles and vulnerability.

If Bruce met the reader before everything, in the first year of his Bat-years, he’d learn to be open with the reader as much as he could. I imagine him, as a young lover and husband, he’d be too inclined to his lover. You could — did basically teach him the meaning of marriage and love, and he’d gladly accept it. Bruce loves to orbit around his lover, relishing in your love. Your love was pure, there was no intention behind your motives — just true love, unconditional and endless for him. You weren't there to ‘claw’ your way out or fight him for your goals, you were simply there to love him — the idea of love that he’d carved into his brain from his deceased parents.

Speaking of his parents, I truly believe why Bruce would be into the marriage as soon as he’d found you, specifically in his younger years, not only because he loved you and did not bear to think about losing you, but it was also engraved in his mind from his parents.

His beloved parents’ love was the only role model of romantic love in his life and he’d embrace it contentedly. He’d seen how his father loved his mother, his dear mother that Bruce only flourished in her love heavily, even though we know Martha had struggled with serious issues. His father’s devotion and support of his mother no matter what were pure love in Bruce’s mentality. And just imagine, if Bruce found his partner, he’d definitely cherish them from this perspective.

The idea of marriage became something sacred for him like the old texts preached. It was intimate and enigmatic for him, the idea and reality. He loved the thrill of it, loved the idea of finally having someone to himself without sacrificing or fighting through the years. You were the main reason everything around and in him altered. From this view, marriage with you was something that Bruce ached for.

There are many things we can say about Bruce’s idea of marriage (let this be another day’s theme) from the things we had talked about above, but one thing that Bruce wanted marriage because he wanted to be intertwined with you and your soul forevermore. As soulmates. As the never-ending bond, even in another life.

If you were his young partner, like he was as young as you, you were the one who taught him vulnerability. This is my view surely. Because just imagine, how he was elated when you became his and as your Moon orbiting around you, do we really think he’d not accept your motives? His precious lover, who’d kiss his scars and sleep right next to him every night in the sheets of your wedlock bed, became the first thing he saw in the early morning glow though the heavy curtains?

You’ve mentioned that he was good at masking his emotions, but if your Bruce was the one in this timeline that I explained, I do slightly believe that he’d let his thoughts out in the next period of time. But, again, as you have a point, not that smoothly. But through patience and some time. I can see that in your early years of marriage, as you’d trust him lovingly and let him see you, he’d be starting to do the same. Yet, Bruce still would be struggling to be open at first.

There is one thing in my head that Bruce loves to pillow talk, like literally! I think it is the sweetness and the peace after you two had sex and he was delighting in you every single time. I had once mentioned in my pieces that Bruce being into skin to skin with you, it did not matter if it was sexual or not. And after sex, the minutes were one of the moments he’d look forward to. It was the exact moment when he started to be vulnerable with you at first in my beliefs.

Foremost, it was his showing of love, speaking to you about whatever you wanted to converse about or simply listening to you as you were cuddling him. But afterwards, it started to turn to his every emotion. Anger or breakdown, depression or exhaustion, elation or thrill — anything. He was feeling so good in your arms, even in his weariness. Nonetheless, if he was broken, you’d immediately know from his posture and he wouldn’t even bother to hide. You may think why he was effortlessly speaking about his worries? It leads us to the words I’ve preached above: Bruce was both trying to let you see him as you did for him and he believed in the holiness of marriage, that he shouldn't be holding back when you were there, right next to him forevermore.

He’d not repress himself, he’d let his words out as you were urging him every single time. Marriage was supposed to be carried out by two souls and when you were too trusting and in love with him, who was he to defy his own feelings for you? Who was he to hold back himself when he ached for understanding and love through his years, specifically when he had found his soulmate? He’d be bursting out his words, sometimes overly rigid to speak or utter and you’d listen, supporting and understanding him over and over again.

Sometimes, he could speak in a complicated manner since he’d have a hard time explaining his thoughts — yet, you were there, as if he were the Sun and that’d be enough for him to continue. And through the years, as you two started to live a life together, it became too easy to let his thoughts out to you. You’d look at him and know he was planning to mutter a word.

This is one haul: your husband could be struggling at first slightly and naturally, since he never felt this powerful about someone to have their hand in marriage. And, let me add this, he’d be excessively excited to have a spouse, (my shayla, my shayla ♡) and he’d be beaming to the Moon and back to speak to you about his thoughts since you’d nurture him heavily to be more vulnerable with you, which would last forevermore.

The other take, however, is if you did meet Bruce after two to three years of being Batman and he, well, he was after a toxic situationship. God, here it comes.

I wanted to show this timeline, since I do believe we can explore that. Your Bruce would be restraining himself about both vulnerability and emotions until it started to be an issue between you two during the early years. His love had been used against him again and again, yet here he was in love with you. But you were there evermore, never intending to leave him after seducing him for your liking, slightly having him let his guard down, and then telling him how it was not good for both of you, your entire relationship solely based on a time-wasting hour sex and tension in the name of you feeling a connection after the tough times in your life.

No.

No one could be equal to you and that was the thing.

You were so lovely, loving him truly for who he was and solely for him. But he was forced to fight his efforts to prevent your love due to trauma of his shitty situationship that male authors’ fantasy was filled through it, a “femme fatale” and her own criminal goals that left your Bruce too fucked up. Once the essence of sex, the intimacy between the real lovers was now ruined for the lover Bruce.

It’d taken him long, to confess his feelings to himself to let you in. It was still the love at first sight, but your Bruce was unconsciously afraid of his heart being broken again, thus he was halting himself over and over again, until he couldn't bear to stay away from you. We can never blame him; he let and trusted a few people and they left him on the road for their selfish motives — none of them acknowledging and caring, never altering themselves as Bruce would for them. He was still there, with his caring heart and he was left alone because love was nothing more than a sexual tension. The love they don't even know the meaning of that led Bruce to be the Protector of Gotham, a symbol of hope.

What a shame for them.

When he became yours — still stumbling on love and trust issues, yet chose to marry you — it took long enough to heal from the trauma. Don’t be thinking otherwise, he was still sweet and gentle with you, but it was verily different from the first timeline Bruce. This Bruce of yours wasn’t speaking his mind out during sex, pillow talks, or when you two were merely tangled with each other for sleep in the warmth of your bed, denying himself until you asked him about his notions. He’d still be afraid of being used, to be left in that loneliness once again — even though you were his partner, you were carrying his last name happily. It was a basic trauma response, just as he was being his alter ego every night.

He loved you truthfully, more than he did for the others but he wasn't speaking or letting real set of emotions to you unless you ushered him. It’d tire you both for a good extended period, both hurting him and you heavily. You would be burdened by proving to him that he had nothing to be scared of anymore, but it’d leave you insecure in your own thoughts that maybe he didn’t want you and that was the last thing for Bruce to make you feel unworthy of his messy love.

He loved you so dearly, became overly protective of you and clingy, but still denied his emotions to you. He could never want to hurt you in any sense and when he struggled with words, he just shut himself out but saw it in your eyes how it was tolling on you. Your first years of marriage consisted of this issue. Even when Dick came into your lives— you two were stumbling but at least it was not severe like the previous years. Bruce knew you loved him, but the years of not getting any response from the few people he cared for and wanted romantically left him disheartened and demoralized, even though you were whispering to his lips that you were his until the end.

Bruce started to fix himself when he saw how it was draining you. You were so precious to him, his Sun and heart, the one who he did comprehend the meaning of true love because of. He’d be trying to be a better husband for you, not in a materialistic way but emotionally, too. He’d let his guard down ultimately — finally pushing the nightmarish thoughts of you leaving him or using him like the others.

Bruce could never think of terribly of you, never let any single suspicion creep over him but it was too hard to flee from the thoughts of making a single mistake and watching you leave him. Speaking of self-blaming about ‘making a mistake’, I think Bruce some days would think and accuse himself for the position he was in before you, because maybe he had made a mistake and he deserved to be left alone (his ethical traits already accepting the blame as an clean game), but it was never correct — he was just an unreliable narrator in his mind, constantly doubting his capability of romantic love. It was one of the justifications why he was still struggling with vulnerability.

When he started to push his dreadful visions, he started to heal. Your love was already a cure for him and when he stopped resisting himself? That was the reward for his efforts for Gotham. He’d be at peace to evolve into the man who wasn't broken anymore but daily loved and cherished by the love of his life. He’d then become vulnerable with you, yet still with hesitation until he’d learn to push it aside and speak to you.

I am thinking that the physical affection of yours was one of the main motives he’d be distracted him from his uncertainty and let you pull and love him how you wanted as he was nestling into you. It’d force him to see that it is you and only you, his partner, as your lips would be kissing his temple, whispering how much you loved him to his skin as he was breathing steadily in the darkness of your room. No lie, it would take him a sufficient amount of years to be fully vulnerable with you, but it was worth it. He’d be at ease and speak to you about what was bothering him, what was itching his brain when you’d hum ‘Mhm.’ to his exhausted tone of voice.

What would it take him to show a heavy emotion? You.

Just you.

It is the main characteristic of every timeline. You were the reason why Bruce was letting his yearnings blossom. You were the one who took him to the end line where he wasn’t doubtful anymore. He’d be stressing his head out over the atrocities of Joker or gritting his teeth when Alfred was stitching his wounds, yet he was alright. Alright to show you how much pain he was in, for the actions to protect Gotham. He knew you so well, so well than you knew yourself and he knew how you were just there to support him, his alter ego, and his tragedy until the end.

His theme was too sophisticated to be uttered by a single sentence, but you listened to him dearly. He became the one thing you ever loved to listen, never getting enough of his catastrophes and his visions. He was sometimes afraid of how much you wanted him, loved him but it was enough. Your Bruce in every timeline was obsessively spiraling in your love and relishing every second of it.

You were the one who eased him into the edges, let him be who he was inside. Bruce, your Bruce.

He learned to permit himself and enjoy you as much as he could, as he did enhance it until you two were gone. Any crashing out or any elation was uttered to you eventually, it doesn't matter which timeline you two were in. You taught him to exist in peace in your arms and he caught it in the air effortlessly, like how he learned every inch of knowledge from his mentors during his youth.

It got him in a situation where he needed to come into your arms to talk to you, because you were the one who knew what to say to him.

There was a difference between you and his other trustee, Alfred.

Alfred was his father and he knew his son’s struggles. He fought the way you fought for Bruce’s inner demons to unleash him but Alfred knew you were utterly different from what he was to Bruce.

You were his son’s lover. You were someone who could only be the one for Bruce. Alfred saw how you altered him without any ill intention for the better. Once the Bruce who never cared about how he looked like a dead and raged man after his patrols, was now shaving his face as soon as his stubble dared to grow by an inch because you once told him how his stubble was tickling you (or otherwise as you preferred).

You were too kind and sweet for his son, truthfully loving him as your soulmate, in sickness and in health, in wealth and in poverty, until death tore you apart. How can Bruce defy you, deny your motives to make him a better man, in vulnerability, too?

my dearest stranger, it is up to you to decide, but one thing that was real it was your Bruce��s endless love for you that took him to the places he never imagined or dreamed of having in his life.

I hope I answered your request ♡ and if you do have any word, don't be shy and talk to me. I hope you’re having an amazing week, kiss kiss!!! ♡ ♡ ♡

#bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne x batmom #bruce wayne x you #batman and batmom as newlyweds!!!#batman x batmom #batman x you #batman x reader #anonymous stranger ideas!!♡#bruce wayne #batman #dc comics #batman x reader smut #bruce wayne x reader smut #batman smut #bruce wayne smut

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marisrambling · 2 days ago

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i wish kpdh was a series or i hope it gets a sequel but I'm apprehensive about the idea since oftentimes these big companies will milk these potential shows to a great extent and turn it into their cashcow — which just ruins everything.

However there are just SO many unanswered questions and unexplained plotholes.

What was Jinu's fate? What happened to Rumi's dad? Who was he? What was Celine's reaction to their affair? How did Rumi and Celine reconcile? Does she ever apologise for her restrictive and strict teachings and how deeply it impacted Rumi's self esteem? How are hunters even made? Do they just pass down the powers? And if so how exactly does that happen and on what basis are they chosen? They clearly aren't bitten by a radioactive spider or given magical jewels tied to ancient creatures so how exactly do they get it? Do they seal the honmoon every single year or is it done after a period of decades? How exactly does the soul stealing process work because if the honmoon is sealed do those missing people come back? And then Saja boys....like man, there are so many questions on them — how did they get those merches out without any agency or manager or anyone behind them? Were the rest of the Sajas human too like the portrait we see in the doctor's clinic? Did people realise the Sajas were demons since no one seemed to question anything and just cheered on huntr/x at the end of the final song? Also it is so disappointing that we never ever see them interacting with eachother AT ALL outside of the songs and public appearances, there's almost no scenes of just them together, talking, rehearsing or planning. We get such scenes from huntr/x but not them sadly. Also at the end, do people now know that Huntr/x are not only their typical kpop band but also demon hunters because wasn't that supposed to be a secret? And do people just accept Rumi as a half demon? Because c'mon there will be atleast someone saying, "oh she's one of those who have been stealing our souls for ages!"

Long rant but idk man, I loved this movie and i understand making a series wouldn't have been easy given how gruelling making animations are generally. But mannnn do they leave us with a lot of questions.

#kpop demon hunters #kpopdemonhunters #kpdh #zoey kpop demon hunters #kpop demon hunters netflix #jinu kpdh #jinu #jinu kpop demon hunters #rumi x jinu #kpdh jinu #jirumi #jinu x rumi #rujinu #saja boys #baby saja #huntr/x #huntrix

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sturnsrecord · 7 hours ago

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INTRODUCING ꒰ TRUE BLUE!NICK + FRATBOY!ACE

true blue!nick isn’t one for parties, especially at his brothers frat house. but his night takes a weird turn when he meets ace.

contains. making out, grinding, confusion

parties were not his scene. especially frat ones full of loud, cocky guys all trying to impress every girl that walked through the door.

it was like a mating ritual, the way they leant up against a door or wall — thinking hovering over a girl would work. which unfortunately, more often than not, it did.

he could appreciate those who didn’t entertain it. girls that made a fool of all of them or even went after a guy instead. it was respectable at least.

nick spent too much time watching— judging. simply absorbing everyone else’s interactions either to analyse or for the pure drama of it. people watching kept him entertained and feeling good about his own decisions.

despite the somewhat lonely thoughts that constantly rattled in his brain, it all came spilling out the second he found someone he knew.

“just saw a three way kiss. disgusting.” he pulls a face, grimacing at the memory of it as he sits down.

“y’know there ‘a people fucking — doin’ muuuch worse.” chris murmurs, parked on the couch like always with a joint hanging from his lips.

nick sits back, thinking for a second — stopping himself from complaining about that too. “well i don’t have to see that so.” he sighs. “i just don’t get the fucking need to swap spit with two other people. at the same fucking time.”

chris simply shrugs, ignoring the way nicks eyes bulge out of his skull — hands flying about as he speaks.

“i hate these parties, everyone’s so fucking horny.” he complains further.

“nothin’ wrong with that.” chris murmurs, trying to. defend himself and entire crowd. nick scoff, unable to hide the look of his face. “don’t even get me started on your putrid habits.”

he frowns, taking a toke of the joint. “putrid?”

“uh, yeah. literally putrid — your roster is diabolical.”

chris turns to give him a slight side eye. “the fuck y’know ’bout my ‘roster’?” nick raises an eyebrow, hesitating to answer. “i know it’s never ending.” he mutters.

he scoffs, not offended but rather amused at nicks comment — maybe even a little smug about the fact. he laughs it off, bringing the joint back to his lips as he looks around.

nick settles beside him, hands fidgeting with his phone before he follows chris’s gaze. “her, i like. she’s cool.” he points out — as if it was some kind of redemption.

“who?” chris mumbles, elbows resting on his knees — body leant forward comfortably. “the girl you’re currently staring at. ogling actually.”

“m’not… ogling.” he trailed off, unable to defend himself as the both of them stare at her — a watching the way she controls the room and every man in her path. both admiring for different reasons.

“her names nova by the way.” nick says, as if it was some encouragement for chris to go and talk to her.

“yeah, i know her fuckin’ name, nick.” his words are harsh, spitting out like some sort of defence against what? nick didn’t know.

“aaalright then.” nick practically leans back, aware from chris’s projecting attitude. it was hard not to crack jokes in these moments. “shoot me for asking, but if you know her why are you looking at her like that?”

he simply glares, unamused by the comment. “like what?”

“like you wanna eat her alive.” there’s no hesitation in nicks comment, as he simply states a fact — one that chris was unwilling to admit.

“that’s bullshit. she’s a fuckin’ pain in the ass.” it’s almost funny the way chris denies it, clearly uncomfortable with the topic of conversation as he shifts around in his seat. “how the fuck do y’know her anyways?”

nick has to bite his tongue to not backtrack and poke fun at chris, but he can tell that whatever it is with nova is not something chris was willing to talk about, yet alone admit.

“she does some of the costume design for the shows.” he observes chris carefully as he speaks. “she’s very talented, and more than tolerable considering her… crowd.”

chris shoots him a look, not appreciating the insult. “whatever. she comes across as a bitch here — ow! what the fuck!” chris reaches up to hold his arm that nick had just slapped, not at all perplexed by the reason he did that.

nick simply gives him a look, silently scolding him for his language towards her. “have fun staring.” chris purses his lips, giving a sarcastic nod before nick stands. “and watch your mouth!”

the walk to the bathroom is long, and finally getting there to find that the door is locked only had nick wishing he never came — anticipating a disheveled couple of people to walk out.

but it’s not — to his surprise. in fact, somehow it’s worse.

“holy fuck, i thought you were chris.” his brows furrow as he looks at nick — door swung open between them. ace, one of chris’s friends that nick had heard more than enough about. “shits uncanny.” he chuckles, moving past to leave the bathroom.

he’s blindsided to say the least, a little rattled at how to respond or if he even should respond. what kind of an introduction was that? as if nick wasn’t his own person, just chris’s lookalike brother.

“no, not chris. just his… gay brother.” the words come out petty, like he was trying to make the guy sound stupid. but the second that adjective gets thrown out he wants to smack his head against a wall.

ace looks just as confused, unsure what to do with such an introduction as he stands there — watching nick back up into the bathroom. “uh… good for you man.”

it’s painful, excruciatingly painful. and it’s his own fault. who even says that in such a situation — as if that was his one true feature. being a fucking homosexual. the pain is enough to have nick shutting the door behind him, hoping to god he’d never see that guy again.

he thinks about it whilst he pisses, and whilst he washes his hands. repeating it in his head, grimacing each time.

it was moments like these he wished he could go back in time, not to change his whole life or do anything differently. but just for that one slip up, that one thing he said that made the whole conversation still.

letting it nag at him probably didn’t help, but it felt good in the moment to reimagine it. all the things he could’ve said that wouldn’t have earned him such a strange look.

one less thing to keep him up at night.

the only positive of the situation was that it gave him a good reason to leave, knowing he’d go home with a smile on his face — having great decision making skills on refusing to spend another second at this party.

the last thing he could have ever anticipated was him, stood there. still.

maybe ace was about to throw some slurs his way or tell him how much of a loser he was. it’s hard to tell in the few seconds he has, watching him stand there almost breathless like he was going to say something — unmistakably letting his gaze flit down to nicks mouth.

but then his lips are pressed up against his, following through with his gaze.

oh.

it doesn’t matter that the action has him speechless. there was no option for talking apparently, just some random guys lips moving against his own — quick and feverish like he was starved.

nick can’t remember the last time he made out with a random at a party.

it was freeing almost. fun and exciting. but as soon as he’s backed up into the bathroom, hearing the door shut and lock, it all becomes… intense.

strong hands gripping his face hard as his ass pushes into the counter behind him, lips merging to sync together as all train of thought stops and his entire self melts into the kiss so perfectly.

“wha—” he can’t get a word in, taking a small breath before ace kisses him again — clearly all for the action right now.

what shocks nick most isn’t even the forwardness or complete one eighty that this dude had. it was the way it had nick so incredibly riled up, cock straining against his trousers almost painfully — as if he’d never felt a sexual touch from anyone before.

as ace moves to run his lips over his neck, nick can’t help but reach out — bracing himself against him and his rock hard abs. god, what the fuck was happening right now?

who the fuck was he, and how the fuck had he never met him before?

“f-fuck, that feels so—”

“shut the fuck up.” his harsh response shouldn’t have nicks balls throbbing, but it does. the sheer tone of ace’s voice pumping blood faster than in should through his body, like a hot rash spreading.

a sexy, muscular, very hot rash. all over him.

it’s all groans and short breaths, nicks head tipped back to allow more access for ace to suck and nip at his sensitive skin.

everything just clicks, they’re too in sync for either of them to comprehend it — bodies grinding together, hard dicks rubbing against one another like it was some rehearsed dance.

and god does it feel fucking amazing. ace clearly knows what he’s doing, and it gives nick the comfortability to just stand there and take it — pull him closer to feel more of his broad body up against his own.

it feels right, and it’s doing everything and more for nicks arousal as he lets his hand linger up ace’s top — getting a feel for his sculptured bod.

he’s in heaven, caged in, not wanting to leave. it’s all too good until he feels a hand around his wrist, dragging his own hand away from ace’s crotch. “fuck.”

it’s not a good ‘fuck’. ace’s breath hitting nicks skin sharp, sounding like regret or some kind of denial.

ace swallows, meeting nicks gaze. both as flushed as eachother, ragged breaths mixing in the small space between their faces.

“don’t… tell anyone.”

its unexpectedly soft, vulnerable. and it pains nick to his core. the worst three words in the english language, bundled up together and thrown at him before ace is out of the door — practically gone with the wind, away from the crime scene.

𐔌 ©.STURNSRECORD

notes. this might be the most excited i’ve ever been for an au

#©sturnsrecord #★⸝⸝ true blue!nick #★⸝⸝ fratboy!ace #ᯓ ˓ true blue!nick x fratboy!ace prompt ˒#nick sturniolo #nick sturniolo smut #sturniolo smut #nick sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo #★⸝⸝ fratboy!chris #★⸝⸝ fuckgirl!reader

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thetorturedpoetsdepartment · 3 days ago

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By far my least favorite antiHaydove argument is "but it's so weird/creepy of 40s-year-old Haymitch to still be in love with his teenage girlfriend!" Like, I don't know HOW you interpreted that epilogue, but you clearly did SOMETHING wrong!

Disliking Haydove because you're not a fan of how the ship/character was written, or because you think we don't have enough on-page interactions between them? I disagree, but at least that's a sound complaint to not enjoy a certain character or dynamic.

Disliking Haydove because you prefer another Haymitch ship? Well, I'm a multishipper, so that could never be me, but again, it is a pretty common thing that we see across all fandoms, so I won't argue as long as you're not trying to erase the epilogue or act like it's a retcon of the trilogy (or, if you DO do those things, that's fine too, as long as you acknowledge that your take is canon-divergent).

But the argument about it being weird that he's still in love with her is so...illogical, frankly. First of all, it's realistic, like it or not. Plenty of people who have lost loved ones wonder what the still-alive, older, version of them would look like in a better world. The lack of a future/present with someone can haunt you just as much (if not more than!) the past can haunt you, and that's what Haydove is. Haymitch imagines his girl aging with him, and he still feels her next to him after all of those years. He's not some creepy old man chasing after a teenager, he is a severely depressed man who never got over the grief and trauma of his girlfriend dying in his arms because of something he did (Obviously I know he didn't actually kill her and that it was all Snow, but, for argument's sake, that's how I'm gonna word it just for this post). I don't know if ANYONE could "move on" or "get over" that.

It is meant to beautifully tragic, heartbreaking, bittersweet, etc. It's obviously not a fluffy happily ever after. But it's also obviously not creepy or weird and it was not intended to be so. I was genuinely shocked when I saw some people interpreting it that way. I have to admit, "being offended that a loverboy is still in love with his girl even long after her death" absolutely wasn't on my fandom-reaction-to-sotr bingo card.

#thg #the hunger games #sotr #sunrise on the reaping #haydove #and they said speak now #also. this is so not the point so im not gonna say it in the main post but like....#if yall really think 'an adult man still loving his first love who died when they were both teenagers'#is weird/creepy...#i do sorta wonder how you exist in fandom spaces or just the world in general #like there's way worse tropes #there's way worse things right in the thg ao3 tag #...wow i almost confessed to something SUPER crazy there for a second. lol. lmao even.#but anyway it's like. if u are uncomfortable w it that's fine. that's not a flaw #but it's your opinion #it's not actually weird on any sort of grand scale of morality yk #btw u can argue with me on this post but only if u pay me first!#just hmu for my payment info and i'll give a genuine answer to your bad-faith disagreements within 1-3 biz days :)

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drcamin · 19 hours ago

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☆ flash !

hamzah x singer!reader

synopsis : hamzah goes to do a photoshoot. the last thing he expected was to meet one of his favorite singers! ...inspired by the starface x heaven photoshoot.

contains : fluff, mild language, kinda long intro, hamzah being your biggest fan

word count : 3.1k

when hamzah had gotten the email that a well-known brand wanted to recruit him for a photoshoot, he was shocked, to say the least. but when you put it into perspective, it did make sense. by using popular youtubers and influencers that people have been watching, the brand most likely aimed to reach a younger audience.

and not too get ahead of himself, but his youtube channel with martin was pretty damn successful, especially for the past year or so. but this success couldn’t just be attributed to just youtube. there was actually another platform that took a lot of the credit… tiktok.

he guessed that this app was how they had been discovered by the brand in the first place. after all, the pair had formed a new audience on there entirely. fanpages clip their videos, they gain traction, more people get interested, they check out their channel… the “slushy noobz virus,” as they’d call it.

it was almost exactly like a repeat of his 4freakshow days. hamzah had an established following from his tiktoks which then led to him being on 4freakshow amongst other tiktokers, from which clips of these streams were then posted to tiktok. needless to say, tiktok was definitely the catalyst of his success.

knowing this piece of information, he and martin had used it to their advantage—they started running their own clip accounts in the beginning of their youtube career. martin had even created an entirely new email for the tiktok, just to get into character of the make-believe girl who would be running it—lexi.

and honestly, these accounts really did help in building their audience. the said fanpages had long been abandoned, since they started to gain more attention and didn’t find a use for them any longer. it was fun while it lasted, though. they would interact with fans of them, while those fans had no idea who they were actually talking to.

now, hamzah finds himself sitting on a chair in the waiting room with martin by his side, awkwardly awaiting the cue for this photoshoot to start.

he looks up to see mandy and claire chatting amongst each other about god knows what. he’s not really paying attention, since there are other things on his mind at the moment.

for starters, he’s been wondering who the other “influencers” apart of the shoot are, since that information hadn’t been disclosed to them. but it’s not like they were going to be meeting them. it didn’t exactly make sense for them to all fly out to one specific place for a simple shoot.

secondly, he was actually kind of nervous. he's never done a professional photoshoot before. after all, he's just a youtuber—not a model or anything. not even a music artist. this whole scenario just felt bizarre, honestly.

“dude, are you good?” martin says, waving his hand in front of hamzah’s face.

“what? sorry, i was just lost in my thoughts. what happened?”

“someone just came in here and said that they had a change of plans and one of the other people for the shoot is coming soon... so we have to wait a bit more.”

hamzah groaned, leaning his head back to rest on the top of his chair. “seriously? we’ve been waiting for like thirty minutes.”

“that’s just how it goes, man. if you were experienced like me, you'd know.”

“martin, you’ve never done a photoshoot before either. shut up.”

“alright, i’m sorry, damn. didn’t know you woke up on the wrong side of the bed today.”

“martin.”

“sorry.”

after what feels like forever, another person enters the room.

but it’s not just any person…

it’s y/n.

you enter the waiting room and find two guys sitting on one end, and two girls sitting across from them on the other side.

the two girls that were talking a moment before have both paused their seemingly never-ending conversation as well. everyone is starstruck.

you had just released your fourth album in august of last year, and you are currently on tour for it. you’re in toronto because you just performed a concert here yesterday; the crowd was phenomenal as always. this is still crazy to you, though, as you can hardly believe the success you’ve earned. sometimes you wonder if you truly deserve it, but you know that you’ve worked hard to even get here.

“hey, you’re y/n, aren’t you?” one of the guys says.

“yes, i am!”

“oh my god, we’re such big fans of you! especially hamzah here,” he nudges the guy with dark curly hair sitting next to him, who suddenly looks flustered. “hey!”

for some odd reason, they both look familiar to you, but you can’t put your finger on it.

you smile bashfully. “wow, thank you. your support really means the world!”

“of course! oh also, i’m martin and the two girls across from me are mandy and claire,” martin introduces while pointing at everyone. “so, i’m guessing you’re the other person here for the photoshoot? they told us that someone else was coming but we had no idea it was gonna be you!”

“yeah, i just performed here yesterday and was supposed to get here later, but my management fucked it up. so i’m here now! oh no, don’t tell me you guys were waiting here for a long time because of me?”

hamzah opens his mouth as if to say something, but martin puts his hand over it. “not at all!”

a woman that you guys hadn’t seen before now enters the room, redirecting your attention. “alright, you guys can all follow me.”

everyone sitting down now gets up to follow her into a room, the light stands and backdrop of the photoshoot coming into view. this must be the studio.

before you can process anything else, the woman speaks again. “hey guys! i’m going to be your photographer today. you can call me sarah. hamzah and y/n, please come with me.”

as you and hamzah follow her again, the gears in your head begin to turn, which is evident in the furrowing of your eyebrows. so, hamzah is also being photographed for this shoot? what does he do? is he an influencer? maybe that's why he looks so familiar.

you all come to a halt, now standing next to the backdrop. after sarah instructs you guys on how this will go, she says, “alright, hamzah, you’re going to be up first.”

“okay,” he says before he goes to stand against the backdrop.

he looks into the camera, his dark brown eyes captivating you. martin lets out a laugh. “dude, you’re mogging so hard right now.”

you also laugh—he really was. but it also gives you time to take in the rest of his features. it almost feels like you’re checking him out…

when his photos are done getting taken, you decide to ask sarah, “can i take photos of him too?”

“wait, what?” hamzah blurts out, clearly caught off guard.

“oh, yeah, sure,” sarah says. “do you know how to?”

“yeah, i do. my tour photographer basically taught me how to use a camera properly since i was curious on how she does it.”

“okay, y/n, show us what you got!” sarah says, handing the camera over to you.

“thanks,” you say as you take the camera into your possession.

after toying with the settings a bit, you tilt your camera in hamzah’s direction. “now pose!”

hamzah pulls a goofy pose at first, which causes you to roll your eyes.

“hamzah, i want you to actually pose.”

“oh, sorry,” he apologizes.

you suddenly feel bad, and change your mind.

“no, it’s okay. we can do a few goofy ones and then some actual ones.” his face lights up at that, and he starts pulling all sorts of moves.

you snap a couple of photos, some where you try to imitate what your photographer had taught you, and some where you simply just mess around with the settings.

when you seem pleased with the photos that you’ve taken, you set the camera down on the nearby table. you sit on the chair right by it and gesture for the others to join you.

they all gaze over your shoulder as you go through each of the photos. there’s a beat of silence during this.

finally the silence is broken by hamzah. “these are really good, y/n."

for some reason, you feel your face heat up at the sudden compliment.

“yeah,” mandy agrees, the others humming in sync. “how did you do that?”

“i don’t know—i just messed around with the settings ‘n stuff…” you say, looking down as you play with your hands. you aren’t used to getting praise for your photography skills. usually people just compliment you for your singing—it’s your job, after all.

“yeah, these aren't bad at all. if you just had a few more lessons you could probably work professionally,” sarah notes.

“oh, stop. you’re just saying that.” you grin, but still lack the confidence to believe her.

“y/n, you need to learn how to take compliments. seriously, these are good,” hamzah reassures you.

not knowing what to say, you muster up a small “thank you.”

“alright... now it’s my turn to take photos of you."

now it was your turn to be caught off guard. “wait— what!? the photoshoot pictures of me haven’t even been taken yet!”

“oh, you’re right. maybe after?”

“okay, sure.”

after those photos of you are taken, hamzah begins to snap some photos of you.

then you and hamzah look through the photos together, as you point out which ones you like and which ones you express immediate distaste for, before deleting them from existence.

though, for one of the photos you're about to click delete on, the camera is taken away from your hands despite your protests. hamzah claims that it's actually really cute and he refuses to let you delete it, even taking out his phone to take a picture of it.

unbeknownst to you, martin is holding his phone camera to film you guys for some behind-the-scenes footage on their patreon.

"look at them, they're so cute!" he narrates, along with some comments by claire and mandy as they watch the scene as well.

when you're done going through the photos that hamzah had taken, you offer to show him one of the few techniques that you had used. he takes up the offer, then tries to replicate what you did and ultimately fails. everyone laughs, and hamzah attempts to brush aside his embarrassment. “man, whatever.” you try to ease his humility by saying that all he needs is some practice.

at one point, you go to get some water. meanwhile, martin takes this time to film some more footage for their patreon.

"guys, you won't believe it. we just freaking met y/n," martin reports, wearing a serious expression as he talks to the camera.

"yeah, and she's even prettier in person!" claire adds.

"hamzah's too busy freaking out but is trying to hide it under his nonchalant facade," martin calls out as he pans the camera to film hamzah. it reveals him standing with the photoshoot camera in his grasp, looking at the ground, as if he's trying to process what's happening.

"boy, i'm not freaking out, and i'm chalant as hell. but even if i was, you can't really blame me. she's literally one of my favorite singers! and put that camera away. you're going to scare her off."

"dude, we need to film something, and this is important!" martin insists. "by the way guys, we had no idea she was even going to be here. anyways, hamzah, are you gonna talk to her more?"

"i don't even know what to say. it feels like..." he tries to find the word that matches how he feels at the moment. "it feels surreal."

"aww, he's too shy to talk to her," mandy's voice is heard in the background.

"you know what? i'm gonna go find her. she's the only one who won't judge me. bye."

the camera follows hamzah as he leaves the room, before martin flips it over to himself. "they grow up so fast," he says before wiping away fake tears from his eyes.

meanwhile, as you were on the way to the water fountain, you unexpectedly came across a jet black guitar just sitting pretty against the wall of another room nearby, its view peaking through the open door. you couldn't help it, so you went to pick it up and held it in a guitar playing position.

you don't realize that hamzah had come to find you, let alone the fact that he still held the camera in his hands. so, he did the obvious—snapping a candid photo to capture you in this moment.

the sound of the camera’s flash startles you. “woah, i didn’t even realize you were there!” you let out a chuckle before putting the guitar back where it had initially been.

hamzah sets the camera down, still looking at you intently. “you’re really into music.”

“i really am. i'm so blessed that i get to do this for a living. i wouldn’t have it any other way! but seriously, i wouldn’t be here without my fans. and didn't martin say you're a fan of me? is that true?”

hamzah almost looks flustered again, before nodding. “yeah. you were one of my top artists last year, and your most recent album has been on repeat ever since it was released. i’m so upset that i didn’t get to go to your concert.”

“oh my god, really? i’ll make sure you get tickets to the next one here! thank you so much!”

“no, thank you. you really are an inspiration for so many people.”

“you’re too nice to me, seriously! can i hug you or something?” you’re kind of joking when you ask, but you honestly do want to.

“oh— yeah, um, of course.” he seems a bit hesitant in his response, which leads you to think that he’s just being nice again and doesn’t actually want to.

“i mean, only if you want to.”

“no, i want to! really,” he says before walking closer to you. “come here.”

you walk towards him before wrapping your arms around his torso, while he delicately wraps his arms around your neck, almost like you’ll break if he uses too much force. a moment later, he pulls you closer before placing his head on your shoulder. almost immediately, nearly all of your senses are influenced by him; the only one missing is taste.

you both hold each other in this embrace for about a minute. you’re almost certain that you can feel the pacing of his heartbeat speed up, but you’re sure that yours has too. the warmth of his touch, his soft breathing against your neck, the scent of his cologne—you practically melt.

all of a sudden, you hear a familiar voice.

“there you guys are! woah— am i interrupting something?” martin takes a step back as he notices the scene before him.

you and hamzah break apart immediately, clearly embarrassed that you were caught. it wasn’t even anything improper—a bit random, sure, but come on.

hamzah is the one to respond. “dude, you almost made me drop the freakin’ camera!”

“sorry, man.”

it’s only then you take notice of the phone in martin’s hand in a recording stance.

“wait, are you filming?” you ask.

“oh, yeah— probably should’ve mentioned this sooner, we’re youtubers. i’ve just been filming some behind-the-scenes for our patreon.”

“oh.” you suddenly realize why they looked so familiar. they must have popped up on your ‘for you’ page on tiktok before.

your short response causes martin to have a revelation. “oh, we can like totally not post the part of you guys hugging if you’re uncomfortable with that.”

“no, no, it’s fine.”

“oh, really? wait, i just remembered why i even came here in the first place. your manager called.”

“oh shit, i think i have to go now! let me just go to the room to double check. i’m sorry, it was so fun getting to know you all.”

disappointment washes over hamzah's features for a second before he quickly masks it. “get home safe.”

"yeah, it was really nice meeting you y/n!" martin says.

“aw, it was really nice meeting you too! i hope you all have a safe trip home as well.”

you have a feeling this won’t be the last time you see them. and honestly? you definitely don’t want it to be.

but before you can leave, you remember something. “wait, i didn’t see the photo you took of me with the guitar!”

“oh, i’ll send a photo of it to you— wait, i don’t have your number. i mean, i can send it to you on instagram?”

“yeah, but i don’t have your instagram either.”

“oh, it’s— wait, can i just type it into your search bar? i can add everyone else too.” hamzah offers.

“yeah, of course.” you hand over your phone and he gently takes it from you. he then types at lightning speed.

yourusername has followed hamzahthefantastic yourusername has followed thatmartinkid yourusername has followed clairedrakee yourusername has followed mandys_iphone

at last, you all bid farewell for real this time, and you go and say goodbye to mandy and claire as well.

“not so sour anymore, huh?” martin teases, nudging hamzah with his arm.

“martin, shut the fuck up.”

yourusername ♫ 2hollis・flash 🅴

liked by hamzahthefantastic, mandys_iphone, and 672,859 others

yourusername camera’s on, flash! 📸

view all comments

hamzahthefantastic Y/n wanna be a star (she already is one)

yourusername omgggg boy stop 😭😭😭 hamzahthefantastic Never.

hamzahthefantastic Photo credits where…

yourusername u dont get any sorry 😂 hamzahthefantastic Wow… unstanning bye 😕💔 yourusername wait nooo come back!!!! hamzahthefantastic Ok fine slushy4life feel like im interrupting smth... slushingeveryday no same 😭

thatmartinkid i was there, it was rare 😭

yourusername I REMEMBER IT ALL TOO WELL !!! slushyfan not martin messing up the one lyric… bro had one job 💀

slushlife.or.nolife openly flirting in the comments… okay guys what the flip

hollislush aww they both listen to 2hollis 😭

hamzahismybae i thought hamzah called martin a loser for listening to 2hollis..? hollislush he was obviously joking, he literally went to one of his concerts 💀

whattheslush hamzah must be freaking tf out lmao like he was legit one of her top listeners last year… 😭

hamzahlover NO IS THIS A SOFT LAUNCH???

y/nsnumber1fan wait is it just me who ships y/n and hamzah…

slushyxy/n4ever i think all of us do

a/n : first time writing for hamzah omg… lmk if u guys want a pt 2 ! also in case u didn’t catch it, hamzah’s first comment was a lyric reference to the song from the ig post. btw requests are open !!!

#hamzahthefantastic #hamzah x reader #hamzah fluff #fanfiction #hamzah #hamzahthefanatasticxreader #hamzah x singer!reader #hamzah fic #hamzah x y/n #hamzah imagines #slushy noobz #thatmartinkid #hamzah fanfiction #hamzah fanfic #2hollis

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bellrxy · 2 days ago

Text

An Accidental Connection (Part 2)

Joel Miller x Reader

Summary: After a long time surviving the outbreak, a traumatic experience leaves you waking up in Jackson and being given a new home by Tommy Miller, where you also take a job at a supply shop. Little did you know, a new but oddly familiar face would show up and a new chapter in your life starts to unravel.

Warnings (!little bit of a spoiler!): Reader has brown hair down to their ribs and slight curves, blue eyes, also wears subtle makeup, POV swaps ( Joel and reader), reader is in mid 20’s, switching between past and present, use of Y/N, swearing, blood, talk about traumatic past events, drinking, drug usage, PTSD, lots of flirting, reader and Joel have a 20 ish age gap, and LOTS of romance ;) (some of these are included in part 2)

A/N: I’m so excited to be posting the final part. I’ve been reading over it for days and days and I feel like I have improved already like I said in my last post. Also a quick disclaimer that this part is only in the readers POV. It is also a bit shorter than the last since no introductions were needed (around 200 words less). But either way I hope you enjoy!!

Word count: 1.9K

@lonely-ey3s Thankyou sm for the title header, hope you like this last part!!

ㅤꨄ︎ ㅤꨄ︎ ㅤꨄ︎ ㅤꨄ︎ ㅤꨄ︎ ㅤꨄ︎ ㅤꨄ︎ ㅤꨄ︎ ㅤꨄ︎ ㅤꨄ︎ ㅤꨄ︎ ㅤꨄ︎ ㅤꨄ︎ ㅤꨄ︎ ㅤꨄ︎ ㅤꨄ︎ ㅤꨄ︎ ㅤꨄ︎ ㅤꨄ︎ ㅤꨄ︎ ㅤㅤꨄ︎ ㅤꨄ︎ ㅤꨄ︎ ㅤꨄ︎ ㅤꨄ︎ ㅤ

Readers POV

It had been awhile without any more interactions with Joel, and if anything, not being around him made you think about him more. He was an intruder in your mind, distracting you from the littlest things like doing your hair, or even pouring your morning coffee.

Other than how goddamn handsome he was, you were left thinking about how much you thought you recognised him. Like a faint memory you couldn’t seem to grab ahold of.

You took into consideration what he said, you probably had walked past him a couple times. But you also thought that if a man that good looking walked past you, you wouldn’t just forget it.

Around a week had gone past and still nothing, it honestly made you start to wonder if he was purposely trying not to see you. If he worked in construction, wouldn’t he have had to come into the store anyway?

Like you always did, you attempted to brush the thought away and then started to close the Supply store up. You were excited because a regular came in that day and invited you to a little drink they were having at the bar.

When you got home, you rushed into the shower to get ready quickly. When you got out, you put on a tight fitting summer dress that showed just a little of everything, not enough to give too much attention of course. You decided to leave your hair down with some slight waves, then touched your mascara up, and slipped on a pair of converse.

Once you were satisfied with how you looked, you grabbed your bag and left. Just like anywhere you went, it was no longer than a 5 minute walk before you stumbled upon an old looking, shaggy bar. ‘This is it,’ you thought to yourself. Music was already shouting at you through the bar doors, swinging open from the wind. You took a long, deep breath, and walked through.

You were met by this hot, sweaty heat and almost felt a sense of comfort from it. It showed you what life could’ve been with no outbreak. No worrying thoughts, just a drink and dance shared with your closest friends.

The once sweet moment was instantly turned bittersweet when the loud atmosphere of the bar started to make your ears ring. You had never been around so many people in such a small place, and when you tried to calm yourself down, you were met with an instant flashback.

The store, Brock, shots missed, blood pooling from his head, and those eyes. It was like looking at someone, someone you had shared so much with, but there was nothing.. no thoughts, no emotion, just a void of emptiness. Their horrified face stuck, unmoving.

You couldn’t look away from him no matter how hard you fought it. It felt so real, like you were transported back into the memory, left to relive it. After what felt like hours you started to hyperventilate, fighting back tears because you didn’t think you were ever getting out of this.

When the memory started to dissipate, you stumbled back a step and noticed you were still standing at the entrance, and the tears started to well up. You quickly rushed out, leaning your back against the cold brick wall outside. You took deep breaths, in and out.. in and out, and before you knew it, you were interrupted by heavy footsteps coming your way.

You quickly looked up and wiped your tears, just for your eyes to meet with no other, than Joel’s.

He looked at you with such concern- not judgment, just pure empathy. You attempted to force a small smile and he smiled back. Fuck this man could just ruin you, and not even in that way, but just emotionally. How could such a serious and intimidating guy look at you in such a kind manner? After a long time of just staring, he finally broke the silence.

“Are you okay? I saw you run out here and I couldn't stop myself from following,” He went to step closer, but trying not to break any unknown boundaries, he stepped back.

You wiped your eyes again, looking down and fiddling with your hands from embarrassment. You didn't answer for a few moments, contemplating on what to say. You couldn’t tell him what actually happened, I mean- you had only talked once. You looked back up to find him still looking at you, patiently, not trying to force an answer out of you.

“Look you don't have to tell me, but do you wanna come inside? Drinks on me,” He smiled, holding out a hand for you to take.

You paused for a second, but put your hand in his and followed him inside, taking a deep breath through your nose. You were again met by the music, causing that anxiety to creep its way back up. You approached the bar and he asked for two drinks that you didn't quite catch since you were still zoned out. He turned back to you, leaning up on his elbows against the bar.

“I was hoping I would see you here, I can't lie I haven’t stopped thinking about ya since we talked at the shop,” Joel then turned around and grabbed the drinks from the bartender, nodding a thanks and looking back at you. He pointed to a table somewhere along the back and you followed just a few steps behind. When you sat down, you grabbed your drink and looked up at him.

“I was hoping to see you too Joel, I still can't pinpoint where I know you from though,” You took a long sip from your glass to try and distract yourself from your knee bouncing under the table, the familiar burn in your throat helping to put you at ease.

Joel swirled his drink and you watched his adam apple bob up and down as he swallowed hard, and just as he put his drink down and went to speak, you were interrupted with two people coming to sit down with you. Tommy Miller and Maria. Who both met you with a warm smile.

“Surprised to see you two here!” Tommy grinned, “I’m sure you’ve filled her in on your past together by now Brother.”

A pause.

Joel looked at you wide eyed, praying you didn’t catch on to what he said.

“You two are brothers?” You looked between Tommy and Joel and instantly realized how alike they were, giving a nod to them both.

Given a second from the silence of the table, you processed what he said, “Wait, what do you mean ‘past together?’” Your eyebrows furrowed as you flicked your head towards Tommy, who was obviously intoxicated and going to regret what he said in the morning.

He let out an almost laugh, a chuckle, “What, he hasn't told you yet? I thought by the way he ran to you before that you guys were already close,” Joel slapped his forehead and let out an annoyed sigh.

Tommy grinned, “Anyway, I'll leave you to it! Have a good night you two,” He then gave Joel a slap on the shoulder and winked. Leaving you two to sit in a thick tension.

All you could do was stare at Joel with confusion, ‘Past together?’ ‘Hasn’t told me yet?’. What could he possibly be talking about?

Then it hit you. That ‘someone’ you ran into, wasn't just someone. That was Joel fucking miller.

“Oh my god- that was you that brought me here? Why didn't you say something?” You raised your voice, just enough so he could tell you were annoyed, but not loud enough to cause a scene.

“Look I know I should’ve told ya sooner, I knew that” He finally looked up at you, taking a deep breath, hands gripping his glass tight, “I just didn't want to hurt you by bringing it up.”

“Joel, if anything, it hurts me more not to be told,” You said, interrupting the next thing he was going to say. You looked up at him and given the fact he was staring at you so intensely, you gestured to him to keep talking.

“I knew you lived here,” He continued to talk, “But my daughter Ellie told me you worked at the Supply store and that was the day I came in.. by then I thought it was too late so I used this damn small town as an excuse,” He took a deep breath and put his hand on yours, “I’m sorry darlin’, I really am.”

You took a deep breath as well, and honestly started to feel bad for raising your voice. His apology felt genuine, and that meant alot to you. You gave him a reassuring smile, still unaware of what to say next, and he smiled back, but you took the short moment of silence to look at him, like really look at him.

The way his eyes were different in that overhead lighting, like pools of bronzed, worn gold. The way his face wrinkled, showing the years of so many different emotions. Even the way some of his curls fell over his forehead, the grey streaks reflecting white off the fluorescent lights.

“You’re staring,” Joel smirked, but you didn’t care, not one bit, you were falling for this man and at this point, there was no undoing it now.

“More like admiring,” You locked eyes with him again and took a pause, “I’m sorry for getting mad before, I guess I just didn't expect it to be you.”

“I-”

Joel quickly cut you off, holding one hand up to your cheek, so softly like he was scared you could have broken from the smallest touch. Once you lent into his hand, he leaned forward, enough for you to feel his breath on your lips. You looked up into his eyes, and fuck, you couldnt get enough of them if you tried, he then whispered just quiet enough for you to hear,

“Don’t you dare apologize darlin’,” And just like that, his lips were on yours, slow and sweet, like he was testing the waters. But you didn't hold back, you tilted your head just slightly, showing him that this was completely mutual. Once you both pulled back, you couldn’t stop from smiling at eachother like two teenagers.

The rest of the night was a blur, and you couldn't tell if it was because of the drinks or sneaky joints in the bathroom you shared, or if you were just drunk off of Joel alone.

Even the way he hovered his hand over the middle of your back when you led him somewhere, or the way he held you like it was something he had done for years. You left together at around 12 am, interlocking your hands and so happy you were practically skipping out. You took the fresh air in and looked at him.

“Care to walk me home since you’re such a gentleman?” You gave Joel a flirty smile, and he then pulled your hand up to his face and softly kissed your knuckles, bending a knee behind him.

“Of course my lady,” He jokingly said, motioning toward the path in front, winning him a chuckle from you as you linked arms.

The walk home was silent, but it felt normal. When you approached your front door, you turned around and looked at him.

“Thankyou for tonight, I think I really needed this,”

“I think I needed this too darlin’,” Joel gave you a peck on the lips, smiled ever so sweetly, then waved and began to walk away.

As you stood at your front door smiling, you couldn't help but notice how much you had already fallen for none other, than Joel Miller.

#joel miller #fanfic #joel miller tlou #pedro pascal #joel tlou #pedrohub #tlou fanfiction #romance #part 2 #joel x reader #joel the last of us #new writers on tumblr #zaddy pedro

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wieniawskis · 3 days ago

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To some extent, we know that Kuon projects himself onto Hoeru, based on his words in episodes 9 and 15. Now, I have a lot of thoughts about why this could be.

One is that Kuon sees Hisamitsu in Hoeru. In ep 8, he mentions that seeing Hoeru reminds him of "his stupid self of the past" and that it irritates him. Kuon and Hisamitsu, at the end of the day are the same people—they're two sides of the same coin, therefore, it's quite possible that what Kuon is projecting onto Hoeru is Hisamitsu.

His words about Hoeru being broken and junk for life... him telling Hoeru that he could never protect anything... it could be how he perceives Hisamitsu.

However, Kuon seems to care for Hoeru in some twisted regard, preventing Hoeru from being affected in ep 16 by taking his ring in the previous episode. Based on how much he hates Hisamitsu and insists that the man is no more, it points more to the idea that precisely because he sees Hisamitsu in Hoeru that he wants to make Hoeru closer to him, Kuon.

It's established that Kuon is huge on control, becoming a poster-boy for an abusive manipulative character. He sees Hoeru as his doll, believing that he should control who Hoeru interacts with so that he isn't negatively influenced by anyone (ep 9). Even in ep 8, during his speech with Hoeru, it's implied that he wants to control Hoeru— "let your brother choose who you prey on" and so on.

So then it's quite possible that Kuon is projecting his own shortcomings and anxieties onto Hoeru in hopes of separating Hoeru from Hisamitsu.

Which then begs the question, what does it all mean? Two particular instances come up in my mind. "You're junk for life. You'll never be normal," and "You can never protect anything." Because if Kuon's words are a projection of his own thoughts and ideas, then it means that he's self aware of his own shortcomings and the fact that he can never settle down and be normal. It means that he believes that he (Kuon) can't protect anything.

In my mind, I feel like this is particularly interesting considering that Kuon, for some unknown reason, wants Hoeru to destroy him, perhaps in an act of salvation, saving him from the mysterious X-shaped wound on his back.

It shows that to some extent, he's self-aware of what's festering on his back and that he wants to be destroyed (or saved) by Hoeru. And that, in my opinion, adds more weight to the idea that Kuon's words are a reflection of himself, because it shows that he isn't obtuse or ignorant, but rather self-aware.

This probably made zero sense because it's super convoluted and there's so much more in my brain that's just haphazardly scattered around so I might make another post later with a better organized post 😭

#kuon #gozyuger kuon #gozyuger #tono hisamitsu #number one sentai gozyuger #thinking about stuff

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iamthatonefangirl · 1 hour ago

Text

dirty little secret - nsfw winter soldier

word count: 6.6k based on this ask. disclaimer: offensive depictions/language regarding mental health. graphic depictions of violence and murder. cheating. *please note: the winter soldier willingly works for hydra and therefore bucky barnes does NOT exist in this universe. NOT associated with my pre-existing winter soldier series.

~~~

it's not like you didn't know, what with the way he looked at you.

the way he'd stare whenever your skin was exposed. a sliver of your ankle, the skin of your neck, your cleavage when you'd bend over... it didn't matter.

he would stare all the same, like you were a prized possession that he wanted but he knew he couldn't have.

all because of the wedding band on your left hand.

so he watched you, and didn't bother to look away whenever you caught his gaze in the act of him staring.

but he didn't dare touch you. that would be crossing a line.

he didn't need to touch you for you to know exactly what was going through his head.

jealously. lust. desire. possession, even though he knew you weren't his to hold a claim on.

~~~

you were something special to him.

in a world where he was surrounded by nothing but blood, weapons, and death, you stood out.

where he tore people limb from limb, disemboweled them, murdered them, you did the opposite. you stitched them back together, healed them.

you healed him.

that was the job you were hired to do, anyways. clock in, take his vitals. check his injuries. ensure he was in pristine condition to do the job that he was hired to do.

your inherent desire to nurture people, all those years of medical education you went through, all of it just to dedicate your life to tending to a man whose life was dedicated to violently executing people.

something about that thought appealed to him.

on the surface, you seemed to be a normal person. just any other doctor, any other woman. pleasant to be around, pleasant to socialize with. casual conversations with the other employees of the organization, smiles flashed at your coworkers when they walked by.

he rarely spoke to you, though. that would defeat the challenge.

defeat the challenge of trying to read you, trying to understand why you chose this job with all the work you'd done to get to where you are in life.

though he tried, he never could understand what about you drew you to this job. he knew that somewhere, deep down, you had to be as sick and twisted as the rest of them in order to work here.

to be willing to be the one who looked after him. the only one allowed to touch him. the only one who spent so much time with him excluding his superiors. the only one willing, nay, actively choosing to be alone in a room with a heartless, brutal assassin.

~~~

in the year you'd worked with him, he didn't speak to you unless he determined it was warranted. at first, you didn't know what to make of it.

when you were offered the job, you knew what you were getting yourself into. you knew the goal of the organization. you knew that you would be working with the most valuable asset among them.

you'd been forewarned, contingent on signing an NDA at interview, that he was deranged. off the rails. a psychopath.

but rest assured, he wouldn't hurt you. despite how they characterized him, you were assured that he was the most self-disciplined and self-controlled person you'd ever meet. he didn't do anything unless it was in the job description, unless it was a direct order.

it was an interesting dichotomy.

it intrigued you, the way he capitalized on his dark desires, monetized his insanity.

no way in hell could you say no to the job when it was offered to you.

so although you didn't know how to interact with him in the beginning, you were never afraid of him. even though his eyes trailed you from the second you entered the room until the moment you left. even when you caught glimpses of him covered from head to toe in blood, guts, and brains. even though you knew he was physically enhanced, had a specially-designed weapon attached to his shoulder disguised as an arm. even though he never said a word unless he deemed it absolutely necessary.

despite all of it, you weren't afraid.

so you continued to show up for work, and you continued to speak to him.

you knew he was listening. he didn't respond to your stories, didn't laugh at your jokes, didn't smile when you greeted him.

but those crisp blue eyes never left your face, never left your form.

after a while, you discovered that was his weakness. you learned to read his emotions through the look in his eyes. the way his eyes would widen ever so slightly when you got to the good part of a story.

the way his eyes would narrow when you mentioned your husband.

his gaze gave it all away.

~~~

that exact gaze gave way to his prized possession: you.

because that's all he could do. observe you.

you chose him, day in and day out, knowing what he did. you chose to speak to him like any other person, chose to ignore the fact that he was what he was. who he was.

you chose him.

you trusted he would never lay a finger on you.

he didn't.

he wouldn't.

about a month after you began work, the tides in his mind shifted. what once was a dedicated loyalty to his craft shifted to you. you became more important.

he realized he would never hurt you in any case. if a day ever came when he was told that you were his next target, he wouldn't do it.

he'd never failed a mission, not once. every target was successfully eliminated at his hands, which is why they never tried to replace him, never tried to seek out other willing talent. he was priceless, paid more than even the superiors who directed him, all because he was the best of the best. even they bowed down to him.

you, though.

forget the money, forget the protection and opportunity they offered him. he would turn on them in a heartbeat if it came to you.

he'd kill anyone who tried to come near you.

your life was in his hands, and he loved it.

he loved knowing that you knew that he could kill you without breaking a sweat, and yet, you continued to show up. he loved that everyone in this organization feared him so much that they would never even try to come near you. he loved that he was the one who dictated whether you made it through each day.

he loved that he owned you. that even though you didn't report to him, that he wasn't even in your direct chain of command, you still served him.

he controlled the breath that flowed in and out of your lungs. he controlled the blood that raced through your veins. he controlled everything.

all those thoughts, all that darkness within him, it all stayed within the confines of his mind. not a word of it was spoken into reality.

real power is best left unsaid.

but his desperate reassurances to himself that he controlled you were nothing more than an attempt at consoling himself.

he told himself he controlled your breath because he couldn't control what he actually wanted.

your pleasure. your happiness.

that's what he wanted to command.

if only for that stupid wedding band on your finger.

~~~

you knew he hated it. you knew that he didn't want to fucking hear about your marriage, about your personal life that didn't involve him. you knew from pretty early on that he wanted to be the only one allowed to look at you. that look told you he was constantly undressing you in his mind.

it's not like he ever explicitly told you to quit talking about your husband. it's not like he would even be allowed to; it wasn't his place. you were colleagues.

your husband, however, never heard about him. perhaps that was a deliberate decision on your part to protect him from knowing too much, protect him from the danger that came with being associated with such an organization.

perhaps it was because you didn't want your husband to know about him. perhaps you wanted to keep him to yourself, your dirty little secret.

perhaps you didn't want to protect your husband at all, but yourself.

you liked the attention the soldier gave you. you reveled in the way he looked at you, the way you felt like something to be desired. you enjoyed the way his eyes grew dark, even angry when you spoke about your marriage.

but that's all it was: a personal comfort to make yourself feel better.

even if it was at the emotional expense of both your colleague and your husband.

~~~

"I have to tell you, I'm leaving early today," you spoke to him, rambling on as you usually did to fill the silence. "it's my anniversary. my husband is taking me out for dinner tonight."

you glanced up at him as you said it, wrapping the cuff of the blood pressure monitor around his bicep. he glared at you as though pissed off at the discovery, yet as usual, he didn't say anything. he didn't tell you to quit talking. he didn't make any snarky comments.

but he heard you.

and he was pissed. now he had the image of you in his head, naked, with another man.

another man getting to touch you, getting to strip your clothes from your soft, delicate skin. a man that's not him getting to watch your face as you fall apart, overtaken by pleasure.

he hated the thought. he didn't want to know that another man was going to parade you around on his arm in some fancy restaurant only to take you home and touch you like he owned you.

worse yet?

it's not just the idea of another man acting like he owns you that pisses him off.

it's the fact that this other man does own you. he's your husband. you've committed yourself to him.

as he looks down at you squeezing the bulb of the monitor over and over again, he notices the way your ring catches the light with each release of your grip. that damn band pledging you to someone else.

he wants to destroy it. he wants to grab you, take you, and fuck you through his bed, ring shattered into a million pieces.

he looks back up to your face.

you don't look particularly excited about the words you're saying. you don't look like you're even happy that it's your anniversary.

you look entirely neutral, which is entirely uncharacteristic of you.

you've never spoken ill of your husband, and you've never seemed unhappy before.

this, though?

perhaps this is telling.

he watches as you continue to take his vitals and check up on a stab wound he sustained to his torso a few days previous. it doesn't bother him. pain doesn't faze him. the feeling of bleeding out is almost enjoyable, if you ask him.

he likes that you always fret over his injuries. he loves how concerned you look when you discover that he's been hurt. he enjoys how you work so diligently to take care of him, to clean him up, to do everything in your power to make him better.

he definitely won't tell you that he lets his opponents stab or shoot him once or twice just so that he gets to feel your warm hands on his skin, to see your complexion against his. to have you closer to him, to have you worry about him.

do you worry about him when he's on a job?

easy. of course you do.

you keep on talking, clearly as a means of convincing yourself that you're excited, that you're looking forward to dinner.

you're not a good liar.

at least to him, you're not.

"you need to be careful," you tell him as you re-bandage his injury. "one of these days, they'll get you real good and you won't come back to me."

your tone of voice is casual, teasing. but just as before, it's a cover-up, a deflection from how you really feel.

he's getting sick of that.

"I always come back," he speaks, gruff, voice hoarse from lack of use.

he would like to tell you that you have nothing to worry about, to remind you that nothing can possibly touch him. except, of course, he's kind of blown that cover by letting himself get injured.

he's long debated if his pride and his ego are more important than getting what he wants.

not when it comes to you.

"yes, of course, but I'd hate to see you come back in a body bag," you laugh.

real amusing.

you offer him some painkillers, to which he denies. you offer him a lot of things, a lot of comforts that he never accepts.

nothing would be as satisfying as you offering him yourself.

~~~

you sit at a table that's too small to comfortably eat at in a restaurant that's too dimly lit to even read the menu.

"don't do that," your husband reprimands when you hold up the screen of your phone to the menu to try and read it.

"I can't even see," you hiss back, but you agree, setting down your phone and trying your best to read the words without enough light.

this is your anniversary. you shouldn't be fighting on today, of all days.

when the waiter comes by, your husband orders a bottle of whiskey, top-shelf, likely hundreds of dollars.

"why the hell did you order that? I told you I have work in the morning, I'm not drinking," you remind him.

"it's my anniversary, too, isn't it?" he retorts, just as the waiter returns with the bottle and two glasses.

you just roll your eyes as he proceeds to down his first few drinks of the liquor.

"and how are you paying for it?" you whisper gently to him. you don't want to piss him off, but you can't just let it go.

"you make enough money at your goddamn doctoring job that you don't tell me shit about."

how dare he speak to you that way?

"oh, so you're paying for it out of my salary? seriously?" you ask, crossing your arms over your chest.

"consider it your anniversary gift to me."

you sigh and shut your eyes in frustration as he continues to drink. you're not in the mood to argue over this in public.

it's not like he got you a gift, either. four stupid years of stupid marriage, only for it to lead to this...

fuck.

when's the last time you told each other you loved one another?

when's the last time you had sex beyond scratching that itch, fulfilling that obligation?

when's the last time he looked at you the way the soldier does every day?

woah, okay, enough. don't go there.

you shouldn't go there. you shouldn't be thinking about another man while at dinner with your husband.

he wouldn't treat you like this.

stop this. right now, you tell yourself. it's not right.

it's not.

but you're really fucking sick of pretending like you don't just casually enjoy the attention he gives you.

~~~

so maybe you give in a little.

maybe you let yourself pretend. at home, in bed, under your husband, that it's not him who's touching you. that it's someone else's hands peeling your dress from your skin, someone who appreciates you. who doesn't see you as the person he fucks but the person he gets to have like this.

as he touches you, the room is dark enough that he's nothing more than a body on top of yours, seeking his own pleasure from between your legs.

your marriage has never felt as loveless as it does to you right now, as you realize how he's not even looking at you. not saying your name, not saying anything.

amidst the pain of realizing it's over the second he presses himself into you without any care for how you feel, amidst the guilt of pretending that it's not him taking you right now, there's a flicker.

a flicker of hope. of potential. that maybe it's not too late for you, that you're not actually tied to the man whose ring sits on your finger. that you can be more than just the person your husband mooches off of, uses to pretend like he's more of a man than he actually is.

the man you're thinking of now could never be so insecure, so fucking pathetic as to demean you by pulling out the second he's done without making sure you're satisfied.

"happy anniversary," he mumbles as he turns away from you, already falling asleep from the liquor.

except you're wide awake. the thoughts in your head are swirling, and the heat in your stomach is growing.

you're up and walking yourself to the bathroom quietly so as to not wake him, shutting the door and flicking on the light.

as you look in the mirror, you don't know what to think. you barely even know who you are anymore, just now realizing the extent to which you're truly miserable. how you don't feel seen, how you feel like a shadow in your own home.

how you feel like someone when the soldier looks at you. how you feel special.

there's a man out there who would kill for you if you asked him to.

you can't help it when you brace one hand on the bathroom sink, the other reaching between your thighs.

would he be quiet when he fucks you, the way he normally is? or would he let himself go, let you know how much he enjoys feeling you?

would he ruin you so quickly you wouldn't even know what hit you? or would he torment you, taking you apart so slowly that you begin to cry, pleading for more?

you reach to turn on the showerhead to mask the sounds of the whimpers escaping your mouth, even as you bite your lip so hard it tastes metallic on your tongue.

you imagine him looking at you with those eyes of his, the ones that never leave you, as he fucks you on his fingers until you're dripping down to your ankles.

before you know it, you're coming. you're hunched over the bathroom sink uncomfortably, your fingers struggling between your thighs.

it's awful, and it's amazing, because the thoughts of what he would do to you continue running rampant in your head.

as you hop in the shower, you tell yourself that you've done nothing wrong.

you've done nothing wrong, technically.

right?

~~~

the next morning, you can't look yourself in the eyes in the mirror.

you can't wake up your husband to tell him you're leaving, to kiss him goodbye, because you're still reeling from the night before.

you're a good person. you're a committed, devoted wife, even through your struggles. you're going to stand by your husband and quit letting the soldier ogle you because it's wrong.

when you get to work, you toss your purse on your desk and change into your scrubs. the entire time, you can't help but be overly aware of the weight on your left hand. it's weighing heavy on your heart and mind, not just your hand. you want to take it off, to relieve yourself of the pressure for the day.

except you know he'll notice if you take it off. he'll see it. it might even be so substantial that he speaks up, questions you about it.

you're stuck.

by time you gather up the courage to go see him, you're told he went on a quick last minute assignment. he'll be back this afternoon.

somehow, that's both a relief and a disappointment. you have to act normal, put last night behind you. you have to move forward.

you don't have a choice.

~~~

in normal circumstances, he goes to get cleaned up before you evaluate him post-mission.

this isn't normal circumstances. somehow, you're frantic to see him, just to remind yourself what normalcy looks like. you need to lay your eyes on him, remind yourself he's actually a colleague, not a fantasy you've made up in your head. that way you can fucking get over yourself.

you've got too many thoughts at once, all swirling around like a hurricane in your head.

this isn't like you. you need to relax, calm yourself down.

but somehow, you feel more trapped than you've ever been right now. even in this job where you have free reign, take orders from next to no one, get along with your coworkers...

the ring on your finger continues to weigh heavy, no longer a symbol of connection. just a ball and chain.

just when you get yourself so riled up that you think you might quit your job and leave your husband without a word, there he is. you're standing in the doorway of your office as they lead him down a hallway to his quarters.

he's back, covered from head to toe in blood, sweat, and dirt. he's wearing that tactical gear you rarely see him in. he looks better than you think you've ever seen.

you want to hide the way you gasp, the way you're taken aback at the sight of him like this.

but when you're there, he knows. when you're in the room, his gaze has nowhere better to be. he's far more observant than you know, reading your body language better than you yourself can, thanks to his enhancements.

he immediately knows something is different about you. how your heartbeat is racing faster. how you're not the calm and collected person you usually are.

he ditches his handlers, telling them to fuck off as he walks over to you. they're none the wiser.

he towers over you, black synthetic covering the lower half of his face as he glares down at your shocked expression, sensing the way your face heats under his watchful eye.

you normally don't respond to his gaze.

something is off.

something is different.

he permits himself to speak.

"how was your anniversary?"

the question, particularly from him, shocks you and angers you all at once. you try your best not to respond, keeping your real thoughts to yourself, as you let out a scoff and roll your eyes. the whole time, you fidget with the ring on your finger, gently tugging it up to your knuckle, and back down to its seat...

your lack of a response is just another indicator on top of your inability to hold eye contact, the way your eyes roam.

roam his face, catching the scratch on his left temple, noting the way his hair is a mess.

even though he sees everything, always maintains his composure, he's still wound up from the mission. maybe his dick is still hard from having watched the life drain from the man he was just sent to kill.

you don't know it, but he's just as amped as you are right now.

he's never crossed the line. he's never touched you.

he shouldn't do this.

but then your eyes meet his again, and the choice is made for him.

his hands come to your hips, gripping you tightly, forcing you backwards into your office as he kicks the door shut behind him. you almost trip as he walks you backwards, but his hold on you is so firm, it keeps you upright.

his eyes are pointed in a manner you've never seen before. you've seen them narrowed in confusion and in anger when you've told him your life stories, but never like this. never with all the heat in his body manifesting itself into his expression as he looks at you.

you could spend the rest of your life right here, being watched, observed, if only by him.

he's shameless as he drops his eyes from yours, down the slope of your nose to your lips, gently smeared with tinted lip balm.

did you wear bright lipstick for your husband?

what would it look like smeared on his skin?

his eyes continue their descent, all the while you make no effort to fight against it. you should push him away, tell him this is inappropriate, that you know where this is leading.

even in your baggy scrubs, he manages to make you feel naked and exposed.

you might swoon.

once his gaze finally trails back up to meet yours after what feels like a lifetime, you're powerless against the way you whine,

"please."

without hesitating, he's gripping your hip tighter in his flesh hand, pushing his thumb up under your shirt to finally feel your skin. his metal arm, little more than a weapon attached to his body, comes up to wrap itself in your hair, tugging roughly to expose your neck to him. you gasp at the sudden motion, but comply without a second thought.

his flesh hand moves from your hip, ever so slowly, to remove the mask from his face.

there he is.

you hear it clatter onto the desk behind you where he tosses it, his hand coming back to hold you tightly, fingers pushing up under your shirt to splay his huge palm against your skin.

he leans down, pressing his face into your neck, and he inhales so sharply against you that you can hear the swoosh of air. he adjusts his grip on you, holding you closer to him as he presses his lips to your flesh.

his mouth is warm, and wet, and then-

he bites down, hard.

"oh, fuck," you hiss, but still make no attempts to move away, instead finally bringing your hands to his waist, holding him in place the way he's doing to you.

he makes a noise against you as he licks over your skin where he just bit into you, and you know right now: you're so fucked.

he covers every inch of your exposed skin in his marks. he wants you to remember this, to know who left all these bruises on your delicate skin, even long after the fact.

all the need he's harbored, all the desire he's kept perfectly under control over the last year, all comes undone in less than a second.

you squeal as you find yourself being shoved to your knees in front of him, his metal hand holding the back of your head so you can't escape.

as you look up to meet his gaze, he knows he could keep you here forever.

maybe he should.

your hands find their way to his outer thighs to hold yourself up, and you watch as he continues to just stare you down without making a move.

"soldat?" you inquire. it must shake him from his thoughts as his other hand comes to his cargo pants, pulling and ripping at the buttons and zippers. he's already straining against the fabric, finally having you like this, at his mercy.

he's never letting another human being see you like this again, least of all your husband.

your husband.

"give me your hand," he orders, and the sound of his voice in your ears heats your whole body. you shakily reach your hand to his, where he grasps it softly, taking a moment to look at your ring as though admiring it.

and then you feel his fingers wrap around it, tugging the platinum gently off your finger, and then-

you hear it clatter to the floor, and you watch as he stomps on it, the beautiful diamond shattering to pieces.

"look at me," he hisses at you. you're still in awe, in shock, jaw dropped from the sight. what this means for you now, what it represents.

his hand comes to your chin when you don't move quick enough for him, forcing you to look back up at him.

"you belong to me."

you want to revel in the words, forget all about the ring destroyed on the floor. your eyes so badly want to flutter shut at the thought.

you know better.

"I own you."

this time, his words are a smidge gentler. the look in his eyes almost softening, showing some real emotion behind them, how badly he's wanted this, too.

your ring is on the floor, destroyed. your marriage in the gutter, hopeless. your body and soul in the hands of the man above you.

it's so refreshing, somehow so freeing to repeat back to him,

"you own me."

only then does the weight of your ring finally fall from your shoulders, the chain finally cut, freeing you to tie yourself to who you really want.

his hand on your head pushes your head forward, pressing your face up against the outline of his cock under his black boxers.

"damn straight," he whispers. he releases you momentarily to yank the fabric out of the way, and you're immediately drooling all over yourself when you see him.

you don't get the chance to stare for long because he's yanking your jaw open with one hand and pushing himself down your throat without another word.

it should be uncomfortable, making your jaw ache as you struggle to hold your mouth open enough, eyes watering, unable to breathe.

it's exactly what you want.

he wastes no time in moving your head for you, thrusting in and out of your mouth, watching as your lips part to take him without complaint. your eyes shut as you eagerly let him fuck your face, tears falling down your cheeks to mix with the mess of saliva collecting at the sides of your mouth.

you grip his legs as tightly as you can, hands still shaking, as he continues to use you the way he's longed for since he met you.

"you're absolutely fucking perfect, you know that?" he grits out amidst his rough movements. "you're perfect."

did your husband tell you how good you were?

did your husband even appreciate getting to have you like this?

you're a mess, whining and whimpering around him, disgusting noises filling the room and catching his ears.

you want nothing more than this, for him to want you, to keep going. but you don't know how much more of this you can take.

as though on cue, he quits moving, holding your head down on him as he lets go down the back of your throat. his release fills your mouth so wholly, dripping down your chin as you don't swallow in time.

he hauls you to your feet and sits you down on the desk behind you. his flesh thumb finds your chin and wipes away the remainder of his mess.

"gonna fuck you 'til you don't know where you're at," he hisses, reaching his metal hand to yank at the string on the waistband of your scrubs. "tell me you want it."

"shit, I want it," you affirm, your voice absolutely wrecked from the way he just debauched your throat. "I want you so bad."

you watch as he pulls on the string, bow coming undone, the sound of nothing but both your breathing in your ears. you let him reach for the hem of your shirt, gently dragging it up and over your head. you kick off your shoes so he can ease your pants down and off, finally getting them out of the way.

in all the times you felt his gaze on you, it's never felt like this. you've seen him look needy, wanting, staring at you like you're the most valuable and priceless treasure known to man.

this is something else. this is him realizing he gets to touch you, gets to see what he's imagined under your clothes for a year. he gets to strip you, gets to have the only thing he's ever wanted more than the feeling of someone dying at his hands.

he gets to have you.

he gets to make you scream in pleasure, all because of him, only for him.

it just then hits him that you're in your office where anyone could hear what's only for his ears.

his metal hand comes to rest atop your lips, gently sealing your mouth shut to prevent any sounds from escaping. at the same time, his flesh fingers finds their way beneath your underwear.

if not for his hand keeping you from moaning out, you'd be a wreck, a noisy mess all from a single one of his touches.

"look at you," he whispers, pressing his fingers further down between your folds to where you're aching for him so desperately. "so warm and wet for me."

he grunts as he pushes two fingers up into you, making your whole body withdraw automatically.

"shhh, I've got you," he tells you, and you ease into the feeling of his fingers inside you making your mind go blank.

you've never heard him talk this much, ever. the sound of his voice makes you feel so giddy, the fact that he's speaking to you making you feel relaxed beyond belief. he's always so deliberate, so careful, that the feeling of him talking to you like this only exacerbates the heat in your abdomen.

he continues to hold your face firmly, keeping eye contact the whole time as his fingers move inside you, deeper than you could get yourself the night before.

fuck, the night before, when you got off to a scenario almost mirroring the situation you're in now. you let out a low whine against his hand, and he steps closer, staring at every reaction that manifests itself in your eyes.

he looks determined. excited.

you don't want to come too fast. you don't want to embarrass yourself, except-

you grip the edge of the desk tightly as your orgasm takes you with little warning, your whole body trembling, his hand never faltering.

he keeps working you through it, continuing the pace and rhythm he's set even when your body feels like nothing more than liquid. it's so much, it's too much, you want to protest.

"again."

you don't know if you can, cries bubbling in the back of your throat as your eyes struggle to open to catch his gaze. you can't, you can't...

"you will."

is he an actual mind reader?

he might be, you think, as your body shakes uncontrollably as he sends you into a second release so quickly you might die from overstimulation.

you lay back, head tapping the desk as you try to catch your breath. your hands are shaking as you bring them to smooth our your hair, trying to calm yourself, wiping the drool from your chin.

you can't possibly force yourself to move right now, not even to sit up as you feel him stepping in between your legs, the insides of your thighs against his hips. you shiver yet again as he trails a metal thumb up the soaked fabric of your underwear.

he hooks his thumb inside the fabric, pulling, ripping it from your skin to see the way you're already swollen and still dripping for him.

"all mine," he hisses, cupping you in one large hand and leaning over where you're laying on the desk. his face is right in front of yours as he grits out, "this, you? all mine."

you nod lazily, eyes fluttering open and shut repeatedly, humming your approval.

his flesh hand comes to rest under your head as he lines himself up against you, between your legs. your body moves before you're aware of it, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, legs moving to hitch themselves around his hips.

"please," you mumble. you're already half gone, all thanks to him.

now you need him to fuck every last thought, every last doubt out of your head.

"that's my girl, begging for it like you should," he mutters, pressing a metal thumb to your clit just as he steps forward, thrusting himself entirely into you in one quick motion.

"fuck," you scream out suddenly, keening at the burn, how utterly stretched beyond belief you feel.

he quickly covers your mouth again with his free hand to keep you quiet, rubbing you between your legs to help you settle. "you're fine," he whispers to you, "doing perfect."

you nod your head vehemently, trying to compose yourself, all of your limbs clinging so tightly to wrap yourself around him.

next thing you know, he's pulling out about halfway, just to drive back into you with so much force it rips a moan from your throat. he doesn't hesitate, having craved having you like this for so long, fucking you with all the built-up tension inside of him.

the sting gives way to the most blinding pleasure between your legs. you're a complete mess as you hold onto him like you never want to let go. you feel the way his fingers move against you in tandem with his thrusts. if you had any critical thinking skills left, you would wonder how he finagled this position, how can he possibly be comfortable leaning over you like this...

he doesn't seem to care, grunting and wincing with every movement. this is the first time you've ever seen his face contort, the first time you've seen him actually put his feelings on display for you to see.

you're infatuated with him, the way he's showing you a part of him no one has seen before, the way he's fucking you like he has something to prove.

you're a mess, losing control of your muscles, your stomach cramping as you're already on the edge so soon.

by the way his breathing changes, you sense he is, too.

"come for me, right now," he grits. "on my cock, for no one else, ever again."

you're helpless against the way your body follows his orders, every other part of you going lax as you squeeze him so tight it sends him into his own release.

you don't know how long you stay like that, him leaning over you and still buried so deep inside of you. you feel a burning pain in every fiber of your being, but it's the most satisfied you've felt in a long time.

you listen to him breathe against your ear, and you eventually realize he's looking at you again, watching as you come back to yourself.

your mind slowly starts to turn on again, as does your body.

you blink once. twice. you swallow.

what have you done?

the instant his hand falls away from your mouth, you begin to panic.

"my husband-"

"I'll take care of him."

you don't want that to sound appealing. you don't want to savor in how hot and bothered the idea of him killing for you sounds.

"I can't ask you to do that."

he lets out a rough exhale.

"then I'll ask you. let me take care of the motherfucker who kept me from you for so long."

he feels the way you tense, how you squeeze around him, still half-hard inside you.

he wants to smirk at you, tell you that he knows. he knows you like the idea of it, that you get off on it the same way he does.

"let me take care of him."

"they'll think it was me, I'll be the one who gets accused-"

"you think I'm gonna fucking let that happen to you?"

you don't know what to say.

deep down, you knew he would do this for you. you knew he would do anything for you, but the fact that he's actually confirming it, telling you that he'll kill your husband for you?

you were an idiot to not give in to this, to him, sooner.

he watches how the look in your eyes morphs from one of concern to one of contentment. he's already hard again by time you tell him,

"do it."

~~~

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nomoredying · 4 hours ago

Text

you will never know

hunger games au! tribute!sevika x tribute!reader

tags: reader is from district 10, sevika is from district 12, canon-typical violence, angst a/n: i blame suzanne collins. english is not my first language — please correct me if you find any mistakes, ty. writing this was a torture never doing anything like that again :/

you don’t know what a person actually feels when they’re burning alive. not until the flame reaches you and you jump back in escape but it’s too late. you got hurt and now you’re going to burn too. just like them who you watched from afar.

that’s how you would describe being chosen for the hunger games, held by almighty capitol. or how you like to call it in your district — the topside.

seventeen years you watched the mandatory-to-watch broadcast of the games, where innocent children were killing each other or getting killed. and then how the victor was celebrated by the whole country. by the topsiders especially.

but no child can comprehend the possibility of being chosen to get murdered on the screens of thousands of people just for entertainment’s sake. and a reminder, of course. you can’t overcome the capitol.

despite the nudging voice that tells you this isn’t real and if it is you should flee, you act brave. say all your goodbyes to your parents, your older brother who you know hated himself for inability to volunteer because of his age and to all of your friends. you hope they will actually miss you.

you listen to your mentor leelan who’s a middle aged woman with clever, but beaten look in her eyes and almost dozen ideas for you to win although she knows that you’ll probably die like all the others. you respect her determination. you even laugh at whatever nonsense your escort and the prep team says.

“is there anything you’d like to say to your family, watching this right now?” the host, a man wearing ridiculously bright glasses and blazers asks.

“put the kettle on, i’ll be home in a blink of an eye,” you blink at the camera. “and don’t eat all the cookies, achilles. you think you’re watching me, but i have eyes everywhere,” you narrow your eyes now and hear the immediate laugh from the audience.

“oh, siblings,” the host chuckles, shaking his head.

you’re almost a perfect tribute, it seems to be. appearing to the people as charming, but dangerous and sharp, you win over many hearts soon enough. didn’t even have to be a career. no one except your team knows that you clench your fists until your nails sink into your palms enough to draw blood. no one except an avox, a girl who crossed capitol so they cut her tongue, who came into your room in the middle of a night because you started hitting a wall during your panic attack.

if it wasn’t for that, leelan could almost let herself believe in your win.

you’re excellent with blades and axes, probably won’t have much trouble with finding food and even can make a trap. all the things you’ve learned thanks to your district which specialises in livestock you even score a 10 — 10 for district 10, as someone from your team said.

but if you act like you’re on the brink of a mental breakdown as soon as you’re out of cameras’ reach, how will you act in arena full of poisonous and deadly forces you have to fight against? the boy from your district is in even worse state. he’s a lost cause.

you don’t interact with others much at the tribute center, trying to learn as many skills as possible, even though it’d be nice to have some allies. temporary allies, you remind yourself.

however one girl does catch your attention. she’s tall, dark skinned, her already short dark hair put up and you can see the well-developed muscles in her bare arms. you’re pretty sure it doesn’t end with just the arms. which surprises you because even if you’re the ones growing the cattle and preparing meat in your district, you don’t really get to have much. one would have thought district 12 can’t have it better.

her name is sevika and she’s 18. how devastated must have been her family — getting reaped her last year. you’re not so juvenile yourself too, only a year younger than her.

she’ll definitely be fine on her own, you think, watching her tying knots. you approach her, starting to do the same and thinking of all the ways you could start talking to her. but before you finally open your mouth to say something, she leaves to another section. not today, then.

and not all the other following days too.

sure, you did talk to some other tributes. a girl named mary from 5, kind and quiet. twins from 11, who made you laugh so hard you had to physically stop yourself because you remembered that you’re being watch and a hysterical laugh isn’t really complimenting. but still not to her and now it’s the day the games start.

all this time it’s like you’ve been asleep. now you wake up from the cold before the horn even sounds.the ground is damp and metallic under your back, and for a second you don’t know where you are. it could be a slaughterhouse. maybe it is. it smells like one.

the sky above you is orange, like rust bleeding into sunset. you’re standing in the center of what used to be a processing plant. abandoned, decayed. smoke still rises from some of the towers. steam hisses through broken vents. the ground is cracked cement, sliced with rails, stains and patches that could be oil or blood. doesn’t really matter which.

this is the arena.

you try not to throw up.

they placed you all around a giant broken platform, like a rusted gear in the middle of some long-dead machine.

in its center is the stock — weapons, food, water, gear, traps, maybe even medicine. you can see the outline of a crossbow, a few blades. there’s a black bag. some kind of armor. a bottle glinting under the lights. a lot of seems like a trap, cursed by the gamemakers.

around you, at the edges of the gear — other tributes stand on their plates. all waiting.

and there’s sevika, four tributes away. she’s not looking at anyone. not even the stock. her eyes are low. arms loose by her sides. like she’s waiting for the whole thing to be over.

she doesn’t look scared. just done.

you wish you felt the same.

you breathe in. you don’t have much time. you know what leelan told you: “don’t go to the middle. don’t be a fool.” but leelan’s not here and you don’t think you’ll find an axe lying around somewhere in the arena.

you run before you even realize that you’re running. fast and low. like cutting through a herd without startling them. tributes are screaming already. one falls on the platform. another lunges for a bottle, only to get their throat sliced open. blood sprays across a shattered crate.

you don’t look. you grab the small axe, half-buried under a sheet of plastic. it’s heavy but familiar. your fingers close around the handle like it’s home.

you run again — toward the shadows — and hope for the best. toward the smoke and dust and wreckage beyond the gear. you hide in a collapsed control tower on the outskirts of the plant. its roof is gone, but walls still stand, crooked and blistered by heat. the floor is full of ash. you lie down in it.

your hands are shaking. the axe is next to you, warm from your grip. you think of how are you even supposed to find food or water in a huge dead industrial complex.

you get out of your cover and find that around your collapsed towers are another ash towers. you try to find the highest point and when you do, you finally look around. you think you can see a slaughterblock not that far from you. that’s where you should head next.

you only let yourself to sit, just to wait out whatever’s happening in the gear. you hear the canon and count seven deaths already. seventeen of you left.

that’s when you see your mentor before you. “leelan?” your eyebrows furrow in disbelief “what are you– how are you here?” your hand tries to reach the woman, but suddenly it weighs more than any axe you held in your life so you can’t even lift your arms.

the mentor says something to you and you nod, but something feels wrong..

“are you okay?” your brother asks.

“are you here too? i don’t get it,” you mumble and that’s when you notice the blue gas you’re breathing all around you.

you’re hallucinating. you close your eyes, still hearing their voices. not the worse way to spend you first night, is it? your stomach disagrees.

your eyes open wide just a moment before they start showing the dead tributes in the sky. both from 6, 8, 9 and a boy from 12.

at the early morning the gas disappears, and that’s when you leave the tower and head to your new destination.

the slaughterblock smells worse than anything you’ve ever smelled before. it clings to the walls, seeps from the floor. old blood, rot, bile — all of it baked into the steel and concrete. the heat makes it worse, like someone turned the whole place into a slow cooker for ghosts.

you try to breathe through your mouth, but that just makes you taste it.

the room stretches into darkness, full of rusted hooks hanging from chains, swinging slightly in the stale air. gutting tables still sit in rows, some flipped over, others stained black. broken knives, meat saws, bones — so many bones.

your boots click once on the slick floor, and you freeze. you didn’t mean to make a sound. but it’s not just you. you hear it — screaming. no, not quite human. a pig. and it’s not dying quickly.

you follow the sound, stepping slow. between metal slabs and dripping pipes. the ceiling above you groans. you peek through the gap between two cabinets.

they’re there — two tributes from district 7.

you recognize them. the girl with the long scar down her chin. the boy with unrealistically crooked teeth. they’re butchering a pig they must’ve found somewhere deeper in the block. it’s alive. was alive. they’re laughing.

you grip your axe tighter, but you don’t have a plan yet. until your foot knocks into an empty metal bucket. it clatters like a gunshot. they freeze.

the girl turns first. “who’s there?”

you don’t answer, why would you? but she sees you anyway and lunges.

your axe meets her before your brain even catches up. the impact jolts up your arm — you feel bone snap, skin tear, the wet thud of meat. she hits the floor, twitching once. doesn’t get back up. you hear the canon.

you don’t stop. you can’t.

the boy’s next. faster than she was, not even stopping to look at his dead ally. he’s yelling something, but it doesn’t matter. you swing — he dodges. he slashes with a blade and slices your arm. again — your thigh. you gasp and stumble. he grabs your collar, grinning.

you grab his face. the two of you struggle — crash backward — into an old meat grinder.

it groans under the weight.

your fingers find a button. you kick him and press it as quickly as possible and then..

you watch.

the room is quiet again. except for your breath. and the flies. you stare at what’s left. then at your shaking hands.

“disgusting,” you whisper at yourself and hope that this might be to the sponsors’ liking. a terrible thought, but so isn’t everything?

you tear a piece of fabric from the dead girl’s shirt. wrap your bleeding arm. then your thigh. it’s not pretty, but it’ll do.

you take their bag which they must have taken from the stock. inside: bandages, antiseptic. painkillers, some kind of sunglasses.

the pig they were butchering is half-dead.

but you know what to do with that. you know where to cut. what to keep. what not to touch. it takes you twenty minutes to break it down. maybe less. your axe is sticky. your hands — slick.

you cook a few pieces over a pipe that still leaks fire. it’s dry, but warm. then you pack the rest in cloth, shove it in the new bag. and you leave.

you walk deeper into the structure, the walls closer now, darker. you’re so thirsty it makes your head pulse. no water at all. but it has to be somewhere, right? instead, you find a room in the back. some kind of office, long since emptied. the desk is broken. the windows cracked. but there’s a corner. dry and covered in dust. you sit there. you unwrap your arm. it’s bleeding again. you clean and bandage it, as best as someone who who has very basic knowledge of healing can do.

thirteen of you left.

you stay there for few nights, eating your pig, until the thirst becomes unbearable and water fills all your thoughts. not you, unfortunately.

you’re going to die of thirst before anyone gets the pleasure of killing you. that’s the thought that’s been gnawing at your spine for the past two hours you’ve been walking. the meat from the slaughterblock is still warm in your bag, your wounds are holding. but your lips are cracked. your head swims. everything is too loud.

that’s when you see it. the pit.

it’s not really a lake. not even a pond. it’s an open crater so wide you can’t see the other side through the smoke. the ground falls away in uneven steps of clay and metal and bone, and at the very bottom, there’s water — sort of.

it gleams in the toxic light, thick with rainbow shimmer, like someone spilled oil across a graveyard. you know that smell. sharp. chemical. like bleach, rot, ammonia.

and the bones. some old, some not.

you swallow hard. you need water, so you find a path — half-collapsed service scaffolding, mostly rust and wire. it takes almost twenty minutes to get down safely. you slip twice. once nearly fall. but your grip holds.

the deeper you go, the hotter it gets. the air sticks to your lungs.

you step through the bottom of the pit like moving through glue. you hold your breath when the fumes spike. the water’s close. but you’re careful. you know better.

and then you see her.

sevika.

standing by the edge of the chemical pool like it’s a mirror. her back to you. muscles tense. blade slung low, but not drawn. she crouches and pulls a bottle from her belt. dips it low toward the surface—

“it’s poisoned,” you call out, louder than you meant to.

she straightens. turns. her eyes find you — sharp, wary. in less than a five seconds she’s ready to attack.

but the air shifts and that’s when you know something’s coming. you feel it first — the way your teeth hum. then the tremor beneath your feet. then the shriek.

a shape erupts from the other side of the pool, tearing through bones and rock like they’re paper. a mutt. at least eight feet tall. boar-like, but deformed, furless, parts of its flesh replaced with glowing panels. its eyes flicker red. its tusks drip acid. it charges.

you draw your axe.

“allies?” you shout.

sevika nods once. “just don’t get in my way.”

the beast hits like a train. you dive left — sevika goes right. you slash its leg and sparks fly, it screeches and backhands you into the dirt. sevika climbs its back, driving her blade between its shoulder plates. it throws her off.

you roll. blood in your mouth. the mutt lunges at sevika — she dodges — you bring your axe down on its exposed jaw. it turns on you.

you think: this is it.

then sevika rams her knife straight into its eye socket. you don’t waste the opening and drive your axe into its throat, both hands, full weight. it collapses.

you both stand there for a second, chests heaving.

“that thing better not come back,” you mutter and slump onto a rock, your whole body’s shaking. sevika wipes blood from her face and walks back toward the water.

“you were serious about the poison thing?” she asks, finally.

“yeah. the fumes alone almost knocked me out.”

“so what now?”

you look at her. “we filter it.”

she raises an eyebrow, sceptical. “you know how to do that?”

you nod. “i think so. we used to filter rotwater at home. for the pigs. same principle, right?”

“you filtered water for pigs.” sevika snorts.

“and for us, sometimes.” you stand. “you need: cloth, rocks, sand. charcoal. some kind of container.”

“charcoal?” she raised an eyebrow.

“burnt cloth’ll do.”

“you’re full of surprises, 10,”

“shop kid,” you grin. “axes, knives, smoke filters. we sold them all.”

you spend the next hour gathering parts.

you build the filter from a broken pipe, with layers of sand, gravel, burnt scraps, and a ventilation mesh sevika pulled from an old cooling unit.

you watch the first drops trickle through into a cracked bowl. you both stare at it in silence.

“first sip’s yours,” sevika mutters.

you smile. “scared?”

“you built it,”

well, can’t argue with that. when you drink, it tastes like ash. definitely not that fancy water that comes in all flavours (you didn’t even know water could be flavoured before), but not deadly too. you don’t have any signs of being poisoned, so sevika takes a sip too. and then another. and other.

“so what does your family do?” you ask out of curiosity and because you don’t like silences.

something in her expression flickers.

“my mother was a medic. my dad’s got a hardware stall,” sevika replies shortly, and you decide not to push. why would you want to know all about her family if later? to face that very family after you kill her or someone else does?

“i was hoping we’d at least get a beautiful arena,” you sigh playfully, after getting a look around

she grins. “yeah? so you could at least die somewhere beautiful?”

“something like that,” you roll your eyes.

after filling your bowls and bottles with water you get out of the pit, thinking where you should head next.

“wait,” you say and perform a shushing gesture to silence her. something’s wrong. as if the ground is shaking. “do you feel it? it’s like an earthquake—“ and the surface under your feet collapses right at that moment, sevika’s strong hand preventing you from falling, but the ground she’s standing on also starts shaking.

so you run with ground sunk down behind you.

“hey-hey!” you hear two familiar voices, male and female, from both of your sides. twins from 11. “we were thinking of going into the pit when we saw you two running. what’s happening?”

“game makers are expanding the territory of the pit,” you reply, smiling at them and glance at sevika. oh, she doesn’t trust them.

“can we join you?” they ask.

their bags catch your attention. must’ve gotten them from the stock. they’re quick, clever, funny and you like them. so before sevika says no, you say yes and she glared at you.

“great! follow us, we found something like control rooms,”

“control rooms?” you repeat, curious.

and you still feel her piercing gaze.

“they’re smart!” you whisper at her and she rolls her eyes.

the control core is deeper than you expected.

you follow the twins through a narrow hallway half-collapsed with rusted panels and ash. above your heads, wires dangle like vines. it smells like electricity, dust, and something else — old blood maybe. the deeper you go, the colder it gets.

the twins are chatty. you like that about them. it makes you feel, for a moment, like this isn’t real.

when you finally reach the room, it’s massive. high ceiling, metal walls, rows of broken monitors and blinking consoles. the control core must’ve once powered something big. the lights flicker on and off. it hums, almost alive.

you all sit in a circle. the twins pull food from their bags — sealed packets, dried fruit, bread. you offer them water in exchange. the deal is silent, natural. survival.

they talk about the games, previous ones, things they saw from the sidelines. the girl twin says she thinks the mutts are more unpredictable this year. the boy twin jokes he’s waiting for the flying leeches. you all laugh. even sevika smirks.

then you go deeper.

you slip on the glasses you found in district 7 boy’s bag, that are apparently made for the night vision. so do the twins. sevika takes the flashlight, checks its battery with a tap of her palm. works.

you move in a line. twin-boy in front, then his sister, then you, sevika watching the rear.

the corridors tighten. the temperature drops again. dust floats in the air like snow. pipes run along the ceiling. you check every side door. most are sealed. some open to reveal broken desks, shattered bulbs, spilled tools. in one room you find an old firebox and a control panel half-lit. in another — something you think is a ventilation map. sevika studies it while chewing dried fruit like it’s jerky.

then you see the first snake. it slithers from behind a console. only about the length of your arm. quick. sharp scales. sevika steps forward and crushes its head with the heel of her boot.

you look at the twins. they look at each other.

“weird,” you say. what would a snake be doing in here?

more steps. more snakes. you find another. and another. before you say you should head back, it happens.

the metal grates beneath your feet rattle. you freeze. a low sound starts building, like whispering steam.

and then — a wave. a swarm of snakes floods the corridor from every direction. tiny ones, red-eyed, fast. not natural.

they’re coming.

“run,” someone screams.

you scatter. the hallways twist and split and you take turns blindly, dodging through narrow gaps and hopping over pipes. the air is full of hissing. you swing yat anything too close.

the boy twin stumbles. a snake latches onto his leg. he goes down. his sister screams. no — she runs back, tries to pull him up.

more snakes pile on him.

you stop running. your body wants to go back. but sevika grabs your wrist.

“not now,” she growls.

you turn and the last thing you see is the girl dropping to her knees and swinging wildly with a blade as they swarm them both.

you don’t look again and you keep running. when you finally stop, your lungs burn. your skin is marked with shallow cuts and dried blood. the snakes aren’t following anymore. you collapse against a wall. sevika crouches near you, breath sharp.

“they’re gone,” you whisper.

she nods.

“we should’ve taken their bags,” sevika says.

you look at her and she sighs.

“don’t give me that look. it’s awful. but it’s the games. you survive or you die. nothing in between,”

you say nothing because you know she’s right. and that’s worse.

you find a hidden crawlspace near the end of the control core. small enough to feel safe. you both squeeze in. you rest in shifts, but neither of you actually sleeps. you sit back-to-back, watching the same crack in the wall.

at some point, sevika says, “they reminded me of someone. the twins,”

you don’t answer.

she continues anyway. “when i was little, there was this pair in our street. always stealing apples. always climbing shit. i think about them sometimes,”

you shift, “i have a brother,” you say, “older. wanted to volunteer for me. couldn’t. he watched the reaping with his fists clenched”

“did he say goodbye?”

you nod, “told me to break their rules. and their teeth,”

sevika chuckles. a quiet, worn-out sound. “maybe you will,”

“maybe we both will, you say,”

and for the first time since the games started, you think maybe you’re not entirely alone.

then you both watch the faces of dead appear in the sky. it’s only 9 of you left. you and sevika, both tributes from 1, 2 and 3. and the boy from your district. the one you nicknamed the lost cause.

“i don’t know how he’s doing it,” you say, furrowing. “he’s so unstable,”

sevika shrugs, assuming that maybe it plays in his advantage.

“do you think it’s been suspiciously easy or we’re just lucky?” you ask her and she raises an eyebrow to see if you’re serious. you are. she’s confused, so you are to elaborate, “well, i feel like thirst was the one thing that could actually kill me. there was some gas on my first day, but it wasn’t poisonous. were you injured physically?”

“no. were you?”

“yes, when i was fighting with tributes from 5, but it’s not much,” you reply carelessly, because you almost forgot about those.

you agree when sevika says it’s time for new bandages, and when you unwrap the old one on your hand, you see that your wound has festered and wrinkle your nose. ugly. sevika doesn’t look away but sighs. right, her mom was a healer.

“did you even clean it?” she asks but doesn’t bother with waiting for an answer and takes the antiseptic and bandages out of your bag.

you bite your lips, watching her hands work deftly. “do you have any other wounds?” you nod and tell her about the one on your thigh. “take it off,” sevika demands, talking about the bottom of your suit.

“aren’t you gonna buy me a drink first?” you say resentfully but before she says something insulting you slide your bottoms down enough for her to get access to your thigh. it’s cold — that’s all.

you both fall asleep. not intentionally and definitely not responsibly.

maybe it’s something about the warmth of someone nearby who doesn’t want to slit your throat — at least not now.

but you two jump wide awake when you hear screaming. loud and coming at you.

your axe is already in your hands, just like sevika’s blade in hers.

the careers. two from district 1, two from 2 and the last one from 3 — the so-called golden pack. tall, sculpted, polished like statues.

they weren’t running at you, but from someone. or something. that’s when you see them. two mutated tigers, striped in glitching patterns, like static crawling on their skin. their jaws stretch too far, and their claws spark on contact with stone. they’re playing and their favourite game involves tearing someone apart.

you and Sevika exchange one glance. then it’s chaos.

the careers don’t hesitate to turn on you — the girl from 1 nearly slices your cheek open, the boy from 2 screams something incomprehensible while flailing his blade.

you swing your axe. she ducks. sevika’s elbow meets her nose. it’s a war on two fronts.

the tigers circle.

they pounce and crush the boy from 3 in a snap of spine and spray of red. another screams. the tigers chase him. sevika watches. calculating.

they’re not attacking randomly. they’re actually toying.

you slash at the girl from 1 again, landing a deep cut to her ribs. she backs off, wheezing. sevika moves behind her. and then grabs and throws her straight into a tiger’s open jaws. bones snap like twigs.

you almost freeze, but she doesn’t. she grabs the next, taking them by surprise — the smaller tribute from 2 — and repeats it. the last tribute — girl from 2 — sees what sevika’s doing.

she lunges with a roar and stabs her deep, right under her ribs.

sevika screams. you turn just in time to bury your axe in the girl’s neck. she goes down.

while tigers play with very dead tributes, you two run as fast as possible before mutts turn their attention to you. when it seems like they’re not following, you finally let sevika sit and fall next to her.

your hands are already covered in blood. she’s breathing, shallow and sharp.

“that bitch,” she mutters.

“you’re okay. you’re okay,” you lie.

nothing in your packs can help her and you know that next day you have to go and find the careers’ pack, maybe they’ll have something. you press her wound, trembling. her blood soaks into your palms.

“sleep,” you whisper.

the next day when sevika assures you she’s fine — another lie — you quickly approach the area where your nap was interrupted yesterday. take all the food you see, which careers’ve got enough, but nothing of the medicine. you sigh.

sevika doesn’t even need you to tell her about that when you come back, your desperate eyes tell her everything. when she doesn’t resist eating, you can’t help but think that this might be her last meal.

then you start rambling.

about the first cow you ever helped deliver. about the time you and your brother painted axes with bright pink paint and your father got mad.

you keep talking until something heavy lands on your head. you look up, taking it into your hands.

a silver parachute. medicine.

your heart jumps, but you don’t hesitate.

you pour the contents over her wound, hands shaking.

sevika flinches. then gasps. you try your best and she tries to talk you through it. you wrap her tight. close the gash. press your forehead against hers.

you did it. you saved her.

a sigh of relief and joy and happiness escapes your lips when comes the realisation. it’s only three of you left now. the boy from your district, you. and sevika.

that’s when you hear the gamemaker’s voice that sounds almost amused. three tributes remain, they say. one final event. a gift for each of you, waiting in the heart of the arena. come claim it.

you and sevika don’t speak. you just nod once, gear up, and walk.

it’s inevitable anyway. if you don’t go to this feast now, they will still make you face each other, fight and die.

you walk through smoke and ruin, past twisted metal and the remains of places you used to hide. it’s almost poetic that the center is the gear — the giant rusted cog that once turned something important but now just rests in the earth like a jaw waiting to close.

you arrive first. he’s already there. the boy from your district.

he doesn’t look like he used to. he’s thinner. twitchier. eyes wild, too wide. his shirt is stained with blood that’s not his. he holds the knife like it’s part of him.

you open your mouth to say something, but he doesn’t wait.

sevika moves first — throws you behind a pile of rubble and blocks his blade with hers. they crash against each other, metal biting metal, and he’s stronger than you remember.

not skilled. just unhinged.

you scramble up, your axe in your hands, heart pounding. you circle. he throws a punch at sevika and she stabs at his leg — he dodges, growling.

then he sees you.

he drops from aevika’s line of sight and charges at you. too fast. your axe swings wide. his knife is already in motion.

it sinks into your chest. not fully in the heart, which would be faster, but close. you stumble back and he gasps.

his eyes meet yours, and suddenly he drops his weapon. stumbles away from you like he’s waking from something.

“no,” he says. “no, no, no — i didn’t mean— i thought— i—“ he falls to his knees, his hands are shaking and he starts crying.

sevika catches you before you hit the ground.

her arms wrap around you roughly, one hand pressed hard over the wound.

“what the fuck did you do,” she hisses — not to him. to you “you idiot. you stupid, reckless idiot,” she repeats, over and over, “you were supposed to win,”

you were supposed to win.

you can’t breathe properly. your fingers tremble, “shut up, sev,” the only words you can squeeze out before you you lift your hand and cup her face, making her lean in. her face is all angles and fury and grief.

your lips barely touch. a breath. a tremor.

then stillness. you’re gone in her arms.

sevika doesn’t cry. she lays you down gently, like something she carved with her own hands. then she stands. her gaze finds the boy still kneeling. he raises his eyes to her. and for a second, it looks like he’ll say something.

he never gets the chance.

viewers are not sure if what happens next is vengeance or instinct. but when it’s over, there’s only one name left to announce.

sevika.

you will never know that sevika won the games. you died, thinking it, but you’ll never know for sure.

you will never know that every month your family receives sevika’s winnings.

you will never know that the only family sevika has left — her father — gets killed by the capitol three weeks after her win because she refused to play by capitol’s games.

and you will never know that when twenty years later a pink haired girl sparks a revolution, she helps adding the fuel to the fire with you in her mind.

tags: @riotstemple29

#sevika #sevika arcane #sevika x you #sevika x reader #sevika my love #arcane au #wlw

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